100YoP Chapter Fourteen "They're still my people, Sam." (Patreon)

“I have to tell the police,” the driver blubbered.

“Good for you,” I said, helping my Mom out of the cab. “Tell the cops, tell the news, tell whomever the fuck you please. But keep descriptions out of it if you’re gonna mention us.”

“Wh- I can’t do that!” the driver said, “How do I know you’re not some kind of gangster?”

I gave him a flat look, finished helping my mom out, walked around, then slammed my elbow into what was left of his window. While he flinched away, I pinned him in place with one hand while I checked the flappy thing on top of the driver’s wheel and the glove compartment.

Once I found his wallet, I pulled back, opened it, grabbed twenty bucks and his driver’s license and said, “If I am ‘some kind of gangster’ and you snitch on me, Walter Higgings of Globe Avenue and Adam Hill Street, I am going to find you and put my foot so far up your ass that I’m gonna be wearing your skull as a boot. Are we clear?”

“... crystal,” he said, before peeling off as fast as his car could take him.

I clicked my tongue and went to support my mom again, helping her get to an apartment’s entrance.

While I checked an old text conversation for the right apartment number, Mom muttered, “These people don’t know how to talk to a criminal. I blame Superman, y’know?”

“I get it. And I’m not a criminal.”

“Mm.”

Oh, yay, the part of me that wasn’t freaking out or focused on the task thought, I’m definitely not gonna stress over what that ‘Mm’ meant.

Eventually, I found the right number and started pressing the bell over and over, praying to whatever god was paying attention that she answered quick. The intercom buzzed on and let out an annoyed, “What.”

“Alice, it’s Sam, Mom’s hurt,” I said, trying to speak before she could realize who was talking and hang up on me. “I’m sorry for bothering you but this is an emergency and I really need your help.”

“Wh—Sam?”

“Please, I don’t know who else to talk to for this—” The door started buzzing and Mom took the initiative by opening it. “Shit, thanks, thank you so much—”

“Just come up here,” she told me. “I’ll unlock the door and get things ready, you just hurry.”

I kicked the door open, which got a chastising mumble out of my mother, and helped her to the elevator.

There was barely any time between me opening the door for her and Alice leading her to her bathroom, only sparing me a single worried look before she focused on the task at hand. The bathroom door closed behind them, and I stood there staring at it for a long moment before closing the front door and slumping against it, dropping my ass on the floor with a sigh.

“... okay,” I said, putting a hand to my face. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, o—I’m smearing blood on my face, fuck.”

I let out a loud sigh and got up, stumbling into the kitchen and trying to get as few things dirty as I could. My whole body seemed sluggish and it felt like I’d managed to pull something in my hurry because now my body was really starting to hurt.

Batting ten outta ten here, Reyes, I thought, splashing water on my face and scrubbing my hands clean of my mother’s blood (in the literal sense, at least), then wiping off the faucet (that part lacked any metaphor to agonize over).

Then I splashed water again, and again, and again, then I just shoved my head under the faucet until I felt a little more under control. Couldn’t tell you how long that took.

Once that was dealt with, I checked my phone and saw a text from Billy telling me he was on his way from Gotham. That was a couple of hours at least, so I sent him a text giving him our current location and started looking around while I kinda dried my hair with a hand towel.

Alice’s place was decorated wall-to-wall with cheap, colourful things that must’ve caught her eye. Plastic toys broken in ways that made them slightly more macabre, shiny glass baubles, posters of heroes and music groups wherever they fit, paperback books littering every vaguely horizontal surface. It was like she’d gutted her personality and smeared its entrails on every surface.

I managed enough calm to feel glad for her, in a distant way. I knew she’d struggled for a bit, getting a scholarship after her parents cut her off for pulling kind of a ‘Look Who’s Coming To Dinner’ with me and... well, basically everything else she did around that time. But she seemed to be doing much better for herself now.

The apartment was nice, at least. And the furniture seemed comfortable. Speaking of, I let myself drop on a dark blue couch that was also being used by a plushie version of Cthulhu and pulled out a pack of smokes, groaning at the little pains pulling at different parts of me.

Naturally, when I tried to light a smoke my lighter refused to give anything other than sparks, because God is a green-wearing shitheel that hates me. I looked around for a lighter, but the closest thing I found was a drawer serving as a graveyard to dozens of spent lighters.

“I’m starting to think you might be a hoarder, Al,” I muttered, putting the cigarette behind my ear. For some reason, my cheek stung when I talked, but I was quickly distracted.

“I think you shouldn’t try to smoke in my house, Reyes,” a voice cut in, and I snapped around to find her and mom coming out of the bathroom, fresh bandages visible under the cuts in Mom’s clothes. Alice, besides her, had stopped looking worried and started looking angry.

“Mamá,” I was out of my seat in a second, rushing over. “¿Estas bien?”

“Sí, mi vida,” she looked at me, then flicked her eyes towards Alice. “But you need to get looked at too.”

“Wh—? No, mom, I’m fine,” I shook my head, “Look, we gotta—”

“Not to interrupt your next genius plan, but you’re literally bleeding while we talk,” Alice said, gesturing vaguely at all of me. “Not gonna get far if you bleed out walking down the stairs, stupid.”

I looked down on myself and finally paid enough attention to notice the cuts. One on the side of my arm, two on the left side of my chest, a bit of glass on my leg, another on the back of my hand and, if the feeling matched, one more on my cheek. Between the fear, the shock, and the blaring of my Spidey Sense, I hadn’t even realized that I’d been grazed by almost half a dozen bullets and/or shards of glass.

Somewhat numbly, I realized I’d been so distracted by mom that I’d almost died. Of all the surprises that morning, that was the easiest to get over.

“Oh,” I muttered, “So that’s what that cutting, bleeding feeling was.”

“Sharp as ever, Sammy,” Alice said, and I started getting the feeling that there were still some hurt feelings from the breakup. “C’mon, I’ll patch you up.”

I frowned, “Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t really need—”

“Oh, don’t start some macho shit,” Mom said, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not macho shit, we need to get you somewhere safe—”

“Get me somewhere safe?” Mom asked. “What, the hitmen were after me, Sam?! Why don’t you tell me why—”

“Guys!” Alice cut in. “Is now the best time to be fighting?!”

Seeing that Mom and I backed down, Alice turned to look at me and said, “Sam. Please.”

So I went into the stupid bathroom.

{[X]}

“Well...” I said. “This is familiar.”

“If that’s supposed to be some cute comment about you being in your underwear around me again, I’m chopping your dick off,” Alice let me know while she pulled the glass from my leg.

“I meant more you patching me up in a bathroom,” I said.

“Oh,” she cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s kinda nostalgic, in a messed-up sort of way.”

“Mm,” I pressed my lips tight, trying not to make a sound as she pulled a pretty big chunk out of my leg.

“So,” she gave a look at the door, then at me. “What happened?”

“Weirdly enough, I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Pull the other one,” she scoffed, “From what your mom said, this sounded targeted. And random gang attacks don’t happen here anyways.”

“Really?” I frowned. “No random gang violence?”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” She gave a little shudder. “Like, I walk down the street and there’s almost no fear of getting mugged.”

“Freaky. Well, I didn’t mean that this wasn’t my fault. I just don’t know how it’s my fault,” I clicked my tongue and my eyes drifted away as I became lost in thought. “... they were Blackgaters.”

“What?”

“Or just random thugs wearing Blackgater colours,” I ammended, “Still... doesn’t make sense.”

“You did leave the gang,” she said, lowering her volume and moving so her back was to the wall. Thoughtful as ever. “Any bitter feelings left there?”

“Most of the people in the crew that knew me are either dead, in jail, or cool with me not being in the gang anymore,” I muttered. “Hell, I talked with Russ the other day and it was borderline friendly.”

“Russ? Why were you talking to him?”

“Looking for business partners,” I said. “I left the Goonion, and I’m looking to start some businesses of my own.”

“Huh,” she said. “I can’t imagine Billy was too—what am I saying, he probably left with you.”

“Heh. Not officially, he’s still leading it,” I smiled. “It’s good for him, I think. People like him, and he’s getting used to think about other people’s needs. Besides mine, I mean.”

“That’s a nice change,” she said, wrapping up my leg. “... hey... maybe we should go for drinks next time I’m in Gotham? It’s been a while, we could catch up.”

“I’d like that,” I said, smiling at her. Then I frowned and said, “Gonna have to be after I deal with this shit, though.”

“... yeah, I figured as much,” she said, tone turning bitter. “So what are you gonna do, Sam?”

“I’m gonna get answers first,” I said. “I don’t think this was some random assholes choosing to kill me because it’s Sunday and there’s nothing on TV, so I need to know who called the shot. After that, I get even and make sure it doesn’t happen again, no matter the cost.”

“‘No matter the cost’,” she said, mimicking my voice as she moved up to patch up my body. “God, you never fucking change.”

“I—ow!” I winced when she applied too much pressure on my side. “I can’t let this go unanswered, Al.”

“So you’re gonna go on another fucking rampage?”

“Hey, in the time that you’ve known me I’ve only gone on two rampages, and we weren’t dating for one of those!”

“Oh my god, Sam!” she spat. “That’s still two more than normal people do!”

“Hey, you knew what I was about when you met me!”

“And you said you were gonna change your fucking job!”

“I did change it!”

“Into fucking—!” she stopped herself before she could shout it loud enough for my mom to hear. “... it’s moments like this that I’m glad we broke up.”

... ouch.

“... it was for the better,” I said, leaning back and letting her work.

She worked in silence for a moment, finishing with my chest and moving on to my arm.

I thought about my next moves. I still remembered where Russ was stationed when I’d been with the gang, and if he’d lifted up shop I could probably track him down before he could go underground. So it was find him, corner him, get answers and then get corpses.

The plan needed some buffing out. How was I gonna make an example of the two that tried to fuck with me? Couldn’t be too Spider-related, maybe just some defenestration and/or inmolation? That could work.

Of course, there would have to be an interrogation first. It’d been a while since I last tortured someone, but I could probably get answers out of them. Two chairs facing each other, open things by breaking half of one guy’s fingers while the other watches... Shit, I hoped I remembered how to keep the balance from ‘pain’ and ‘passing out from shock’.

I was snapped from my thoughts by Alice speaking.

“... I still have some of your shirts and hoodies,” she muttered. “You can change into those, though they might be a tight fit now.”

I fucking knew she kept them, I thought.

“Thanks, Al,” I said. “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she sighed. “... on a more immediate scale, what’s the plan?”

“Billy’s on his way,” I said, moving to make it easier for her to work. “He’s gonna stay with Mom, since she knows he was in gang shit and won’t be too surprised if he puts down anyone that tries something with her.”

“Okay, that’s not an awful plan,” she said, which I interpreted to be an olive branch. “... Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve tried your best to not be a total piece of shit.”

“... gee, thanks.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I think you can find a way to deal with this without putting another pile of corpses behind you,” she said. “I know that you’re angry, and I’m not too fucking happy at your mom being scared either. But please don’t stop trying to be better because of this.”

I looked at her. She didn’t make eye contact, just focusing on the last bits of bandaging my stupid self, ending with some gauze on my cheek.

I wasn’t frothing at the mouth, or anything. I’d never been that angry in my life. Sure, sometimes in the middle of a fight adrenaline took over, but that was one thing.

What I was doing was a calm planning of my strategy going forward to enact bloody, violent revenge on those that wronged me. I wasn’t seeing red, I wasn’t thinking irrationally. That excuse had never applied to me until I had a knife to my throat and/or a gun to my head.

So I had to ask myself: was I really so willing to throw away all the progress I’d made? My no-kill streak, the Batfam’s opinion of me? Steph’s opinion too, while I was at it.

... yeah, I probably could and would. But I shouldn’t.

“No promises,” I sighed. “But... I’ll keep it in mind, I guess.”

“... that’s as good as I can get, huh?”

“Better than what most would,” I said. “You’re still important to me, Al.”

“Awesome, yay for me,” she muttered.

Again, ouch.

Must have shown on my face, because she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and took off a latex glove to press her hand against my cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that, dumbass. You’re important to me too. I just wish I could do more.”

I gave her a half-smile and a shrug, “Everyone’s gotta make their own choices. You’re not responsible for mine, Ally.”

“I wish I were, Sammy,” she said.

We stayed there for a moment, before she walked up to her cabinet and pulled what looked like a second first aid kit, this one marked with a green cross instead of a red one.

“Is your mom still cool with us partaking?” she asked.

“She should be, long as we share.”

{[X]}

Billy arrived about a half hour later, finding mom cooking in the kitchen and Alice and I sprawled on her couch, muching on some M&M’s she had been saving.

“You guys started smoking without me?” he asked, sitting between Alice and I.

“Saved you some,” I said, offering a blunt.

“How’d you get in my apartment without me buzzing you in?” Alice asked.

Billy gave her a flat look, then took the blunt and started smoking.

“Oh, right,” Alice nodded. “You’re you.”

“That I am,” Billy muttered, turning to look at me. “I brought Butchie’s car, Sandra stayin’ at your place?”

“Mom’s staying at her place, I don’t want her anywhere near Gotham,” I said. “I need you to stay with her and make sure she’s safe.”

“What?” Billy frowned. “How fucking high are you? That’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m pretty high, but that’s not the point.” I sat up straighter, “I thought of this before I got high. Mom’s safer the closer she is to Superman, but I want you to stay here just in case. Meanwhile, I’m gonna go make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I made sure to keep my volume low for that last part. I... always kinda suspected that mom knew more than either of us acknowledged, but I didn’t wanna risk the peace we had between us.

“And you’re gonna be okay?” Billy asked, already going along with whatever I asked but just making sure.

“When am I not?” I asked, reaching forward to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be okay, brother. I need you here more than anything, and there’s no one else I’d trust with the job.”

He smiled at me.

I leaned to the side, “No offense, Al.”

“None taken,” she shrugged. “The less people shooting at me the better.”

“Pussy.”

“Fuck off, Bill.”

It was a shame they never got along. Then again, I never dated someone that Billy got along with.

Roughly twenty minutes later, when my SpiderMetabolism TM had me a little more sober and I managed to convince my mom that I’d be okay and that I’d let Butcher handle all the dangerous parts, I was peeling off in Butcher’s car, ready to get even.

{[X]}

"... so I chucked my phone away when I saw static come up—‘cause I’ve been livin’ in this city for long enough to recognize brain-washing shit before it has effect—and I shot to my feet, and slipped—well, I mean, I didn't literally shoot up, I took a minute to wipe-"

Farah let out a disgusted snort.

"—anyway, so I slip, and fall, and my foot gets wedged under the tub. Calendar Man has one of those clawfoot tubs, did you know that?"

“I did not know that.”

“Right, well he does, so at this point my foot’s just stuck in there, right?”

“Right,” Farah nodded, “I’m with you so far.”

“Right, so I’m pullin’, trying to get it out, and the dog comes by because, well, because he’s a service dog and that’s what he’s, uh, trained for? Raised for? Whatever, the dog tries to help and he looks at the screen, so of course it starts seizing up.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, it’s a bad time to be me. So I, uh, well I just started pullin’ harder, y’know, I’m like desperately trying to get to my phone so I can either break it or call a vet and save Calender Man’s fuckin’ puppy, but I’m stuck in the tub, and that’s when I hear the microwave go ‘ding’ and explode.”

“What the fuck?” Farah frowned. “Why did the microwave explode?”

“Huh? Oh, right, I forgot to tell you, apparently there was some tinfoil in the tupperware I put there.”

“What tupperware?!”

“The one with the leftovers I was heating up for the Irish hitman?”

“I think you skipped a few parts.”

“Right, right,” I nodded. “The point is that by the time Calender Man came back, the house was on fire and I was running out with my pants hanging off and his fuckin’ dog in my arms, running to the nearest vet because my phone had exploded too.”

Farah put a hand over her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at me. “Why are you telling me this, Sam?”

“Killin’ time,” I shrugged. “Gonna be a while, so I figured we might as well share stories.”

“Okay, but... aren’t you pissed?” she gestured at the used car dealership across the street from us, which was just starting to close up. “The people that took a shot at you and your mom are right there, and you’re fine just telling stories and shit?”

“The fuck am I gonna do? Run up there when there’s still witnesses and bystanders around?” I scoffed. “I’m not stupid, Farah.”

“I didn’t say you were, but... I thought you’d be furious.”

“Oh, I’m downright apoplectic,” I said. “But I’m not gonna turn into some fucking 80’s action hero just ‘cause I’m mad.”

“... huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just... your mom got shot at, man.”

“Yes. And I’m going to calmly, slowlyflay alive the people responsible. Onlythe people responsible.”

“... ah.” She said, nodding. “I’m starting to get what Butcher meant.”

“About what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she sighed. “Okay, so do you have any dumb stories with villains besides Killer Moth?”

“Nah, most of the funny jobs happened with him. Great guy.” I thought about it. “Well, actually, there was this jewelery store that Condiment King wanted to rob...”

We killed the time like that for a few minutes, until we were sure nobody unaffiliated with the gang was at the place. Then, I left Butcher’s car first while Farah took it to a nearby car park and the two started walking back to hide nearby.

Honest Mike’s Car Dealrship was, to be honest, a pretty good business. Especially for a Gotham dealership. Only half of the cars were seconds away from breaking, none of them had drugs or car bombs hidden on them, they did quality checks semi-regularly, and the prices were only bloated by 20%.

It was also the main cover for the Blackgaters, and had been since shortly after I joined up. Money laundering, a meeting spot, hiding out people in the basement, covering up for taxes and more; it provided everything a ‘legitimate business’ needed. And they kept it squeaky-clean. No murders within five blocks, no drugs carried in and out. Only money and numbers.

Hell, it was notable just out of sheer lack of visible crime in the area. Every other corner of Gotham has held a dead body in the last three weeks, but that place had been clean for years.

Still, there were no obvious ties to the Blackgaters, unless one happened to be a former trusted member. Or maybe if a hacker had access to street cam footage of the two bitch-ass assassins walking in, looking scared.

There was a soldier disguised as a janitor when we moved in. It was a good disguise, but he was too awake for the monotony of the job and the late hour. His eyes were alert and tracked everything that moved nearby, and his hand twitched towards his mop bucket when a cop car passed by.

I could see he was standing at the one part of the building that didn’t have security cameras, probably left there so people could be snuck in without there being a record of it. If I hadn’t known that the business was near the last streetcam to see the two shitheads, we’d never have caught them.

The car had been parked a block away, and I got out with my camouflage on. There was kind of a danger of getting run over if cars couldn’t see you when you crossed the street, but it wasn’t much worse than regular jaywalking in Gotham so I made it to the guard shortly after.

I walked as quietly as I could until I was right next to him, doing my best to not make a noise as I breathed, then waited until he turned his head to look at something. Then I dropped my invisibility outside his line of sight and pressed my beretta to the back of his head, making him tense up.

“Good evenin’,” I said. “You know who I am?”

“... you’re Sam Rey—”

“Samuel.” I said, pressing the barrel tighter against his head.

“Sorry,” he said. “You’re Samuel Reyes.”

“Am I expected?”

He nodded. I pulled out my phone with my free hand and texted Farah and Yua that it was clear to approach.

“Is Russ here?”

He nodded again.

“And the two fuckwits?”

He hesitated, then another nod.

“Hm,” I said. “Hands up, please.”

The ‘please’ was accompanied by another press of the barrel, because I’m kind of a dick like that.

He followed my directions, and I patted around the back and front of his pants, coming up with a gun of similar model to mine. I set it aside, searched his pants and came up with the keys to the door, which I promptly used.

“Hands behind your back,” I said. He did as I asked. I grabbed his wrists and kept a tight hold on them and turned him to face the door.

Farah and Yua appeared soon after, walking in the building’s blind spot and approaching like we’d planned. They both put on medical masks and threw up the hoods of the oversized hoodies I’d leant them.

The less Russ knew about my people, the better.

I opened the door then retook the guard’s wrists, and said, “Take us to where they are.”

He walked slowly towards the back, towards the door of an office that still had the lights on and some music coming through at a low volume.

We got right up to it, and I tapped the barrel against the door three times.

“Who is it?!” Asked Russ.

“Mickey fucking Mouse!” I shouted back. “Who do you think it is?!”

I heard some muffled cussing, none of it in Russ’ voice, then he said, “Come in!”

I looked over my shoulder, and Farah reached around to open the door. I pushed it the rest of the way open with the guard’s body and we came into the office.

It was kinda packed, between the furniture and the people already inside.

A few filing cabinets, a large oak desk topped with papers and a cash counting machine, and a green plush couch to my right.

Sitting in front of the desk were the two hitmen, and behind it was Russ, wearing a pair of square wire rim glasses and looking vaguely disappointed at the state of the guard. Sitting in the couch were two men I recognized as OG soldiers of the Blackgaters, Omar Cook and Devon Greggs.

The two were deadly motherfuckers if there ever were some, and I was feeling a lot less optimistic about my odds with them in the room.

Thank God I grabbed the human shield, I thought to myself. “Hey Russ.”

“Sam. How you doin’?”

“Pretty bad, actually,” I said. “Part of it can be blamed on the incompetent fucks you got sitting in front of you.”

“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to you,” he said. “Maybe avoid the violent rampage you got cooking.”

“I don’t rampage.”

Russ raised an eyebrow.

“Rampages are uncalculated, I go on killing sprees at most.”

“... fair enough,” he shrugged. “I seem to recall you coming back kinda fucked up a lot for ‘calculated killing sprees’, though.”

“I never said I was good at math.”

That actually got a chuckle out of Omar. He was tall and lanky, with a single teardrop tattoo under his right eye and a bald head. He wore baggy clothes almost exclusively, and a set of rings that had more in common with knuckledusters than with jewlery.

Devon, for his part, was considerably shorter and more obese. He has reading glasses perched at the tip of his nose, a book in one hand and a gun aimed in my direction in the other, and he looked kinda annoyed at my continued existance.

“It’s been a long time, Sam,” Omar said, smiling in a way that showed more teeth than strictly necessary. “Almost started to miss you, lil’ nigga.”

“Not nearly long enough in my humble opinion,” Devon said. “The fuck are you even doin’, man?”

“Getting even,” I said. I turned back to Russ, “Speaking of...”

“I ain’t call the hit on you, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” he said.

“Then who did?”

“Big Man,” he said, then sucked his teeth. “Fucker has been tryin’ to undermine my Blackgaters for a few weeks now, since I didn’t take his ‘kindly offer’. These two dipshits were dumb enough to fall for it.”

“... hm,” I said. “So there’s no problem if I grab them, then.”

The two suddenly looked very afraid, but Russ raised a hand. “They’re still my people, Sam. If I dropped everyone that fucked up once, I wouldn’t have a gang.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “But I’d like to point out that you’re not gonna have a gang if I don’t get my hands on Big Man.”

The guard twitched a little in my unmoving grip, and Omar and Devon shifted, but Russ didn’t even react to my implied threat, saying, “You ain’t getting outta here alive if we don’t part on good terms, Sam.”

I pulled back the hammer of my gun, making my human shield mutter a tiny ‘oh fuck’, and said, “I’m willing to roll those dice.”

The tension of the room skyrocketed, with Omar dropping his smile and pulling his own gun, and Devon fully dropping the book. The would-be hitmen were looking between everyone in the room with expressions that showed they’d rather be anywhere but here.

“You brought people here with you,” Russ observed, still unarmed. “Are you willing to get them caught in the middle?”

I paused, then turned my head to look over my shoulder at Yua and Farah. The former looked imutable as ever, but Farah clearly looked nervous.

Still, she gave me a look and said, “I’m with you, Boss.”

I looked at her, then turned back towards Russ. Then my eyes drifted to the two that tried to kill me, that hurt my mom.

They looked so scared...

They were just the gun, I thought, So if I’m not being stupid about this, I should be mad at the one that sent them. I can always break their legs later, but for now, I need to be better.

“... no, I guess I’m not,” I said, putting the safety back on my gun and putting it down the back of my pants. “Talk?”

“Talk,” he agreed.

I let go of the guard and gave him a soft shove, then walked into the office.

He stumbled towards the couch, and looked like he was about to rush me, but Omar held him back. While that was going on, I literally kicked the mediterrenean would-be assassin off of his seat and took it, then gave the asian one a look.

He jumped out.

I looked at Russ, who seemed kinda amused, and nodded at him while Farah took a seat beside me and Yua stood behind and between us.

“So?” I said.

“So,” Russ reached into a drawer and pulled a map that’d been scribbled on with a black marker. “The parts marked with ‘BM’ are Big Man’s territory.”

“... he already has that much?” I whispered, noting with shock that it was a rough third of the city, including some of the best real estate. High Rises, expensive hotels... and if his product was still the same quality... “Fuck me, he might actually pull it off.”

“I wouldn’t give up so fast,” Russ said. “Other gangs have taken notice, started fighting for every inch and ever corner. Plus, this Spider dude hasn’t been making life easy for them.”

“Still...” I chewed my lip. “... how did Big Man get in contact with those two?”

“A big dog from his little army,” Russ said. “Tall nigga by the name of Candy; he’s killed a few of mine before. Used to run with the Cyphers.”

“Candy?”

“Candy,” he nodded. “Don’t let the name fool you, he’s a lethal motherfucker.”

I was more than familiar with the type. He probably had some stupid catchphrase involving candy or sweet stuff, and got away with it because he piled up bodies high. Reminded me of ol’ Teddy.

“Hm. So where do I fit in?” I asked.

“Candy gave these two a time and place to meet,” he said. “I want you to go and kill him.”

I’m proud that I didn’t flinch besides a small twitch of the eye. Still, I knew Russ caught it.

On the one hand, I was supposed to be doing less homicide. Almost every important woman in my life wanted that from me, and more importantly Iwanted that from me. Candy wasn’t going to be alone, I was probably going to have to take care of quite a few people.

On the other... I couldn’t let Big Man’s army go unchecked. I knew the difference that losing a major member of the organization could make in a gang war, this could be the difference between a couple hundred innocent bystanders dying, and who knew how many more soldiers getting gunned down.

Was one life worth all that? Was a clear concience that I didn’t even have in the first place worth that?

... no. No it wasn’t.

After a while clenching my jaw, I said, “... when and where would this be?”

“There he is,” Russ said with satisfaction. “Y’know, you could keep—”

“Russ,” I interrupted. “When and where?”

He grinned, but thankfully had the grace not to rub it in much deeper. “Vacant down by Miller Harbor, in about three hours.”

I made some quick math in my head and stood up, nodding, “That’s roughly an hour driving if we go now. Y’all coming with?”

“Omar and Devon will, along with Kaz and Percy here,” the last two were the chucklefuck wonder twins, apparently. “I’m thinkin’ you get there early, send them in ahead and try to lure out Candy.”

“Mm, y’think that’d work? He’s probably bein’ cautious right now.”

“Then I guess you better improvise,” Russ dismissed. “I remember you bein’ good at that.”

I grimaced. Improvisation usually ended with me bleeding, and the wounds from the assassination attempt earlier that day still stung despite my enhanced healing. But it could be over.

I was about to agree anyways when Farah cut in with a sharp, “Uh, yeah, fuck that.”

We all blinked, and I turned to look at her. She only had eyes for Russ, glaring hard.

“... beg pardon?” Russ said, tone dangerous.

“You heard me,” she said. “You’re not gonna just throw Sam at a problem and hope he fixes it. At least you’re giving us firepower to do this—”

Russ cut in, “I’m sending Omar and—”

“Fuck ‘em, that ain’t enough,” Farah interrupted back. “We want guns, nigga. And more than that, we want a ride so they don’t connect us to this clusterfuck.”

“Did you miss the part where we did negotiations?” Russ asked, “Wait, scratch that. More important: do you know who the fuck you’re speaking to?”

“I do, and your name rings out,” Farah nodded. “But that ain’t change facts, and the fact is you need us to do this, and you have what we need to do this. So fork it over, nigga. We can figure out the rest ourselves, but not with just the clothes on our backs.”

I sighed and started reaching for my gun, seeing Omar and Devon do the same out of the corner of my eye. Worst came to worst, I could count on Yua to keep Farah safe and then we could rob the place and find the meeting spot on our—

“Fine,” Russ spat. He turned to look at his mooks and gestured for them to stand down, saying, “Devon, give ‘em the keys to one of the stash cars, they can use that. Now; everyone, pleaseget the fuck out of my sight.”

We went.

I was dazed for a while—incapable of believing that Russ had given up without much of a fight. Were things that desperate? I never remembered him to be that easy to negotiate with... but that was then. Had I been letting myself be guided by memories that weren’t even accurate anymore?

No Billy, talked with Alice, worried for mom... I’d let myself get put in a situation just like that war three years ago, and then I’d let myself get carried around by circumstance like I was fifteen again.

I gotta work on this, I thought to myself, scowling at the thought. I’m a boss now, I gotta be better.

I barely reacted when Devon grumpily tossed me some keys and directed me to a dark blue Oldsmobile. Opening the trunk revealed a green duffle bag with four TEC-9s and a couple clips, and the sight of it helped ground me some. I closed the bag, then the trunk, then I turned to look at Farah with a serious expression.

She’d been following quietly, and winced when she saw my face. She started explaining, “Sam, look, I know I spoke out of turn but—”

She flinched back when I surged forward, then stiffened in shock when I caught her in a hug. After a small moment, she relaxed in my arms and I let her go, giving her a smile as I put my hands on her shoulders.

“Farah, thank you,” I said.

Without another word, I got in the back seat. The other two followed quickly, with Farah taking the driver’s seat and Yua riding shotgun. They took off the medical masks in the process, but kept the hoods on.

“You’re not mad?” the former asked as she started the car and drove out of the place, following after the car the other four were in.

“You stood up for me. For us,” I said. “That’s never the wrong move, Farah.”

“I could’ve gotten us hurt. I got angry and—”

“And I could’ve gotten us hurt because I was just about to go along with Russ out of habit,” I spat the last part, a little disgusted with myself. “I’ve been trying to keep my cool, but with everything going on, I just...”

I cut myself off with a sigh, then smiled at her. “You grounded me more than I realized I needed. So thank you.”

Farah blinked, then a small smile spread across her face. “You’re welcome, boss.”

The car hit the street, and I tried to relax in the back seat. My body still pulled and ached around the cuts covering me, but it was already better than it’d been that morning. By the next day I figured it’d be mostly faded.

“Are you gonna be okay, boss?” asked Farah. “I know you’ve been trying to steer clear of homicide, so...”

“Mm,” I said. “I’ll do what I gotta. If I feel like shit, or Bats decides to break up with me over it, that’s just how things go.”

“I guess,” Farah said. “Still...”

“You did your part, Weaver,” I said. “Now I gotta do mine. We all got our part in the game, no?”

Farah thought it over, then nodded with a bit of hesitance.

Yua, however, had her own part to say. “I could do it.”

“What?”

“I could kill him for you,” she said. “You don’t need to get your hands dirty.”

“Yua, I—”

“I can’t help in negotiations like Farah,” she said. “But I can do this, sir. I can do it better than most.”

I looked at her and felt the inside of my ribcage get tight with affection. She really meant it, I realized. She was trying to be better, just like me, but she would throw it away so I didn’t have to.

Which was just why I couldn’t let her. I shook my head and smiled at her. “No. I appreciate it, but there’s no sense in someone getting put down on my word but someone else’s hands. I’ll do it myself, Yua.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

She stayed silent for a moment, face unexpressive as usual, before nodding. “... as you say.”

The rest of the ride was silent, what little levity I’d cultivated before the meeting well and thoroughly gone. Now we just followed Omar’s ride, silently preparing ourselves for the problem ahead.

“... there’s probably gonna be some of those metas that were mentioned at that meeting,” Farah noted.

“Yup,” I said, “We got lucky so far, but I got a bad feelin’ that’s gonna run out now.”

“So what’s the plan?” she asked.

“I’m thinking we send ‘Kaz’ and what’s-his-name ahead through the front door while Omar, Devon and I get in some other way,” I scratched my chin. “The two will probably get searched on the way in, but there’s usually a lot of cover in warehouses, so we should have some advantage on a surprise attack.

“Usually it’d be easy enough to find and deal with the meta, but if the speech was honest then they’ll just be dressed like any other soldier. So it’ll either be Candy or some random asshole, and in either case the right answer would be to shoot for Candy first and go from there.”

“And what should we do?” asked Farah.

“Stay outside,” I said. “I need someone I can trust to keep an eye out and be able to contact Butcher or Billy in case things go wrong.”

“No fucking way,” said Farah. “We can’t just—”

“Don’t argue with me on this, Weaver,” I said. “This is important and I can only trust it to you two. Besides, if and when things go wrong it’d be easier if the people I actually care about are removed from it.”

They seemed hesitant, and they continued to argue against that part of the plan for the rest of the ride. But by the end of it, the play was decided.

{[X]}

“I fucking hate Gotham weather,” Devon groused, doing his best to not make too much noise as he climbed the warehouse’s fire escape. It was covered in a thin layer of snow, and the clouds overhead threatened with a few more inches before morning. “Can’t fucking wait for summer.”

“And I hate getting shot,” Omar said, “So I can’t fucking wait for you to shut the fuck up.”

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” I whispered, peeking over the edge of the rooftop. Three people were standing around, looking over different sides of the building and ocassionally walking around. None saw me, but one was about to turn and walk over so I ducked back under.

I turned to look at the two behind me and gestured for them to back off a little. When they did, I whispered, “Three guards, I’mma need a minute to deal with them. Stay low, stay here, don’t make any noise.”

“What d’you mean—” Devon started, but I was already climbing over the edge as soon as I heard the footsteps of the guard.

Before he could react, I planted a punch into his groin then grabbed him by the throat before he could so much as squeak in pain. I carried him by the neck towards a second guard that was just starting to turn around and slammed his head into his jaw, breaking it instantly and sending him to the floor.

The third one was a few feet away and already aiming a shotgun at me. I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, throwing it at his face. It broke halfway there, but it made him flinch long enough for me to grab the gun, aim it away from me, and slam my fist into his stomach.

As soon as I made contact, I let loose with a low-powered Venom Sting, making his body seize up and let go of the shotgun, which I promptly slammed over the side of his head, sending him to the floor.

I kicked him into something resembling recovery position and walked over to the edge, looking down at Omar and Devon.

“Coast’s clear,” I said. “Move it.”

They walked up, then stared at the knocked out guards before moving to the rooftop access.

“What are they feeding henchmen?” Omar asked, a little wide-eyed.

“Pussy, especially your mom’s,” I muttered, following after him but before Devon as we walked down the stairs and looked upon the wide open space of the warehouse.

Devon shushed us as we peeked over the gathered soldiers lounging around on the many wooden crates and pallets that usually littered the average Gotham warehouse. Only nine people inside: eight standard-issue soldiers from various gangs that weren’t even bothering to be subtle about the heat they packed, plus the guy I’d seen make the speech with Cass.

I pointed at him and looked at Omar and Devon. Omar shrugged and Devon gave me a small nod.

So that’s Candy, I thought. Was he talking about himself when he mentioned capes, or is one of those three the guard.

Didn’t change things, in the end. I tapped my own chest, then pointed at Candy. Omar and Devon nodded, and they repeated the gesture, pointing at the two on one side. I nodded back.

We stayed up the steel grate stairs under cover of shadows, skulking above and watching the nine make small talk as minutes ticked by. They didn’t seem close, though that was just what I got from body language since I couldn’t hear shit from them. They carried themselves a little tensely, but tried to fight it. One of them was playing music on his phone.

Candy was better at it, affecting a casual air that was only betrayed by the constant movement of his hands to the gun at his waist, then to his sides, then back again. I felt a bit of derision that someone that someone that’d seemed to have so much experience would have such an obvious tell. My own hands, for comparison, were perfectly still at my side, TEC-9 held tightly.

Eventually, the hour arrived and Kaz and Percy walked in a little after.

Candy said something to the effect of “you’re late”, as far as I could tell, and if they were going by the script the two fucknuggets would say that they had some problem explaining their absence to their superiors.

They were keeping their distance from the four, that much was according to plan. I took a few steps closer, stood to my full height, and aimed with eye and sixth sense at Candy.

There was a small moment of doubt, like there’d been almost every time before I killed someone.

I silenced it with practiced ease and pulled the trigger.

A spary of bullets broke the sound of conversation, and it took me a moment to comprehend that they hit nothing. Not because I’d missed, but because there was nothing where Candy had just been.

I frowned, taking a step back while the soldiers underneath flinched and screamed, and felt a low buzz of my Spidey Sense pick up and start growing.

I jumped to the side and turned, and Candy was right there, aiming a gun at where my head had just been. Before he could fire I took a swipe with the TEC-9, hitting him in the side of the jaw and making him fall back a little.

Devon and Omar were focused on firing down on the soldiers, so I closed in on Candy, grabbed him by the throat, and tossed him down the side of the stairs.

If nothing else, I thought, watching his eyes widen as he fell, That should break his legs. I can work from—

He disappeared again before he hit the floor, and my Spidey Sense only had half a second to warn me before something hit me in the back and sent me over the railing, spinning ass-over-teakettle and letting me catch a brief glimpse of Candy’s smug smile before I hit the ground.

I landed on my left shoulder, then my shoulder gave up under my weight and I started screaming.

“Sam!” Omar shouted, and the sound of gunfire followed shortly.

I forced myself to stop screaming and looked up to find the three mooks hiding under cover as Kaz and Percy fired in their direction from under their own cover. All three soldiers were looking at me.

I looked back.

The phone playing music changed to a different track.

I forced myself to take the TEC-9 with my right hand and sprayed fire in the general direction of the soldiers, struggling to get my feet under me as I stumbled to take cover behind a crate.

I caught one in the leg, making him scream out, but the rest were missed and returned fire with similar lack of success. They moved to different cover, and we were all scattered around the building.

I clicked my tongue, looking up to the stairs. Devon and Omar were on the retreat, firing back at Candy who was making short-range teleports to get away from where they aimed and returning fire intermittently. The two got a few ways down the stairs before they also had to worry about the three soldiers downstairs, so I decided to help by firing on Candy.

He disappeared again, but this time I expected him and I lashed out with an elbow strike back that caught him in the ribs, making him stumble back and cough while I turned around and roundhouse kicked him in the same side, sending him crashing through the side of a box.

Before he could recover, I walked up to him and kicked again, sending him out of what was left of the box and into the empty space, where he was on everyone’s line of fire.

I aimed my gun at him and fired, and he disappeared again, but this time not behind me.

Why didn’t he dodge the kicks? Is it automatic? Is that how he dodged the surprise attack? My mind was racing as I got back behind cover and started looking around, trying to find him. In that case, as long as I keep it under a certain amount of force, I should be able to whoop his ass.

My Spidey Sense blared just as I realized that I hadn’t looked up, and I threw my body into a forward roll just in time to dodge a shot from Candy, who’d teleported to the top of the box I was using for cover to fire down on me before bullets from my allies forced him to teleport in front of me again, glock already aimed at my head when he arrived.

I moved it to the side to avoid being in the line of fire and lashed out with a knee to his junk, making him wheeze and gasp in pain. I headbutted him, breaking his nose, and made for another kneestrike before he teleported a little away from me.

And I saw his eyes were wide with shock. Going on a hunch I hadn’t even fully formulated, I fired on him with the TEC-9 and he jumped away, a bullet cutting his arm open.

Gotcha now, bitch, I thought, my mouth splitting in a toothy grin.

I reared my head back and shouted to be heard over the sound of gunfire that was filling the warehouse, “Candy teleports automatically, but then it has a cooldown! Just shoot him right after he teleports!”

“Fuck!” the asshole in question spat as the other started focusing his fire on him, making him teleport away then start running away, making small teleportations only a few steps away from each other a few seconds after teleporting.

Small teleportations must come without cooldown, I thought as I fired after him until my gun ran empty. I had more ammo, but I kinda needed two arms to reload quickly and my left one was still hanging uselessly at my side. Well, if I can’t hit ‘im with bullets...

“Hey, nice job, asshole!” I shouted. “Way to get your ass kicked by a guy with one fucking arm!”

I dived behind cover just as he teleported into the position to fire at me, putting a few holes next to my spot behind the wooden box.

“No, really, you’re doing great!” I shouted as I put the TEC-9 between my legs and struggled to get the clip out. “You can teleport and I still got you in the fucking arm. Way to prove that stupidity goes beyond whether you’re a cape or not!”

I pulled the extra clip from my jacket and, thanks to my Spidey Sense, ducked just in time to avoid a few bullets that went through where my head had just been. Unfortunately, this made me drop the gun, but after some fiddling I managed to get the damn thing in.

Just in time to realize I had no way to cock it.

“God dammit,” I muttered, before jumping to my feet and running to the side. “Guys! How we lookin’?!”

“Damn good!” Omar shouted over. “Almost all the lil’ fuckers are dead, which just leaves this slippery shit!”

A smile pulled at my face, and was promptly knocked off of there by Candy appearing right next to me with his hand on my dislocated shoulder pressing down painfully.

Before I could react he put his whole weight into pushing me back, slamming the dislocated shoulder into a broken crate and leaving me with a few chunks of wood stuck through the jacket and into my flesh.

I fell to the ground screaming, and Candy fell on top of me, grabbing me by the throat. There was an odd sense of being squeezed on every side, then all the air left my lungs before I suddenly realized that Candy had teleported us to be near the roof.

Or rather, teleported me, as he soon vanished.

I didn’t have time to think, or react thoughtlessly, or anything more than gasp. Before the idea of shooting a web even occurred to me, I was slamming into the stairs. They bent under me, but didn’t break, and I felt the chunks of wood in my back press a little deeper, making me scream and gasp in pain.

The edges of my vision got darker, and the last thing I saw was Candy reaching for me while I heard my allies screaming my name, sounding like they were a thousand miles from me.