Previously on With Great Power Quest: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=With%20Great%20Power%20Quest

sorry for the absence. I'll try to run later to make up for it

>>4818800
>maybe dig into Penderose's file, he's the puppet master here

Good to see you back OP! Hope your arm is ok.

>>4818800
>finding out Semper Fi's real name would be a start
I was starting to doubt you were running tonight!

>>4818819
Not great, I'll need surgery if I ever want it to be reliable again, otherwise its just going to be a time bomb until the next time it pops out of the joint

>>4818800
>finding out Semper Fi's real name would be a start

>>4818917
>>4818850
locked in

"Finding out Semper Fi's real identity is a start," I said, "I know her first name is 'Emma'. Penderose let it slip when we fought on Shark's island."

"It's not much but its something," Ms Grant said, "Based on the name and public persona she's probably former military, most likely a Marine."

"Based around Chicago too," I said, "She had to be in Chicago when the Explosion happened."

"All little puzzle pieces," she said, "Now we need to find the corners and start filling it all in."

"I'm not much for puzzles," I said, "They can wait for the retirement home."

Ms Grant smiled. "Lucky for you, I am," she said, then held up her phone to show a half-finished Sudoku puzzle. "Keeps the mind sharp. I've been told I've got the hobbies of a seventy year old. Warn me if I start offering hard candies."

"You look damn good for seventy," I said. It got a smile out of her.

"If I'm looking into Semper Fi, I'd suggest you look into Agent Penderose," she said, "Semper Fi is just a boot, Penderose is the one calling the shots."

I'd been thinking the same thing. If one was guilty it was because the other had given the order. Penderose was smarter than I'd given him credit for, this wasn't going to be an overnight success, and would take more than a good right hook.

Gangsters were simple. I just whooped the shit out of them. Government conspiracy, corruption, this is the kind of stuff made my brain hurt with frustration.

"You be careful Ms Grant," I said, "She's dangerous and crazy. She might not think much of popping your head like she did the Russian."

"I'll try not to piss off the psycho blonde with super strength," she replied, "You be careful too."

I stepped back. "Oh I'm always careful," I said, "When have I ever pissed off someone dangerous?"

Her laughter chased me as I leapt through the air.

Getting home I put thoughts of government conspiracies aside. I was greeted at my window by Mangy, the half-feral cat rubbing against my calf as I stepped down from the windowsill. Then I found Dad drunk on the couch, a beer bottle open in his hand, half a dozen empty at his feet.

There was a moment last year I believed Dad was pulling himself together. Now after breaking up with his girlfriend and finding out my secret identity, he had relapsed worse than ever. As usual he was a quiet drunk, sitting and staring at a tv screen, drinking robotically as he fought to blind out his mind. I'd never thought of him as weak before Mom died, but now I didn't know what to think of him. Bloodshot eyes turned to me as I crossed to the kitchen.

"You're home," was all he said, before going back to his drinking. Was he relieved I was safe or angry I'd gone out to begin with? We didn't talk about my situation, about the Hotspur stuff, about my powers and the fact I wasn't entirely, all together human. Maybe he didn't want to know.

It can be hard to watch someone you love risk their life, even if you know its for a good cause.

And Dad had lost a lot already.

Maybe I should be kinder.

Either way I opened the fridge and started in on the leftover Popeye's, stripping the chicken to the bone, feeding Mangy a thin strip. The cat purred. It didn't quite satisfy the burning hole in my gut, but I was getting better with my powers, better at handling their toll. It took a lot of exhertion to get put in a state of crippling hunger these days, but I still had a present hunger, something to replace the fuel I'd burned.

I checked my phone to see what was up in the normal world, though the line between 'normal' and 'paranormal' were blurring everyday.

Some more para-folk arrested on the South Side. Something about a disturbance in a McDonald's. No one I knew, but still something to worry about. I had a good idea what happened to para-folk taken into custody now, and they didn't care about guilt or innocence.

I chewed down the last of the chicken, sucking the grease off my fingers.

Penderose. I checked for news of Penderose.

A few videos of him appearing on the Priscilla Takanawa show, a couple of statements to the media. He seemed to like the spotlight when it fell on him. An article on his mission to rescue sex trafficked children, with no reference to Shark, their actual rescuer.

Before joining the DPA he'd been FBI. As I understood it he was the primary, maybe even only, DPA field agent. But the DPA website said they were recruiting, with an official federal seal and everything. Money was coming in, the agency was becoming legit. He was due a promotion and all thanks to these frame jobs. Son of a bitch.

>maybe it was time to visit the DPA headquarters, get a first hand view
>better to focus solely on Penderose. Track him, figure out where he lives
>maybe I should wait for Ms Grant to gather a couple more puzzle pieces first

>>4818998
>better to focus solely on Penderose. Track him, figure out where he lives

If he is expecting more people to come in, I don't think he'd keep anything incriminating in the workplace.

>>4818998
>better to focus solely on Penderose. Track him, figure out where he lives
Doesn't seem like the type to shit where he eats

>>4818998
>better to focus solely on Penderose. Track him, figure out where he lives
I think we need to figure out when and where he plans the frame jobs. If we can learn when their next one is and catch them in the act then he'll be fucked. Good thing we have enhanced senses.

>>4818998
>>better to focus solely on Penderose. Track him, figure out where he lives

>>4819106
>>4819064
>>4819033
>>4819010
locked in

It was time to get more personal with Agent Penderose. Figure out where he lives, where he goes, track his patterns. He wanted to come after me, I'd go after him.

Task set.

Now all that was left was the work.

I started my case after school, ghosting the DPA building waiting for Penderose to clock off. The DPA had its own office in the Near West Side. It was a modern corporate building, all glass and concrete, no doubt surviellanced out the ass. Good thing I had the eyes of a hawk, and could camp out on the roof of a nearby Denny's, munching on a melt. Even I'm hesitant to eat Denny's, but I could use the fuel.

I watched cars come in and cars go out, trying not to think about the English homework I had to catch up on, or skipping out of basketball practice.

Finally I saw the gaunt little man step out in his oversized black coat, talking with a tall older man in a gray suit. Penderose followed the older man like Wormtongue following Saruman, clearly in defference, respect, maybe even a little fear. The older guy for his part didn't seem to pay Penderose much mind. Had to be his boss, Director Miscampbell. Whatever they were saying was too far away to hear, but Penderose was animated while the director looked bored. Either way when the director got into his car, an older style BMW, he left Penderose standing in the cold, fists shoved in his pants pockets.

The buzzard like posture of the federal agent swung around, and he stalked over to the car park, getting into a much less fashionable car. He climbed in, started it up, then rumbled off, the exhaust barking with a puff of smoke. Looks like the federal agent wasn't paid well for his efforts.

I leapt to a tree, then a street light, following the car as it wound its way through the streets of the near west side up to the north, rat racing through backstreets rather than having to deal with the gridlock of the inner city. Landing on rooftops and hedges, I kept him in view with fire sharpened eyes, trying not to get too close as sunlight said goodbye and a cold night set in with a bitter hand.

A guy like Penderose was no sucker, he'd spot an obvious tail.

Eventually he pulled up in front of a three story building not too different from the one I lived in. Parked in the alley, checked his gun in his holster when he got out. The neighborhood was working class but not run down. A dog barked from a yard, a skater buzzed down the sidewalk. Quiet, average kind of place.

Keys rang in the lock as he went in.

There was no knowing which floor he lived on, but after a few minutes the light flicked on the top floor. I listened, and heard a light jazz start to play with the faint crackle of a vinyl recording.

I stared at the barred window.

What secrets were behind it? What evidence waiting to be found?

>Confront Penderose now, try shaking him down
>Wait for tomorrow when he'd be out at work, break in

>>4819132
>Wait for tomorrow when he'd be out at work, break in

>>4819132
>Wait for tomorrow when he'd be out at work, break in

Don't want to tip him off.

>>4819132
>>Wait for tomorrow when he'd be out at work, break in

Man this quest really went downhill.

>>4819142
>>4819143
>>4819174
locked in

Going in now wasn't going to help things. This wasn't something I'd fix with my fists. Tomorrow was a school day, he'd be out doing his job. I'd come back then, break in and see what I could find.

I took a photo of the house and made a note of the address, then booked.

I was halfway home when I saw the ash falling. For a second I thought it was snow, until it stained my shoulders, then I saw the smoke.

The harsh glow of a fire poured out of a two story flathouse, people on the street gathered, recording it on their phones, checking for signs of the fire department, wanting to help but with nothing they couold do. Some people wore masks against the choking smoke, most just stared. A woman in her pajamas wrestled with a big black guy, thrashing in his grip, face wild.

"My babies are in there!" she screamed, tears from the smoke and her own terror rolling down fat cheeks, "Somebody please, my babies!"

"Fire truck's on its way," the big guy tried to tell her, but she was too wild with panic to understand, clawing at his arm, trying to fight her way into the hot flames, a baking heat radiating afrom the bottom windows as thick vicios clouds of ash and smoke rose into the sky.

I dropped beside them.

"Where?" I said, the heat of the fire warm, its glow a sun in the middle of the street.

"Top floor," she said, "Their bedroom is in the back. Please, you have to."

"I'm on the job," I said, legs bunching under me. I fired up to the top window, smashing through the glass.

"Go Hotspur, go!" some cheered from behind me, but the cheer wasn't picked up.

>roll 3d100+15 dc 70

Rolled 13 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4819244

Rolled 73 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4819244

>>4819312
need one more roll to avoid a critfail

>>4819244

Rolled 23 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4819244

>>4819312
pass

I'll be back tomorrow with the write-up

>>4819312
Nice roll, I'm pissed I fell asleep

>>4819244
I swear, this women's "babies" better be actual babies and not just her cats, there could be actual people in there that need our help while we're bumbling around looking for cats

>>4819909
She does mention their bedroom. I doubt cats are going to have a dedicated bedroom.

Shards of glass and splinters of wood rained down around me as I landed in a living room choked with smoke, the floorboards hot under my feet. My bodyu pulsed, the fire inside me in rthym with the crackling, gushing flames devouring the building beneath me.

My glasses, meant to keep the wind out of my eyes, did as good a job stopping the smoke from stinging them, but my mask wasn't as good keeping out the smoke, and soon I was retching, trying to clear the smoke with a wave of my arm.

I'd done a lot of crazy shit so far in my superhero life, this was the first time I'd jumped into a burning building.

The back, a bedroom. The kids. Got to stay focused. My nose was running and my throat was scratched roar, a hacking cough spilling from my lips. I squeezed my eyes, glad I had them at least, but the smoke was thick. I fought through it, stumbling, listening. I closed my eyes and extended out my hearing.

There, a harsh little cough. I ran for it, barreling half-blind through the smoke choked room.

A wall slammed into me, or I rammed into the wall, plaster cracking, dust raining down from above. I felt along until my hand hooked a doorway, and I just about whipped myself around.

Down the end of a smoke shrouded short corridor I saw a door closed, a finger paint sign. A kids bedroom if there ever was one.

Bowing forward I sprinted for it, bracing my shoulder I charged, and the door burst off its hinges with a hard thump across my side. It thumped to the ground and a kid screamed.

They were backed up against the iron barred window, a kid maybe six and another even younger, a pair of light-skinned boys still in their pjs. The little one coughed, their eyes both stung wet and watery. Wet from smoke and terror.

"Hotsp-" the older one started but it turned into a spluttering cough, smoke starting to flood into the room.

Shit.

I remembered enough from fire safety lessons, it was smoke did the killing. My chest rumbled with a cough of my own. I spat up in my mask, going to the bars on their window.

"Grab on," I said, kneeling. The six year old helped his little brother latch tiny hands to my neck, then grabbed on himself.

Me, I took an iron bar in both hands, and churning with power hauled back, teeth grit in a straining face. Something popped beneath out feet and the fire roared in response, smoke vicious and thickening.

"Come on," I snarled, drool running from my mouth.

I pulled, arms tight, surging with my own fire. The iron began to bend, then it buckled. It sprung with a relief, my body swinging back. It was a gap enough for me. I kicked out the window. A carpet of smoke rolled beneath my feet, flames beginning to chew through the floor boards, the kid hanging off my back wheezing.

Grabbing either bar, I wedged myself through with the kids. It was an empty drop to the alley beneath us, but me, I could drop from a skyscraper with just a numb shock.

We hit the ground, smoke flooding through the alley. I swung the little one off my shoulders and into my arms, took the older boy by the hand. Together we ran out of the smoke choked alley, the heat of the burning flathouse baking my face.
When we emerged it was to the wail of relief of their mother. I palmed her baby boy off to her, the boy blue in the face and gasping. Me, I buckled over coughing up my lungs, wheezing.

I could take a punch better than anyone alive, but a lungful of smoke could knock me down as easily as anyone.

The mother clutched her boys close as their home burned.

"Jesus," someone in the crowd said as faintly came the howl of a fire truck.

"Thank you," the mother said, squeezing her boys, crying hard.

I sucked down cold air. From heat to winter chill felt like stepping out of a fever.

"Thank you Hotspur," she said, tears still rolling down her fat cheeks.

"No problem," I said, raising a shaking thumb.

Then a grasp on my shoulder as someone shook me. I looked up into a grinning face, a crowd of smiling, cheering faces.

"You did it man," a skinng hipster guy said, "You saved the kids."

"Uh," I said.

"You're a-" but his next words were cut off by a pop followed by a boom. A fireball rising from the building. Everyone braced back.

Down the street a big red truck blarred its siren, parting the awe struck crowd.

"Clear the street," I said, getting to my feet, "Clear off, give the fire fighters room!"

Down from the truck in his broad brimmed helmet was a familiar face. I don't forget a guy who saved my life. Chuck Haywood barked orders at his crew, then looked around. "Did those assholes switch off the gas mains?" he growled, dropping the visor of his helmet. When he saw me he laughed. "Shit, Hotspur! Good to see ya! I've still been drinking free off the last time we meet."

Last time we'd met he and his crew had saved my ass from Ooze.

"Officer Haywood," I said, ash crumbling off my shoulders, smoke-stains across my chest. A couple paramedics took hold of the mother and her boys.

He shook my hand in a strong grip, grinning big.

The fire fighter team worked quick and cool, getting everything together to put out the fire.

Chuck Haywood pulled off his helmet. "You rescue them kids?" he said. I nodded. "Course you did. Far as I figure you're due a medal or something. You can leave the rest of this here to us."

"Always happy to leave you the real work, Chuck," I said. Chuck Haywood roared with laughter. I gave the fire fighter a short salute. He waved me off as I bounded away, confident I could leave the problem in his experienced hands.

I bounded out of there, heading home.

It was a good diversion I guess, helping people. Reminded me why I did this. But my lungs ached and I had less spring in my leap. Maybe I should get checked for smoke inhalation. Maybe not.

I got home with ash streaked on my cheek and a deep, cramping hunger.

Whatever good I'd done, I had tomorrow to worry about. Breaking into the home of a federal agent, on a school day. It wasn't that I was going to back out but...

Dad sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. The kitchen had been cleaned, so had the living room. He'd even vaccuumed.

"Hey kid," he said, looking as battered as my lungs.

"Hey Dad," I said. He had the hung over rung out look of a man sober for the first time in days. Good, I thought. The more sober days he had the better.

I went for my room, a lot of homework to catch up on, but I paused at the door.

"Dad," I started. He looked up, hopeful.

>I need to call in sick for school tomorrow
>...never mind

>>4820878
>I need to call in sick for school tomorrow
We need to tell him the truth
I just hope it doesn't bite us in the ass

>>4820878
Don't workdays go longer than school days? Could we head there right after?

If not
>I need to call in sick for school tomorrow

>>4820878
>I need to call in sick for school tomorrow

>>4820917
>>4820903
>>4820897
locked in

"I...I need to call in sick tomorrow," I said, knowing he wasn't going to like it. Dad had adapted to knowing about my other life about as well as Nate Robinson adapted to boxing. And I could see it as the hope dropped from his face.

"This is about the thing, right?" he said. I nodded. Then his jaw clenched in the stubborn way we shared. "Why? I deserve to know why I'm lying to your school, and what you're getting into."

"There's this investigation I'm running," I said, "I need to check something out. A couple of my friends have been framed for crimes they didn't commit, and I need to clear their names."

He winced but took the news okay. Maybe me leaving a couple of things out helped.

"If its to help your friends..." he said, "But I don't like you missing school."

I don't like you drinking yourself to death, I thought, but didn't say it. He was sober right now, no need to lash out at him if it could drive him back into a bottle.

"I'll make up for it," I promised. Then before leaving asked, "How's work?"

He winced again. "Had my shifts cut," he said, "They don't need as many people this year. Hey, maybe go knock down a building next time you fight one of those super-freaks, try to get your dad a job." The attempt at a joke was better than nothing.

"That's why I do it, to help out Chicago's struggling construction industry," I said with a tired smile. Dad snorted. I yawned, feeling like shit. "I'm going to shower, get some sleep," I said.

Dad nodded. "Get some rest, kid." Then, before I left. "I love you Eric. Feel like I don't tell you that enough. And with what you're doing I...yeah."

I paused. "I love you too Dad, and I know."

His smile was wounded. "And thanks for telling me the truth."

I smiled back. "No more secrets, right?" I said, "Goodnight Dad."

"Goodnight son."

7AM and I was freezing my balls off. Penderose was an early riser, turned ou. And he had a morning exercise routine, a morning run which took him about an hour, right around dawn. I waited for him to head out to work in his beat up garbage can of a car. He took his time on it. Maybe my own impatience was just dragging out the minutes.

Dad had called in sick, telling school I had a fever. I figured I might actually catch something sitting out in this weather, icicles hanging off the windows, snow piled high in drives. One of the neighborhood kids made his rounds clearing the snow from people's drives for a couple of bucks a house, shovel slung over his shoulder, wearing cleats and puffing mist.He waddled under my hiding place in a thick jacket, scarfed up.

When Penderose finally did leave he gave the kid a curt 'fuck off' when the kid offered his services. Nice guy, Penderose.

I waited, watching the car disappear around the bend, listening to the rumble of the engine until it disappeared off the edge of my enhanced hearing.

Then I leapt to the rooftop of his house. Crouching low I made my way to the back. There was a porch out the back of the top floor. More of an open aired hutch, a place for guests to drink and look down on the shared backyard behind the house, a small square of snow with a neat box glasshouse against the wall. I dropped down onto the landing.

What were the odds he had a security system? Nothing I could see. I'd have to take my chances, bust in and look around quick.

It wasn't too difficult getting inside. A sharp bunch to the swing doors and the latch burst off, the doors swung inward.

Agent Penderose kept a neat home. Not a lot of decour suggested not a lot of house guests. He had a poster of Tombstone on the wall, a trio of cowboys glaring down. A bookcase. A computer desk. It was a two bedroom place, with a kitchenette and a bathroom. Meant to be shared but kept all to himself. He didn't have a tv. There were no family pictures anywhere, not even on the fridge door.

The only personal thing was weird. A bullet casing in a glass box.

As for evidence of his frame jobs, nothing jumped out at me.

He'd left his laptop behind, but maybe it was his home computer.

I opened his fridge out of morbid curiosity. Onions milk and not much else but fruit and green salads. Guess he was a vegan or something. A coffee machine, a toaster. Nothing screaming government conspiracy. But then he wasn't stupid enough to leave any evidence of his crimes out in the open, right?

>do a thorough sweep of his house, just to be sure
>the computer should have something, grab it and book

>>4821012
>do a thorough sweep of his house, just to be sure
Steal the bullet casing

>>4821012
>do a thorough sweep of his house, just to be sure

We skipped school for this, should have the whole day

>>4821012
>do a thorough sweep of his house, just to be sure
use the stone vision to see the weird evil aura the items used for his immoral deeds exude

>>4821070
>>4821053
>>4821029
locked in

I skipped school for this, no way was I just going to swipe something and go.

Going into his bedroom, he had a neat double bed, more plump than I'd expected. Inside his closet was nothing but rack upon rack of suits, a tie rack with red and blue ties. Inside his sidetable was a little box, and in the box were enamel pins of the American flag. Dude folded his underwear and kept his socks neatly divided.

If I'd ever wondered if there was something pathological about Agent Penderose, now I had no doubt.

But what I didn't find was hard evidence of anything but a man particular about separating his colors from his whites.

Until I checked his pantry.

I don't know why I thought to check there. It was various health foods and vitamin supplements. And a big bag of white sugar, recently opened.

Weird little bit of an otherwise healthy diet. I opened the lip, then curious, reached in. Under the grains of sugar my fingers slid over soft plastic. I pulled it out, dusted it off. A small external hard drive in a plastic ziplock bag, hidden carefully in an odd place.

Huh.

I slid it into my inner coat pocket.

Then I looked back to the living room.

And an idea came to me. I put a hand to the inner pocket where I kept the stone.

>roll 3 x 1d100+15 dc 80

Rolled 66 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4821118
Ah shit come on dice gods

Rolled 70 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4821118
Big money no whammies

Rolled 71 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>4821118
I am not a patient man so I'm gonna roll again
If I get a 1 I will commit sudoku

I don't think I can keep writing today

Just found out Kentaro Miura died

>>4821133
pass

I'll see how I feel in an hour, if I can get back to it

>>4821135
OH FUCK
HOW DID I NOT HEAR ABOUT THIS

>>4821135
What the fuck.... RIP

yeah, I'll be back tomorrow

this news has cut me down

>>4821135
Damn
The QM curse isn't specific to Quests I suppose
Rip

>>4821135
F
Not like he could finish berserk any slower tho

all right here I am

still not over Miura's death but got to move on.

>>4822791
yeah please don't continue his tradition of extremely long hiatuses in his memory

I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing, emptied my thoughts. I made my mind a single hot fire, burning everything away. The music without melody played in my mind as the stone grew warm against my chest. Easier than the first time, but everything got easier with practice.

Opening my eyes, I scanned Penderose's home.

It was dull, colorless. A place someone slept but not a home. A home holds the spritual prints of a person, a family. This place was dead, colorless.

Then I looked to the bullet casing in the glass box. It was thick with a dark miasma, the golden casing a bright spot in all the black. Evil.

>take the bullet casing
>leave the bullet casing

>>4822805
>take the bullet casing
grant could probably trace it

>>4822805
>take the bullet casing
If it's important to him it could give us a rare opportunity to learn about him and his past.

>>4822805
>take the bullet casing

>>4822805
>take the bullet casing

nervous about him noticing it gone, but that ship probably sailed when we took the usb

We need to get this evidence processed today. Before he gets home if possible. Might need to create a distraction that keeps him from going home for a bit as well.

>>4822885
>>4822877
>>4822816
>>4822809
locked in

Whatever reason for the darkness surrounding the bullet, it felt too important to leave behind. If nothing else Grant could trace it, and reveal its story.

I opened the glass case and slipped the bullet out. Opening my jacket pocket, I paused. A silver glow throbbed from inside. I palmed the bullet between my knuckles and reached in. The silver glow came from the little dog carving, the one Ayesha had made for me as a Christmas gift. Its light poured over the black light throbbing from the brass casing, flooding over it.

Huh.

Rather than try to figure it out I slipped the shell in with the carved dog figurine. Questions for another time.

Now I had to worry about covering my tracks.

There was no hiding the things I was taking. Stealing. Whatever. But I could at least close up the drawers and cupboards, make as little mess as possible. With my suit on I doubt they'd pick up anything forensic, but I'm not an expert cat burglar or whatever.

Maybe if I could get this stuff done today I could get everything back before he noticed they were gone.

It would be a challenge, but maybe not impossible.

But then I heard a rattle on the front door and knew it was time to go.

Backing toward the porch, I heard Spanish come muttering through the crack in the front door, irritated grunts as a middle-aged woman, head down, stumbled in carrying a heavy vaccuum cleaner. She turned aside to close the door, not noticing me yet.

I didn't give her a chance. I laept backward, blind, out off the back porch, the rustle of tree limbs scraping around my shoulders as I burst through the tree in the backyard, landing on its highest limb.

She came to the open window, bitching about the cold. She swung it shut with a bang, but the doors creaked open. She tried to bang it shut a couple more times before giving up, getting on her phone. I winced. Yeah, I'd busted the lock off to get in.

No point sticking around, I took off over the rooftops, the hard drive a weight in my chest pocket.

There was no knowing if anything I'd scooped up was hard evidence of his crimes, it could all be useless junk, but I wouldn't know if I didn't get it checked. The bullet was the easy one, I'd hand it off to Ms Grant and she could check it. The hard drive was a trickier question. I'm no computer expert, and I doubt Penderose was dumb enough not to have a password or some kind of encryption.

Bounding over the city, the fire-burning sight began to fade, but not before I looked across it laid out beneath me. Chicago in the morning, but vines of black ran through the streets, Kudzu vines wrapping the buildings, pulsating. It was a sight unexpected and sucked the breath out of my lungs. Everywhere I turned my head more dark vines wrapped the streets and the city, caccooned homes, tight and throbbing, choking. Moving, growing. It reached out to touch the legs of passersby, it stroked the cheek of people on park benches.

Lovingly, tenderly drawing into them.

And it ran on as far as I could see, from north to south, from the shore to the west. Vomit welled in the back of my mouth, brain seized with panic.

When I hit the rooftop of a 7-11 I stumbled and fell, skidding on my side with a hard cry. I lay panting, trying to suck in breath as the black vines roped and coiled beneath me.

Oh God, I thought, shaking. What had I seen?

Struggling to breathe worse than in the middle of a fire, I rolled onto my hands and knees. I put my hand to the stone in my chest, clenched my eyes shut.

Dark vines ran underneath my hands, reaching up between my fingers, wrapping my knuckles. I felt its oil touch beneath my skin.

No. Fuck no. I pulled my hands back, pulled away, scrambling back on my knees as the dark reached up to touch me. I grabbed at a vine tucking itself around my calf but my hand passed through it like smoke. My hand was smoke, the vine all to real. Tightening, squeezing.

No, no. I pulled back, stumbling up onto my feet then tripping over onto my ass.

I looked up into a dark red sky. The sun a black pit.

An eye. Blazing with darkness.

I squeezed my eyes shut, head pounding. No, no. Dizzy and sick behind my eyelids, I squeezed them tight as I could, sweat crawling down my neck as winter's chill became a steaming heat. A burning heat. Too hot, too hot. So damn hot.

Fuck no fuck no fuck no. I wanted it to go. I wanted it to stop.

No.

A silver bell rang inside my pocket.

Then a cold gasp, a shudder. I opened my eyes on a blue sky, on an empty roof top.

I wheezed, shaking with a fever.

What was that?

Evil, Dr Zamani's voice crawled into my mind, evil.

I wanted to strip down to nothing and shower myself cold. I wanted to cry.

But the hard drive weighed my jacket, and the tiny bullet casing had a weight of its own.

>first thing's first, get the bullet to Ms Grant
>figure out the hard drive, it was more important
>no, I've got to get some place and cool off after that

>>4822992
>first thing's first, get the bullet to Ms Grant
All we gotta do is drop it off, seems like she's be the best bet for cracking the hard drive too but maybe not

>>4822992
>Get the bullet to Mrs. Grant

Finally the nerd squad can come in handy?
Or if that's too close to our secret identity maybe Queen Rat knows a para that is an expert hacker or has expert hacking as their power?

>>4822992
>figure out the hard drive, it was more important

>>4822992
>first thing's first, get the bullet to Ms Grant

>>4823079
>>4823021
>>4823009
locked in

I pushed the imagery from my mind. However real it felt, however staining, I could figure out what it was later. For now I had a job to do.

The sky was blue and the sun was shinning, the wind cold and bitter. Whatever lingered from tapping into the stone was gone. Easy breathing, righting up, I shook myself out and fired off a text to Ms Grant.

Me - Got something for you. Free to meet?

A pause then a reply.

Grant - Meet me at the Water Tower. Half an hour.

I slid the phone away. Hopefully we'd be getting somewhere with this.

I arrived at the Water Tower early, working on my gargoyle impression on the top of the tower, a hot dog vendor with a hand cart handing out dogs to tourists down below. I could use a dog, my guts were growling.

There was still the question of the hard drive though. I was hesitant to give it to Ms Grant. Not because I didn't trust her, more I was worried about the attention she'd pull. Everyone knew she worked with me, and if she was snatched up by the DPA or someone else, we could lose everything, not to mention the real danger she'd be in.

But I also didn't know a lot of other people who could handle a job like this. It was definitely outside my wheel house.

>hand the hard drive over to Ms Grant too
>ask Queen Rat if someone in her community can help
>hit up the nerds at school, this government hacking stuff seemed their kind of thing

>>4823104
>ask Queen Rat if someone in her community can help
Gotta stay off the grid with this one.

>>4823104
>ask Queen Rat if someone in her community can help

>>4823104
>ask Queen Rat if someone in her community can help

>>4823104
>ask Queen Rat if someone in her community can help

nerds can be option 2
maybe we could pass it to them through Thunderchild

Could the dark energy be what Mr. Green was talking about when he said the dark was leeching off the people after the World's fair in Chicago? Maybe it's a result of the explosion instead. Not sure. We need to follow that plot thread with his grandson James and the books.

>>4823135
>>4823128
>>4823125
>>4823109
locked in

Maybe Queen Rat knew a para-folk who could do me a solid.

Either way I wasn't handing it over to Ms Grant.

She arrived stepping out of an uber, coat unbuttoned to sweep in the wind. She checked her six before coming over to the Water Tower. I dropped from my perch, landing in front of her. We usually did these meetings in night time hours.

"You've got something?" she said.

"Maybe," I replied, pulling out the brass shell. I flicked it over to her. "Need you to run a serial number."

She whistled. "This is a serious bullet," she said, ".45, nothing to fuck with."

"Any bullet's serious when its coming at you," I said.

She pocketed the shell. "I'll look into it," she said, "But in the mean time I've got something for you. Emma Sorenson."

"Sorenson?" I said. Had a Nordic ring, I guess Semper Fi was a real blonde.

She handed me a file from her satchel. "Her service record. A Marine Corp reservist. Saw active service a few years back but has mostly spent her time sitting on her hands while working an office job for AT&T. Perfect resume for a psycho if I ever saw one. Working AT&T I'm surprised she didn't flunk the psych eval."

"Maybe AT&T is the exact brand of psychopath the Marines are looking for," she joked. I don't know if I got the joke exactly, but I flipped through the records. The photo of her in desert camoflague, with a cap pulled low and her blonde hair tucked back in a bun, was a lot more grim than the thousand dollar smile she flashed for the camera now.

"Grew up in Aurora," Ms Grant said, "Parents aren't super interesting. Mom was a home maker, Dad was in telecommunications. Looks like after the Chicago Explosion she was reactivated and her file pulled. Guess the government was quick to snatch up a para happy to jump when she was told."

"If it was pulled how'd you find it?" I said.

Her smile was mysterious. "I have my ways," she said.

"The only thing weird about an ordinary life is she had some kind of disciplinary problem, but I had trouble figuring out the what. Some kind of accident on base left a fellow Marine badly hurt, and she was held responsible."

"You know the name of the other Marine?" I asked.

"Caitlin Booker. Who was discharged after the incident. I'm planning to follow up on that, see if I can talk to her."

"Every puzzle piece, right?" I said. "Can I keep this?" I asked. Ms Grant nodded.

"I'll get this bullet checked," she said, "And let you know what's what with Caitlin Booker."

"In the mean time," I said, "I could use a hotdog. You mind buying?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling out her wallet. If the hotdog vendor was surprised to see us, two of Chicago's famous crimefighters, he didn't show it. We got three hotdogs Chicago-style and I had two to myself. Say this for a Chicago dog, between the pepper and tomato, they were more of a meal than the regular kind, and hit just the right spot.

Burping when I was done, I cut Ms Grant the usual salute. "Keep me posted," I said, "I got something to deal with on the South Side."

"Likewise," she said with a two finger salute of her own.

I was off up into the bright blue, streets retreating under me until they became a concrete tapestry winding beneath my feet. The world whistled as I came down on a tower, hanging by a hand off a cable, before lunging off again.

Had to keep my focus, couldn't let me head get twisted by strange visions. The sky was blue, the sun was bright. No red skies or dark suns here. No strange black vines wrapping the city. Just me and the pigeons whipping through the sky.

I landed down near Queen Rat's little community center when I got a buzz on my phone.

Ivy - Hey, is Ayesha with you?

I stopped to tap back a reply.

Me - No, why?

Ivy - You aren't at school and neither is she.

Huh. It wasn't like Ayesha to skip class.

Me - You check with Malcolm?

Ivy sent back an eyeroll emoji.

Ivy - No, he totally wasn't the first person I asked. He hasn't seen her either.

Huh. That wasn't good.

Me - You guys got to school together though, right?

Ivy - You're a fucking Sherlock dude. Yes, and we were supposed to swap Chemistry notes half an hour ago.

Meaning Ayesha had done Ivy's Chemistry homework.

Ivy - She didn't show after gym. No one's seen her.

I stared at the phone. I stopped myself from asking another dumb question. Ivy was smart, she'd have done everything she could before checking with me.

Ivy - I'm scared.

I swallowed, an acid feeling rising in my throat.

Me - She might be fine.

Ivy - Eric, I'm telling you. Something isn't right.

I looked down to Queen Rat's community center, back to the phone.

>break off meeting Queen Rat to look for Ayesha
>meet with Queen Rat first, get it done

>>4823237
>break off meeting Queen Rat to look for Ayesha

>>4823237
>break off meeting Queen Rat to look for Ayesha
Houndmaster threatened her the first time we met.

>>4823237
>break off meeting Queen Rat to look for Ayesha
fuck Eric's gonna lose his shit if something happened to her because of him

>>4823237
>Look for Ayesha

>>4823277
>>4823261
>>4823244
>>4823243
breaking off from the mission to find Ayesha

locked in

A pulse of fear stopped me from leaping down to Queen Rat's. I looked back the way I'd come, back toward the north side of town. I put away my phone.

No chance I was going to do anything else, not if Ayesha was in danger. Even if she was skipping class it didn't explain why she hadn't told Ivy or answered her phone. I couldn't focus anyway, not with worry a backbeat to everything else I'd do.

Making my way back north I racked my brain for places to check. Her friends, hang out spots, stuff like that. In the end I decided to start at her place.

The Carvers were out. I landed on the roof, outside the porthole window looking into Ayesha's room. A window that had been cracked open. Alarm bells burst in the back of my mind. I slid my fingers into the crack and opened it all the way.

Dirty boot prints on the pink sheets. Ayesha wasn't a boots kind of girl, or a shoes inside one. I stepped carefully over the silk sheets, onto the soft carpet.

Where, I thought. I needed a clue, something.

There.

On her dresser, an opened draw.

Getting closer I hesitated. Her panty draw, and nestled on top was her phone. There was a post-it note attached, words scrawled on it. It wasn't Ayesha's handwriting.

'For Hotspur', with a number. Her phone's password.

There was something perverse about it. I picked it up from the mound of panties trying not to touch the fabric underneath. The implications of it all were nauseating, harrowing. Keying in the numbers, there was a bright red 1 next to the camera icon.

I thumbed it open. The sound of traffic played. No light until a light flicked on overhead.

It must have been the back of a van, filthy with takeout wrappers scattered around and a muddy feeling of 'unclean'. It took a moment for me to find her in the gloomy weak light. in the corner Ayesha, duct tape plastered over her lips, eyes large and wet with terror. Blood ran from her nostrils, mixing with her tears down the gray tape sealing her mouth. Duct tape bound her ankles together, forced her hands behind her back. Wearing a home knit sweater, home-knit stockings. She shook.

"Well hoss, this is what it's come to."

Bile rose in my throat, knowing the voice. Houndmaster.

"You've saved this pretty little nigger twice now, think you can make it a third time?"

I heard a click. The brutal gun of his extending out, pointing at Ayesha.

Her face closed up as the whimper rose in her throat, muffled by tape. Kicked her feet as if she could get away, tucked in the back corner. As if she could make herself so small she could wriggle through the joints in the back door or disappear behind a panel.

"Naw," the hammer clicked back as he put down the gun, "This ain't a snuff video. Not yet. I'll give you a shot to save her. Come to the Gomer Motel out west. Come alone, bring the package. You bring it square, she lives. You try to fuck with me, I blow open her pretty little face, leave her pretty little brains splashed all over the bedsheets. Hell of a cleaning bill, right?"

My teeth ground together at his laugh.

"Now honey, why don't you blow him a little kiss?"

Plastic fingers reached out, peeled back the scotch tape to show a blood stained mouth, an awful moan drawing out of her made me tense up and get cold all over. He hooked a fake finger on her bottom lip, pulling it back to show her gums.

"Come on now darling, give your big strong hero a reason to come running, or I will."

"No," she sobbed, "No I won't I-"

His fist whipped her head back. She crumpled into a sobbing heap.

The camera turned around so I got a good look at Houndmaster's burn scarred mug, sharp cheek bones pointing above an evil grin.

"Don't worry," he said, "I'll get her nice and cooperative soon enough. You just keep this phone on you, Hotspur. Cause if you don't come quick you'll be getting the snuff video I promised."

It stopped on his ugly rotten toothed grin.

There was no feeling in me. Nothing but a chill that gripped my body.

With an almost mechanical effect I put in the motel he mentioned into Google Chrome.

It wasn't close. I'd be burning daylight to get there.

Her life for the stone.

>go and give him the stone
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone
>...maybe Ayesha's life wasn't worth the stone

>>4823372
>go and give him the stone
Fuck the stone, if Ayesha dies for it then it's not worth it. Plus Hotspur would immediately become a killer too.

>>4823372
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone
This quest is pure suffering. We still don't know shit about the stone but people have already died for it and people will probably die if we give it up.

>>4823372
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone
Even if we have to temporarily 'let go' of the stone to save her, but I don't think compromise on either front is an option for us

>>4823372
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone

about to lock it in but now we're at a tie

>>4823431
?
>>4823388
>>4823422
>>4823429
This is winning so far.

>>4823372
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone
Time to go Super Spur, and fuck him up again.

File: 1579937668474.png (181 KB, 445x411)

181 KB PNG

>>4823372
>go, but there was no way he was getting the stone
Next time we get a chance we're killing him or reducing him to a near vegetable state, anyone who votes otherwise is a fucking retard.

>>4823372
>>go and give him the stone
We lose the stone, we can get it back. We can't undo a dead Ayesha.

>>4823372
>go, but there's no way he's getting the stone

Here's what he said last time
>"Don't worry, I got plans for you," he said, "You and anyone else who gives a shit about you. I'll make what I did to Miss Shelley there look like a dream. I owe you after all, for my drones."
If this was just about the stone I'd be more willing to actually exchange it, but I don't believe that he won't just kill her anyway because it's personal for him, it's not all for the job anymore. He doesn't just want the stone, he wants us to suffer as much as possible.

>>4824005
Exactly. Giving the nutter the stone is pointless, he'll just put her in a bomb room or something and kill both of us.

So we’re gonna kill this guy right? Or at least kill him?

>>4824848
We promised our cop buddy we wouldn't kill, she didn't mention maiming this bastard though. Just gotta leave his jaw working so he can talk.

>>4824848
Nah man, I'm here for the story of Hotspur the worlds first superhero, not for the story of just another killer with "morals"

>>4825299
I'm here to play as a character instead of just an archetype, I'm pretty anti-murder still though. I'm just not sure what else to do. We gotta tell Grant what's up so she can get prepared to take him in after we beat him if we're not gonna kill him.

>>4825461
All his limbs are prosthetic, so we can nugget him and bring him to Grant.

Maybe put him through an MRI first to ruin any electronics we missed.

You still alive Bullpen?

>>4824848
We have two options, as far as I can see. One is to maim him and turn him in, maybe call Grant or something. The other is to go full edge lord route and kill him, then dump him in the sea so no one finds out. I don't think Eric is at the latter quite yet. Maybe if one of his friends dies.

Hey guys, yall still want to act like pussies when it comes to putting this sick animal down?

Or will anons actually grow a spine?

>>4825766
former then give to mr shark man
i think if we just turn him in after we maim him itll be spun against hotspur and he might even come back yet again

I got banned

with trip this time. I ate a 24 hour ban, that's why I disappeared.

I'll be back next week.

>>4825778
We promised to not kill him, but bring him in so Grant can get info from him.

hope to see you guys tomorrow

>>4829239
Hell yeah can't wait to suffer

I say we go Takamura Vs Hawk on Dogman when we catch his ass.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28ZnfoU7P18

>>4823388
>>4823422
>>4823429
>>4823639
>>4823574
>>4823950
locked in

There was no way in hell I was going to let him get his hands on the stone.

There was no way in hell I was going to let him hurt Ayesha.

It felt unreal standing in her bedroom, not a thing out of place but everything wrong, the still frame of his dirty teeth on her phonescreen.

Gomer Motel. I checked the address twice. Gomer Motel.

-

I came in at dusk, sunset a bloody smear on the horizon. Dark clouds churned with an appropriate flash of lightning and a dull rumble of thunder as I landed on the motel sign, fire coursing through me. The red letters on the sign had faded to a near colorless pink, covered in layers of grime.

It was a two floor motel a long time abandoned. I don't know who the fuck Gomer was but whoever hed been he wasn't around anymore. The empty pool was packed with a dirty sludge which had once been snow, the car park cracked and overgrown with weeds. Dead trees shaded the entrance with spindly limbs. A prime kind of place for urban explorers to cut a youtube video.

The only sign of life was a white van parked under the 'Gomer Motel' sign. I couldn't see any lights on in the rows of rooms, not on the first floor or the second. Ayesha was in there somewhere, and with her was Houndmaster.

Waiting, lurking.

Memories of Shelley rose up, the young women strapped to her bed, face lit by moonlight, guts cut out of her and strewn across her lap, her bedsheets, and her face became Ayesha's and my chest squeezed with pain.

No.

Not tonight. Not to Ayesha.

I put a hand over the stone in my jacket.

All of this horror, all this blood and murder and horror. All for something so small.

The phone in my pocket rang, a Weeknd track. Ayesha's phone.

"Figured you'd come," Houndmaster said, "Now be a good boy and leave the package with the front desk."

I heightened my senses, stretching them out to the furthest degree.

"I'm not doing anything until I know the girl's safe," I said, heart pounding in my ears.

He laughed. I heard it twice. First through the phone, then further out, on the edge of my hearing. I glanced down the top row of motel rooms.

"Fair," he said. There was the sound of a camera snap, then my phone pinged.

A photo of Ayesha lying on a bed, wrists bound to a head board. Blood smeared her lips, a slice of white teeth showing where her lips were parted. Her sweater had been torn. her eyes were closed. I couldn't tell if she was breathing.

I knew where he was now. Third room down from the stairs leading to the second floor.

>go straight for him, no waiting.
>lure him out with the stone

>>4831551
>Grab the Stone and use its ability to enhance our senses to find Ayesha
>Go straight to her, through walls and ceilings if necessary.

>>4831551
>go straight for him, no waiting.
He's afraid of us. But too stupid to take that fear seriously apparently. Let's show him just how stupid it was to fuck with us.

>>4831565
We already know where she is exactly.

>>4831572
He might...absolutely trapped the place and Ayesha's room, who knows if it isn't some mic system he set up down there.
>>4831577
That is assuming he isn't lying, and that isn't some other hotel room. Making sure Ayesha is there and we can save her from whatever trap he set is more important.

>>4831551
>go straight for him, no waiting.
Use the stone to its fullest extent. Absolute focus on strength and speed required to get to Ayesha before he can do anything to her. Put everything we need to into the stone, damn the consequences.

>>4831551
if mine >>4831565
doesn't win, I'm supporting this>>4831583
Write in specifically.

>>4831583
locking this one in

I swallowed, closed my eyes, and put my hand to the stone.

I needed its power now more than ever. Whatever it could do for me, strength, speed, power. Anything that could get me to her before he could...before anything could happen to her.

Ayesha. I let the fire swallow me whole.

Opening my eyes I looked down on the motel.

Dark vines climbed over the cracked, decayed building, throbbing as they enveloped building. Thorny, ugly vines of dark pulsing flesh.

The lightning cackled overhead as the rain began to hiss down. A freezing winter rain, sharp and slicing. Dense clouds growing darker.

From the room I saw a silver glow, a glow ebbing away as the dark closed in around it, squeezing in on it as if it would crush the building in its python embrace.

There.

I lunged from the top of the motel sign, a speeding missile, the night screaming around me as I cut through the hard falling rain. I slammed over the railing and onto the second floor, landing on cracked floor boards littered with junk.

The door was shut before me, a silver light shining through the windows. Ayesha. I raised a fist to drive it in.

"Shit, you're a predictable little cuss."

A click and the windows of the rooms either side burst outward, chrome figures plunging out in a flash of lightning, the thunder roaring through the abandoned motel block.

The drones knelt in broken glass, clicking and whirring as they straightened up. Reaching up behind its shoulder, the drone unslung a compact machine gun, slapping it down into a plastic hand with a click. A sharp 'snikt' and behind me the other had sprung a long blade from either wrist, its glowing screen face staring.

'Toys' I thought.

'More toys.'

I stood straight, looking from one to the other.

"You like 'em?" Houndmaster's voice crawled from the room, "The bossman wanted to thank you for trashing the last set, let them collect some valuable data, work on improvements. Me, I'm still mighty sore. They billed me for those boys."

Lightning flashed bright white across their chrome bodies, unnaturally still.

"Well," Houndmaster drawled, "Get 'im."

A finger dropped on a trigger, and gunfire opened up with a thunderous boom.

>roll 3 x 1d100 + 30 dc 80

Rolled 38 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4831720
first critfail now

Rolled 26 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4831720

Rolled 62 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4831720

>>4831744
came in with the save

>>4831744
Based

Bullets burst past me as I grabbed the hand railing and swung out into the rain. Cold as the rain slicing over me, rage and fear fed to the stone, I swung back in to drive my feet into the metal hide of the drone, slamming it hard into the wall. Wood cracked and dust showered down from the roof as it left a dent, pushing itself off, bringing its snub nose machine gun around.

With a side-step I dodged the gun fire. The machine gun burst out into the night, a hot rain of shell casings flicking from the gun. I slapped a hand into its head, slamming it into the wall, driving it through wood and plaster in a spray of chips.

Behind me came the metallic squeak of robotic joints. Blades flashed in a dancing ribbon. I stepped back, swinging the drone in my hand around between us, swinging it into its robotic double. They crashed into the metal rail. The head of the drone I'd slammed into the wall gave a click, not sitting on its head right, the brain box firing a spark. It pushed itself free from the other drone, and together they turned to advance on me.

The blade drone lunged in with the expertise of an Olympic fencer, blade lashing out. I ducked back, the blade slashing open the front of my jacket. Behind it the gun drone took aim with its rifle, over its double's shoulder.

Gunfire burst. I dropped into the shadow of the blade drone, using it for cover. Whatever programming these things had, they wre designed not to destroy each other. I stepped in time to the blade drone, thanking Coach Jackson for the dance lessons, bobbing and weaving to keep it in front of me. Blades thrust for my face, cut to my chest, flashing quick and unnaturally smooth as they tried to turn me into a Hotspur shish-kebab.

I drove a hard jab into its plastic face plate, cracking it and dulling the light behind the clear screen. It cut out, slicing through my jacket sleeve and into the bicep on my left arm. Then it thrust for my face. I ducked and drove my fist into its chest plate. A hard dent driven into it, the second punch crumpled it, the third popped it from its chassis. The last drove through, my fist punching through gears and wires, cutting up my hand.

I pulled out its electronic guts from the open chest cavity, and kicked it hard into the gun drone.

Knowing its double was off-line, whatever safety protocol switched off and it fired straight through the drone, bullets chewing it apart in an effort to hit me. The blade-drone danced with wild flailing limbs into the gun-drone, crashing into it. I grabbed the hand railing and swooped around again, through the rain, driving my feet into the side of the gun drone's head as it tried to untangle itself from the remains of the blade drone. It slammed into the wall, brain case buckling, and slumped.

'Toys," I thought, 'Broken toys.'

I finished it with a hard kick to the head, popping off the back of its head in a spray of circuitry and chip-board.

The slash to my arm throbbed, but it was the distant throb of a dulled pain, the fire coursing through me keeping it away. Blood washed down, soaking the sleeve.

But my focus wasn't on my own hurt. I snapped my attention back to the door.

An overhand right smashed the door from its hinges.

"Shit, I had money you'd come through the window."

Lightning lit the gloom of the motel. He sat in the far corner, the brutal slab of a gun in his lap, the other hand clutching a trigger of some kind. His grin was long and evil. He wore an open flak jacket and nothing underneath but scar tissue. Whatever silver light inside him was down to the smallst flecks, pebbles at the botton of a polluted lake. The dark miasma choked the room all around him, all around me.

Everywhere except a figure lying on the bed, her clothes ripped up, her hands bound above her head. The loop of a belt lay slack around her arm.

She stirred a little, letting out a small hurt sound, eyes white under fluttering lids. Silver light danced off her body, holding back the encroching darkness. It closed my throat, the brightness of the light dancing from her.

"For a black girl she sure can't handle her heroin," he said.

I started for him.

"Easy hoss," he said, raising the trigger, "Take a gander behind you."

I looked back. Some kind of packed explosive wired the wall.

"You drop the stone and I'll let you take the pretty little negress and go," he said, "Maybe you still got time to get her to a hospital. She's full of so much smack I'm surprised she ain't dead already."

"You don't and we'll have ourselves an early fourth of July," he said, "Which will it be partner?"

"You're full of shit," I said, "You won't kill yourself."

Pointing the trigger, his smile faded into the burn scars. "Try me," he said, eyes pin prick small.

>drop the stone
>take the risk (will require a roll)

>>4831847
>take the risk (will require a roll)
Fuck no. Handing over the stone isn't an option. Even though I'm starting to hate the thing. Giving whoever created and/or employs him access to this kind of power would be disastrous.

>>4831847
>take the risk (will require a roll)

>>4831847
>take the risk (will require a roll)

This guy is ruled by fear. He inflicts as much fear as possible on his victims before killing them, he uses fear for everything. That's because he's actually the one who's afraid. Fuck this guy. If we don't fear him then he can't win.

>>4831847
>drop the stone

We can try grabbing the trigger if he starts slacking.

>>4831847
>take the risk (will require a roll)

>>4831969
>>4831866
>>4831861
>>4831857
locked in

File: file.png (451 KB, 1306x744)

451 KB PNG

Glad to have you back QM and thanks again for running the quest, cant participate much cus my internet is funky, but I always enjoy reading it. here something Im working.

I raised a hand to the stone in my chest pocket, fingering it through the cut in the fabric. It pulsed like a second heart against my chest.

I looked to Ayesha. She rolled to her side, a feeble kick at the blankets bunched at her feet, bound by her fists like a fish on a line, an awful little sound in the back of her throat. A cold prickle ran over me.

Then I looked to Houndmaster, breathing hard in his chair, trigger held in front of him pointed like a gun ready to fire. The pin-prick eyes, he had plenty of smack in his veins too. Something to cut the fear.

Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath. Fed my fear to the fire.

Then when I opened them, I moved.

>roll 3 x 1d100+30 dc 80

>>4832004
that's dope

>>4832005
dice+1d100+30

Lets see

Rolled 13 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4832005
Let's get it

Rolled 41 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4832005

>>4832018
roll 3 save us

Rolled 46 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>4832005
this feels like one of the worst possible rolls to critfail

oof

fail

but not a critfail

>>4832032
Just let us get burnt up, we were pretty close! Ayesha dying would be too much, holy shit

>>4832038
RIP in peices ayesha :(

>>4832045
shut

Phone posting. Had a blackout and waiting for the power to come back on. No idea when. Hopefully soo .

>>4832146
Gotta love the QM curse. Guess I'll go to bed then, thanks for running!

Kek, thanks for doing the predictable retard route anons. We deserve to suffer a bit for this.

>>4832146
hopes and prayers for your internet

>>4832154
thank god hindsight man is here to save us

>>4832154
we were always gonna be walking into a trap, that's how this guy operates. I'm glad we'll have your all seeing eye to guide us for future decisions though anon

it would really suck to not get a real resolution to the houndmaster thing because of one failed roll, we haven't even gotten to beat the shit out of him yet and I think we've all wanted that for a very long time. also his classic woman kidnapping move to get what he wants is now officially overdone

>>4832173
but he has so many women left to kidnap

>>4832156
>>4832160
Worry not, anons. If we can get qm to delay starting his sessions by a few hours, I'll be able to save us.
>>4832173
We did beat the shit out of him during our first meeting.

power's back but I lost all of the update.

getting to it

I lunged for the bed.

Houndmaster lunged for the motel window. With the crash of glass behind me I scooped up Ayesha, tearing her from the head board. She squirmed against me, face wrinkled up on a painful gasp. I pulled her close to my chest, bunched my shoulder, and charged the wall. Power blazed through me bright and roaring, I barely felt the thump against the wall, the crack of the plaster and the splintering of the wood inside.

But behind me came a click. Then everything was drowned out as a wall of sound slapped against my back, silent fury roaring behind me as the wall burst against my charge.

We drove into the freezing rain, the storm slicing down over us, lightning mute overhead. I was numb, numb to the freezing rain, to the pain shooting through me, to everything except Ayesha limp in my arms. Numb with terror. We hung in the air, lightning flaring through churning storm clouds, thunder on mute.

Then dropped to the cement. I felt the crunch in my legs as we rolled, sprawling out under a copse of dead trees. I shook deaf, fire whipped out of me, cold with shock. My left eye stung, the lens of my goggle shattered. Something was wrong with my legs, I couldn't get up. Pawing out I grabbed Ayesha by the side, scooping her up into my arms, trying to pull her up, trying to get myself up.

Gravity beat me. I dropped hard to my knees, holding her tight as I shivered. The cold was setting in, the rain soaking into my costume, weighing it down. And the pain too started reaching an ugly hand through the shock.

Looking down at her soft face gone all slack, rain word trickling from the corner of her mouth, for a horrifying moment I thought she was gone.

"No," I said.

"Please," I whimpered, pulling her close.

"Please," I begged, not knowing to who or what.

"Please."

Then she bucked in my arms. My heart spiked, too terrified for hope. Then a cough, and a trail of vomit ran down her cheek. I swallowed, tilted her head forward, letting the vomit trail down onto my shoulder. The groan in my ear filled me with relief and anguish and I held her so much tighter.

She was warm somehow, impossibly warm. Impossibly soft. And alive, somehow alive.

Glass crunched behind me. He stepped out, the rain cutting around his shape. A flash of lightning showed the chrome plating on his arms, the nickle plate on his gun.

And the whites of his eyes, large in the dark, staring.

My ears rang with a sharp whistle. If he spoke I couldn't hear it. I set Ayesha down, stroking back her hair. The tatters of her home knit sweater soaked up the rain. Something made with care and loved, ripped apart by a feral animal. Damp coils of hair lay thick down bruised cheeks.

I looked up to him, standing there waiting. I got up, or tried to. A hot fire ran up from my side and I buckled over. Looking down a long splinter stood jutting from my gut, about as long as my hand. I reached for it without thinking, then pulled my hand back. I checked over my shoulder. A similar splinter stood out from my back, a hedgehog quill I couldn't say how deep right above the shoulder joint. My right arm shook, fingers spasming. I reached into my shattered goggle, scooping out the glass.

Bloody fingers told me I had a cut somewhere on my head.

And sore. Just sore from being slapped with the shockwave of the explosion.

The ringing started to fade, replaced with the roar of the rain and Houndmaster's muffled voice.

"-crazy son of a bitch," he said, "Looks like...fight out of you though. Be a good boy now give...package..."

My hearing rang in and out but I didn't need it to know what he was saying.

A flicker of fire ran through me. Thunder rumbled overhead. I scrapped myself off the ground, onto my feet.

"-really going to do this?" he said, "You got balls, kid."

He drew back the hammer of his gun. Ayesha coughed behind me. He raised the gun up at me.

I tensed, trying to build the fire against the pain, against my terror, against my own tired body.

I stood buckled over, struggling to breathe, freezing rain crashing over my shoulders.

But I raised up my fists.

>roll 3 x 1d100-5 dc 80

Rolled 67 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>4832284
come on dice gods pls

Rolled 34 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>4832284

Rolled 56 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>4832284

Rolled 84 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>4832284
Allah guide my hand

Rolled 86 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>4832284

>>4832298
too late

would have been great

fail

but not a critfail

>>4832286
>>4832294
>>4832296
Damn

>>4832297
>>4832298
WELL NOW THE DICE ARE JUST TAUNTING US

>>4832302
This shit sucks, Houndmaster is a trash villain and this quest is just nonstop depression these days. Fucking dice gods. I really wish we could influence modifiers for dice by voting for options in combat or giving write ins, just rolling dice and losing when the stakes are this high fucking blows.

>>4832310
Almost like how I called the fact it was a trap, but no one votes for it.

>>4832325
You still voted to go through walls and ceilings and shit, doing nothing to change how things ended up. What you voted for happened, and we didn't notice the traps. What would it have changed anyway? We'd have to enter the room to get Ayesha either way.

>>4832329
Only if my vote didn't win, and I said specifically to get her out first. But no one listened because they wanted to go after the jackass.

My roar was swallowed by a boom of thunder. Lightning split the night.

The flash of metal as his gun came up. The squelch of my boots as I charged forward. All my terror, my pain, bursting in a desperate attack as I lunged toward him swinging.

Muzzle flash in the night. A hard punch in the chest, driving into me, driving me back.

I buckled forward, wheezing, catching my fall. The small fire inside of me dimmed.

Did the spider weave vest catch the bullet?

My vision blurred. I bent on hands and knees.

Something cold and metallic pressed down on the back of my head.

Then drew away. Something hard drove into the side of my head. I whipped around, slipping, landing on my back. Stared up into a looming shadow, blocking out the rain. The sight of a gun on me.

"You had to make this difficult," he said.

I wheezed, struggling to talk.

He reached down, forced metal fingers through the hole in my jacket. He tugged the stone out.

I reached up with a feeble hand. I couldn't stop him.

"Huh," he said, turning the stone over, "I thought it would be fancier."

"Well," he said, aiming his gun, "Goodnight, Hotspur."

I closed my eyes, swallowed.

Then in a flash of fire I spun, driving my fist into his crotch.

The gun shot flicked off the cement where my head had been. Houndmaster stumbled back, bowing forward coughing.

He staggered back to drop on his ass. He wouldn't be down long. I didn't have it in me to fight him, I barely had it in me to get up. And there was more than the stone to worry about. I staggered to Ayesha.

"Little shit," Houndmaster hissed. I flinched at the gunshot but the bullet went wide. I scooped Ayesha up, started running for the dead trees. The next shot burst dead bark, but the storm swallowed Houndmaster's pain-filled fury as he called after me, punctuating each swear with a gun shot.

I moved my legs against the screaming pain, finding strength to move. Faster, faster. I had to move.

If she died, if she died the stone didn't matter. It had taken enough from me, it wouldn't take my friends too. I couldn't afford to lose any more people. Anymore people I loved.

Crashing through a hedge I didn't care that it stung. Breaking out onto a rain swept highway, looking for traffic still out. Headlights cut through the dark but when I raised my hand all I got was the blare of a horn as it raced past.

Please, I thought.

She could be dying.

I heaved her onto my good shoulder, stepping out into the street. Headlights coming down the road, must have been going 70 miles an hour. I raised an injured arm.

The screech of brakes rang out as the light washed over me, swallowed me up. It stopped a yard from running me down, and I saw a terrified couple in the front.

The snap of a seatbelt and the passenger stepped out into the rain.

"Are you...all right?" a nervous woman said.

I could have laughed.

"Please," I said, pushing Ayesha to her, "Help her."

Then the light and all the world and everything in it, was swallowed up by the black.

>>4832334
honestly this felt sorta railroady to get the stone to the baddies for plot reasons
Sorry Bullpen I love the quest so I'll quit bitching but damn this sucked

Points of light.

Darkness.

Something covered the light.

Blotting it out.

Made it points of light.

Coiled.

Something coiled in the darkness, in the gaps between the light.

A snake.

Not a snake.

Too big to be a snake.

The gaps too big.

All the world couldn't fill the gap.

Too big to be filled.

Dragon.

A dragon. Between the light.

Coiling. Choking out the light.

It moves.

It can see.

It can see.

Me.

It knows my name.

I'll be back tomorrow

Well...shit

>>4832372
Yep, were gonna be unmasked in a hospital, who's ready for our gang war to come to school when Penderose drops that info, by "accident"?

>>4832495
Not to mention that we called in sick the day that his apartment got ransacked. Hopefully we didn't lose that hard drive when we got our shit pushed in by HM.

>>4832367
Wow
Thanks for running!

Cool to see what happens when we finally fail some rolls. Plus I think we all underestimated Hound a bit after that crit success. Won't do that anymore, same for bloodworm lady.

>>4832694
Those fucking low rolls, I missed my chance, I was waking up in and out of sleep, how do you kids do it?

I'm pretty worried about ending up in that fuckin blacksite after this fellas. Unless the ER we end up at is filled with Hotspur fans or Grant finds out about it somehow we're sorta fucked. Or if Queen Rat has been keeping an eye out for us.

>>4833762
If we have to roll for who gets to us in a hospital bed first, and we critfail for Penderson, I swear to god.

I jerked awake in gloom, to the hiss of the car driving through water flooded gutters, a shot of pain firing through my belly.

The dream faded leading only a pervading sense of doom. The pain of the splinter sticking out from my stomach was more demanding. Something lay under me, breathing hard. Ayesha.

Wipers thunked fast, fighting the down pour as tinny speakers played a song it took a moment for my scrambled brain to piece together. 'Old Town Road.' Light came from the dashboard, the headlights cutting through the storm, but the rest was dark.

The driver looked back. "You're awake?" he said, "Hold on, we're almost to a hospital."

Hospital. I frowned behind my mask. Then jolted forward, grabbing the back of his chair. "Dr Ramsey," I said.

"Who?"

My hand shook as I pulled my phone from my pocket, leaving blood stains on the screen. I opened it up, finding the address. I handed it over to the woman. in the passenger seat. "H-here," I said, "Take me here. Not...not hospital, I can't..."

"O-okay Hotspur, whatever you say," the woman said. She held out the screen for her partner. He muttered something before clicking on the indicator.

I slumped back, sickness and pain roiling through me. I tried drawing on my power but it flickered weak inside me, a small candle compared to the roaring bonfire I was used to. I tried to stoke it, tried to pour in my oain and fear, but it guttered out, and I was left weak and shaking on the backseat. My eyes grew heavy, my breathing hard in my ears.

The world was slipping away again. I only hoped this time I'd wake up.

-

My life became disconnected sound and motion.

Hands pulling me from the car, white light beating down.

Something pressing down on my face. Mask, but not my mask.

Oxygen? I breathed deep. A voice urged me to keep breathing.

Metallic clinking. Green sleeves. Chemical smell.

Humming. Didn't know the song.

Nothing.

A beep.

Another beep.

A steady beep, a slow, boring beat.

Eyes cracked open. No light. Gray outside, rain still falling. Warm. Weight on my chest. Heavy sheet.

Brain scrambled. Brain.

Door opened. Nurse? Man in blue, old man. Hispanic. Latino. Whatever.

Sees me. Turns, leaves.

Close my eyes.

Dark.

Open them. Brain is less scrambled now. Something is in my arm. IV. Morphine? No pain.

Room is small, has pictures. Drawings, crude children's drawings. Finger painting, crayons. Not just pictures, the room is painted too. Not like a hospital, more like a kindergarten. The weight on my chest. A weighted blanket. The bed is a bed, not like a hospital bed. I tried to sit up but struggle. Give it a minute. Try again. The weighted blanket slides down my chest. Now a lick of pain in my side and my shoulder.

Last night was a blur. Everything after the explosion. The Explosion. Which explosion? Chicago. Motel. Bursting through a wall, things stuck inside me, in the rain.

Houndmaster. Ayesha. The stone.

My brain unscrambled. It all came back together.

Stupid. Stupid to just rush in. He'd baited the trap perfect.

Lost the stone. Lost Ayesha? Not sure. Hoped not. Prayed not.

Idiot.

The door opened. A black man, familiar face. Dr Ramsey. Must be his clinic. They got us here. Good. Don't have to worry about...about...

"Hotspur, my favorite patient," he said, rolling a lollipop around his mouth, "You've been through some shit. What, did you walk into an explosion?"

I winced, finding my tongue. "Walked out of one," I said. My mask. Wasn't wearing it. Didn't matter right now. Costume was gone. I was in a hospital gown.

"Not like the movies, huh," he said, "But anyone else might not have walked away. You're healing really fast, a lot faster than you should. Last night you had two broken ribs and a cracked tibia, your right rotary cuff was shredded and you had a hairline fracture in your femur. Today, well, you're still fucked up but..."

The doctor shrugged.

"How long was I out?" I said.

"They brought you in last night," he said, "Nice couple scared out of their minds. You should be careful about moving, you might tear your stitches. You got crazy lucky, Hotspur."

"Some luck," I said. My eyes hurt. "What about...the girl?"

His frown was worrying. "We got her on a course of Naloxone," he said, "She OD'ed pretty bad. Hurts to see a baby on that junk, getting younger every year."

"She's not," I said, "Not on...forced. Guy kidnapped her, forced her on..."

My face twisted up. I squeezed a fistful of blanket. My chest rumbled.

"Will she be okay?" I choked, tears building in my eyes.

"Hey, yeah, she's going to be fine," he said, bedside voice on, "A little less bounce in her step for a couple of days but she's fine. She's in another room sleeping it out."

I sucked in a breath, trying to untie the knot in my chest. It was hard breathing, hard to settle down.

Dr Ramsey came over, checked my IV. "Get some rest kid," he said.

There wasn't much more I could do other than follow his orders.

Once he was gone I let the sound of the rain lead me off to sleep.

A flash of lightning and I woke.

Dark now. Another night. How long was I asleep this time? Dreamless at least.

I looked around. Light cut the outline of the door. Voices on the other side.

My brain cleared faster. I felt stronger. Strong enough to sit up. Maybe even to stand.

>get up and move around
>stay in bed, get some more rest

>>4833972
>get up and move around

>>4833972
>stay in bed, get some more rest
Just focus on listening to the voices

>>4833972
>stay in bed, get some more rest

>>4834009
>>4834001
locked in

>>4833972
>get up and move around
Not good for the body to stay lying down too long
also we should call dad

I closed my eyes instead. Moving hurt. I was always moving. Maybe it was time to learn how to stand still.

Lying in bed with the beep of my monitor, I felt for the fire inside me. Never far, it awoke with a flicker. Then, focusing, it eased through me, dulling my pain, relaxing me better than any morphine. In fact it made the needle in my arm itch.

I pulled it out, a drop of blood rising in the hole, but it scabbed over with the soothing touch of my inner fire. My jaw unclenched, I hadn't even realized it was tight. The pain in my chest eased. The pains all through me, starting to unravel with a relief not quite the same as pleasure.

The talking outside the door grew louder. Worried voices. Dr Ramsey and a nurse.

"-of care to tell the family," not Ramsey's voice, must be the nurse, "These are children, Doc. We could get in a lot of trouble."

"I promised Maddie if he turned up here I'd take care of him," Dr Ramsey said, "Now he might be a kid but he's also a superhero with a lot of scary men looking for him. We tell anyone they might turn up here."

"What about the girl then?" the nurse said, "She's not-"

"Excuse me."

Ayesha's voice was in the area between weak and gentle, but soft as a pin drop it cut through their conversation.

"You should be in bed," the nurse said, "You should-"

"Can I see him?"

They didn't have an answer. Finally Dr Ramsey said 'sure'.

The door creaked open, light spilling through, around her dark figure framed in the doorway.

She wore a hospital gown, leaned on the IV like a crutch, and wore what was left of my jacket around her shoulders. The doctor and the nurse stood uncomfortable behind her.

The wheels of her IV stand creaked as she limped in behind it, dragging her feet.

God she looked beaten up. Not just physically bruised but tired, beaten, the light of her eyes gone dim. Her hair was a ragged mess of curls, her lips dry and chaped. Each step awkward and unnatural.

I rolled onto my side, away from her, hiding my face. My guilt.

"Hotspur?" she said.

Then, in a voice tight with fear, "Eric?"

>'You've got the wrong guy.'
>'...I'm sorry Ayesha.'

>>4834088
>'...I'm sorry Ayesha.'
We did this to her

>>4834088
>...I'm sorry Ayesha.'

>>4834105
No we didn't, houndmaster did. New objective: crush every bone he has.

>>4834088
>'You've got the wrong guy.'

cmon guys
is she gonna call hotspur a liar
no way

>>4834088
>'...I'm sorry Ayesha.'

>>4834137
Can he be given bones to break inside him?

>>4834088
>'...I'm sorry Ayesha.'

>>4834105
>>4834129
>>4834148
>>4834159
locked in

I do feel bad for not telling her, but I feel like Eric just wanted to preserve a relationship that's important to him without tainting it with the fact that he's Hotspur. Kind of selfish maybe, but understandable.

I lay on my side, away from her. Unable to look at her. Unable to talk through the tight vice in my throat. I thought about lying, however lame it would be, however obvious and empty. I thought about a lot of things, everything that had brought us here.

"...I'm sorry," I said, "I'm sorry Ayesha."

The whimper came out of me was the sound a little boy made. Not a hero, not any kind of hero.

Weight pressed down beside me, as she lay down beside me. Her hand slid over my arm, around my chest, holding me. I grit my teeth trying to keep from crying. I had no right to cry. I didn't want her to forgive me. I wanted her to hate me.

She pressed herself closer, pulled me closer. Her cheek pressed to my neck. Warm.

Her fingers turned my face over. I looked into tired, sad eyes.

"It is you," she said.

"It's me," I said.

She brushed the hair from my face, trailing fingertips over the cut in my eyebrow.

"When he grabbed me," she said, "When he had me tied up, when he...I...I thought...I hoped...prayed...you'd save me."

"It's my fault," I started.

"Not Hotspur," she said, "You, Eric. I kept thinking...always ended up thinking...about you."

Her eyes were getting misty. "And you saved me."

She held something in her other hand. The dog figurine, taken from my jacket pocket. She closed it in her fist, body shaking, pressed her fist against my chest.

"He hurt me, Eric," she sobbed, "Hurt me. I was s-scared."

"Yeah," I said, pulling her into a hug now. Her body shaking against mine, hard sobs muffled into my chest, fingers digging into my dressing gown. She held onto me for life. I did the same, tucking her head under my chin, pulling as much of her into me as I could. Give her my warmth.

The weak flicker of fire inside me grew, burning high to a bonfire warmth. Bringing her in.

"You're okay, Ayesha," I said, "You're here."

"You're safe here," I said, meaning it but not knowing if it was true.

It was only when she was done crying she had the strength to pull away, and not with much strength either. Her eyes were red and face wet, the pillow stained with tears.

"Can I stay?" she asked, sniffing.

"Yeah," I said.

She smiled. It wasn't her usual smile but it was the first one I'd seen on her.

"Look at me crying when you're hurt worse," she said.

"I'm used to it," I said.

"Do you wish that wasn't true?"

I swallowed. "Sometimes."

Her eyes closed on her smile. She looked so tired. "Maybe this is all a bad dream," she said, "We'll wake up and it won't be real."

"All dreams are real," I said, "Good and bad. It's all real."

"Maybe we should make some good dreams then," she said, yawning, "To make up for the bad ones."

"I'm trying," I said.

"I can...help you..." she said, voice listing off, eyes too heavy to open, "Eric...I..."

But the next sound from her was soft breathing.

And tucking her closer, I soon joined her.

"He shouldn't be better that fast," Doctor Ramsey muttered as I sat up in the bed.

A knot of scar tissue deformed my belly, but not as bad as it could have. It had a twin on my back, under the shoulder blade. The doctor looked irritated I was in great shape.

"Can't keep a good man down," Ms Grant said.

She'd arrived around dawn, and was the reason I was wearing my mask even if I wasn't wearing my shirt. She didn't want to know my face, for both of our safety. She was dressed down for a morning jog, in leggings and a loose hoodie. Not quite a disguise, but not her usual look.

"What happened?" she said.

"Some bullshit," I replied.

Ayesha had been taken back to her room, to give us some privacy.

"Are you good enough to get back to work?" she said.

Physically I could do a cart wheel. It was the other stuff I wasn't sure about.

"I've run down the information on the bullet and Caitlin Booker," she said. She paused, concerned. "But only if you're ready, Spur. If you need a couple more days..."

I frowned behind my mask.

>I'm ready, shoot
>I could use some time, yeah

>>4834252
>I'm ready, shoot
We gotta get even more serious now that the stone is in the wrong hands.

>>4834252
>I'm ready, shoot
>I need to crack some heads, and we're on a clock now.

>>4834252
>I'm ready, shoot

>>4834252
>I'm ready, shoot

>>4834252
>I'm ready
Houndmaster has all but confirmed our identity with methods even dirtier than Penderose.

locking in

"I'm ready," I said, rolling my injured shoulder to prove it.

Ms Grant doesn't look convinced, but doesn't push it. Instead she pulls out her phone.

"The bullet I traced back to a raid ten years ago on a cartel bust," she said, "Coming from the gun of one Esteban Ortega. The bullet ended up in a young field agent on his first time out, one Burtward Penderose. Looks like our buddy kept the case of the bullet as a memento."

"Interesting thing about Esteban Ortega though," she said, "He died in prison. Rat poison cut into a shot of heroin. Weird thing is, Ortega never had a history of drug use. Everyone close to him said he despised drug users, and publically beat his own nephew for using. The investigation never even turned up a suspect, not that they tried all too hard."

Grim.

"As to the incident with Caitlin Booker," Ms Grant said, "I interviewed her yesterday. She was hesitant to answer my questions, and its only when I offered her the protection of the State's Attorney office she gave in. Turns out our other friend Emma Sorenson attacked her in the showers after Private Booker began preparing a case against their superior officer for harrassment. Whether Sorenson was acting under orders or not I don't know, but she left Booker with a broken jaw and she retracted her complaint. When it came to Private Sorenson's own disciplinary case it was called a 'private matter' they had 'resolved'."

"Tracks with what we know about both of them," I said. Ms Grant nodded. "But it isn't proof."

"No," she said, "It isn't."

"I found a hard drive I want to get checked out, belongs to Pendy," I said, "If there's evidence on it I'll get it to you asap."

"That'd be good," she said. "But are you sure you're okay?"

I thought about the question. Sighed. "Good as I need to be for this," I said, "The wicked don't rest, so I can't neither."

"If you need anything," she said.

"I got your number," I replied.

Dr Ramsey came back into the room to check me out. He was still annoyed I seemed better.

"Thanks for the help Doc," I said.

"Nothing to it," he said, "Just make sure its a long time before I ever see you again."

"Will be if I got a say," I said, hopping down from the bed. Ms Grant had brought me a new suit, straight from Merriweather, with some adjustments made. A slightly different cut to the jacket, pants a little less loose, adjusted for my growing frame. If Ms grant was in denial about me being a kid, Merriweather wasn't.

Before I could get changed the door swung open, Ayesha slipping in.

She must not have been ready for the sight of me with my shirt off, scars on display. She blushed and turned away quick while I pulled on the spider-weave undershirt. "Sorry for the horror show," I said, "Looking kind of messed up these days."

"No, uh," she said, "You look good."

So did she. Better I mean. She looked better. A nurse had found her a change of clothes, a loose tank top and a pair of blue jeans. It left the cup of her bra showing at the corners. Uh.

But she did look better. Some food, some rest, had helped her recover from the heroin overdose. There was more color in her cheeks, the ashy quality going back to her usual golden warmth. Her hair fixed up from a tangled mane. Still not herself but closer to the Ayesha I knew. Closer than how Houndmaster had left her. I only hoped she could go back to being that Ayesha, and the scars he'd left on her weren't permanent.

"You're heading out, yeah?" she said.

"Planning to," I said, "Need to see a friend about a hard drive."

"Mind if I come with?" she said, staring out the window. I looked to her. She clutched her arm self-concious, frowning. It occurred to me our parents would be worried sick. Ms Grant had talked to Dad, but he could stand to hear from me, and I don't know if she'd sat down with the Carvers or not.

>Maybe she should go home, take her back to her parents
>Maybe she could use a distraction, take her to Queen Rat's

>>4834368
>Maybe she should go home, take her back to her parents
We owe it to our dad and her parents

>>4834368
>Take her to QR
But both of us should text or call our parents to let them know we're alive

>>4834368
>Maybe she should go home, take her back to her parents

We can't take her to queen rat, not uninvited at least

>>4834368
>Maybe she should go home, take her back to her parents
We should probably tell her who else knows. Ivy, Kay, and our dad.

I'm pretty tired, think I'll stop here and leave the vote open until I get back tomorrow

What about the Stone?

>>4834368
This>>4834390
She needs to know who she can talk too.

>>4834368
>Maybe she could use a distraction, take her to Queen Rat's
Penderose is gonna be on our ass and I don't wanna get caught with that hard drive. The sooner we get that evidence we need, the better

>>4834368
>Maybe she could use a distraction, take her to Queen Rat's

Time is gold, get her with us

>>4834375
>>4834381
>>4834390
>>4834695

locked in

She was nervous, still worn out. Where I was going might not be safe, and I needed to move quick. She'd been through enough on my account too.

"You should rest," I said, "I'll get you home, your parents'll be worried sick."

"Your pretty lawyer friend talked to them, Ms Grant?" Ayesha said, then sighed, pressing her forehead on the window glass, "But you're right. I think I'm just trying to avoid them, the questions they'll ask. I...don't want to talk about stuff, you know?" She squeezed her arm, bit her lip.

"I know," I said, "But if you do need to talk about stuff, you can talk to me. And Ivy and Kay, they both know too."

Ayesha raised an eyebrow. "So I'm the one in the dark," she said.

"Ivy figured it out first," I said, "Kay I told because...because we were...and it wouldn't have been right, doing that with her not knowing."

Ayesha sighed again. "You're way too nice a guy, Eric," she said, then with a weak smile, "It might get you hurt one of these days."

I smiled, no energy to laugh, buttoning up my new jacket. Then I slipped the little dog figurine into the inside pocket with the hard drive.

"You lost something important because of me, didn't you?" she said, "The psycho, he wanted something other than a sick thrill."

"It's not your fault," I said, "I could have handled it better."

"So he did take something," she said.

"It's not important," I said, "At least, not as important as your life."

She closed her eyes, looking beaten again. "Sorry," she said, "Sorry, I'm so fucking useless." Then she hit herself in the face, expression all tightened up with anger and self-loathing. When she went to do it again I caught her wrist and pulled her close.

"Don't," I said, holding her tight, "Don't. It's on me, I was...I could have told you, you'd have had a chance if you'd known but I didn't because I...I'm selfish. I wanted one good thing not connected to this shit and I wanted it to be you. Ayesha, its not your fault, its not. Say it to me, okay?"

"It's not my fault," she mumbled into my shoulder.

"It's not," I said, "Let's get you home, okay? Your parents are waiting. Ivy's waiting. We'll get you home and when I'm done I'll come by and we'll talk."

"Okay," she mumbled

"Okay," I said. And to protect her against the chill, I pulled my old jacket over her shoulders. "It'll be cold out," I said. She slid her arms down the sleeves, the cuffs hanging over her wrists. I pulled my old set of goggles down over her eyes. "I'll get you home," I said, holding out my hand.

She took it. I gave it a warm squeeze. I had to admit even if it was kind of inappropriate, she looked cute.

Together we walked out of Dr Ramsey's clinic, out the back way.

-

However Ayesha was feeling she wasn't so hurt she didn't yell when I jumped. Hanging from my shoulders as I leapt up into the whistling cold wind, she yelled in my ear, but the yell transformed into an excited laugh as we broke up into the cold blue sky. Chicago gleamed under us, the winter rain's passing leaving a cold frost across the city that glittered in the sun as it began a slow melt. Ayesha held on tight for life, breathing hard but still laughing.

When we came down on a roof she shivered, less from the cold and more from adrenaline, face split with a grin. It was good to see her smile.

"So cool," she said, knees shaking.

"Ready to go again?" I asked.

She latched her arms back around my shoulders. "Yip-yip!" she said.

Her laughter didn't stop until we were nearly home.

When we sailed closer it started to die.

"I'm scared," she mumbled into my collar.

"Why?"

"I don't know," she said, and started to cry.

We came down on the roof opposite her house. It took a second for the tears to stop. I picked her up and leapt down to the lawn. Set her down.

She held my hand.

Started walking backward toward her front door. "You'll come back when you're done?" she said.

"Yeah," I said, "Just let me deal with this."

"Okay," she said, "I'll be waiting."

And as I leapt off her front door opened. Her dad came running with Ivy right behind him, his belly bouncing as he jogged, but Ivy was younger and faster, and broke ahead to tackle Ayesha in a hug, kissing her cheek and squeezing her. Then Mr Carver had both girls in a hug, with Mrs Carver soon with them, the family dropped to the lawn together.

A touching scene. One I couldn't be part of.

Heading south whatever soft feelings Ayesha brought out of me hardened into a cold purpose.

I had a job to do. There was no time for anything else now.

-

Queen Rat's place, the recreation center on the South Side. Someone had spray-painted 'DIE FREAKS' on the front door. It was one of the more pleasant messages. Maybe it was German, but I doubted it. A noose had been hung from a street lamp too high to be easy to take down.

Great.

A different guy was at the front door than last time, but he still had a durag wearing gang banger look. I guess with these kinds of threats you didn't want a boyscout keeping the peace.

"Yo Spur," he said when I landed, "New threads? Looking sharp."

"Thanks," I said, "Queen Rat in?"

"Down the back," he said, and held the door open for me.

The para-folk shelter wasn't too different from last time I'd been here, except busier. More people inside, not just paras but their people, family who'd chosen to go into exile alongside their changed siblings and children, kicked out of their homes by paranoid landlords unwilling to keep freak tennants. The kitchens bused food and I stepped around the ghostly Aether as she carried a pair of trays.

"Whoa," she said, circling around me, floating in her ghostly way, "Thanks for not stepping right through me." Thunderchild's girl grinned as she slid through a wall with the trays, disappearing from view.

A little boy with a lion's head bumped into my hip, being chased by a laughing four armed girl as above us another boy climbed along the cieling like a frog, bouncing to latch onto the wall. I stumbled through, nodding to a stern black woman keeping an eye on them.

"Go, go, go!"

Chanting from another room and I poked my head in to see an arm wrestling contested between a big man with bark skin and leaves for hair against a straining Pratfall, her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth in comical fashion, straining against Treebeard's grinning might. Around them a crowd cheered, as Pratfall braced her feet on the table edge, trying to haul his fist down.

"Yowzers!" she cried, bells jingling on her jester's cap.

When he brought her hand down with a hard slam she spun over with an affected "Ah!" landing on her ass on the ground.

I shook my head.

Down the end of the hall was Queen Rat's office. Standing out the front was Boomer, such an old man he was sucking on a hard candy.

"Your boss in?" I asked.

Boomer nodded.

"Can I see her?" I said.

Boomer frowned. He went in. I waited. I waited a while.

About five minutes later he stepped out, gestured for me to go in.

"Hotspur," Queen Rat said. A rat sat on her shoulder, nibbling at her hair.

She wasn't alone. There was a man with her, Native American I think. Had long black hair tied back from his face, a denim jacket and an angry, hawkish look.

And a tomahawk. A steel head tomahawk slung at his hip.

"This is an old friend of mine, Dallas," she said.

He didn't offer his hand, but gave a nod in respect.

I knew a badass when I saw one.

"Is this about the noose out the front?" I said.

"And other things," she said.

Whatever they'd been talking about it didn't seem friendly. There was a tension in the air. She called him a 'friend' but she seemed suspicious of him at best.

"I've seen you in the news," he said. He had a noble voice. "Impressive work."

"Thanks," I said.

"Misguided though," he said, "You're protecting the wrong people, fighting the wrong fight."

I frowned.

"Spare the boy, Dallas," Queen Rat said.

He smiled without much humor.

"If you don't mind, Hotspur and I need to talk," she said.

"A queen rules her kingdom," he said, "No matter how small."

With another respectful nod he stepped out.

"What the fuck was that about?" I said.

Queen Rat sighed. "That is a very dangerous man you'd do well staying away from," she said, "Now how can I help you, Spur?"

I told her. She placed a finger along her lip as she listened, rats squeaking on her shoulder, sniffing at me. When I was done she sat back.

"I know someone who could help," she said, "You need Remix."

"Remix?" I said.

"She doesn't live with us," Queen Rat said, "I've offered but she's stubborn. She might not be willing to help you, but it can't hurt to ask."

"Where can I find her?" I said.

"She lives in an abandoned mall in the south-west," she said, "But like I said, she might not help you. She's...someone entirely of herself."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

"Stay a while," Queen Rat said, "Have some food, some rest."

"Maybe," I said, "But I really need to get this done. Clocks don't stop running, and time does run out."

"Go in peace then," she said, "And good luck. You're always welcome here."

"Thanks Queenie," I said with a salute.

But on my way out, at the exit I found Dallas waiting.

"We should talk," the native man said, leaning on the wall with a casual slouch.

"Should we?" I said.

"Only if you're willing."

>we can talk
>sorry, maybe another time

chunky update

>>4836174
>>sorry, maybe another time

>>4836174
>we can talk
Let's hear him out, we've worked closely with worse people

Sorry about the double post, it wasn't showing up for me for some reason

>>4836174
>we can talk

>>4836174
>we can talk

>>4836174
>we can talk

he's too badass to turn down

>>4836246
>>4836206
>>4836197
>>4836188
locked in

"We can talk," I said.

He smiled and we walked outside.

"I've seen your work," he said as we walked out to the curb, standing under the noose swinging in the wind, "Heard the stories. You've done a lot of good for this city."

"Thanks," I said.

He looked up at the noose, his smile bitter. He wasn't a tall man, bordering on short with a compact, wirey sense of strength. The kind of tough found out on the plains, out heading towards the Rockies. With no effort he leapt, a straight vertical hop, landing on the street lamp. His tomahawk flashed out, and he cut the noose from the pole, wrapped it around his fist.

Leaning back, he dropped, flipping to land on his feet in a crouch.

He held up the noose in his fist. "Who do you think hanged this?" he said, "And what do you think they meant by it?"

I shrugged. He threw it over his shoulder.

"They fear us," he said. Across the street an old black woman bused a kid back inside, as fearful as Dallas claimed. "They should."

"We can be pretty scary," I said, "A lot of people have been killed."

He nodded. "A lot more people will be, if things keep going as they are."

"Not if I can help it," I said.

He smiled. "You're a firefighter, Hotspur," he said, "We need firefighters. But if those fires are being deliberately lit, we also need to catch the arsonist."

"I'm working on that too," I said.

"Are you?" something in his cold eyes made me doubt, "Do you know who the arsonist is if you met them?"

I shrugged, not sure what he meant.

He looked up to a tall, decaying flophouse. "I was a Ranger," he said, "I was there in '03 in Iraq, I was there in Afghanistan before it. I went to Syria and Libya and everywhere else they ordered. Leading the way. I served, thinking if I fought their wars, if I proved myself to be a patriot, I'd be accepted by them. My people would be accepted. They gave me medals for killing peasants and burning their poppy fields, for stealing their oil. I killed for the great war machine, but nothing changed for the reservation I was born on."

"I am Dallas Parker of the Crow Nation," he said, "And I was a fool."

I listened, there wasn't a lot to say and I doubted he'd appreciate a 'thank you for your service'.

"Do you know the history of my people?" he said.

"Not really," I said, "We're just starting on the Civil War at school."

And there I'd gone and told him I was a kid. Idiot.

"The Civil War," he said, "It didn't matter who won, my people still lost. It didn't start with reservations or segregation. There was a lot of good talk. Talk about help, of civilization. To benefit the savage, bring him into their ways, talk of assimilation. But the savage is too unruly to be allowed to live free by his own laws. He must be contained. But then contained, he must be taught. He couldn't be trusted to teach his own children, so they must be taken, given the true religion, the civilized tongue. Raised by good white people hoping the red would fade from their skin if it faded from their hearts."

"Until the only red we had left to give was our blood. Fighting their wars in foreign lands, fighting our own people for a scrap of power. And when we stand up for ourselves and say no more, they send in their National Guard and their FBI, all to rule us and remind us what we are. A conquered people, lucky to have what barren land they give us."

"But it doesn't start with segregation," he said, "It starts with kind lies, hiding the anger of the people they represent. And its happening again."

He turned to me. "I read the story about the black site, the experiments," he said, "I wasn't surprised, except by my angry. I thought I was past being angry. All that happened to my old people is now happening again. History starts a new verse, but the music stays the same."

"This country was founded on the blood of my people," he said, "They didn't realize the threat until it was too late, until all they had left was the land no one else wanted."

"Peace can be another word for betrayal," he said, "I no longer believe in peace."

"Are you planning to start a war?" I asked.

He looked up and down the street. "Aren't we already in one?" he said, "My friend Queen Rat sits besieged in a city which hates her. She thinks a shelter is enough to protect our people. Shelter and the goodwill of the people. But its only time before rocks become bullets, and they burn her sanctuary down around her."

"So then what?" I asked, "What do you want to do?"

"Carve out a land we can call our own," he said, "A nation everyone must recognize. Able to defend itself. A homeland for every para-folk who wants one, where they can live free and peaceful lives without relying on the arbitrary hand of this country and the goodwill of its fickle people."

"You fight for a people who will never love you," he said, "You fight the rot thinking it can be cut out, but the rot comes from the core. It can't be fixed. We need to start over."

"Our nation will need soldiers to fight for it," he said, "Nothing is ever given. Everything has to be fought for. And there will be much blood spilled on the way."

He looked to me. "What do you think?" he asked.

>...I think you're right
>I can't get onboard with that

>>4836337
>I can't get onboard with that
Paras are more similar to humans than not. Deepening the divide will just lead to pointless deaths, damage that will never heal. Mending the divide, showing everyone that we're the same as them is our responsibility as the first generation. Before it's too late.

>>4836337
>I can't get onboard with that

We protect the innocent, normal or otherwise it doesn't matter

>>4836337
>I can't get onboard with that

>>4836337
Adding on
Right now we have few enemies. We know them and I'm working to fight them. Your plan makes the entire world our enemy.

>>4836337
>I can't get onboard with that

We cannot divide ourselves more than what we already are, I've seen the good in the people, "normal" people, and if only matter of time until we can reach an understanding, time and work.

>>4836380
Is only*

Typo