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Foolish Hope

Even as he threw the punch, he could tell something in her had changed. Then she moved to meet him in a technique perfect shoulder throw. She wouldn't be able to see it, probably, but in the handful of heartbeats he was swinging through the air over her head, Nightwatch was smiling.

He hadn't smiled, really smiled, in years. His smile was a weapon; a tool for intimidation or the savage, mad expression that came to his face in a hard fight or punishment. But neither was real. The former was designed to be malevolent, to cause fear rather than express anything positive. The latter was more a snarl than anything else; his lips just a bit too wide and showing just a little too much tooth to reveal just how close he was to losing his mind in the kind of fury that only a broken heart can provide. This was genuine. Real. If only for an instant.

"Huhhn!" He hit the mat hard, though he slapped out his free hand and his legs to diffuse the force of the impact. It was a good throw and a solid hit. He felt that one, all right. Her foot came down on his shoulder. Her hands held his arm in place. Her eyes blazed and her chest heaved from the exertion and...excitement?

My God, she was beautiful.

He was messed up, wasn't he? To think that now. Then her blue eyes seemed to change and she let him go as if touching him burned her. Her apology was so earnest! It was adorable.

It was fatal.

Nightwatch rolled onto his shoulders and then kicked forward onto his feet. He fell into the motion to come down in a crouch, pivoting and lashing out with his right leg to sweep her feet out from under her. He continued the soon of the sweep and sprang as he came to face her, tackling the blonde heroine and bearing her down to the mat under him. His knees moved to pin her legs down, he caught her wrists in his left hand and forced the down above her head.

His masked face was inches from hers. He could smell sweat, the faint hint of apple and cinnamon on her breath, the flowery scent of her hair. Her body was warm and alive under him. He could feel her chest rising and falling rapidly, the pads pressing against his own. Nightwatch's own heart was beating faster suddenly. She smelled good. This feeling was...was...and she was do bright. So pure.

What an ugly thing he was.

It was his turn to spring off of and away from her. Wrong, he was so wrong. Shouldn't be so close to someone so good. Nightwatch actually retreated across the ring to the far corner. He rose from his crouch, "That's enough. For now."

The hero rested his arms on the top rope, leaning against the turnbuckle. "That throw was good. Very good. The way you felt then, that's what it should be like all the time. You can do it. You will get there."

"Baldrick! Bring some water," he called. There was a faint affirmative from somewhere out of sight. "Are you all right?"
 
He was all movement and next thing she knew the ring violently met with her back and Nightwatch had her pinned there, both of her slender wrists tight in hand above her head, his knees pinning her legs-the smaller woman immobile between him and the floor of the ring.

She'd forgotten-it was still a fight until he said otherwise. She'd dropped her guard. And now here she was, the expansive wall of his chest against hers, his concealed face awfully close. Very...very close...she could feel her own getting hot, a little tug on her captured hands.

It seemed like a long time before he let her go, and Aimee took in a deep, steadying breath before she sat up slowly, bringing her legs in to sit criss crossed and watch him move across the ring. She tugged off the padded helmet when he called it and rubbed her wrists absently. Thank goodness he had known how to fall! She could have hurt him, what had she been thinking?

He complimented her on the throw, and...oh.

She seemed both surprised and embarrassed at the encouragement before a small, shy smile curved her lips, one that reflected softly in her eyes. "...thank you." She was very interested in her hands and tennis shoes, all of a sudden, that bit of color returning to her cheeks. "That...that means a lot to me. I'll work harder at it."

He hadn't even made fun of her for admitting to being afraid. He...well, he was nice. Training was going to be hard, but he didn't make her cry, so-overall, Aimee was relieved, happy, and determined to do better.

"I'm okay. I'm...I'm great, actually." She moved to stand, slipping out of the protective chest pad. Sure, she was going to be sore in the morning, but she already felt like she was learning a lot. And, even though it had embarrassed her-admitting to being afraid and having him respond like that...helped. She felt a little less ashamed and more hopeful she could get there with enough perseverance.
 
That blush made her prettier.

Even as he noted it, he felt a surge of irritation. He shouldn't notice that, think about her like that. Neither of them was here for that kind of thing. "Good." Nightwatch leaned up off the turnbuckle, "Work on your mind, and I'll work on your body."

No! No, damn it, that wasn't what he meant!

"You have good natural qualities," he went on after a stunned second, furious with himself. Was he so low? Did he have so little control? "And you're condition is good. You need more techniques and practice using them. I can give you that. We'll set up a schedule."

Baldrick came swooping down, "Water, sir, miss, as requested." There were plastic bottle in two of his robot hands.

Nightwatch took one and then after a moment, said, "...Thank you." She would like that. Gwen would too. He took a drink and nodded. "Get hydrated, stretch again if need be. We're not done with training tonight, just sparring."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

The urban obstacle course was a modular section on the fifth "ring" of The Orrery. Nightwatch set it to a something like the alleyway behind the museum and the surrounding area. "Most people think and fight in two dimensions. But the city has three. With training and practice, you can use them to out maneuver and out think your enemies."

He glanced at her. She probably didn't like being reminded but it didn't matter; it was a good example. "Frank West bull rushed you down that hallway, didn't he? Imagine how different it would have been if you could have used the wall to go over or around him, even cut in from an upper angle and take him down first. You have excellent natural agility; that's good. It's your biggest strength, you'll likely never be in a fight where you're bigger or stronger than your opponent. So we make your strength stronger."

The course finished its arrangement. "By the time we're done, you'll be like a ghost out there. No one will be able to touch you. But we're far from that goal now. So. We start with a few simple moves..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Hours later, they were walking back to the elevator that they had entered. "Still plenty of time for the drive back and sleep. Get some rest. You still need to heal."

Kate and Baldrick came floating down again, bearing a pair of envelopes and a small box. Nightwatch took the envelopes and handed one to her. "This contains the codes for The Orrery. You don't have to come here with me. This place is safe, it's secure. Use it to get better or just to get away."

The second envelope was offered, "This contains the records of the opening of a bank account in the Cayman Islands for a new company, CC Urban Development. It's a shell company with no physical assets but a bank account. Everything you need to access it is in there. Crime fighting takes resources, don't be afraid to use them. There's $10,000 in there now and an additional five will be deposited monthly."

Then he held up the box, continuing to move ahead without giving her time to reach, "This has an earbud like the one I use. It's advanced beyond any Bluetooth you may have used. You can synch it to your phone or program new contacts in. A touch readies it, speech then activates it. There are two numbers in there now, one is for me. The other is for The Compiler. He's mission control for those of us left, at least he is for a while." The coward. Leaving him. "He's a valuable asset, there's almost no information he can't find given a good starting point."

The vigilante paused, "Questions?"
 
Luckily for Nightwatch, that sailed right over Aimee's head, the trainee nodding, thinking on his earlier words as she accepted the water with her own thank you, just as sweet to the robot as she would have been to a person. If he was AI, he WAS a person, she had to remember that.
////////////////////////////////////////////
Back to being studious, Aimee listened to Nightwatch while marveling at the
self arranging obstacle course. When he brought up Frank she seemed to pay
even closer attention-though a hand strayed towards her abdomen, remembering the shoulder that had been jammed into it. Yes, avoiding being slammed into the wall would have been nice. Avoiding the entirety of the fight would have been nice. The boys had been made to sit in that fuel for far too long while she struggled with their awful father. Luckily, she didn't have to be plagued for too long by the recollection.

Turned out parkour was pretty fun, AND distracting.

//////////////////////////////////////////

"You're a good teacher Nightwatch. Really." Aimee commented, sore, worn out, but happy. She had a lot to go home and think about too. She accepted the codes, resolving to come back and practice, practice, practice so that she could be a ghost. She did not accept the second envelope and just about choked on her water, but before she could say anything on it he was telling her about the earbud, and The Compiler.

The person he'd been talking to the other night, must have been-she'd ask about him, but her mind was still on this mysterious offshore bank account. She pressed the envelope back to him.

"I-thank you so much, but that is...I don't want to take your money, Nightwatch. Your time is...I know your time is invaluable. You helping me is more than I could have ever hoped for as it is." She gave a serious nod, then smiled. "Besides, I've got a day job and there's already the Orrery to practice in."

Her eyes shifted to the size six dusty footprint on his shoulder. Aimee would wipe it away with her hand, almost absently-assuming he didn't jump back away from her. "There's a lot of programs in the city who need it more than me."

"Goodnight Kate, Baldrick. It was nice to meet you both." She said sincerely, attention shifting back to Nightwatch. "Thanks again Nightwatch. I'll keep to our schedule." She promised.
 
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Nightwatch was sure she would be diligent. Opening the Orrery to her was not without risks. He had already ordered Kate and Baldrick not to reveal anything about him or Gwen but she could likely figure out a way around that. The two robots were not true AIs though they were very well programmed, but that meant there were gaps that could be exploited. The computer also was available if she thought to use it. But he had made a decision. Whatever it took to keep her alive.

Whatever it took. Even if she would hate it, hate him for doing it. But she would, ideally, never know much of it until after it was all over. Compared to what he was going to do, acting outside his comfort zone was a minor thing.

He felt a moment of warm sympathy when she pushed the financial envelope back into his hand. The vigilante felt that twitch of muscles that wanted to move his lips into a smile but didn't. There it was again. Her purity shining through. "All-" He stiffened at her touch when she wiped her shoe print off of him. The touch wasn't much, barely anything, but it was non-violent human contact. Something he was no longer used to. "So be it," he answered after a few moments.

He'd hold onto it and keep the shell and the account open. She would need it eventually.

At her thanks, he just nodded. "Thank me by staying alive." Good. That was better. It felt more like him. "You'll ignore this but stay in until you've trained up more. Or at least healed that burn. Go home. I've still got some things to do here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Once Concerned Citizen had left, he sighed. She...was so light. It felt good to be around her but it also tired him. Feeling so much again. It was wearying for him. Or perhaps it brought the weariness he felt all the Tim forward so he could no longer ignore it.

Nightwatch shook his head. More to do. "Kate, is the plane ready?"

The other robot drifted closer, her voice feminine but with the same synthetic distortion. "Tis, but I should like more time for tests, sir. It's not flown in years. If you would-"

"You can work on it however you like after I'm back" He started to walk to a different elevator. "You loaded what I asked for?"

"Yes," Baldrick answered. "The garden shed had everything requested. But, what is it for, sir?"

Nightwatch entered the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. "You'll find out when I'm back." If he told them, their morality matrix might make them try to stop him.

Whatever it took to keep her alive.

Minutes later, a rock wall high up on the mountainside split and parted as the Orrery's secret hanger doors opened and then a sleek dark shape hurtled out into the night sky with a muted roar, circling the mountain and the estate at its base before flying off to the north, engines whining.

The Comet had been Gwen's, and his before their partnership ended, personal and customized jet. It was lean and swift, borrowing numerous design elements from the old SR-71 Blackbird. He hadn't flown in it some time and like everything in the Orrery, it had lain untouched since he closed it all down after her death. It's sensors and systems found all other air traffic and plotted a course around it to...apparently nowhere in the upper reaches of Ontario.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Hours later, the Comet circled an island in a large lake before descending vertically to touch down in the cleared area near the small dock that allowed easy access to the island. Only a few branches snapped or sheared off from the landing. Nightwatch rose as the canopy slid back, unbuckling the seat straps. He vaulted down to the leaf strewn ground.

There was no sign that anyone had been in years. Perfect.

He unloaded a heavy duty flat bed cart that had a shovel, a pick, a crowbar, a machete, and a brush axe on it. He started to push the cart, knowing where to go despite the dark and the underbrush and the distance in time. He'd never forget the way; he'd been one of her pall bearers.

Invincibelle, real name Francine Holland, was a Canadian super heroine. One of his teammates and friends in The Valiant before she went on to be part of the Legion of Justice. For a brief time, they'd been lovers. Not in love, not even dating, just hormonally fueled and physically attracted. It hadn't lasted long before they both moved on to far better, more stable relationships. She was known for her fiery temper, her lust for life, and her invincibility. She had a powerful ability to regenerate from injury, even lethal injury, rapidly. He'd once seen her burned beyond recognition by Blowtorch, only to heal back to perfect health in the space of five minutes. Helping her healing factor were her bones; replaced with the indestructible metal neotronium by a secret government experiment. She was unbreakable and could heal back from almost anything. Invincibelle was thought to be unkillable, even if she could be beaten.

The Mask Killer had managed it. After beating her and raping her for hours, he submerged her in molten steel at a foundry, holding her down until the heat burned away all her living tissue. Nothing left to regenerate. All that was left were her unbreakable bones; still shining and unsullied by the Mask Killer's power and rage.

They'd laid her to rest here. She lived rural Ontario, it was where she'd grown up. This island was her sanctuary. Fran came here to camp out and get away. It had seemed fitting for her to find peace here forever. Until now.

Whatever it took to keep her alive.

Her marker was a simple stone from the island; her name carved onto it and her mask resting atop. Nightwatch pulled the cart to a halt and regarded it silently for a minute or more. "I won't ask you to forgive me. I hope you can understand, wherever you are."

It took hours to dig down to the simple wood coffin. His hands shook as he pried open the lid. Her bones still shone in the light of the lamp he'd set up and the silvery moon overhead. Nightwatch leaned on the side of the hole he'd dug, his arms and heart aching. They were unmolested by any wildlife; there was nothing here to be consumed, after all. "Oh, Fran. What he did to you. What I'm going to do."

He reached and pulled his cowl down and off. Daniel Raines face was stricken and his eyes burned from the sting of his tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Fran. But I don't know what else to do. I've got to stop him. I can't let her die. I just...I've got nothing else I can do. I'm sorry."

He knelt down in the coffin and kissed the top of the gleaming skull. Then he straightened up and held back a sob before mastering himself. He left her skull and jaw. So that there was something left in her grave. Before shutting the coffin, he gazed down on the skull one more time. "Here," he murmured, "hung those lips I kissed I know not how oft, yet now how abhorrent in my imagination it is."

Hamlet was insane. What did that say about him?

He closed up her coffin and replaced the earth over it. The sun was well into the sky before he was done. Daniel guided the cart back to the jet and reloaded it with his ghastly cargo.

Whatever it took to keep her alive. Even this. Even at the cost of what remained of his soul.

Minutes later the Comet lifted off to start the journey back to the Orrery. Then he'd get the metal starting processing. Then...then he could let himself break down for a time. Then onto to sleep and eat. The city was still there.
 
Stern and growling again. She felt a little bad when he gave the order to stay off the streets after acknowledging she wouldn't follow it. She decided, wisely, not to comment.

"Good night Nightwatch. Please...get some rest too. Don't forget your cookies." A small wave, and then she took the elevator to her car.

Part way down the road, Aimee took off her hat and slipped out of the red vest, setting them in the white box on the passenger seat, letting the lid flop down over them. She'd put it in the trunk once she was home. She reached for the domino mask once she was far enough-and paused as she caught a glance of her masked face in the rear view mirror.

"The woman the city is abuzz about. The one who beat men twice her size."

She studied her own gaze a moment, then slowly peeled the spirit gum off at the corners, removing the mask and slipping it into the box, her eyes shifting back to the road.

"The way you felt then, that's what it should be like all the time."

How had she been feeling? She had been starting to panic again. Taking hits, being driven backwards. She had been afraid of getting knocked down. And then she just...what? Decided not to be afraid? No...that wasn't it. She just stopped...thinking for a minute there. She wasn't thinking when she threw him. Not about the risk of hurting him. Not about if it would work or not, or what the retaliation might be. Not about...anything, really. But just before that...just before the throw, she felt like...like...

Aimee frowned as she tried to place it. Determined. She was determined, had decided she would not be knocked down. Period.

That sort of finality was awfully foreign to Aimee Summers.

But she had felt similar when she burst forward for Christine, caught her at the last possible moment. Forgot her terror of heights, her anxiety, her fear-just moved. And at the end of the fight with Frank West- even more desperate, but she had decided he wasn't going to kill those kids and then she hit him with the baton. In that moment, she wasn't thinking anymore. She was taking action.

She had acted.

Maybe Aimee Summers locked up and lost her nerve, but as Concerned Citizen she could be better. Decisive. Effective. Maybe even brave.

"You can do it. You will get there."

She felt hopeful and happy, turning on the radio for some upbeat music for the drive home.

///////////////////////

Aimee walked into her tiny but cozy bedroom, braiding her damp hair and being followed by a tiny white fluffball. She was wearing comfy pink gingham pajamas, the long button up shirt and pants a little big for her, her pant legs folded up several times at the cuffs and the sleeves extending past her hands. She was also wearing slightly worn, much loved silly bunny slippers.

She scooped the kitten up and set her on one of the several pillows on the bed, pulling back the fluffy comforter and climbing under it, a yawn. She had taken a long, hot shower, stretched her sore muscles, and eaten a strawberry yogurt with some granola and almonds added in.

Falling back into all the plushy softness, she cast a glance around the room. Her bed and a dresser took up most of the space. She had painted the walls a light, pastel pink and hung pictures of her family here and there, as well as a few comic book posters. A worn, slightly dingy cream colored rabbit sat slumped on her dresser along with various inexpensive bracelets, a small dish with stud earrings-most of which were colorful and school themed, save a pair of pearl ones-and yet more books. She had a pile of them on her nightstand too, along with a small lamp and an old fashioned, bronze alarm clock. A phone charger stuck out of the top drawer.

Aimee settled in and read through her emails on the pink blackberry phone, mostly school events and meetings, a few parent correspondences-nothing terribly exciting. She tabbed out for the news and read that awhile. There was a short article about a house fire-Nightwatch had been there, had rescued a family. Aimee rolled onto her stomach, wincing a little-she was still sore from getting thrown by West-and read further, her eyes widening. He had even gone back in for the family's kitten! Fires were stressful childhood events. In rescuing the cat, he had prevented a lot of additional stress and trauma.

"You're wrong about me, and this city."

"I don't think I am." Aimee said softly to no one, reaching over and turning the light off, making sure her alarm clock was set. She emailed the article to herself and slid her phone under her pillow, the streetlamp from outside shining a small rectangle of light through the blinds. She thought about the impulsive hug in the alleyway days before. He had seemed so shocked. Hadn’t known what to do. It made her heart ache a little, even now.

She glanced at Sophie. The fluffball was already curled up and sleeping, the kitten looking blissful and happy on her pillow. Aimee had embroidered her name on it in purple, a paw print for the ‘o’. She tried to imagine Nightwatch, big, muscular wall that he was, holding a tiny kitten like Sophie. She wasn’t sure if the image was humorous or...

Her mind flashed on the spar, on being pinned after the throw. He was very strong, and had been very, very close. She wondered, a little, what it would have been like if he had returned that hug in the alleyway.

Aimee.

Coloring a little in the dark, she hunkered down further in her blankets, curling up in the middle of the soft bed. She wasn't sure where that had come from. Better not to think about it. It was important to be professional.

...she hoped he had liked his cookies.
 
It was the afternoon by the time it was done.

He had returned to the Orrery, unloaded, and commanded the robots to shutdown until he reactivated them. Then he before took the neotronium to the equipment ring. It was there now in the smelter, starting the long, slow process of getting hot enough to be malleable and eventually to melt.

Then he'd taken off his mask. Daniel collapsed and wept for a time. He wasn't sure how long.

Night was falling by the time he returned to the city. Nightwatch was tired. He had been awake more than a day now and done heavy physical labor. But the city was still there. It still screamed.

But he saw her blue eyes shining, heard that sweet voice asking him to get some rest. His eyes flickered to the container of cookies on the island of his kitchen; a lone splash of color in the severe black and grey appliances and countertops.

He didn't deserve those. He didn't deserve rest.

She'd said please. Those little civilities.

A few hours. He could rest a few hours.

It was free midnight when, showered and in a fresh costume, Nightwatch swung out into the dirty air of his filthy, dark, hateful city. He'd find the wicked and crush them. And he'd find her; he was sure she was out here somewhere. He would find her and watch, be ready to act.

Whatever it took to keep her alive.
 
Concerned Citizen was keeping her head down as best she could. She hadn't agreed to stay home at any point-and on purpose-but she still felt a little bad, a little sneaky for going out at night anyway, on the days she didn't train with Nightwatch.

The past few weeks hadn’t exactly flown by-balancing the night and days seemed to prolong them, if anything. Aimee had been working hard establishing Concerned Citizen’s network, balancing her night life against everything else with strict time management. She couldn't allow her volunteer work or her teaching to suffer, after all. They were just as important.

During the days she didn't train with Nightwatch, she spent one to two hours maneuvering the obstacle course, practicing hard so that when she did take a tumble-it was there and not the concrete in the city. She always chatted with the two little robots. It made the facility feel less lonely when she was there by herself.

She had spent time carving out territory for the community. She planned on five"Safe Spaces" total for the month, the largest of which would be the Downtown City Park. Charlotte was heading an initiative to clean the park up, three weekends of picking up trash, planting flowers, sprucing up trees and deweeding sidewalks. Aimee was helping with those efforts, but her bigger contribution would hopefully come from Concerned Citizen staking a claim on it for the City.

And she was managing most of it through words. Mostly. A guy had pulled a knife on her last week-but she was sure the distributor would, eventually, give up on the Safeway Bridge.

She couldn't stop drugs in the city, at least not right now-but Rome wasn't built in a day, either.

In the midst of all this, Aimee still found time to bake something before training with Nightwatch every session. Important to have priorities, after all. Today it had been cranberry loaves-soft, miniature loaves of bread with a flaky crust and cranberries baked through out. A small container of whipped cinnamon butter to go with it. She had stepped up her container game too-a blue sturdy gift box with a light pressed foil design.

Days before, a framed newspaper clipping had also made an appearance during one of the days Nightwatch wasn't there. She was less certain how that might go over, but she felt...she wasn't sure. Like it should be out somewhere, a good point in his favor.
 
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For weeks he spent part of his nights shadowing the neophyte crime fighter as she went about her work. Some nights it took more time to find her than others, but once he found her, Nightwatch stuck with her until her little blue bug made its' way to where her home clearly was. He could have followed her further. Found out where she lived. Then researched the location and residents, figure out who she was. Nightwatch couldn't deny he was curious. But he did not. It was professional courtesy.

She fought better, when she had to. Moved better all the time; her use of the environment to conceal herself and simply to get from place to place had progressed well. That was pleasing to see. Not, he told himself, because he liked to see her agile but pleasingly shaped body leaping about but it made him feel better about her chances for survival.

Not everything he saw made him feel better though. She spent so much time...talking to criminals. He didn't understand it. He was troubled by it. Particularly drug dealers, almost as if...no. His heart had sunk when he realized what it could be. Was she...making a deal with them? Working with them in some say?

Had the city corrupted her so quickly?

Those thoughts were deep in his mind as she had arrived at the Orrery; cheery as always, bearing yet another baked good. The loaves smelled...amazing, really. She continued to bring food. It was perplexing and mildly frustrating. How could he tell her to stop? That she was throwing off his careful regimen of protein drinks and supplements so he could get all his body needed without enjoying it. Because he shouldn't enjoy it. He didn't want to. Nightwatch should be an engine of rough justice, of payback, of retribution. Anything that was extraneous to that was cut out of his life. He'd spend the last few years doing that. And she was undoing it all. Making him a person again...

Don't think about it. ...She was a good baker. The food was good. But he didn't deserve good.

Nightwatch crouched atop one of the turnbuckles, waiting for her to enter the ring again. They had done less sparring than anything else. Their hand to hand training more consisting of technique and situational lessons. But they had to spar too; it was important to practice so the skills could be blended. And she still had to become accustomed to violence, ready to accept it when it was needed.

When she got into the ring and signaled her readiness, he raised his head and looked down at her from his perch. "We need to talk." Nightwatch sprang at her, flipping up into the air and coming down with a brutal ax kick that she avoided with a flitting step to the side. He swung up to catch her counter, pushing her away and pressing forward with a few quick punches meant to create separation as much as anything else. "I need to know why you talk to drug dealers instead of beating them. They're a plague. And word is you talk to them and then let them go."

"I need to know why." His voice was more tense than normal. "What are you doing with them?" Her answer would determine whether this stayed sparring or not.

God, please. Please let her still be light. Don't let him have stained himself further for nothing.
 
"We need to talk"

That didn't sound very good-!

"I told you before-" She was quick enough to avoid taking the punches directly, moving around the blows. A plague...? "My primary goal isn't to punish people. I'm trying to build, not tear down."

She ducked and spun around him, hesitant to strike back while they spoke. "A-and they're people, not a plague." Anxiety flickered through her eyes, over her delicate features. Was...was he angry with her? It might be better to talk this over NOT in the ring.

"Drugs are the plague. But some of these guys, to them, it's just a job. It's how they're taking care of their kids, or maybe funding their own habit-they don't know any different or they've lost sight of other options. Putting them in the hospital doesn't help them. And it doesn't make that spot any safer when another dealer replaces him."

"T-this "them" thing-that isn't right Nightwatch. I believe in the law too, but if you lump the...the large chunk of the population that tends to stray into a category that can be indiscriminately, um-" She didn't finish the sentence, feeling even more anxious. She wasn't here to lecture him. She just needed to explain, and hopefully he would understand, and things would be okay.

"I-I'm sorry, let's stop, I can explain the plan better-"
 
Law? She believed in the law? And thought he did? "We don't believe in the law. We put on the mask to do things the law says,we can't. The things the law is too corrupt or lazy to do." It was an inherent truth about being a superhero. The law could be corrupted and bought. The mask couldn't. The law had limits and boundaries that mask tore right through with impunity. "The law is rotten. Weak. Just like the people who want it to protect them but to use it against their neighbors, their tenants, their customers. The law exists to serve their predation."

He came at her in a flurry of kicks, using his longer limbs to put her at a disadvantage. A challenge to her to close the distance. "We stop when I say," he snarled. "If you can't fight with a distraction, you shouldn't be in that costume." It was the first time he'd mentioned her quitting since they started to train together.

Nightwatch was angry with her, he realized. He felt almost betrayed. How could she work with them?

"They're people, are they? What about their victims? The lives they destroy? Does it matter one bit if it's "just a job" to them?" Nightwatch lunged in an attempt to grab her, "They don't care about the damage they do! Doesn't that mean something? He can't always get away! There must be consequences!"
 
A flare of hurt in those blue eyes when he snarled at her, the heroine wavering. She took a kick, then two-losing her nerve in the face of his anger. It hurt her feelings. She had been working so very hard, and improved a lot, and he was right but...

Her expression was becoming more and more troubled as he went on and pressed the advantage-but when he lunged for her she had had enough. Concerned Citizen was gone, dropped into a roll and out under the ropes before he could even retract his arms.

She landed a little hard on her side but didn't dare pause there-shoving herself to her feet and turning to face him, Concerned Citizen ripped the protective helmet off her blonde head and hurled it towards the ring hard.

"I am NOT going to spar with you angry!" She said firmly, her pretty eyes blazing. "And I'm not going to let you beat the hell out of me before I can explain myself, either!" CC shook her head for emphasis, her ponytail mostly undone from the rough removal of her headgear, the waves slightly unruly with the movement.

She moved backwards towards the locker, unsure if he would press an attack anyway, despite her having left the ring. From the jumble of things in the larger pouch on her discarded belt, CC withdrew her cell phone and a worn notebook. She was breathing hard, and trying to rein herself back in. She didn't, she-she was angry. Not okay, not right. Nightwatch didn't deserve it.

"I'm not here to argue ideologies. I respect you Nightwatch, but please-you have to understand, I took up the mask with two separate goals, and neither one of them was to avenge victims, real or imagined."

She flipped through the notebook, returning to the edge of the ring. "Goal one, better the city and protect the innocent. Straightforward enough- and two, redirect the misused energies of criminals, and people associating with criminals, where possible."

She slapped the notebook on the edge of the ring and slid it in his direction. "This...well, this is called Safe Places." She said, still catching her breath, still uncharacteristically terse. "Pockets in the city where the crime rate is zero. Right now, I'm angling just for drug free. This is what I've been doing, working on."

The notebook was full of notes for various locations, including whatever hierarchy of names she had managed to get her hands on, learned from talking up thugs. She had also meticulously listed who she had spoken to and when, and what they had agreed to. Here and there, entries of people who had given up dealing altogether. For Sixth Street, Angelo Reeds had surrendered the territory to what her spidery handwriting just called "The City"

"I started by just...just talking to some of these people. I can't operate in a vacuum, I learn who's who as best I can, and I just start moving up the ladder. Sixth street is now a Safe Place. I keep convincing drug dealers to quit on Safeway Bridge, but I think the distributor is onto me, cause the last guy I had to fight."

She was watching him, had lost the uncharacteristic anger, Aimee anxiously watching the opaque mask.

"The biggest area for this month is the Downtown City Park. There are several drug lords working the area, but I'm narrowing it down to three. All I'm doing...all I'm doing is convincing them it's not worth it. In a way, I'm staking a claim, but instead of another drug ring, the claim is for the city, the community. And with the claim established I'll enforce the boundary, because the people deserve the pocket of safety."

"All gathered information is passed along to the police, just in case someone there would do something with it. I know...I know it's not all it should be, but I believe in the law. At least the spirit of it. A mask can...can supplement the law, even if not wholly bound to it, right? I'm not an elected official, there has to be a baseline, something to check and balance or else...else..." She ran a hand through her hair and dropped the subject.

He had gotten scary there. What had he thought she was doing? Dealing drugs? She wasn't sure, and perhaps even this would be damning in his eyes, and that would probably be bad for her health.
 
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Her dodge was excellent. A masterful escape; which was always a valid tactic. But that fury he'd been fighting flared inside him at it. Nightwatch had a hand on the top rope and a foot on the bottom, ready to go over it at her when he stopped.

Good God. What was he doing?

He knew it would be hard. That it would be dangerous. That the monsters would crave her light; hating it and envying it. Doing all they could to devour it. But he'd forgotten.

Forgotten that he was just as monstrous as those he hated. Just as tainted. As stained. Just as hungry for her light.

His chest and shoulders heaved as he fought back something that would come out as either a scream or a sob. He would not to either. He refused. Nightwatch wouldn't. Nightwatch could not make those sounds. Never. That's why he'd buried himself in Nightwatch so deeply, tried so hard to erase being a man.

Nightwatch didn't say anything when she threw her headgear at the ring. At him. "You are right," he said softly, his voice almost dazed. Then he cleared his throat, shaking his head. "You're right. I'm sorry. It was wrong. I was wrong, to bring this up this way."

Wrong again. Wrong about so much. Wrong was all he had left, all that he was now. His wrong would brush against her right the more they were together and it would burn him, and her if he wasn't careful.

Monstrous. Unforgivable. As unforgivable as the metal slowly heating in the Orrery's equipment ring. As his failure to save them. To catch Him.

He looked down at the notebook she offered, not really seeing it. The vigilante heard what she said. Safe Places. If only it could work. They wouldn't let it. The criminals or the cops or the wealthy. But...but could it? Could it? He wished it could.

He crouched down and picked the notebook up. "You've done a lot. It's impressive. I...wish it could work." Nightwatch turned the notebook around and handed it back through the ropes to her. He let go of it as soon as she had a grasp, as if afraid of making any further contact between them, even second hand such as holding the same item. He couldn't risk staining her with his touch. His presence.

How could she stand to be in the same room as him?

"I can't believe in the law. The people, the institution . I just don't have that left in me anymore." Why was he telling her this? "But it's good you do. Maybe...maybe there is someone you can reach. I...I wish there was."

He had to leave. Now.

Nightwatch rose up. "You did the right thing to end the session tonight. I will...understand if you prefer to train alone from now on." His hands curled into tight fists and then he forced himself to relax them. "The Orrery is yours if so. I will not come back here."

He retreated across the ring and flipped over the ropes on the other side, farthest away from her. "Don't answer now. Think about it. You know how to contact me either way." Nightwatch strode away from the training area towards the nearest exit as fast as he could. "I need to go. I'm sorry."
 
He sounded so...dazed, out of it. Aimee felt bad for getting angry. She felt TERRIBLE for getting angry. She didn't even try to convince him it would work, or-well, anything really. She was busy being worried over him.

He flipped over the ropes on the other side of the ring. She took a few steps to her right, meaning to go around it and catch up to him, but he was already heading towards the door.

"Nightwatch-"

"Don't answer now. Think about it. You know how to contact me either way."

"But-"

"I need to go. I'm sorry."

She'd broken him! Aimee sat on the stairs dumbly, brilliant blue eyes on the exit, then her notebook, then the empty room. What...what had just happened?

Twenty minutes later, a call went through, the first time Aimee had used her earbud.

"Nightwatch? I...you forgot your cranberry bread." Her voice was soft and a little concerned, gentle and apologetic. "I left them here for you. I'll see you next Wednesday, okay? Please...be careful out there."


////////////////////////////////////////////////////
NEXT WEEK, TUESDAY

Concerned Citizen was finding nothing. No social media, no public tax records, nothing on Rudolf Kinkaid. She had promised to look into it for one of USPlacement's recent recruitments, a former drug dealer turned construction worker-his sister had gone missing days ago, after going to nanny for Mr. Kinkaid.

As far as she could tell, he didn't exist-but that didn't mean much. She was limited to Google and whatever sleuthing a regular civilian could accomplish. Although...she did have The Compiler's number. She hadn't spoken to him yet, was nervous about it. But a woman was missing, and the police weren't able-or willing- to do much about it.

Touching at the patch on her ball cap, Aimee tapped the ear bud, hitting a button on her phone despite the voice activation. She had hovered over Nightwatch's entry for several seconds before finally clicking on Compilers. She hoped he was doing okay. She had been tempted to call him with some contrived excuse a few times, but wasn't sure what to say. She was thinking she'd bake something to go with Apple Cider for tomorrow. Maybe something with pecans-though she had yet to determine if he liked nuts or not. Shoot. Maybe twisted donuts?

God, she hoped he was okay.

The line rang a few times, picked up. "Mr. Compiler? This is Concerned Citizen-sorry about the hour.”
 
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The city stank. The air seemed even more polluted and bitter than usual. The lights were fainter and the dark shapes of buildings seemed to claw at the in desperation. Nightwatch had made it back to his hellhole, the place he belonged, in record time on his motorcycle, trying to outrun those Caribbean eyes.

But they haunted him. As did other eyes behind them. Gwen's. Karen's. Tomoko's. Francine's. And dozens more.

All eyes that he'd failed. That he'd hurt.

He felt the earbud vibrate and a faint robotic voice spoke up, "Inbound; Concerned Citizen." His heart flipped up and down in his chest. He felt...afraid. He was scared to answer. When was the last time he was scared of anything? He let the call pass to his voicemail.

Coward.

Monster.

He listened to it and his heart ached. Her voice was sad, hesitant, even apologetic. She had nothing to apologize for. He was the one in the wrong.

Bastard.

She wanted to keep working with him. More than he deserved. He looked at his reflection in the dark window of the high rise he was crouched on top of. "Lucky you," he growled at his reflection. "You escape again." Like with the Mask Killer. He had never come after Nightwatch, had ignored his existence.

Wretch.

Nightwatch leaped into nothing, plummeting in freefall for a few heartbeats before his grapnel fired out and connected. He swung up and out sailing over the dirty streets. He felt something churning in him. Some pressure building. He had to do something before it burst. Punish the wicked. Avenge the innocent. Hurt those who deserved it and get hurt himself. He deserved it so richly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

There had been 36 people in The Ruckus when Nightwatch came smashing through the large plate glass window that was hung with signs and neo-Nazi flags and slogans. Glass and plastic rained onto the floor and those seated nearest the window. The vigilante had straightened up and his voice rolled out over the blare of heavy metal. "Tell me where you got the guns and I walk away."

The fight started after a startled second.

The doors burst open as skinheads, militia wannabes, the staff, and the handful of women dragged along fled the carnage. Nightwatch moved through the place like a wrecking ball; where he landed, men and furniture flew into the air or were smashed down into the grimy floor. Cartilage cracked, bones broke, blood spattered floors and walls. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Metal bent and snapped. Men shouted, swore, and screamed. A single gunshot rang out and on it's heels came the loudest scream of all and then silence.

The bar was trashed. Most of the tables and chairs were broken. Every one of the tvs were smashed, one with a stool sticking into its' flat screen and the wall behind it. Men lay all over, groaning softly or simply slumped in unconsciousness. Nightwatch was hunched over in the middle of it all, breathing heavily. In that small space, with that many foes, he'd taken some hits. But not enough. It hurt. But not enough.

A skittering motion in a corner drew his attention. His head rose to take in a rail thin, bleach bottle blond man sporting a Himmler style fade was trying to sneak out while trembling in fear like a rabbit. Nightwatch let out a loud snort and darted across the space to pin him against the wall with one hand. "When I have to repeat myself, I get angry." He leaned in. "Where did you get the guns?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

The morning news led with the story of Nightwatch's assault on Ruckus and then a warehouse on the docks that ended with agents of the ATF being called in to seize hundreds of illegal firearms, grenades, and other military grade weapons. Some noted it was the first time the city's dark vigilante had done anything so high profile or such a serious attack on the city's underworld in years.

Then the next night he hit a series of meth labs. The night after that he took down and exposed the city's chop shops. The night after that he took apart the dog fighting ring.

The news reported the stories as little as possible but the town's underworld was feeling. Nightwatch was on a tear. And he didn't show any signs of slowing down. He was hurling himself into confrontation after confrontation, night after night, no longer content to patrol and stop what small scale crime he could. Though he still did that. There reports of him being seen during the day; before sunset and after dawn.

If any of the gangs or dealer chains that had agreed to Concerned Citizen's Safe Places noticed that they weren't being cracked down on, they kept their mouths shut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Water poured over Nightwatch's naked body in the shower. His body was a mass of bruises in various stages of healing. Here and there were mending cuts where a knife had gotten through his costume; none had needed stitches yet.

The water beat down on him, raising stinging pain. Glorious. Right. What he needed and deserved.

~~~~~~~​

There was a click and Concerned Citizen heard the line open. "Compiler here." The voice was natural; no distortions or filters like Nightwatch used. "Don't worry, I'm kind of a night owl. Thank you though; the other guys never apologize."

In his creche, surrounded by monitors and computers, his fingers flying. "I've got you locked. I'm surprised it took you so long to reach out to me. I only bit Nightwatch once and he sorely deserved it. Plus I was turning into a werewolf at the time; long story. What have you got for me?"
 
"I didn't want to bother you- wait, a werewolf?" A soft laugh came through the line, caught off guard enough to be pulled out of her normal introductory awkwardness.

"It's nice to 'meet' you." She said, then glanced to her notebook. "Not much, I'm sorry-I'm trying to find a Mr Rudolf Kinkaid, in regards to a woman who went missing a few days ago. The brother says she went to work for him and that was the last he heard from her. I'm coming up empty here, can you please see what you can find?"
 
Compiler smiled into his headset. She was charming, this girl. Polite, sweet. No wonder Danny was going insane, well...more insane, trying to save her. "Rudolf Kinkaid? That's an unusual name. That'll help. Got a spelling? Known business? Associates?"

His fingers flew as he typed, activating programs and searching. His own technopathic powers activated as his mind reached out and through the computers; code flying across his eyes as green digits and letters.

"While the search runs...how are you doing? Nightwatch, he's being all right to you, isn't he? If he's doing things he shouldn't, or making you uncomfortable, you tell me, all right? He and I go back. I can settle him if I need to."

He thought. He hoped.

"But yeah, a werewolf. There was this guy called Doctor Toxic. That name, right? Anyway. He usually did stuff with gasses but this one time he got his hand on some mutagen stuff and I end up dosed with it and...started getting all furry and bitey. I mean, Lon Chaney Wolfman furry and bitey. It's funny now, but I was half out of my mind with fear and the other half with...wolfness?"

He laughed and sighed, "Nightwatch, well, he was Dawnguard then." Should he tell her that? She was smart enough to figure that out. No harm, right? "Anyway, I see him talking to my-" He stopped, his voice catching. "...my girlfriend. Kirionna, Lady Mist in English." His voice had lost it's boisterous vitality and was simply sad and longing. He sighed once more and then continued, his happier tone returning somewhat. "Anyway, I see him talking to her, they're standing close, she puts her hand on his arm and-boom! Wolf time! I can across and started biting and clawing at him, howling about "Mah woo-man!" and Tomoko can't stop laughing to help fight me off-"

There was a beep. "Ha! Got him. Rudolf Kinkaid. That spelling is unique. Interesting your missing woman went to work for him; he's only existed for three years. Totally fake identity." Compiler reached out and the data danced, forming into patterns, breaking away what was irrelevant. "Huh. Speak of the devil. So. Rudolf Kinkaid is actually Doctor Raymond Killian, AKA Doctor Toxic. Seems like he's left the fancy name behind...shit."

Compiler licked his lips. "...You might want to clue Nightwatch in on this one, CC. Can I call you CC? Seems like Rudolf Kinkaid specializes in supplying girls, boys, and women to the bad men of the city. He's a human trafficker. Probably uses his drugs to hook them and keep them docile. Odds are good your contacts sister is...well. You know."

"I have a few addresses; residence, place of business, real place of business, and a few that are probably his brothels."
 
"He's...he's been a lot of help." She said truthfully, nodding out of habit, even though Compiler couldn't see that. "I'm trying to make friends, but also trying to keep out of his way." She was concerned about him. It didn't seem right to talk about it with Compiler behind his back, so she wouldn't-but she was worried about Nightwatch's state of mind, that dark toxicity he kept himself in.

The "Them" mentality.

Maybe he should talk to Compiler more. It sounded like happier times-Aimee certainly liked to hear about them. She made a confirmation noise about Nightwatch being Dawnguard, having already figured that out, and listened to the story, feeling a pang of sadness for Compiler and Nightwatch both as names she recognized as being gone came up. He picked the happy timbre back up however-she was sorry when he was interrupted. "A former masked villian gone white collar then?" She scribbled down what he told her, slowing up as he went on.

Silence on Aimee's end.

"...oh. That's...oh. O-okay, I'll pass that along when I see him next. That's-that's awful. I'll take the addresses. I'll take-I'll take everything, please."

She scribbled furiously, a quick note as to what each thing was, circling the real place of business address. "I'll have to catch the rest of your story later, for sure Compiler-" She was saying, heading back to where she had left her car, moving at a fast clip.

"Thank you so much for the help. I'll-well, I'll talk to you soon-let me know if you ever need anything from me out here, okay?" She said it almost in habit, but also sincerely, even if she wasn't sure what she could possibly provide for either him or Nightwatch.

More baked goods maybe?
 
The dusky skinned technopath couldn't help but smile. This girl was...nice. Dumb as it was, that meant something. "That's what I'm here for, CC. You can call me whenever, even if you just want to talk. It can get lonely out there, and, well, you've seen what wearing a mask can do to someone."

Poor screwed up Danny. Nightwatch, really. He wasn't sure there was anything of his old friend left some days.

When she signed off, he sighed. She wasn't going to tell Nightwatch. He could tell; this wasn't his first rodeo. "All right, CC...let's keep you alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|​

Nightwatch dropped the weakly stirring man to the floor. He was the last of the four men guarding this shipment. The others were scattered around the street near the white panel van. Drug running used to be so under the radar, so secretive. These days it was just cases in the back of a van. He broke open the cases, scattering the product on the floor. A throwing knife cut open plastic pouches to spill their contents. Then he hopped out of the back and pulled another item from a hidden compartment; a flare.

He ignited it and tossed it in the back of the van. It blazed normally for a few moments before the scattered drugs caught. Yellow orange light poured out over him and the street as the fire roared to life and spread. Nightwatch watched it burn for a few seconds and then turned away. He tapped his earbud, "Fire Department." It dialed and there was a click. Before the person on the other end answered, he spoke, "Vehicle fire at the 3600 block of Rich Street. White panel van, plate is stolen, drug related, be careful of the smoke."

"What? Who's-"

"Nightwatch." He cut the call. His right arm lifted with his grapnel and he swung up into the night of the city as the pummeled men began to get up, shaking their heads and staring as tens of millions went up in smoke.

Nightwatch landed on a nearby rooftop. This was more of a stroke of luck than his recent rampage against the city's darkness. But he had set out tonight with another action in mind before getting tipped to the shipment. His earbud buzzed, "Inbound; Compiler."

That was unusual. Nightwatch tapped it, "Here, Compiler."

"Nightwatch. I just talked to your girl, Concerned Citizen."

"She's her own woman, her own hero, Compiler."

"And thank goodness for that! But I wanted to clue you in on what she's about to jump headfirst into. Killian's in your city. He's basically running human trafficking and the sex trade."

Nightwatch growled, "Doctor Toxic, here? Send me the info, I'll take him down. She's getting better and she's got potential, but..."

"Yeah, she's trying to fight over her weight class. Sending." There was a fee moments of silence. "Danny, listen."

"Night-"

"Knock it off, all right? I know you want Danny Raines gone but I don't, so just forget that with me! Now listen. This girl...I get it. One conversation with her and I get it. We can't let Him get her."

Nightwatch stepped away from the roof edge. His heart was suddenly pounding. "Compiler, what are you saying?"

The technopath's smile could almost be heard in his voice. "I'm in. You and me. We're going to find a way to do it. To kill Him and save her. I'm with you, Danny."

With him. No one had been...he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Thank you. Jake. Thank you."

"Thank me if you live through it. I know you've got plans. What do you need?"

He really didn't intend to live through it. "I need information on neotronium. Working it, using it, containment, anything and everything." He started to move again, firing the grapple line and swinging away. "At some point I need Ironclad or Hurricane's blueprints but without being able to use the neotronium, they won't do much good."

"Heavy firepower, but yeah, makes sense. Their files will be hard to crack but...I think I can do it." There was the sound of rapid typing. "It feels...different, after talking to her, doesn't it?"

"Yes." It did now too. Why? Nothing had changed. "I'm enroute to the business address you sent me."

"Good. She's not there yet." So he could track the ear buds and hadn't told her. No harm, right? "I think it's best if you can beat her there."

"She obeys traffic laws. Aa the crow flies, I'll get there well ahead of her." That could be intense. It would be their first meeting since last week's training blow up. But...he owed her another in person apology. Once this was over.
 
"Yeah...yeah, I guess I have. Thank you again, Compiler. Have a good night."

She felt a little better, even in the face of this awful Dr. Toxic. Compiler seemed very nice. She felt a little more legitimate as a hero, him welcoming her to call.

Just like she had when working with Nightwatch the night the museum was bombed.

She was coming up on her car, retrieving the keys from her pouch as she tapped the earbud back off. Poor Nightwatch. She...there was a way to help him, she just had to think on it some more, try harder. Cookies were nice, but he just had...so much hurt. She was poorly qualified for the task and unsure how to help, just yet, but she was there.

She started up, hiding her masked face with the visor, the vest and hat slipped into the box. She typed the address into her phone's GPS, frowning.

This Dr. Toxic...he wasn't going to be allowed to keep doing what he was doing. Kids? Really? She thought of her students, she thought of the vulnerable, low income women he was preying on, women like Trisha's mother. No...no, she'd talk to Nightwatch tomorrow, they could come up with a plan. He'd know what to do.

For now though, she had to track down Miss Johnson, hopefully before he shipped her off to God knows where. Hopefully she'd find something about her in his office.

Stopping at another red light, Aimee drove in troubled silence.

/////////////////////////////////////
No doggie doors, this time.

Concerned Citizen circled the building, stepping back a pace to look upwards at the older brick building. From what she could see through the window down here, it had been updated on the inside, but the exterior looked much the same as it probably had the past fifty years or so.

No fire escape though. She was pretty sure that was a code violation, but the building was only four, maybe floor high, so maybe not. Her eyes caught on a drainage pipe on one corner of the building, the windows close to it. They looked to be regular windows, they didn't start until the second floor. High up, but not too high-she would have preferred not having to climb, though. Of course, that was hoping it wasn't locked.

Aimee sighed, but she started towards it anyway, zipping the red vest up to her chin. And up Concerned Citizen went.

------

Fourth floor. She had had to climb to the FOURTH FLOOR, with no safety net, tie, or otherwise. Crawling through the small window, she had to pause a minute, her legs shaking. She was still having nightmares about the Christine West rescue-sometimes they both fell, down and down and-

Shaking her head and steeling her resolve, Aimee pulled her flashlight-but after a moment, she realized she was seeing fine due to safety nightlights on the walls. Oh, good. Stowing it back away, she crept along the wall, looking for a bigger office of some kind, but this floor just looked like storage.

She found a side door, stairs, and started down them, her bright yellow sneakers-finally replaced!-silent with her creeping steps.
 
The building was unremarkable to most eyes; a four story brownstone office building that was closed. But to Nightwatch's eyes, it screamed out that it was a hideout. The fire escape had been removed to limit access points. There was no graffiti on the dark stone anywhere. The windows were neither barred, boarded over, or broken. They were frosted to prevent any look inside. The air conditioning units and air control on the roof were also newer, top line models, though the outside of the building looked neglected otherwise.

Someone was there doing something no one was supposed to see and had paid off and intimidated everyone into leaving them alone to do it.

This was the place.

He broke into the roof access for the service elevator and slid down the cables to the car. The experienced crime fighter braced his legs against the corner of the shaft to check the car for occupancy before opening the access hatch. He dropped into the car wincing at the slight thump. Giving himself away could be very risky if Doctor Toxic had any victims here. Odds were good that he did. They'd be prepped here using his personal drug cocktail and then shipped out on demand. Could be on the upper level or the basement but not the ground floor...too many ways out if someone did get loose. He levered the elevator door open and slipped out.

Old offices and meeting rooms of lab equipment and cooking chemicals were most of what he found. The cubicle farms had been felt behind as well so that even the open spaces had a claustrophobic feeling to them. Killian would like that. It would make the space more disorienting to an escapee. Most of the building only had old emergency lights on, which made it easier to sneak around and to navigate to the important spots; those were the ones with actual lights on.

Like the office with the full wall window that overlooked the cubicle farm on the fourth floor. That massive window was frosted but that couldn't conceal the lights on inside.

Nightwatch crept up the stairs and then the office landing. He could hear voices inside but not quite make out the words. Both voices were male. Both were familiar. It was very good that he'd beaten Concerned Citizen here. Killian was bad enough but she wasn't ready for the other voice. Not by half.

He slid up to the door. "You know," he heard the precise enunciation of the scientist turned super villain turned flesh peddler, "it says a great deal about your psychology that you put that back on." Rudolf Kinkaid aka Raymond Killian aka Doctor Toxic was a bit short for a man at five feet nine inches in height. He had been lean in his super villain guise but with criminal success and no competition had allowed him to go to seed, now having a bit of a gut and heavier frame. His skin was the clammy paleness of someone who spent too much time inside. His face was round and he had a sharply trimmed goatee of brown hair under deep set brown eyes and a tall forehead. His hair was natty and old fashioned in style. He wore a dark suit with thin silver pin stripes, no tie with the shirt underneath which was unbuttoned partway down his pasty chest. "That age is over, my friend."

"I'm not so sure. Besides, when Nightwatch does show up, you'll be glad. It's a lot easier to move in this than in a suit." Chien Lin aka Thunderstorm was just an inch taller than his employer but the similarities ended there. Thunderstorm was all lean, agile muscle, corded and strong without even the illusion of sacrificing dexterity for power. He was clad in a dark grey body suit that clung to him like a second skin; the grey was lighter in color here and there, simulating the roiling clouds of his namesake. A thin belt of white was around his waist, connecting to a bandolier that went up to and over his left shoulder; a pistol was holstered at the front of his shoulder and a slender bladed sword was sheathed at his back. A long, thin bladed knife hung at his right hip. He wore a thin, stiff helmet-like mask that covered his whole head, dark grey and streaked with bolts of lightning that also served as translucent viewports. "Don't complain at me because you couldn't fit into your old costume."

Killian flushed. Then he snorted, "Have it your way...Thunderstorm." The super villain turned proper criminal shook his head, "Nightwatch and you are all that are left of that world in this city. It'll all be gone soon."

Thunderstorm tilted his head. "Sooner than you think."

Nightwatch threw himself away from the door a moment before three bullets blasted through it; the gunshots like thunder. He heard Killian swearing, "What the hell was that?"

"He's here. Finally." Thunderstorm started to come through the door, his drawn pistol leading the way. Nightwatch pivoted where he'd rolled and launched himself upward, coming up under the warrior for hire's outstretched arm, slamming it into the door frame, the gun falling from briefly numb fingers. "Gah! Ha ha, good!" The Chinese born fighter kicked out, his knee striking the hero's side and forcing him to release the arm to avoid further punishment. "I've been killing petty crooks too long. You should hear them talk, Nightwatch! They're terrified of you. But I've been hoping you would show so I could kill someone worthwhile for a change."

"Unless you're going to eat that gun or fall on your sword, you'll be disappointed." The vigilante surged forward and threw a series of punches. Thunderstorm danced back with a savage, snarling laugh. He darted in a counter rush, striking back with a series of thrust-like punches. Nightwatch slapped them aside or raised his knees to deflect, forcing the two men to move back into the office deeper. He began to counter, punches and open hand strikes flying between the two men only to be blocked or dodged. Then each suddenly shifted just slightly and each struck, both men landing a blow to the other man's jaw. They held there for a moment and then both hopped back.

Thunderstorm worked his jaw under his mask. "You've improved."

"Hn. And you've gotten slow killing mobsters and gang bangers." A thin trail of blood leaked from the left corner of his lips.

"N-Nightwatch!" Killian had stumbled out of his chair, back against the wall. "Like old times...where's Starlight, though? Oh, that's right. I watched that video." He smirked and then gestured, "Thunderstorm, stop talking and kill him!"

"It's already done," the mercenary sneered. "I'll show you whose slow, you bastard." He did a quick pivot, snapping his arm to throw his knife at the hero. Nightwatch had started moving at the same moment Thunderstorm did, sliding to the side so the blade simply cut a glancing streak on his left bicep. The villain spun into a flat handed knife strike that Nightwatch caught on both forearms. Thunderstorm pressed his attack, driving a knee strike into the hero's left ribcage.

As he struck, Nightwatch retaliated. His left arm shot back along the angle of his foe's outstretched limb to crack into his shoulder, physically pushing Thunderstorm back. His right foot swung up to kick hard into the other man's thigh, then stepping into him and swinging an elbow up that cracked hard on the back of Thunderstorm's head. The killer stumbled forward but lashed out with a kick of his own, disrupting Nightwatch's momentum, tumbling into a forward roll. He kicked off the wall and stretched his whole body out in a leap, flying over Nightwatch's head to land on Killian's desk. He then went into a flurry of moves, punching and snapping quick kicks.

Nightwatch blocked madly. Thunderstorm pressed his attack harder, faster. This was like that night...there! The villain threw a punch with just a little too much force; rather than block, he stepped in and grabbed, pivoting and bending, using Thunderstorm's own momentum to throw him bodily against the frosted glass window that made up the office's outer wall. It exploded from the force, glass raining down as the hired slayer fell through the air to crash down somewhere in the cube farm below.

The hero slowly stood. "You fight with all hard styles. A little soft, and down you go."

"Quite right." Killian was beside him with a spray can and it hissed as a cold mist hit his face hard. Nightwatch shook his head and stepped back, a fist pulling back, only to keep going back, his feet too slow to respond. He hit the wall of the office with a grunt. "Well! It does work." The vigilante shook his head; hard to focus, to think. "My own anti-Nightwatch spray. A concentrated and aerosolized Rohypnol. Do you know how hard it was to make this? I'll make a fortune with it though. The frat market alone will make me millions."

Nightwatch lunged forward but his body didn't move fast enough, the hero merely falling forward, catching himself on his hands and knees. "Nuh-not going to get...chance...going to..stuhp you.."

"Hardly. Thunderstorm, I'm sure you can kill him now. Do give Starlight my regards. Tell her I loved it best when the Mask Killer did her doggy style facing the camera. Her expression...pure art!"
 
There was the softest crunch of glass as a familiar red and yellow clad woman came into view, interrupting Killian’s movement to leave. Brilliant blue eyes spared a worried, anxious glance in Nightwatch’s direction-then flicked back to the Killian, who seemed just as surprised to see her there. “H-hello.”

God only knew how quickly she’d climbed the stairs or not-had she even seen the other man go flying?

The scientist looked at her, then back to Nightwatch-and laughed. “Who the fuck is this? New sidekick?” His eyes glinted as he looked back to the new heroine, her homemade costume, the sporty baseball cap and cheery yellow CC emblem patches on it and her vest. Bright yellow shoes amused him further. “Come to party sweetheart? Bet I have a place for you”.

She ignored the rudeness, slowly moving further into the office. “L-look, I just want to, to t-take my friend here and l-leave.” Concerned Citizen didn’t typically talk with her hands-was kind of quiet and shy, really- but she was doing so now. It looked natural enough, small movements out in front of her, placating, calming. The attempt to talk the opponent down was certainly expected, though...illogical in this case. As usual when she was anxious, there were a few stutters. But why was she closing the distance if she was so nervous, scared and trying to avoid a fight?

“Look at that! You’re being rescued Nightwatch! By a little girl, no less.” Killian said with a snort.

She had moved to be just slightly to the man’s left, nearly on the same side of the office as the vigilante. Krillian was facing Nightwatch more than he was the petite blonde woman in red and yellow, seemingly a little puzzled by her, maybe amused-but she was closer now, within arm’s reach.

“No big deal, right?” No stutter, no hesitation. Her hands stilled. His mouth opened, no doubt to tell her exactly how big of a deal that was going to be-and Concerned Citizen surged forward, right hand darting for a hard strike to his jaw, her shoulder and hip following the movement, coming between them. The ugly crack and the ensuing, strangled shout of pain made it clear she had either broken or dislodged his jaw.

His opposite hand pulled something from his pocket-but too late, she kneed him hard in the groin. She couldn’t mess around, she didn’t know what he had done to Nightwatch and Compiler had mentioned gasses. And even if she would have felt bad-she didn’t. He sold children. By the time he was dropping to his knees, she was hitting him hard across the temple with the heavy, black cloth sap. Out like a sack of bricks.

Okay. Well, that had gone surprisingly well-her hands were shaking a little, but she was uninjured. No time to relish the victory however-not that she ever relished hurting people. She turned and beelined for Nightwatch, dropping down next to him and pressing her hands on his shoulders to right him, guide him back on his knees. Those Caribbean blue eyes were full of worry and alarm. “Oh no-Did he shoot at you? Are you okay?” She had assumed, incorrectly, that the gunshots were what eventually broke the glass. Her eyes swept over his chest, looking for injury.

She had not seen the other man, it seemed.
 
Behind his mask, Nightwatch's eyes went wide when he heard her voice. No. No! He tried to lean up, to see her, to warn her, but he merely flopped limply up and then fell back down again, barely catching himself this time. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. His eyelids were ever heavier. His tongue was thick and useless in his mouth. "Guh, go, out f' hrr," he tried to speak.

What was in that spray? Rohypnol? Shouldn't have effected him this hard, this fast, and through just breathing it in? Or skin contact?

She was stuttering. Afraid. Fear would kill her. He told her! He told her! Not like this. Nightwatch tried to move, even at a crawl towards Killian, to mount some kind of attack. He fumbled forward in a not quite crawl, barely making a few inches of progress before his head swam so much he had to stop.

Concerned Citizen was near him now. He could see her coming in on the left, close to Killian. Her movements were steady. Her footing solid. Braced. Wait, was she-

The little blond exploded into movement and there was the familiar dull snap of broken bone as she slugged the immoral scientist. He crumpled in a heap from her groin shot and black jack follow up. Nightwatch blinked owlishly at the scene. She'd...she'd suckered him in.

He almost laughed. But then she was coming to his side. She wasn't looking out for Thunderstorm. No. She didn't know he was there! “Oh no-Did he shoot at you? Are you okay?”

He shook his head and almost fell over. "Nuh-no, shot door. Notth hymm." He growled and slapped at the floor weakly in frustration. "Ruhmm, runn, run! Thunder, he's hrrr too!"

The glass crunched again, this time it was a firm step that was almost a stomp that did it. "He means me, girl." Thunderstorm stood in the doorway, his form blocking out the light from outside, casting a shadow into the trashed office. "Thunderstorm." He was sure she'd heard of him, so he didn't elaborate further.

He scoffed as he took another step into the room, eyes sweeping over Killian's crumpled form. "Nice work, Blondie. I heard there was another mask on the streets. I was hoping you'd actually get good before we crossed paths. Bad luck, but hey, I'll make it quick. Better me than the Mask Killer."

Thunderstorm looked past her to Nightwatch. "I'll be with you in a minute, Nightwatch. This one won't take long. It'll be too bad to kill you like this; I wanted it to be the end of a real fight...but I've lived with disappointment before."

Nightwatch pushed at Concerned Citizen with a weak, pawing hand, "Run, I'lkg, I'll fuught hym. Pleas...can' see...agen."

Thunderstorm walked slowly, lazily forward, shaking his head. "Come on, Blondie. Let's get it over with."
 
Her brow furrowed as he told her to run, something about Thunder…? Realization that he was trying to convey a dire warning dawned-and then the glass crunched. A quick glance over her shoulder to confirm that, indeed-Kinkaid wasn’t the only threat. Aimee recognized the costume, and the name. She felt her heart rate increase even further, that rabbit pace, the fear and anxiety gnawing away at her. In no way could she handle someone like Thunderstorm.

She was going to die.

Aimee turned to look back at Nightwatch, her blue eyes widened, panicked. She was scared. No, she was terrified. She knew who he was, Nightwatch would be able to tell-and his weak plea just about brought on tears. Carefully and with a tremor to her hands, she eased Nightwatch down onto his side, a recovery position. She squeezed his shoulder and favored him with one of those small, nervous little smiles of hers. Then the doomed heroine slowly rose to her feet as she turned to face Thunderstorm, standing between him and the fallen vigilante-all five feet and three inches of her. She...she was all there was.

Thunderstorm was moving lazily towards them at this point, another condescending reference to her hair.

“It’s...it’s C-concerned Citizen. B-blondie is...is a c-comic strip.”

What? THAT was going to be her comic book hero quip? And stuttering. Afraid. She was going to die a coward, and she was going to do it in front of Nightwatch, further traumatizing him-oh God, she wasn’t thinking, should have turned him the other way, not facing the carnage.

No, no, no. He deserved better than this, he deserved, deserved-oh, he deserved a much better protector than she was going to be! Her vision blurred with the thought, her knees weak.

“That...is not a very flashy name.” He told her, picking up a knife she had failed to notice on the floor. A nasty looking, curved blade meant to hurt people. He seemed slightly less bored and a little amused at her comment. A very cruel sort of amused.

He cocked his head, studying her briefly. “You look like you’re going to cry, Blondie. I said I’d make it quick-you look like a sacrificial, innocent little lamb.” A small flip of the blade.

Aimee tried to think of something else to say, but her mouth was dry and her throat so tight she couldn’t swallow. Think...had to think. The mercenary wasn’t taking her seriously, which was good-she needed every scrap of advantage she could get. Her eyes flicked this way and that over his form. He was cut up, had already been in a fight with Nightwatch. Moving one arm and shoulder ever so stiffly, she noticed. He was as big as Frank but smaller than Nightwatch and, like most people, towered over her. Over half a foot, in this case. He had a sword, and if she somehow put up enough of a fight to press him and gave him the space-it was probably what would he would use. Aimee had no idea how combat a sword. And she was all there was.

He was going to kill her.

And then he was going to kill Nightwatch.

”When you protect someone-”

She wouldn’t let him die.

Concerned Citizen felt a surge of conviction, her blurred vision clearing. That elusive, determined finality of choice. She was all there was. But...but she was enough. God dammit, she...she’d knock him on his ass!

To Thunderstorm’s apparent amusement, Concerned Citizen took two steps forward and dropped a little lower, hands up and ready, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of her spaced feet-a mixture of her boxing stance and her instructor’s Krav Maga stance. The tough Israeli woman wasn’t her only teacher however.

Now fight like you mean it!

Yessir.

He surged for her with a laugh and she smacked his hand away with her right forearm, a feminine outburst of anger. She almost, almost got to that side of him, outside the arm-but didn’t quite make it, he was nearly as fast as she was-maybe faster. He also had not dropped the knife-but she only barely registered that as he twisted to follow her, attempting a tackle. Stance even lower, she threw her arm up into his injured shoulder, almost into crook of his neck-so close her hat was knocked off her head-creating space between them, her hips as far back as possible so he couldn't, hopefully, pick her up and throw her. Her other hand curled into a fist and slammed into his face from underneath. Fast, hard strikes-meant to harm, meant to knock him senseless.

Thunderstorm was caught off guard by the sudden speed and ferocity in a girl who, seconds before, had been on the verge of tears. He was worn down and ached from the fall, the girl’s strikes rattling his already rattled brain. But he was much stronger than she was-he pressed in, an upward stab of that knife that the vest caught, only a few millimeters getting through for her skin-the force of which nearly took her off her feet. A hard punch to her ribs from the other hand, a resulting squeak that drove her to the side.

Concerned Citizen stole his energy to spin sideways, tearing out of the low pose and shoving him, his own momentum forward staggering him. The baton came off her belt, the electricity briefly buzzing-but he came at her suddenly with the knife, right for her face-she caught the blade just barely between the tongs of the baton, a cracking noise as the thing began to bend, come apart from the base-he was bearing down on her when the electricity began to arc along the blade-and he jerked the knife back as she managed to kick hard for his knee, hoping to break it-but he was too quick-he moved and swiped the knife low, slicing her thigh right across the front, tearing the spandex and cutting her, a short sound of pain.

He reached to grab her hair, a swipe of his knife catching the vest-but she ducked and darted around him, dropping the broken baton. He was twisted with the motion, and Concerned Citizen came at him again, both hands moving in for the arm, crashing into the side of his body as he tried to right himself, face her. He was taking her seriously now. Too late.

She wrapped her hands tighter the the arm to gain full control, curling her arms up to press the lean muscled limb to her upper chest, just under her throat. And then, all in the same, decisive movement, she bashed her head violently against the side of his with more of those feminine, aggressive exhale noises through her grit teeth-the thin material cracking, splintering-striking his temple, catching his brow bone, bursts of pain exploding in her own head as she brutally used her skull as a blunt force weapon, breaking the mask/helmet, the splinters cutting her as she damn near broke him. She got him four, five times, felt his knees buckle. He had dropped the knife with a clatter and was falling forward.

Concerned Citizen grabbed a hold of the back of his head and slammed him into the desk as he fell, the helmet fully broken now and coming off in her small hand as he slumped to the floor. She stood there for several heart beats before she winced on his behalf.

“Sorry-” She breathed, dropping the mask with a staggered step back, her hands coming to her forehead, pressing against her eyes. After that second, she stepped forward again, dropped down to check that he was alive, pressing into the back of his neck and upper spine to ensure she hadn’t broken anything important. Caused a serious concussion, but he’d live. She may have also broken his nose. Mostly, she was checking that he wasn’t getting back up. She swiped her hat off the floor and wiped her arm across her forehead, frowning at the smear of blood-it was staining her blonde wispy bangs red. She rose and turned, blood spiraling down the wounded leg to stain her bright yellow shoes from the inside. She headed towards Nightwatch, a little unsteadily, tugging her baseball cap back on.

She was out of breath and seemed a little dazed-her face colored from the exertion. She’d gotten lucky-he clearly hadn’t expected the small blonde to go for him as hard as she had, had been softened up by the fight with Nightwatch and the fall. Probably the only reason the new hero was still alive-and even then, she wouldn’t be if not for the vest. The exterior of her vest had been sliced open to reveal down feathers and the stab proof material underneath, but it had saved her from disembowelment-and the attempted stab had been stopped short too, luckily. His trainee was on her feet and conscious and Thunderstorm-well, he wasn’t.

Aimee sank down, dazed eyes noticing the small canister to her right. She picked it up, not sure what it was or if that’s what had done this to him, but she pocketed it anyway. A worried furrow of her brow as the Caribbean blue eyes focused on him.

“I’m s-sorry Nightwatch. S-stay with me and we’ll get you out of here, okay?” She said in a soft, anxious but assuring tone, as if she hadn’t just beaten a man to unconsciousness, and kind of brutally so. “I’m too small to carry you, b-but you can use me to help, if you can walk. It’s...it’s going to be okay.” She sounded choked up, was struggling to stay in a mindset that could extract them from the situation.

She moved around him, lifting one of his muscular arms and trying, struggling to pull him up, get his legs under him. Her toned legs tensed and were impressively powerful, as was her back and core-she would be able to pull him most of the way up, a significant help in his state.

“J-just lean on me, and we’ll...we’ll get out of here together. Won’t even get m-murdered on the way.” She’d gotten his arm partially around her shoulders, but she was so much smaller-he’d have to lean on the hand on her opposite shoulder, the petite blonde pressed into his side, a steadying hand on his chest and the other on his back, grasping hold of the back of the belt which, hopefully, wasn’t booby trapped as the pouches were. “R-real slow on the st-stairs now.”
 
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All he could do was watch.

Thunderstorm was skilled and ruthless. He was a martial artist and killer with a global reputation. He could see that she recognized the villain, that she knew the difference between them. She gave him a smile and squeezed his shoulder, her perfect sea eyes bright but afraid. Then she turned to face Thunderstorm and walked away.

All he could do was watch. His body was not rebelling against him so much as being unable to obey his will. Nightwatch strained to stand, to move, but could barely lift himself off the floor. He would see it happen. He had seen people die; good men and women and bad alike. But not like this.

Has this been what it had been like for Jake? Watching what that bastard did to Tomoko.

Concerned Citizen's whole body spoke of her fear; of an encroaching paralysis that would mean her death. Nightwatch struggled again to rise, managing to wriggle forward with a spasmodic flop. She was facing Thunderstorm. She was beautiful. Shining brightly against the dark clad fighter. If only he'd told her, had more time to-

He paused in his struggles, head tilting. Her body language had changed. In an eye blink it was as though a different person was standing there. That was it; the resolve to fight and win. Her stance was different as well. Thunderstorm laughed and the fight started. She fought like a lioness protecting her den; savage and focused. Nightwatch could see, feel, the momentum of the fight change. He saw the moment Thunderstorm realized, far too late, that this was a fight and not an execution. By that point, it was already over.

Daniel stared at her in relief and awe. That had been brutal and wonderful. As she approached him, bloodied but victorious, he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Nightwatch worked with her as she helped him up. He growled, both from the effort and at her. She was bleeding; she had to stop the flow before she weakened from blood loss. "The...nnn, thig. Thigh," he managed, "blewd." He reached for one of his hidden compartments, fumbling, focusing through the haze to manage to open it as they were starting down the stairs, "Ussse, stop bleedig." He managed to get a hold of one of his coagulant patches and pulled it out, flapping it at her.

"Ten cahh....call Comper." His slurred speech was frustrating him more than anything else. "Call Comp liar." He was walking as best he could, managing to support most of his weight.
 
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