Are You Afraid of the Dark? Pt 11 (Patreon)

Bad Luck and Trouble

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

Saturday Evening, January 8, 2011

Director Emily Piggot

"Well." Emily looked around the expanse of Conference Room A, meeting the eyes of her PRT subordinates as well as the Protectorate heroes and Triumph, who was standing in for the Wards. "I want to say, first off, that I'm damn proud of each and every one of you. You went out there, you engaged the Empire, and you beat them. Every Empire Eighty-Eight cape known to be still in the city is currently in holding, and you put them there."

Assault raised his hand diffidently. His costume needed repair after the day's events, but he himself was hale and hearty, thanks to Panacea. "It wasn't just us. New Wave did a lot of the heavy lifting as well."

Miss Militia nodded. "That's true. They got our wounded to Panacea on time, and they were instrumental in the assault on the Medhall building."

"Which I'm actually curious about." Calvert leaned forward. His body armour was also less than pristine, but Emily had no issues with that. It showed he'd been on the front lines with the rest of them. "How did we know to hit there? This morning, we were hoping to take out the capes once they showed up to defend their followers, then all of a sudden we knew exactly who to go after, and where. What happened? Who talked?"

Emily glanced involuntarily in Assault's direction, then covered it by deliberately looking around the room once more. "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information," she said smoothly. "Suffice to say that a deep-cover source chose today to hand over the information that we acted on. It was what we needed, when we needed it."

"I'll say," murmured Triumph. Emily had heard about his takedown of Menja in Max Anders'—Kaiser's—office. He was definitely a good fit for promotion to the Protectorate proper when the time came.

"But while I would like to wax lyrical about my satisfaction with how well you all worked together and supported your comrades," she said, "this isn't the only reason I set up this meeting."

She didn't miss the way they all sat up and paid more attention. "There's another shoe, isn't there?" asked Assault. "There always is."

"There is, as you say, another shoe." Emily laced her hands together. "The Empire Eighty-Eight, although the biggest of our extant gangs until today, was not the only one. We still have the ABB and Coil's operations, as well as minor concerns such as Faultline's Crew, the Undersiders, the Merchants, and Uber and Leet. While not all of these are expansionist, the ABB definitely is, and I can see a few of the others also taking territory now that the Empire is out of business."

Armsmaster spoke up for the first time since the commencement of the meeting. "Are we shutting them down next?"

"It's a distinct possibility." Emily let her gaze span the room once more. "However, the immediate concern is that in the absence of the Empire Eighty-Eight, there's quite likely to be conflict over turf in areas that they once held, and civilians being put in danger."

"As opposed to people being put in danger by the Empire Eighty-Eight," quipped Assault. "Well, at least there won't be so many people being targeted just because of their skin colour or religion."

Dauntless rolled his eyes. "You have read Lung's file, haven't you?"

"I didn't say 'none'. I said 'not so many'."

"Be that as it may," Emily cut in before the discussion could spiral out of control. "The fact remains that this is not yet over. However, it should be clear to everyone not actually living under a rock that the Empire Eighty-Eight was taken down because they stepped over the line when they murdered one of our Wards. With any luck, the others will take the lesson to heart and keep their goddamn heads down, at least for a while." She personally didn't believe it for a second, but that was just her experience talking.

Velocity nodded. "And if they don't, we give them the Empire treatment, correct?"

She let a half-smile twitch her lips before it went away again. "Correct. In other matters, the memorial for Shadow Stalker will be held on Saturday the fifteenth, starting at noon, in the private chapel. Black armbands will be issued for all to wear on the day. Attendance to the memorial is not mandatory, but it is encouraged. Shadow Stalker's family members and friends will be invited, so all capes present will need to mask up." She paused. "Shadow Stalker may have been a problem child, but she was our problem child. Her memory deserves all proper respect."

"Speaking of which," Armsmaster said, "have we gotten any stronger leads for who pulled the trigger, or even who gave the order?"

"It will come as no great surprise to any of you that they are all denying involvement." Emily's smile had nothing to do with humour. "Kaiser, I'm told, is most insistent about this. He blames Coil. Krieg and Stormtiger seem to share this opinion, except that at one point while they were in holding, Stormtiger let slip a comment about 'unless it was that asshole Victor'. When questioned directly, he denied even thinking that."

"I can follow up on the Coil thing," offered Calvert. "Shake the bushes and see what falls out."

Emily considered it for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I'll be needing you and the other strike squad commanders to be patrolling with your men as ready-reaction forces. This whole thing has to be treated as a potential Boston Games in miniature. We can't afford to let things get out of hand. Armsmaster, you look into the Coil angle. Assault, Battery, you see what you can dig up regarding Victor's whereabouts on that night. Any questions?"

There were none. Even Assault seemed to be restraining himself from asking something ridiculous; it seemed the night for miracles.

"Very well," she concluded. "You all know what you have to do. Report to Deputy Director Renick with anything you've got. Dismissed."

As she rose to her feet, she reflected that it had been a long hard day, but god it had been worth it.

<><>

Deputy Director Renick

Half an Hour Later

There was a knock on Paul's office door. "Enter," he called, raising his head.

The door opened, to show one of the PRT officers who had participated in the strike on the Empire Eighty-Eight: Captain Ridley. "Are you busy, sir?"

"Not with anything I can't get back to. What's on your mind, Captain?"

Ridley entered, closing the door behind him. "It was one of the safe-houses we hit. There was nobody there, except for two dead men."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "Just two? How did they die?"

"GSW for both, sir. And that's where it gets interesting. One was shot in the face, in the safe house. He'd been pulling a gun, or so it seemed. It was lying near his hand, anyway. Now for the other one, there was a blood splatter near the gun, and a trail of blood leading outside to where he was. He'd been shot in the wrist, and then forced outside and shot again in the head, execution style."

"Execution style …" repeated Paul slowly. "Like Shadow Stalker was."

Ridley nodded. "Yes, sir. Our best guess is that they were both in the safe house, someone came in, our first vic—some nobody called Tommy Knicks—goes for his gun and gets shot in the face. The second vic doesn't have a gun, so he goes for Tommy's, and gets shot in the wrist for his trouble. Then he gets dragged outside, forced to kneel, and takes one in the head there."

Paul frowned. "I notice you haven't named the second victim. Is that the interesting aspect?"

"Yes, sir." Ridley smiled grimly. "His prints popped right away. Larry Peterson. Went away as a juvenile on a charge of murder one, got out when he turned eighteen, and joined the Empire Eighty-Eight more or less straight away."

"Wait …" Paul knew that name. "Peterson … isn't he the one who …"

"… murdered Fleur, yeah." Ridley raised his eyebrows. "Like I said, sir. Interesting."

"Very much so. How are forensics on recovered bullets?"

Ridley grimaced and sucked air through his teeth. "Not so great, sir. One went through Knicks' head then hit a brick wall, and the other went through Peterson's head and hit concrete."

"And the one through Peterson's wrist?"

"Tile floor, sir. Impossible to reconstruct, they say."

"Fingerprints on the brass?"

"Wiped clean."

"So, there's no way to pin the deaths on any one person." Paul ran his thumbnail over his lower lip. "Any witnesses?"

"I asked around, sir. Nobody's admitting to even knowing about the deaths. To hear them talk about it, they walked out, Knicks and Peterson stayed behind, then someone came in and murdered them both, but took Peterson out of the building first."

"Well, it could have been the ABB, getting a little payback for something he maybe did on the inside." But Paul didn't believe it for a second.

"That's one theory, sir. And I like it better than the other one."

Paul tilted his head. "Which one is that?"

"You tell me. Who do we know, who could make a room full of hardened criminals swear they didn't see someone murder one of their own, then drag another one out to their death? If it is him, he's been out of the scene for years, so there's minimal chance that Peterson ever did anything personal to him. That makes this a contract hit. And who has the biggest motive for that?"

There was only one viable answer. "New Wave. They saw the opportunity for revenge, and they took it." He shook his head. "You're right. I like the other theory better." Specifically, he liked it because it didn't come attached to a huge can of worms.

"Well, it's not like we've got more than circumstantial evidence either way." Ridley grimaced. "Good luck getting the Dark to roll over on his clientele."

"I believe I'll pass on that attempt." Paul shook his head. "I will also refrain from any attempt to make such a shaky case stick, not with Brandish on the stand."

"Copy that, sir. Maybe … Peterson went nuts and shot Knicks in the safe-house? Someone got a lucky shot into his wrist to make him drop the gun, then they dragged him outside and killed him because he was a danger to them? Then they left the scene of the crime." Ridley tilted his head. "Does that sound plausible, sir?"

Paul didn't like lying in reports. It felt untidy. However, the alternative was to risk a highly problematic schism with New Wave right when they needed all the assistance they could get. In any case, it wouldn't be the first time he'd swept just such a problem under the rug. "I've heard stranger stories."

Ridley nodded. "Me too. It'll go into the 'death by stupidity' file. I have no doubt that every now and again, someone will probably look it up, make the New Wave connection, and decide to leave it as it is. After all, to put it very bluntly, nothing of value was lost."

Though he raised his eyebrows, Paul chose not to dispute the point. "And I'm guessing that they weren't the only two to die today?"

"No. They weren't." Ridley sighed. "A few idiots tried to shoot it out with the troopers. We fired back. Not all of them survived to make it to the hospital."

While he wasn't personally crude enough to make the observation 'fuck around and find out', Paul was quite familiar with it. "And all our wounded survived?"

"Panacea did stellar work." Ridley smiled for the first time. "There were only a few bad ones, but with Shielder, Glory Girl, Laserdream and Lady Photon acting as medevac, they all got back in time to be saved."

"Good, good." Paul leaned back in his chair, suddenly pensive. "What we were talking about earlier, how both Peterson and Shadow Stalker were killed execution style … do you think it's possible that the Dark did both?"

Ridley paused thoughtfully. "No. He had no reason to kill Shadow Stalker. Hookwolf and Cricket, sure. They got on his bad side. I can't see the kid even hitting his radar, much less pissing him off bad enough that he'd go out of his way to kill her. It had to be the Empire."

"That's a reasonable analysis, yes." Paul held up a finger as an entirely new scenario occurred to him. "Wait. Wait, wait, wait. What if … now bear with me, here … what if someone in the Empire, one of the capes, saw which way the wind was blowing and decided to sow discord in our ranks? They go to that safe-house and announce they're going to kill Peterson to make it look like New Wave called a hit on him. Knicks objects and gets shot. Nobody else makes a peep. Peterson goes for Knicks' gun, gets shot, then dragged outside and murdered. The body gets left out in plain view for anyone to find and identify. The whole aim being to drive a wedge between us and New Wave."

"Jesus." Ridley's eyes opened wide as an expression of enlightenment spread across his face. "Yeah. Yeah. I can actually see Kaiser ordering that. Someone like Victor could've totally pulled it off and been the guy who popped Shadow Stalker, too. I think you've figured it out, sir."

"You do?" Paul felt a twinge of relief. He hadn't really believed the concept of Peterson going crazy, but this one had weight behind it and left New Wave in the clear. And to be honest, he felt more at home with the idea of the Empire callously murdering one of their own than with New Wave finally taking belated revenge. It made sense.

"Absolutely. With what Stormtiger said, we've got reason to suspect Victor for Shadow Stalker, so why couldn't he have done both?" Ridley spread his hands. "Not exactly an open-and-shut case, but with the right prosecutor and judge, we might just get him into the Birdcage."

Paul knew the process of remanding villains to Baumann was a little more stringent than that, but if Victor was found guilty of murdering a Ward in cold blood as a hate crime, he'd be well on the way to meeting the criteria. He didn't want to disillusion Ridley, so he nodded instead. "It sounds like a plan. Thank you for filling me in, Captain."

"Not a problem, sir." Ridley turned and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Paul leaned back in his chair, holding a pencil at each end between his index fingers. This hadn't been the first unexpected consequence of Shadow Stalker's death, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He just hoped nothing else would be quite so momentous.

<><>

Secret Underground Base

Coil

What a fucking day.

Thomas Calvert, now clad in his other working clothes, stepped up in front of his mercenaries. He was off-duty at the moment, but he'd be back on at oh-dark-thirty, so he had to give his orders now instead of later. "If you hadn't heard by now, the entire cape roster of the Empire Eighty-Eight is either dead, fled, or in custody. Many of their foot-soldiers have also been swept up. This opens up an opportunity to us. Tonight, I will be sending you locations to hit. If the Dark needs to appear, he will do so."

Frankoff stood a little taller at that, while the other men slapped him on the back. Thomas judged that they enjoyed having him there to make the opposition crumble without a fight. Which was, to be honest, quite fair. While his men had all been hired for their capability in battle, he hadn't wanted raving berserkers. A good soldier was just as happy to not have to fight.

Nobody ever slapped me on the back like that. He forced down his momentary resentment. These men were under his pay; they acted to his whim. He was in control, not them.

"So get your rest, but stand ready," he commanded. "I will be sending you orders as the situation evolves. The Empire Eighty-Eight is dead, and tonight we feast upon its corpse."

This time, they cheered him. He stood there, basking in the adulation, the smile on his face hidden beneath the morph mask.

Yes. This is what it's all about.

The only blemish on his horizon was that he hadn't managed to take control of the investigation into himself for the Shadow Stalker shooting, but that wasn't really an issue, given that he was actually innocent of all that.

Nobody's got anything on me.

<><>

ABB Territory

Lung

Kenta smiled beneath his metal mask as he looked over the men and women who had flocked to his cause. "Tonight is a momentous night!" he proclaimed. "Our greatest enemy has fallen, and all we had to do was stand back and watch! Tonight, we rule Brockton Bay's underworld unchallenged! Tonight, we reap the rewards of our patience! Tonight, we seize what is ours!"

Cheers arose from his people. More than a few bottles were being passed around, but he pretended not to see. They had earned their celebration.

Caught up in the fervour, one of his men stepped forward. "Tell us what to do, great Lung!"

He hadn't asked for the interruption, but he was still riding the high of knowing that he had finally, unequivocally, won. Besides, asking for instruction was quite low in the scale of such things. "You will go out into what was once Empire territory," he commanded. "Each time you see an Empire tag, you will cover it over with an ABB tag. If you see a store that seems prosperous, you will explain to them that they are under my protection now and take one hundred dollars as a down payment for future protection. And if you see anyone wearing Empire colours, you will end them!"

That statement, unsurprisingly, drew more cheers. Many of his people pulled guns and other weapons out and brandished them, though they did not fire into the ceiling, mainly because he had banned the practice due to it being a waste of ammunition.

None of the men asked what they should do if anyone refused to pay. They knew exactly what was to be done. Nobody ever refused twice, which merely proved the efficacy of their business model.

Though one of them did have a legitimate question. "What if we are stopped by the heroes or the PRT?"

"You will call me," Lung responded, then forced himself to grow a little larger, a little more draconic. His voice took on a rasping rumble. "And I will show them the error of their ways."

They cheered him all over again.

Truly, it was a good time to be alive.

<><>

Chicago

Lightstar

Mike frowned as he recognised the number on his mobile. What's Sarah want now? He'd gone as close to no-contact with his sisters as he could without officially cutting ties, but she apparently still had his contact details. This could be bad. Sarah meant New Wave, which meant dredging up memories he never wanted to revisit.

The temptation was there to decline the call, but Sarah had never been the pushy one. That was all Carol. If it was her making the call, he would've blocked her already—their last conversation had been acrimonious, to say the least—but he still had enough time for Sarah to see what she wanted.

Getting up from the armchair, he thumbed the Accept icon as he left the room. If he was going to raise his voice, it wasn't going to be in front of his family. His actual family.

"Hello?"

"Mike." Sarah sounded upbeat, which meant the news wasn't immediately bad. Nobody was hurt, then. "Have you been keeping up with the news?"

"You're going to have to narrow that down a little for me, sis." She was the only one he called by that nickname. Carol always got her given name.

"Brockton Bay news. We took down the Empire Eighty-Eight today." She seemed to be bubbling over with excitement. "We finally did it."

That startled him considerably. He'd managed to keep the name of that gang out of his mind for years now, but to find out they were finished seemed too good to be true. "What? You you, or everyone?" It didn't seem likely that New Wave on their own had managed that particular feat.

Slowly, with prodding for the occasional detail, the story unfolded. When Hookwolf and Cricket fell afoul of the infamous Dark (and there was a name he'd thought he'd left behind) that seemed to have been the initial inciting incident. Shadow Stalker hadn't been around when he was there—unsurprising, as Sarah noted she'd been a Ward—but her murder at the hands of the Empire as some kind of misplaced payback was what had truly set the train in motion.

The fighting had been fierce at times, while other members of the Empire had been blindsided and taken down with barely a struggle. Alabaster, trapped in containment foam, had apparently raved non-stop with a truly impressive command of profanity. By the time the dust had cleared, all the capes loyal to the Empire Eighty-Eight were either behind bars or pre-emptively gone from the city, and Medhall (he could hardly believe it had been a cover organisation all this time) shut down preparatory to a thorough investigation into its operations.

"You should've seen us," Sarah enthused. "We absolutely cleaned their clocks. Amy was set up in the PRT building, putting our wounded back on their feet as fast as they came in. Their wounded had to lump it."

"I can see how that would've been useful," he agreed. "So yeah, this is great news, but nothing I wouldn't have learned about sooner or later anyway. Why the tearing hurry to tell me about it now?"

She hesitated. "Because … I've got something to show you. And I need you to come to Brockton Bay for it."

"What? No!" He shook his head. "I swore I would never set foot in that goddamn city ever again. Whatever it is, you can tell me about it now." It had taken him longer than he'd thought to get to the voice-raising part, but there he was.

"I can't." She took a deep breath, audible over the phone. "This is something I need to show you personally, or not at all. And I really, really want you to see it."

"Sarah …" He tried to find the words to tell her how unreasonable she was being. "I have a family. Kids. I can't just run off to Brockton Bay. Just tell me what this is all about."

"I'm sorry. I can't." And she truly was sorry; he could tell from her tone of voice. She'd never been able to hide that sort of thing from him. Sarah had always worn her heart on her sleeve. "I don't even like mentioning it over the phone."

"Christ." He fell silent for a moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about. What was so great she wanted to tell him, but didn't dare refer to it except in the most general of terms? "Sarah, what's going on? What's the big secret?"

"If you want to know that, come to Brockton Bay." He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't going to budge. Carol was the more stubborn, but only by a matter of degree.

"Or I can ignore what you've said, and stay right here in Chicago, where I've got a job and a life." His riposte was weak and he knew it, but it was all he had to work with. While he wasn't officially going out as a hero, he helped out the local PRT from time to time, keeping things on the down-low. It worked for him, and he didn't want to upset the applecart.

"You could do that. But then you'd never know." Deliberately, she switched topics on him. "So, how are the kids, anyway?"

He knew what she was doing, but he was determined not to crack and end up begging for hints. So instead, he gave her the rundown on what he'd been doing recently, and the details of the last birthday party he'd thrown for his kids. They were still too young to really know what was going on, but it had been fun anyway.

She responded with anecdotes about what Crystal and Eric had been up to recently, and how they'd all kicked ass (except for Amy) against the Empire. Neil was doing well, Mark seemed to be about the same as always, and Carol was still definitely Carol.

"Well, this has been nice," he said, after she seemed to run down. "It's been good to hear from you. Thanks for not … well, you know." For not badgering him to come back and rejoin New Wave, he meant.

"Well, no. You're where you want to be. You've made that clear enough."

"Have I? Carol didn't seem to think so, the last I spoke with her."

She sighed. "Carol … is carrying burdens that she really should put down, but doesn't know how to. She has trouble letting go of preconceived notions. You know that."

"And one of those notions is that I should still be in New Wave." Knowing it still didn't make it any easier to handle. "Do you think that too?"

"I'd love it if you wanted to come back, even for a visit, but I'm not going to try to insist." He could hear the smile in her voice. "I just want my baby brother to be happy."

"Even if it made Carol unhappy?" He didn't know why he was pushing the issue.

"You coming back for good would make you unhappy, which wouldn't really help her state of mind. I'd rather one of you be happy."

"And are you happy these days?" The question had to be asked.

She paused long enough that he wondered if she was going to answer at all. "… yes. I think so. We're really starting to make a difference. Cleaning up the city. I'm busy but yes, I'm happy too."

"Sarah," he said seriously. "If you have to stop and ask yourself if you're happy, and if all you can say is 'I think so', then maybe you're not. Happy, I mean."

"Well, after today, I'm happier than I have been in a while." She chuckled. "You should've seen Othala's face when she realised we weren't fooled."

"I bet." He grinned, looking out into the darkness from the porch. His eyes, adjusting automatically, picked out the movement of a stray cat through the light snow that had fallen earlier. "But maybe, once the fuss and bother has died down there, you could come visit. Meet your nephew and niece."

She sighed again. "You know, I might just do that."

"Well, I won't try to insist, but …" He let the words trail off.

"Oh, you." The chuckle was in her voice again, as he'd intended by repeating her words back at her. "I'll see what I can do, okay?"

"See you when I see you."

"See you then."

He ended the call with a smile, then headed back to the living room, tapping his phone against his lips. Now, what was it she wants to show me, but can't just tell me about?

He couldn't fathom it for love nor money.

<><>

Taylor

I sat back on the sofa with Chewie sprawled across my lap, legs in the air. He let out soft grunts of enjoyment as I rubbed his belly. I was still wondering if I was going to be hit by some great wave of guilt for standing by and recording a man's death, but it seemed to be affecting me as little as it was Chewie. In exceedingly blunt terms, Larry Peterson had been a murdering piece of shit, and he'd deserved no less.

"So, what's next?" I asked. "Do we give it a day or two, or do we go after Coil straight away?"

Dad set his jaw, and I saw the Dark in him more than I saw my father, perhaps for the first time ever. "Your mother and I spent too much time and effort building up the reputation of the Dark for some jumped-up would-be criminal mastermind to tear it down like this. I'm going out tonight. If you want to stay home, you can; I won't blame you if you do. People are going to die."

I shook my head. "No, Dad. We are going out tonight. Death's Head, the Dark …" On my lap, Chewie yawned and rolled over. "And Dog-Breath of Doom."

"You're sure?" He looked at me intently. "You're not just saying it because you think you have to?"

"You're my dad. You're the Dark." I gave him a half-smile. "And without Mom there, someone's gotta watch your back, right?"

"Well, there is that." He returned the smile. "And we're probably the most alliterative team in town, since the Empire Eighty-Eight went down."

"We are, aren't we?" That was kind of funny.

He snorted in amusement. "Of course, if you wanted to rename us, we could go with Danny and Taylor Hebert. Stick a word starting with E in there, and you have Death."

I shook my head. "I know you're not serious. You and Mom started the Dark, and that's what we'll keep going with. Besides, it lets me feel that she's still with us when it counts."

"True. Very true. And thank you." He reached across and squeezed my shoulder. "I appreciate the way you're stepping up."

"How could I not?" I put my hand on his. "Chewie and I are members of Dark now too."

I kind of meant the Chewie part as a joke, mainly to do with the fact that he'd actually been on more Dark missions than I had (and that Dad's re-emergence on the scene had been all about rescuing him for me), but Dad nodded seriously. "You are, that's true." He stood up from his end of the sofa and twisted his shoulders to pop his back into place again. "Well, it's about that time. Let's get ready and head out."

Handling Chewie carefully, I got up as well. "Time to rock and roll."

<><>

The Dark

"Um, this is about as close as we can get."

Danny pulled the car to a halt and applied the handbrake. "Let me see."

Taylor handed the phone over, and he eyed the dot on the map that apparently represented Coil's hidden lair. Then he looked out the window at the nearby construction site.

"Want to know what I think?" Taylor scratched Chewie behind the ear, more or less automatically.

"I'm always interested in your input." Danny looked at the phone then back at the half-built structure.

"I think … what better way to conceal people coming and going at all hours, than by having it in a construction area? Put on a high-vis vest and a helmet, and you're instantly one of the crowd."

"Huh. You have a compelling point there." Danny looked at the building again, this time viewing it as protective camouflage. It would totally work. "However, the proof of the pudding and all that. Is there actually a base under there somewhere?"

"Hmm." Taylor looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, there are bugs down there, and they're in an open space, but that doesn't mean they're not in a sewer or something. Can we get out and walk around?"

"We can do that." He took out his pistol and checked the chamber, and watched approvingly as Taylor did the same. She was picking up useful habits already.

They got out of the car, with Chewie on his leash, and began strolling in the direction that Taylor indicated. It wasn't too long before they reached the high fence around the construction area, and started around it, keeping to areas illuminated by street lighting. Danny took Chewie's leash while Taylor sketched in a notepad.

They made it all the way around the site—with some detours for other nearby buildings—after about half an hour. Chewie was panting happily after the walk, and Taylor's pencil had been quite busy. He handed the leash to her and unlocked the car, and they both got in.

Once Chewie was settled on Taylor's lap, Danny started the car and drove off. He didn't go far, just enough to satisfy any hidden watchers (or cameras) that they'd left the area. Pulling up in a side-street, he turned to her. "So, what did we get?"

"There's a whole Endbringer shelter down there, as far as I can tell." Reaching up, she flicked on the interior light and showed him her work. "A multi-storey underground area with people carrying guns, and several concealed ways in. One is a tunnel from under the construction area. There's another one that lets out into that parking garage we skirted around. I counted maybe fifty people inside."

"Huh." This was extremely valuable intel. "Is Coil on site?"

"Not that I could see." She ticked off points on her fingers. "Nobody off on their own. Nobody wearing a morph suit. Nobody who was tall and skinny giving orders."

He nodded slowly, agreeing with her points. "From what I've heard of Coil, he'd be doing at least one of those. Okay, so where is he? Home in bed?"

"Probably … whoa." She raised her head. "Something's up. There's a bunch of them moving around, like they're getting ready to do something."

Danny flicked off the internal light, put his hand on his pistol and glanced around. The night was still and quiet around the car. There was no sign that anything had changed. "If they're leaving, I want to know by which exit."

Taylor nodded. "Got it."

<><>

Coil

The sergeant behind the wheel of the truck slowed for the intersection, glanced both ways, then kept on going. "It's quiet, sir," he observed over the gentle rumble of the engine. "Somehow, I expected it to be busier."

Thomas nodded. "We'll take our blessings where we can get them, sergeant. They could've quite easily been rioting because we took away their 'protectors'."

"Yes, sir. Says a lot that they're not doing a damn thing." The sergeant chuckled. "Seems to me that they just might prefer Kaiser and his scumbags to be gone for good."

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll see if things stay quiet over the next few days." They rolled past a jewellery store with a fairly elaborate frontage and an Empire graffiti tag next to it, and he took note of the address. "Pull up on the next block. The men can get out and stretch their legs for five."

"Sir, yes, sir." The sergeant rolled the truck through the intersection, then pulled over to the side of the road. Picking up the microphone on the dash, he keyed the talk button. "Okay, everyone out. Five-minute break."

Thomas opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, stretching his arms above his head and working the kinks from his back. He paid little attention to the sergeant putting three men on sentry duty while the rest settled down around the truck or walked around.

Pulling out his burner phone, he sent a quick text, appending the address of the jewellery store. By the time his mercenaries got there, he and his strike squad would be long gone. Their orders were to show up on site and wait for the go/no go call. He didn't want to split time this early in case he needed it for his own welfare on patrol.

He tucked the burner away and strolled around the truck, returning salutes as they were given. The men were casually chatting, and he noted that they sounded cheerful, not grumpy. He smelled the enticing odour of coffee as one trooper poured a cup from a thermos, but moved along.

At the end of the five minutes, he climbed back into the truck and strapped himself in. With the men loaded on board again, the truck started up and they rolled off down the street.

It was quiet, alright. Just the way he liked it.

<><>

Death's Head

With my bugs, I followed the men as they grabbed their weapons (at least, they felt like weapons to the bugs I had crawling on them) and headed for the exit. "They're leaving via the parking garage."

"Understood." Dad started the car and we drove about a block, and then stopped again. "Let me know which way they go when they leave."

"Sure thing." I sat and petted Chewie, who of course soaked up the attention as his rightful due, as I waited for the men to get into the two cars parked in the garage. "Two cars. I can't make out the plates. One of the men has a phone; I can see the glow of the screen but I can't read it. If I had to guess, he just got instructions."

"That's reasonable," agreed Dad.

I watched as the cars left the garage. One of my worries had been that they might go in different directions, but one seemed to be following the other. "Okay, they turned left." I pointed. "That way."

Dad started the car again, and began to follow the cars. This was different from every time I'd ever seen it in the movies or TV shows; we were literally a block over and behind the two-car convoy, entirely out of their line of sight. They were the only two cars on the road where they were, and yet we were sticking to them like glue.

When we were deep in what had been Empire territory, they pulled over and parked; I wasn't quite sure why. But I relayed this to Dad, so we cautiously got closer and finally parked a little way down the block, around the corner from where they were. Some of them got out of the cars, but the majority stayed inside. However, the only thing that happened was that the guy with the phone tapped out a message.

I told Dad all this, and he nodded. "Stay in the car." Opening the door, he got out.

While I wanted to protest and say I was good enough to go with him, I knew that wasn't the truth. At his side, I'd be a liability. In the car, I could cover him and Coil's goons with room to spare.

Well, I was going to be the best damn cover he ever had.

<><>

'The Dark'

Frankoff, leaning against the car's hood, checked his phone again. He'd messaged the boss that they were in position and ready to roll as soon as they got the green light. Specifically, the message went: 'Here'. All they were waiting for was the answer. Anything starting with 'G' would be a green light, while any word starting with 'R' would be a wave-off. Frankoff had learned to not question the boss's decisions; they always turned out to be correct.

The phone pinged just as a car rolled down the street, deep thumping bass making the windows vibrate. He checked the message: Geranium.

"Okay, guys," he said. "Soon as these assholes are gone, let's go … what the fuck?"

As he spoke, the car with the music pulled in across the street, right outside the jewellery store. Having been about to take a step forward, he halted and waved everyone back. He didn't know what was going on, but witnesses to a break-in were a bad thing, even if you worked for Coil.

Either they'd been crammed into the car or it was bigger than it looked, because no fewer than six solidly built ABB gang members got out of their car once the bass stopped its incessant beat. Frankoff didn't have any particular disdain for Asians in general, but the visible tattoos on these guys looked more than a little worrying. Plus, they were ripped.

One shook up a spray can and headed for where the Empire Eighty-Eight tag was. Frankoff knew what was going on now; the ABB were striking while the iron was hot, stealth-claiming the suddenly unoccupied territory. He had no problem with that. As soon as they were gone, he and his men would be hitting the jewellery store.

"Hey!" One of the men pointed across the road at them. "What the fuck you doing?"

Shit. Frankoff straightened from the hood of the car, and pulled his mask on. Seeing this, the rest of the guys started paying attention. There weren't as many ABB as his men, but all they had to do was one spray of autofire. He didn't want to lose anyone to an unnecessary fight.

"Are you afraid of the Dark?" he called out, hefting his gun just to make his point. The armoured-truck guards had basically shit their drawers when he'd said this; even their cape had stood aside while his men raided the truck. These guys would crumble just as fast—

"I believe that's my line."

The words, delivered with supreme menace, had come from up the street a little. He turned and saw a dramatically silhouetted figure, with shadows swirling around him. Just for a second, they looked like a skull.

In that moment, Frankoff knew two things, but failed to recognise a third. First: the Dark was real. Second: he had fucked up, massively, by agreeing to this masquerade.

The thing he didn't realise was where the danger would come from.

He never saw the figure on top of the building, crumbling to ash.

<><>

Oni Lee

All seemed to be going well, until the men down below pointed across the street. Lee had noticed the two cars, but so long as the men in them didn't aggress on Lung's men, they would be forgiven for existing. But when the one man stood forward and claimed to be the Dark, that was when he drew his knife.

He was just about to teleport down and end the fool's life when the second voice spoke up. His head jerked around at the tone. That was the tone of a killer. He knew it well enough; his own voice held that tone.

That made one fake Dark, and one … real one? The Dark was real? He had trouble conceiving of that. Lung had stated otherwise.

No matter. He would kill them both. First, the pretender, to get the distraction out of the way. Then the other. His way never failed.

He moved, reappearing behind the first so-called Dark, in the midst of the man's allies. Even as he grabbed the fool with one hand and brought his knife around with the other, he was moving onward, toward the other one.

The shadows were deeper here, despite there being a street-light not far away. But he'd seen the vague shape of the second Dark, and so he knew where to teleport to. He appeared behind his foe, grabbing for the tall man's shoulder, only for his hand to slip straight through a swirling cloud of … bugs?

Far too late, he registered the movement at his side, and turned his head to see a gun barrel.

It was the last thing he would ever see.

Fu—

<><>

The Dark (the real one)

Danny registered Oni Lee appearing behind the false Dark. Bugs swirled around him, drawing shapes in the night air. The blade in Lee's hand had not yet sliced open the imposter's throat when Lee appeared right next to him. It wasn't even difficult to raise his gun and fire. One point-blank shot, one dead ABB assassin.

Thanks, Taylor. That was a lot easier than it might have been.

The false Dark convulsed and died as Lee's teleport-clone collapsed to ash. Now was the time to strike, while both sides were stunned by the sudden deaths.

"Gentlemen!" he called out. "This is the point where you must ask yourselves. Are you … afraid … of the Dark?"

A moment passed, while gangsters and thugs alike glanced at him then at each other, and decided that they were indeed afraid of the Dark. Both groups, showing newfound unwillingness to contest the name with him, piled into their respective cars and burned rubber out of there. He stood alongside Oni Lee's cooling body for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to the car.

"Well," he said as he climbed back into the driver's seat. "That's dealt with."

"Cool." Taylor grinned. "Did you like my bug shapes?"

He nodded. "They were useful. Are Coil's mercenaries heading back to base?"

"As far as I can tell."

"Good." He smiled coldly and started the car. "I have a bone to pick with that man."