TALES OF THE LEGENDARY
REUNIONS
(a HERO SANDWICH production)
Terrence Knight stepped aside, easily dodging the blow from the shadowy figure he was fighting. He wound up, grinned a little under his mask, gave it an extra
little half-step just for kicks, and delivered a power-soaked uppercut right to the tip of the villain's jaw. The stalker went up, up, and over, slamming
down flat on the ground. His mask continued arcing high into the air, finally landing in a decorative planter some thirty feet away.
"Nothin' but net," Terrence crowed.
"Ooh, nice, Terr!" Rhea said from behind, as she waved Mr. Whiskers in warning at a bound and gagged thug struggling to escape his bonds.
"Don't make me zap you," she threatened. "Mr. Whiskers, keep an eye on him. If he moves, let me know." She set the cat down on the
ground. The man subsided, eyeing the stuffed toy warily. Rhea watched him for a moment, nodded sharply, then turned to begin tagging the large group of
unconscious enemies surrounding Terrence.
"That wasn't as hard as I expected," Lisa remarked from down the hall, dusting her hands off lightly. Around her, three more thugs wobbled on
their feet, then collapsed in a swirl of excited particles, even as a mushroom cloud rose above the group.
"These guys are wimps," Terrence put in. "I dunno why the normal security couldn't handle 'em." He raised an eyebrow -- about the
only part of his face that could be seen behind the mask -- inquringly at Rhea. "You sure the lead was legit?"
Before Rhea could answer, the stalker stirred. Terrence glanced down and shrugged. "This guy'll probably know more than that one," he said,
angling one thumb dismissively at the bound thug engaged in a staring contest with Mr. Whiskers. He bent down, gathered a handful of the villain's costume
in one broad hand, and lifted the man without any effort, holding him straight-armed about a foot off the ground. "Wake up, scum," Terrence growled,
giving the man a little shake. "I didn't hit you THAT hard."
The stalker's arm twitched, obviously palming some sort of weapon, and Terrence shook his head ruefully. They never learned. He raised the man a bit
higher, balled his other hand into a fist, and mentally calculated just how hard he'd have to hit to shake some teeth loose, make the guy drop the weapon,
but not send him to the hospital. Yet.
Rhea screamed -- "TERRENCE! NO!" -- and grabbed his arm, almost flying off her feet as he desperately tried to pull the punch. The stalker acted,
jamming a device into Terrence's arm, the one gripping the costume. Electricity sizzled and arced and Terrence's muscles jerked involuntarily,
releasing the stalker from his grasp. The man landed easily, dropping into a fighting crouch with the gleam of blades peeking out from the shadows surrounding
his hands.
"What's wrong?" Terrence said, ignoring the stalker for the moment. Rhea was staring wide-eyed in horrified fascination at the enemy, her lips
trembling, hands clenched at her chest, and Terrence glanced between them in confusion. He took a better look at his opponent.
The man -- about his own age, if looks were anything to go by -- was about six feet tall, when not crouched and ready to attack, and had swirls of dark energy
leeching out of his body like wisps of smoke, alternately concealing and revealing his features. He looked to be Caucasian, with an angry red tattoo on one
cheek, and was dressed in what Terrence had come to think of as 'manwhore' gear -- lots of leather and straps. He wore some of that himself, from time
to time, but on this guy it just seemed sinister. He had blades in his hands -- narrow, double-edged daggers that winked and flashed through the smoke -- and
a knowing gleam in his eyes. Slowly, the stalker smiled. It was not a nice smile, and Terrence ground his teeth, maintaining his self-control with iron will
as the urge to permanently wipe that smile off the punk's face rose within him.
"Rhe -- Emerald?" Lisa asked quietly. She stood, arms extended, energy swirling between her outstretched hands, obviously ready to drop the hammer
on the stalker at a moment's notice. "What's the matter? Talk to us."
Rhea just stared. Then with a loud sob she spun, gathered Mr. Whiskers to her chest, and took to the air, zooming down the hallway and towards the exit like
the hounds of Hell were at her heels.
"Rhea!" Lisa yelled, but Rhea was already beyond hearing. "Talk, now!" she barked, glaring at the stalker and intensifying the glow
between her hands so much that it began to drown out the normal office lighting. The carpet and walls near her began to smoke and smolder from the excess
bleed-off. "What just happened here?"
"Go after her!" Terrence called out. "I'll deal with him."
Lisa paused, glanced between the two men, then shook her head angrily and let the energy vanish. She leaped high, clearing the overhanging walkway and
touching down lightly behind Terrence in one bound, and sprinted down the hall after Rhea.
The stalker made his blades vanish and stepped back easily, catlike grace evident in his every move. He glanced once at Lisa, dismissed her in the same
motion, and smiled slyly at Terrence. "So," he said, amusement evident in his tone. "It's true. My little Rheabeth is a -hero-."
"-Your- Rheabeth?" Terrence growled. His knuckles creaked and he could feel his muscles swell beneath his armor. What the other man had said
clicked in his mind, and he narrowed his eyes. "How do you know her name?"
"Of course," the man continued, as if Terrence hadn't spoken, "she didn't have powers when -I- knew her." He grinned. "Is
she still wild in bed?"
Terrence lashed out, roaring incoherently, and the stalker ducked. He didn't get away cleanly; Terrence's fist grazed the side of his head, sending
him sprawling, but it wasn't a knockout blow. The stalker rolled to his feet, away from Terrence, and wiped a thumb along his temple, coming away with a
smear of blood.
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, and vanished.
Terrence snarled and stomped his foot, sending shockwaves rippling out and shattering the glass in the neighboring offices, but the stalker was gone. He took
several deep breaths, getting his rage under control, and whirled suddenly at a small noise behind him.
The tied-up thug stared at him with terrified eyes and desperately tried to inch away. Terrence picked the man up by his belt and slung him over his left
shoulder, ignoring the frightened mumblings coming through the gag and the growing stain on the thug's pants. He strode heavily to the planter and picked
up the stalker's mask, then turned and surveyed the scene one last time.
He tucked the mask into a pouch, settled his burden a bit more comfortably on his shoulder, and ran after the girls.
-----
Twilight shadows were lengthening as Terrence landed lightly on the rooftop. Here in Founder's Falls, the nights tended to be soothing and somewhat
romantic. He was in no mood to appreciate either quality, though.
It had been easy, finding Rhea and Lisa -- he just followed the tracker blips. Neither were answering their radios, though, and he could see why -- both
earpieces lay on the slate nearby, turned off and ignored. He stepped forward lightly, the sound of soft crying drowning out his footsteps. Rhea was curled
in a ball, almost sitting on Lisa's lap, at the juncture of the roof and a chimney. Lisa raised her head and met his eyes, and he could see that she was
crying as well, though the sobs all seemed to be coming from Rhea. He took another step and realized he'd never dropped off the thug from the office
building -- with his strength, it was sometimes too easy to forget he was carrying things. He stepped back and dropped the man -- who appeared to be either
unconscious or simply resigned to his fate -- on the fire escape, then moved forward again, taking off his mask and armored gauntlets as he did so.
Lisa continued holding Rhea, and conveyed her helplessness with a simple shake of the head. Terrence dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around both of
them.
"It's okay, Rhea," Lisa said, her tone suggesting that she had no idea if it was okay or not, but that it was the sort of thing one said to a
friend in need. "We'll help. Whatever it is, we'll help. Talk to us. What's wrong?"
In the fading light, Terrence could see the worried expression on Lisa's face. He assumed it matched his own. They exchanged glances over Rhea's
bowed head, waiting for the sobbing woman to calm down enough to speak.
When it finally happened, Terrence had no idea what time it was. Night had fallen completely by then, but other than that he paid no attention to his
surroundings. Rhea lifted her head and sniffed back some tears.
"We were going to get married," she said out of the blue, staring off at the War Walls. A sad smile tugged at her mouth. "We were already
living together. Two crazy kids, just out of high school."
Terrence blinked and noticed Lisa doing the same thing. He imagined her thoughts were along the same lines as his: Married? To that *criminal*? Lisa was
faster on the uptake, though, and spoke first.
"What happened?"
Rhea shook her head, still focused on nowhere. "I don't know. He just... wasn't there anymore. The police couldn't find him, *I*
couldn't find him, his dad and brother hadn't seen him since he left home... he just vanished." Rhea shook her head. "I thought something
had happened -- a car accident, maybe, who knows -- but they never found anything." She hugged Mr. Whiskers tightly. "That was the same year my
folks died," she whispered, staring now at the rooftop. "It was a really bad year."
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, Rhea," Lisa said, stroking the other woman's hair. Terrence squeezed them both gently, and Rhea patted his arm.
"You didn't know," Rhea said. "It's okay. I don't talk about it much. Mr. Whiskers doesn't like me talking about it -- I get
all upset, and then he has trouble holding back his power, and, well, you know. I just don't talk about it."
The crackle of gunfire erupted from the streets below. All three of them tensed reflexively, but other than that didn't respond. No civilians were
screaming, which meant it was likely rival factions battling it out rather than something that required their intervention. Terrence suppressed the faint
twinge of guilt he felt over not dropping down to put a stop to it. Rhea needed him right now... that was more important.
"You... you didn't hurt him, did you, Terrence?" Rhea suddenly asked, twisting her head around to look Terrence in the eye. "I mean, I know
he looked like he was a... a villain... but he really couldn't be! I know Danny, he was a good man..."
Terrence shook his head slowly. "No... I didn't hurt him, Rhea. He left on his own." Rhea smiled and turned back around, and Lisa met his
gaze, raising one eyebrow questioningly. Terrence shook his head, mouthing the word "later". Lisa nodded, eyes troubled, but held her peace.
"That's good," Rhea replied. Her good cheer appeared to be returning; she sat up straighter and fussed with Mr. Whiskers fur -- Terrence noted
absently that the cat was overdue for a bath. "Danny's ... he's alive, and he's here in Paragon City... I can find him, I know it!" She
was becoming more animated by the moment, and Terrence bit his lip to keep from ruining things.
What about us, Rhea? he thought. What about me and Lisa? A quick glance told him Lisa was thinking along the same lines.
"I'll help you find him," Terrence heard himself say. And... I don't want to think about what comes next, he thought sadly.
"Me too." Lisa nodded firmly.
Rhea looked at both of them and smiled -- a forced smile, but a smile -- and settled Mr. Whiskers on her shoulder. "Well, alright then!" she
declared. "And... thank you."
"First, though," Lisa added, "I think we need some sleep. We'll start looking tomorrow, first thing. Okay, Rhea?"
Rhea cocked her head at Mr. Whiskers, then nodded. "Yeah... you're right. It's been a long day, we're all tired. Right?" She stood
and stretched. "Okay then." A hint of her usual impishness rose to the surface as she grinned at Terrence and Lisa. "I'm first in the
shower, but I'm willing to scrub your back if you'll scrub mine."
Lisa smiled. "Wait, which one of us? The shower's not big enough for all three...."
Rhea stepped off the roof and twirled in midair. "You two figure THAT out!" she said, and began to fly away. "I'll be
waaaaiiitttingg..." she called back over her shoulder.
"... flip a coin?" Terrence rumbled. The he realized Lisa was already a vanishing speck over the rooftops. "Hey!"
-----
The clock on the stove said 12:04 AM. Terrence blinked at it blearily, then shuffled forward into the light. "'s'matter, Lise?" he asked,
settling into a chair at the table. "Can't sleep again?"
"No. Well, yes, but not because of, you know." Lisa slowly stirred a pot over the stove. "I'm just worried about Rhea, I'll be
okay," she added, flicking off the burner. Then she paused and regarded Terrence quizzically. "What about you? You were sleeping like a baby when
I got up."
"Smelled chocolate," he replied, indicating the pot with a grin. "When you're fighting Vahz -in the sewers- and you suddenly smell
chocolate, it's time to wake up."
"Heh." Lisa passed him a mug and began searching the cupboard for another. "Time to do dishes again," she muttered, finally locating one
hiding behind the plates.
"I'll do 'em tomorrow," Terrence offered. She nodded. The clock ticked forward to 12:06. Terrence fiddled aimlessly with his mug, waiting
for it to cool, staring into its chocolate depths and watching the swirls and bubbles without really focusing on them. Lisa finished pouring her own cup and
leaned against the counter, cradling the mug in her hands and watching Terrence with concerned eyes.
For a while there was silence.
"She doesn't get it, Lise," Terrence finally said. He pitched his voice low; Rhea was asleep down the hall and he didn't want her to hear
what he had to say. Not yet, anyway. "This guy, he's up to something. He knew she would be there. I dunno what his game is, but he's playing
one. I can tell, from what he said."
"What did he say?"
Terrence frowned. "I don't wanna repeat it."
Lisa arched an eyebrow.
"Look, it was rude, okay? It wasn't so much what he said as the way he said it." Terrence sighed in exasperation. "You kinda had to hear
it yourself."
Lisa raised the other eyebrow.
Terrence felt himself flush, and deliberately took a sip of his cocoa. Finally he said, "He called her 'my little Rheabeth', and asked if she was
still wild in bed."
Lisa's eyes narrowed. She didn't say anything, though Terrence noted that her cocoa appeared to have begun simmering again.
"What are we gonna do, Lise?"
Lisa set her cup down carefully and dragged a chair opposite Terrence at the small table. She spun it around and sat on it backwards, crossing her arms on the
arched back. "First things first. We have to find him." She paused. "We have to find him before Rhea does."
Terrence looked at her. "What do you mean?"
Lisa closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her hands. "I don't know. I just... maybe if we find him first and find out what's going on,
it'll be easier." She looked up at Terrence. "You saw how excited she got, thinking about finding him again. I... I don't want her
hurt."
Terrence winced. "I can't believe she was going to marry that jerk."
Lisa cracked a wry smile. "Yeah, well... love makes us do stupid things sometimes." She sat up straighter. "So, what do we know about
him?"
Terrence drained his mug and sat back, ticking items off on his fingers. "He uses knives, and he can turn invisible or something. He's quick, knows
how to handle himself in a fight. That smoke around him... I've seen stuff like it before, it's nasty. He dresses like a male hooker. He's got a
slight accent, alot like Rhea's, actually." Terrence angled his thumb towards the laundry room. "And I got his mask, dunno if that'll help
any. It's in my armor."
Lisa hmm'd thoughtfully, then paused. "Terr? What about that guy you were carrying?"
Terrence blinked, then smiled sheepishly. "Oh, uh... I got one of his thugs, too?"
Their prisoner looked up at Terrence and Lisa with an expression that was equal parts apprehension and exasperation. His body language seemed to say,
"Geez, guys, enough already, ok?" Terrence reached down over the edge of the roof, got a handful of shirt, and hoisted the man up to join them.
Lisa wrinkled her nose and stepped back.
"You really scared it out of him," she commented.
"It happens," Terrence growled -- more for their captive's benefit than Lisa's. He brought the man face-to-face with himself, shook him just
a bit, and said, "Who do you work for?"
Lisa tapped his arm. "Terrence?"
He turned. "What?"
"He can probably answer questions better if you take the gag out of his mouth."
Terrence turned back to his prisoner, sighed, and snapped the gag with a quick twist of his fingers. "Well?" he demanded. "Who is it?"
The man worked his tongue around, spitting out the wadded-up cloth, and glared with all the dignity he could, considering his feet weren't touching the
roof and his pants were in severe distress. "Nice. Real nice. I been arrested befoah, but dis is da foist time I been fuhgotten about. Cripes."
"Work. For. Who?" Terrence said, punctuating each word with a shake.
"Knock it off alreada, I'll tell ya, 'kay?! Sheesh." The man wrinkled his nose. "But foist, couldja scratch my nose? It's been
itchin' fa HOURS."
Terrence raised his other hand, the one not holding the man off the roof, and slowly balled it into a fist.
"I dunno his real name, 'kay?! He hired me an' da other guys inna bar, said ta call him 'Boss'. Didn't know we'd be goin up
'gainst da freakin' Legendary, or we'd'a told him ta stuff it, yanno?"
"Can you remember anything else?" Lisa put in.
The thug thought for a moment, then nodded. "Ya. He's a joik."
"What bar did you meet him in?"
"Casey's. Hey, make 'im put me down, wouldja, lady?"
Terrence glanced at Lisa, who nodded. "I know where that is."
"Don't," Terrence growled at the punk, "let me catch you again." He pulled an arrest beacon out of his armor, juggled it for a moment,
then flat-palmed it on the guy's forehead and let him drop. He vanished a few moments later in a wash of light and a plaintive "Ow!"
"So what next?" Terrence cracked his knuckles and rotated his neck. "To the bar?"
Lisa shook her head slowly. "I can handle this one myself. I think you need to go back and stay with Rhea, just in case. If that guy was looking for
her... he may have figured out where she's staying."
Terrence's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Call me if you need backup, okay?"
Lisa nodded. "Count on it."
He picked her up for a hug and a kiss, then watched as she stepped off the edge of the roof and bounced away, a single long arc that landed her neatly at the
train station.
"He'd better -not- show up at Lisa's apartment," Terrence muttered to himself, and dropped to the streets below, heading back home to take up
guard duty.
-----
The main entrance of Casey's was lit by a single flickering neon sign hanging crookedly above the door. In this part of King's Row, the streetlights
were at best a hit-or-miss concept, and so the door was buried in shadow. Lisa eyed it for a moment, then let a small smile creep across her face and walked
past it into the alley. A short distance into the canyon between the buildings was another door, this one lit by a dim bulb in a conical shade. A large black
man wearing a denim jacket and leather pants stood next to it, leaning against the building and puffing contentedly on a cigarette. His arms were tattooed in
swirling tribal patterns, and a set of locked handcuffs hung from one wrist like bracelets, both rings clamped tight with the chain swinging free.
"Tony," Lisa said, nodding at the bouncer.
"Been a long time, girl," said the man-mountain by way of greeting, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "A real long time."
"It has."
"You ain't gonna cause no trouble this time, are ya?"
"C'mon, Tony. Me? Cause trouble?"
"I remember last time REAL well, girl. That's how I got so pretty." Tony chuckled, running one finger along a scar on his cheek.
"That wasn't my fault, and you know it."
"Heh! Ya, I guess not." Tony flicked the cherry off his cigarette and tucked the stub behind his ear. He opened the door and stood aside.
"Tell Mike to send me out a burger, willya? I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry, Tony," Lisa said as she passed by.
"I'm a growing boy," he replied as the door swung shut. "And tell him heavy on the pickles!" Lisa waved one hand over her shoulder in
acknowledgement as she entered the bar proper.
The building had been an old clothing factory -- sweatshop -- in the early part of the previous century. After that it had done time as a tenement, a private
school, a soup kitchen, and a speakeasy. Its current owner managed to combine the worst aspects of all of them into a sum less than the whole of its parts.
It was, in short, a dive, and as always, Lisa found herself wondering just why she had stepped foot in here in the first place.
To her left and down a short flight of stairs were three battered pool tables, surrounded on three sides by a wall-mounted countertop crowded with worn and
tattered stools; to her right was the drinking area, with small square and round tables scattered haphazardly across the scuffed checkered-tile floor and an
odd mix of folding chairs, battered stools, and dining chairs formed from rolled aluminum and red fake leather. Straight ahead was the bar proper, with
plywood sheets covering the holes kicked in the paneling and a dented steel rail. She grinned at the largest panel, which took up at least six square feet of
space and had her initials scrawled on the surface in permanent marker.
The bar was in that odd state between crowded and empty; one or two people either direction would tip the scales, but for now it maintained an uneasy
equilibrium. Lisa strode forward, not turning her head; the bar rats on either side ignored her entirely or pretended to do so. She reached the bar, dropped
her leather coat over the faux-leather stool, and perched herself on it easily. The bartender approached, eyeing her with a mix of affection and unease. He
was a wiry man, thin but without giving the impression of being weak or gaunt. He wore a patch over one eye and a neatly trimmed Van Dyke in salt-and-pepper
gray to match his hair. He looked to be in his early 50's, perhaps, but Lisa knew his appearance was deceptive. She wasn't sure how old he was,
exactly, but he seemed to have been a fixture at this place since before she was born, if the stories were to be believed.
"Gamma."
"Mike."
"What'll it be?"
"The usual. And Tony's hungry again, by the way."
Mike snorted acknowledgement of that last as he rummaged under the bar. Shortly he produced a glass, which he clinked down on a napkin, followed by a dark
brown bottle with a peeling label and a thin coating of frost.
"I don't know why I bother stocking that stuff," he grunted. "You're the only one who ever wants any, and you don't come by any
more after that little party you threw."
"The other guy started it," she noted mildly, and smoothed the label with her thumb. A faded image of a man with a bushy handlebar mustache stared
back at her; she held the bottle still while Mike plied a bottle opener, then poured the glass half-full of thick, dark liquid. A heavy head of foam rose and
stopped at the top, with a thin trickle running down the side of the glass.
"To Weinhard," Lisa said, raising the glass. Mike matched it with an eyebrow and a chuckle, and she drained half in one pull.
"So what brings you by my place?" he asked quietly, plucking a toothpick out of the holder and eyeing it critically before settling one end between
his teeth.
"Usual reason," she replied. "I need some information."
He shook his head. "I dunno, girl. Last time you came in and wanted information, my bar got busted up pretty bad."
Lisa fixed him with a glare. "I didn't start that."
"No, but you sure as hell finished it."
"He deserved it."
"My bar didn't."
Lisa sighed, exasperated. "Look, Mike, are you going to help me out or what? I already apologized for that incident. And paid the repair bill."
She glanced around pointedly and raised an eyebrow. "Not that it looks like you used it for repairs."
Mike leaned back, rolling his toothpick in his mouth thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Alright. For old time's sake. -If- I can, you know how it works
'round here."
Lisa nodded. "Fair enough. I need to know who's been hiring in here in the past few days. Not the pros, just dumb muscle."
"Does this look like a job agency?"
"Don't give me that. I know someone was hiring in here, and if they were doing that, you got your cut. So spill already."
Mike laughed softly. "Fine, fine. You want another?" he asked, indicating the bottle. Lisa shook her head. He shrugged. "There's been a
couple folks doing some recruitin', yeah. You said dumb muscle, right? Well, the only one's been doing that is a new guy. Polite enough, but you can
tell he don't belong here."
"Got a name?"
"Yeah. Name's Mike. What's yours?"
Lisa stared at him through narrowed eyes.
"C'mon, girl, you know how it is. I don't ask and they don't tell."
"Neither do you. Give me -something-, Mike." She leaned forward. "It's really important, okay? Don't mess with me on this one."
"Don't throw your muscle at me," he warned softly. "I've confirmed what you already knew; you want more, it ain't coming from me.
He may have been new here, but I ain't gonna be the one to cross him first. I got a rep to maintain, after all."
She glared, then shook her head. "Okay. Fine. If you won't give me a name, then at least tell me who talked to him. I need a -lead-, Mike. Just a
starting point. Okay?"
"I don't -have- a name to give you, girl. But a lead... yeah. I can do that. He wanted Crispy -- you remember him, ya? -- and for whatever reason
Crisp turned him down. I dunno why and I don't WANNA know, okay?" He shook his head. "This guy was bad news, I can tell you that. He moved
like Tony does. He's a heavy hitter, whoever he is. You ain't gonna listen if I tell you to be careful, so I ain't gonna bother, but you'd
better listen to this." He leaned forward and stared at Lisa through eyes suddenly gone flat and dead. "You find this guy and throw down with him,
you do it somewhere else, got it?"
"Loud and clear," she replied. "Is Crispy in tonight?"
"He was earlier."
"Drinking?"
"Damn near cleaned me out of Jack."
Lisa winced. "That's not good."
"Works for me." Mike shrugged. "He left about midnight. You know his routine."
"Yeah." Lisa swirled the liquid in her glass and drank it down, then chugged the last sips directly from the bottle. "What do I owe you?"
The hole in the wall leading to the kitchen dinged, with a cheery "Order up!" Mike nodded at it. "Play waitress for a minute to shut Tony up
and we'll call it even."
Lisa looked at him quizzically for a moment, then sighed. "You really don't want me in here anymore, do you, Mike?"
"It ain't personal, girl." The wiry man's voice was gentle, almost resigned. "You're bad for business these days." He shook
his head. "I never would have thought you'd wind up with the Legendary. It's not just you that's got 'em all scared." He jerked
his chin at the rest of the bar. "They're worried your hero pals will come crashing through those doors any minute. Be honest, so am I."
"I've got no reason to bust you, Mike."
"Fact that you think that way's proof you don't belong here no more, girl." He shook his head again. "You were always a bit too nice
for this joint -- I could never figure out what brought you in in tha first place -- but you weren't all miss high-and-mighty hero back then. You wanna
drop by, I ain't gonna say no -- your cash is as green as anyone else's, right? -- but I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it to a minimum. Five
regulars have left since you showed up tonight; I may own the joint, but I still got bills, y'know."
Lisa nodded. "Alright." She dropped off the stool and shrugged into her coat, then took the proffered plate. "I'll see you around,
Mike."
She had one hand on the door when Mike whistled. She turned and looked back at him.
"Watch your back on this one, girl," he called. "It's not all business, unnerstand?"
She regarded him steadily. "No, it's not," she finally said, and left the bar.
-----
Lisa crouched on the roof corner, eyes wide and alert, scanning the city below for signs of her prey. Behind her on the asphalt rooftop three badly burned
Circle of Thorns members lay unconscious. Their vitals were good -- she had checked -- but they would be in serious pain when they woke up. Crispy had been
here, and was probably still around if the smoke gently rising from the Circle mages' robes was any indication.
The problem was, Lisa reflected, that King's Row at night was a hotbed of superhero activity. She'd already chased down several heroes that from afar
had looked to be the person she was after -- flaming fists and all. None of them were, though, and worse, none of them had any leads to offer.
The only way to tell Crispy's attacks apart from any other fire-based hero was that he wasn't a licensed hero to begin with, and didn't carry
arrest beacons, a Medicom unit, or anything else. So tracking him down had devolved into a sick case of connect-the-bodies. So far he hadn't killed
anyone... but was it only a matter of time?
There! Lisa leaned further out, focusing intently on a sudden blaze of fire highlighting the walls of an alleyway a few blocks away. It looked promising....
She gathered herself and leaped, arcing through the air with only the sound of her coat flapping to mark her passing, and landed lightly on the roof
overlooking the exploding alley.
It was Crispy, all right, locked in battle with two Death's Heads. Around the Skulls lay six Gravediggers -- the underlings had dropped in the first
blast, it looked like, unable to stand up to Crispy's fire. Now the vigilante was staggering from side to side, hit again and again by shotgun blasts from
the infuriated Death's Heads. How he had survived this long, she didn't know. She dropped over the edge and landed softly behind the two thugs, who
didn't notice her presence as they laughed, reloaded, and pumped another round of blasts into Crispy.
"'scuse me, boys," she said, tapping the Death's Heads on their shoulders. They jumped and whirled, trying to bring their shotguns to bear
on this new and unexpected threat, and Lisa hit them both with a wave of charged particles, with such energy density that they were lifted clean off their feet
and thrown down the alley to land, already unconscious, in a Dumpster.
"'EY! Those were MINE!" Crispy shouted, staggering towards Lisa with his fiery aura crackling brightly.
"Calm down, Crispy," Lisa said, raising a hand. "I just want to talk to you for a minute, okay?"
"Lousy heroes," the man muttered, sagging against the brick wall and closing his eyes. His flames began to die down, revealing a young,
tired-looking man with a shock of dirty blond hair and a gauntness to his cheeks that suggested malnutrition. He was bleeding lightly from half a dozen wounds
where the shotgun pellets had made it through his flames, but even as she watched, the blood trickled to a halt.
"You're a wreck," Lisa observed candidly.
"'m fine," he muttered. "Jus' fine."
"I need some info, Crisp, and word is you're the one to talk to."
"I ain't got nothin' to say to you." He shook his head, eyes still closed, and smiled tiredly. "Just be on yer way, and I'll go on
mine, yeah?"
Lisa looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then sighed. He was drunk -- Crispy was always drunk -- and stubborn at the best of times. As wasted as he was
right now... well, there really wasn't any other option.
She gathered herself, focused carefully on her powers, and released a precisely-tuned burst of particles that washed over Crispy in a glowing green wave. He
shuddered and twitched, his eyes flying open in surprise, and she hit him a second time. He staggered under the impact, coming off the wall, holding his head
as if in pain, with a strained gurgle rising from his throat. She took a deep breath, concentrating, and hit him with it again. He jerked, sweat rising from
every pore on his body, his breathing hard and ragged like he'd been running a marathon. His muscles twitched uncontrollably and he fell to the ground,
writhing like a snake in ashes. The sour smell of whiskey permeated the air.
Lisa took a deep breath and tagged him again. He screamed and gagged, clawing at the air.
Again. He writhed and twisted, and she began to gather her power for another blow.
"ENOUGH!" Crispy managed to bark. His spasms seemed to be easing off. "Oh, god, no more, whatever it is, I'll talk, I swear it, just lay
offa me!"
Lisa released the breath she'd been holding and sagged back against the wall with a deep, bone-tired sigh. Crispy huddled in a fetal position for a few
moments, then slowly rolled himself to his knees. His face had the look of one who had just had a religious experience with the wrong deity, and his clothes
were dark with sweat.
"I ain't been this straight in years," he muttered, settling back on his haunches and staring at her with a look of incomprehension.
"What... what'd you do to me?"
Lisa pushed herself off the wall and came forward, hooking an overturned crate with one foot as an impromptu chair. She sat down, ran her fingers through her
hair, and said,
"I altered your metabolism a little. Well," she admitted, "a lot, actually. Made you process all that booze that you called a bloodstream in
just a few seconds. You'll be okay... but you're seriously going to crash soon, when the edge wears off. And you should probably eat something,
too."
"Helluva way to get a guy's attention," he remarked after a moment.
"Heh. Yeah."
"So... uh... what is it you wanted?" His tone was quiet, but Lisa could sense the underlying fear. Fear of her, or fear of what she could do? She
didn't know, and at this point didn't really care.
"I need to know who offered you a job a couple nights ago at Casey's. New guy. You turned him down." She leaned forward and fixed Crispy with
a stare. "Who -is- he? What did he want?"
Crispy looked uncomfortable. "Hey, wait, you know how it works. He finds out I rat on him, I'm the one gonna catch it, yeah?"
"You're going to catch it from me if you don't talk," she warned. "What I just did to you is what I usually use to -help- people;
imagine if I'm trying to hurt you instead." She could see him pale at the thought of it.
"Alright, ya put it that way..." Crispy wiped at his face. "He didn't give me his real name -- 'less folks are getting weird about
names these days, that is -- but told me I could call him Southern Twilight. I figured he was some sorta hero. You know how I, uh..." Crispy spread his
hands helplessly.
"Yeah, I got it. So what did he want?"
"Said he needed some muscle, some backup, he says. A real sob story about needing to find some old friend of his who'd 'lost her way', is
what he said." Crispy grinned, a trace of his normal cocksure attitude returning. "Personally, I think he was just angling for a discount,
y'know?"
Lisa snorted.
"Anyway, I sez he's in the wrong bar if he's lookin' for that sorta help, and he gets this grin on his face like I'd just given him a
Christmas present. Tells me that it's a, how'd he put it... 'forcible rescue', and he needs guys who aren't afraid to get their hands
dirty." Crispy shrugged. "I tells him it still ain't my deal, but maybe he should go talk to some of the other guys. Then I left, 'cause
he was more'n a bit strange, yeah?"
"Anything else I should know?" Lisa asked. She caught a sudden flicker in Crispy's eyes. She raised one hand and wrapped it in a glowing green
radioactive fireball. "Don't hold back now," she said mildly.
He eyed the swirling green mass for a moment. "You do have a way with words." He shrugged. "Dunno if it matters or not, but he had this
little notebook with him. He was doodling on it while we talked. Top of the sheet had three names on it. First one was crossed out and I couldn't read
it, least not upside down; second one had what looked like a date beside it, third just had a question mark."
"What were the names?"
"Marilyn Harris and Rheabeth Samuels." Crispy cocked his head. "Why? You know 'em?"
Lisa controlled her surprise and shook her head. "Never heard of them, but every bit helps. What was the date?"
"Tomorrow. Well, today, I guess."
A rustling noise and a groan from the dumpster caught their attention. Crispy seemed to take that as a cue, and rose to his feet. "I'll be goin'
now, if it's all the same," he said.
Lisa nodded and watched as he left the alleyway. She rose to her feet and peered into the dumpster, where one of the Death's Heads stared back up at her.
It was hard to tell through the mask, but she she thought she saw his eyes go wide.
"Bye now!" she chirped brightly, and slapped an arrest beacon down on his chest. As he vanished she followed up with another on his
still-unconscious partner. The rest, still insensate on the ground, were only a few moments' work.
She made a quick call to Terrence to confirm that everything was okay back at the apartment, then headed for the police headquarters and the base portal
located there. The Legendary's computers were among the best in the city; if anything could help her figure out what was going on, they could.
-----
The search had been difficult. It was hard to track somebody who didn't want to be found, especially if they knew what they were doing, but the base
computers were up to the task. A hint here, a mis-filed record there, a careless swipe of a credit card... it all added up, slowly but surely. The trail had
begun with the name Crispy had provided. In any decent-sized city, any given name will belong to several people -- possibly several -hundred- people, if the
name is common or the city is large. Without a social security number, drivers license, or other form of ID to narrow it down, finding one specific person
comes down to comparing secondary data -- age, appearance, acquaintances, and so on. Lisa had none of those. Just a name.
But that name had appeared next to someone she DID know -- knew very well, in fact. Lisa started by asking for all examples of the two of them -- Marilyn
Harris and Rheabeth Samuels -- appearing in the same publications. And the only hits were nowhere in Paragon City, but rather, in Georgia.
Lisa knew that Rhea had been born in the south. When she pulled up the articles in question, she knew she was on the right track. Rhea's name appeared in
an advertisement in the personals section of the paper. She had posted it herself, and was asking -- begging, really, based on the tone -- for any information
regarding the whereabouts of her fiance, Daniel Carrington, who had been missing for several weeks. Clicking through the related links the AI provided, Lisa
found that the official police reports had written him off -- the case had never been closed, just chucked on the pile of missing persons reports that every
police force sees too many of.
The next hit, from the same paper, three months later: the obituaries of Rhea's parents, with a footnote that all correspondence was being handled by M.
Harris at such-and-such address, at the behest of the surviving family.
Finally, almost a year after that -- when, Lisa realized, Rhea would just have been leaving Basic on her first deployment -- there was front-page coverage of a
massive house fire that could have been nothing but arson. Massive quantities of accellerant had been used, much more than was needed to set the wood-frame
dwelling ablaze. The inferno, the article stated, had been visible for miles around, and it was only the heroic efforts of the firefighters that kept it from
becoming a wildfire. The house had burnt to the foundations.
The address was the same as the one in the obituary. The AI had backtraced from that address, and it was indeed registered to an M. Harris -- Mark, not
Marilyn. But Mark was a widower and had a just-turned-seventeen daughter. Remains of bodies found -- better to say, the ashes of remains of bodies -- pointed
at an adult male and an adolescent female having died in the fire. Positive ID was impossible -- there was literally nothing left except charred bone
fragments, according to the coroner's report, Lisa saw -- but both of them were known to have been home at the time, and nobody had seen either of them
since. Their cars were still in the driveway, and both sets of keys -- melted and lumpy, true, but distinct -- were by the ashes of the front door. Open and
shut, except for the arson.
Eventually the insurance company declared it to have been an attempt by Mark to get his payout, and things just went wrong. Very sad, but they weren't
going to pay out to the estate, which was likely just an overworked lawyer anyway, since the Harris's had no immediate family in the area. Case closed.
So why, then, Lisa wondered, had Mark's credit card been swiped in a dingy motel in King's Row three weeks after the fire? It hadn't cleared, of
course, but that one false ding was enough to raise a flag for the Legendary AI.
A moment of inattention, a single bit of carelessness brought on by exhaustion, can be enough, sometimes. Lisa and the AI pounced on that motel's
computers and rifled through them. Nobody had checked in under Mark's card, but oddly enough, a few days later a Jill Smith checked out. Without having
checked in in the first place, and paying in cash.
It was slim, but it was a lead. Lisa followed it, searching City Hall records for ID cards issued in that name at that same timeframe. Bingo.
She copied down the most recent address listed for that ID, patted the terminal gratefully, and headed for the teleport bay.
-----
Lisa stood on the dirty streetcorner in Skyway City and gazed thoughtfully at the modest apartment building across the street from her. The streetlight above
her head flickered and buzzed, and she blew an irritated sigh and concentrated briefly, clamping down on her output. The buzzing stopped.
The building she was looking at was an example of low-cost housing and looked it. This one was slightly better than most in that it had a fence surrounding it
-- not that it would stop a Troll rampage, but the gesture counted -- and appeared relatively clean, with only a little obviously freshly-applied graffiti
adorning the alley-facing side. It had, according to city records, six units, accessible by an interior hallway that ran straight through the building. Four
were on the ground floor, the other two were upstairs and in the basement, respectively.
Jill's apartment was on the ground floor, at the southwest corner. Unlike every other home in the area, all lights were on and blazing brightly through
the windows, though with the curtains drawn Lisa couldn't see in. That in itself was enough to make her suspicious. It was four AM, after all, and Jill
-- according to the records -- worked in an office. She should be dead asleep at this hour.
Wincing at her own mental choice of words, Lisa straightened her shoulders and crossed the street. She ducked into the shadows behind the overgrown hedge
under the main window and held her breath, listening. The sounds of the city drowned most everything out, but by pressing her ear to the glass at the corner
of the window and covering her other ear, she was able to faintly hear speech.
"... please, no, Danny, that's all behind me, it's over now. I haven't said anything to anybody!"
A low, masculine murmur.
"I swear, I didn't, I didn't! I... oh, god, Danny, no, please, I'll --" The voice cut off with a whimper, followed by muffled cries.
Lisa scowled. She ducked down below the window and hit a speed-dial button on her phone. Terrence answered on the first ring. Lisa didn't give him a
chance to speak.
"Terrence, I need backup, now." She dropped the phone, leaving it open and ignoring the startled voice that came out of it, and jumped up to the
porch where the main doors waited. The handle rattled in her hand. Locked. Lisa glanced at it, then shrugged and slagged the mechanism with a burst of
cosmic particles. She drew the smoking mass out of the door and dropped it, then hooked her fingers in the hole where the lock had been and pulled the door
open. First door on the right was Jill's -- Marilyn's -- apartment. Lisa eyed it critically for half a moment, then stepped back, braced herself, and
applied her bootheel to the door just inboard of the knob, sending the door flying off its hinges into the next room. She ducked through the wreckage to find
a familiar man kneeling next to a bound and gagged young woman in a chair.
"Daniel Carrington, I presume?" Lisa said in a voice like a glacier. The girl's eyes widened, but the pressure of a dagger against her cheek
kept her frozen.
Danny narrowed his eyes as a smile crept onto his face. "Stay put, baby," he said to Jill, twisting the dagger just enough to draw a bead of blood.
"I've got some business to take care of." He rose to his feet.
"I don't believe I've had the OOF!" he said, as Lisa nailed him in the chest with a blast of radiation. He rolled away from it and came to
his feet, frowning. Dark energy erupted from his skin, wrapping him in shadows; she hurled another bolt at him and watched as it splashed harmlessly off the
far wall, shattering the lamp in the process. The lights in the rest of the apartment flickered and died as the charge from Lisa's bolt sizzled through
them. Danny vanished.
"Such a beautiful girl," his voice mocked, echoing out of the shadows. "Tell me, do you bleed as pretty as you look?"
A faint hint of wind against the back of her neck was the only warning she got. Lisa dived as a knife blade, gleaming in the dim light filtering in from
outside, swept through the space her head had occupied only moments before. She spun and lashed out with a wave of energy, setting the coffee table to
smoldering but otherwise doing nothing she could see.
"So fiesty, too!" His voice seemed to come from just behind her ear, a whisper of breath tickling her senses. She whirled. Nothing.
"Over here, precious," his voice said. Lisa spun again and stopped. Danny was visible again, crouched behind the chair where Marilyn was bound. A
blade was pressed lightly against her throat, and the tendrils of wispy darkness, like living things, were caressing her face and arms. Her eyes were wide in
panic, but even as she watched, they closed, and tears leaked anew from their corners. She appeared to have resigned herself to whatever was coming, because
when they opened again and fixed on Lisa's they were calm and empty.
"Can you feel it?" he asked. "Her pain and fear... it's like a fine wine." He nuzzled Marilyn's hair, sniffing deeply, then fixed
his gaze on Lisa. "But you... mmm." He smiled. "Your fear is already delicious, and it's not even fully formed yet. Oh, yes, I can feel
it, my dear. You're afraid for my little Rheabeth." His smile grew wider, if that were possible. "When you finally realize it is yourself you
should fear for, it will be -exquisite-."
"I'm not afraid of you."
He chuckled. "In time."
"Let her go." Lisa called radiation to her hands, wrapping them in a green nimbus. "Your little tricks won't stop me."
"Ah, ah," he called, tilting his head to indicate his captive. "We wouldn't want complications now, would we?"
Marilyn shuddered. Danny twitched, a fierce grin crossing his face for a moment. The building shook.
"That," Lisa remarked with a grin on her face, "would be my backup. Give up, Daniel. You're surrounded."
"Now where would be the fun in that?" he replied, and vanished. Lisa leaped over Marilyn and lashed out with a blast of rads, scorching the
doorframe. The pulse of energy briefly outlined a figure running for the bedroom.
"Out back!" Lisa yelled, hearing Terrence bellow an acknowledgement. The sound of breaking glass from the bedroom reached her ears; Danny must have
dived out the window. She turned, and froze.
Protruding from Marilyn's back was a polished double-edged dagger, buried to the hilt. From the blood soaking the carpet it had been there for at least as
long as they'd been talking. From the angle, it had to be embedded in her heart. Marilyn's head was tilted back, and her eyes stared glassily at the
ceiling.
"... fuck."
-----
The waiting room was curiously empty. Normally, any number of patients and visitors would be present -- such is the fate of a waiting room in a hospital in
any city, much less one in a city where superpowered criminals and heroes slug it out on a daily basis.
This waiting room contained only two people, however. And one of them, a mountain of a man, was the primary cause of it.
Terrence Knight reached the end of the row, paused momentarily, then about-faced and resumed marching. Rage and frustration was a palpable aura around him,
and combined with his glowering expression had driven everyone to move to safer locations.
Lisa, leaning against the support pillar in one corner of the room, wasn't much better. For her, the fury was tinged with a hint of unease. A dagger to
the back was -nothing-; in the course of a day your average hero wouldn't even -notice- one of those. Her healing abilities should have brought Marilyn
out of it immediately, made the woman feel like she could run a marathon. Instead they had... closed the hole, started the heart, and that's it. There
was no life to the woman. It made no sense.
The door opened and a doctor stepped through, followed by a woman in a smartly tailored business suit, carrying a large leather-bound book with her finger
between the leaves.
"She'll live," the doctor said without preamble, cutting short Terrence's incessant pacing. Lisa and Terrence moved to stand before him.
"But... well, I'll let M.A.G.I. explain."
The woman in the suit nodded and stepped forward. "Miss Smith will survive. Your intervention saw to that, thankfully." She smiled at Lisa.
"But her... essence, for lack of a better term, has been severely harmed. It will take some time for that to recover."
"Will she wake up?" Lisa asked.
"Not for some time, I'm afraid. But she -will- recover, eventually." She became businesslike. "Now, we tested the dagger, and aside from
traces of contamination it's purely normal. It's not even a custom model; one of my assistants found it in a catalog. So nothing unusual there."
"Those dark swirls, then." Terrence nodded, and scowled. "I thought they looked familiar."
"Yes," the woman said, matching his nod. "Dark energy, from the netherworld. It's well documented in our archives. This particular use of
it is less common, but not unheard of." She blew a sigh. "Basically, the man who did this is a... vampire, of sorts. He uses that dark energy to
trap and feed on negative emotions, pain, fear... and through those, the essence of those he attacks. That explains her condition." She leaned forward
and patted Lisa's arm, lightly. "It's not your fault, you know. You healed the body, and that kept her alive; nobody can heal her spirit except
herself. She'll survive, that's what counts."
Lisa nodded, but the frown didn't leave her face.
"We'll keep her under observation," the doctor put in. "Since she's part of your investigation, we'll call you immediately if
there's any change in her condition."
"What if he comes back for her?" Terrence growled.
The woman smiled. "I've laid several wards around her. Even you, as nice as I'm sure you are, would have a hard time approaching her bed right
now in the state you're in. Anyone with hostile intent towards her doesn't stand a chance."
Lisa and Terrence exchanged glances, and nodded. "Good enough," Lisa said. "We'll let you know as soon as we catch him, in case
there's something you can get out of him."
-----
"Only five-thirty, already feels like bedtime," Lisa commented as Terrence unlocked and pushed open the door to her apartment.
"You -have- been up all night," Terrence pointed out.
"True. So I'm going to go take a nap." Lisa stripped her gear off quickly and deposited it in the laundry room, gave Terr a quick kiss as he
struggled with his armor -- it went on quick but came off slow -- and headed for the bedroom.
Moments later she was back. "We've got trouble," she said, holding up a slip of paper. "Rhea went off looking for Danny."
"... oh, FUCK." Terrence said. He stared blankly for a moment, then his eyes met Lisa's. Without a word he began clamping armor back into
place, as Lisa began to pull on her own clothes.
As they left the apartment, Lisa pulsed out a glow that bathed them both and left them slightly breathless, but with renewed vigor. She grimaced.
"That'll last for a bit," she said, "but we're both going to crash hard."
"We'll find her." Terrence settled his visor into place and stared out over Steel Canyon. "We'll find her," he repeated
stubbornly.
More to come...
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs