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Apocrypha leaned painfully against the plush chair in his office. When you’d gotten to his age in his line of work, nothing was comfortable, but the chair was at least bearable. He looked lazily up at the polished, black tiles on the ceiling.
An unshaven and exhausted man looked back. His short, black hair receded away from his wide forehead, and his brow shrouded too-serious eyes. He hadn’t been up to the Bright City for years, and was very nearly white. A far cry from his debonair days in the southern Nahuatl Empire.
The door to his office half-opened, obstructed by the many piles of cardboard boxes holding criminal files that scattered across the small space. A jellyfish-like alien slithered in, ribbons of sheer cloth flowing around his deep blue appendages. A badge of the Vigilants was strapped to his crown, and his appendages rapidly worked to type on a voice synthesizer strapped to the central, spine-like stalk that made his serpentine body. The words were slow, but economical. “Scythe has cornered another of the Pack,” he explained.
Apocrypha groaned. “Am I supposed to send a cleanup crew? She didn’t leave any evidence behind, did she?” Just what I need- a pack corpse.
“That is the issue,” the Vigilant continued to type, “we do not need one. In fact, it appears the pack member has survived Scythe’s questioning.”
The man paused for a moment. “I’m sorry, what?” He stood- a little too quickly. Yet, the news was enough to ignore his aching back. “How? Where are they? Why wasn’t I told?”
“I have just told you?” Two beeps followed the statement so that Apocrypha would know it was a question. “She is currently on her way to Lowharf. Two accompany her: Rosa Sanchez and an unknown inertial mage. By her eccentricities, likely one of Dr. Thoreau’s experiments.”
“Lowharf? Is Wolf making a play for the lower city? He hadn’t seemed to care for anywhere outside of the Dim City before.”
“Unlikely. She is not acting on pack orders.” The alien stopped for a moment, then quickly typed away. “She must be monitored.”
“Obviously.” The pack was notoriously predictable- insofar as a gang like them can be predicted. If one was going rogue, it may well shift the balance of power in the city. “I would like to meet her myself. Doriax, do you have a way to get me there quickly?”
“I have a mark on a mole inside Mohn’s house, where she is said to be heading next.” The alien typed. “They should be acting as a guard.”
Apocrypha crossed his hands. “Will I fit in their clothes?” Doriax’s magic- unique even among aliens- would swap Apocrypha with one of the people he had marked. Of course, it would swap only Apocrypha himself, not any of his clothes or equipment. This misunderstanding had caused some… unfortunate incidents when the alien first joined the Vigil.
“Perhaps. The mole is Cordo, a refugee from the Coalition. Should be in a full body suit, as instructed.”
“Hmm.” The vigilant leader flipped through his mess of folders and files. Eventually, he found the man’s profile. “Size seems about right. Simple ordinance, works under a Nightfolk butler… I’ll make do. Alright, shift me. Guide me if necessary.”
Doriax nodded. His tendrils parted past the ribbons of cloth, and an electrical energy surged across his body. An electrical scent of raw cinnamon and metal filled the air. The electricity pressed onto Apocrypha’s forehead.
Apocrypha was immediately hit by the pressure around his crown and his gut. His vision blurred, and he staggered forward. A man’s hand grasped his shoulder, jostling him.
“Hey, rookie, the fuck’s up?”
Apocrypha’s eyes adjusted to a black, tinted visor. He was wearing a skin-tight bodysuit under the layers of armor- both clearly meant for a skinnier man. He righted himself. “Sorry. Out of it.” He hoped the mask muffled his voice enough for it to sound like the mole’s.
“Well, get it together.” The mercenary sneered. “We’re on duty at the entrance while the Mohns are out. Don’t do anything to make me look bad.”
Magic crackled across Four’s back through Rosa’s palm. The unmasked man had a tired face, with his Root clearly manifested- an insectoid compound eye with a golden pseudopupil- sprouted from his forehead. Four leveled her gun at it. “No sudden movements.” She growled.
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Apocrypha let out another drag of the cigarette. Its thick smoke stuck to electronics in the walls, obscuring them. Giving them room to talk. “Hm. I haven’t seen you around. Are you a new pack member?”
“Hardly. I’m the fourth.” The fact he didn’t know about her after all this time was a testament to Four’s usual stealth.
The Vigilant seemed mildly surprised. “Perhaps you were a bodyguard?” He wondered. “And guarding such curious people, at that. Daughter of some no-name smugglers and the broken prodigy of Silas Thoreau.” Lane bristled at the mention of who Four could only assume was her boss, but a ripple of heat-like energy pulsed from the Rooted compound eye, and her magic dissipated instantly. Even Four felt her blood run cold as Rosa’s bolstering spell faded.
Only names of the most powerful Roots were widely known. This one, ‘Fair Fight’, was perhaps the most infamous- the anti-magic, anti-Root eye that once slew a goddess. Lane stepped back. She was reckless, not suicidal.
“I know you’re not a killer. At least, not publically.” Four said. An Ace Vigilant’s reputation was everything. “Why come here personally?”
“As I said before,” the man smiled easily, “I want to talk. Specifically, I’d like to know why you are going against the Wolf’s orders. And how.”
Four gritted her teeth. She felt the curious stares of her companions on her back- they had no reason to believe she was going behind the Wolf’s back. She had to speak obtusely. “You worked with Arbiter Wolf. I assume you know what he is- and how dangerous it is to speak about it in such a public area.” She thought about what she could say. “The Mohns are holding someone. I need to get her out.”
For all his bravado, the Ace Vigilant picked up on her meaning immediately. “You two- little Sanchez and Lin-”
“Lane.” The mage growled. “Lin’s my brother.”
“Lane.” He easily corrected. “Go to the other guests- we need to keep their eyes off us. The jamming smoke can only do so much.”
Lane’s eyes flicked to Four, who gave a slight nod. She sighed. “Fuck it. But, lay a finger on my friend, and I’ll do far fucking worse to your precious Vigilants.”
Rosa seemed much more worried, but didn’t voice it. She laid a hand on Four’s shoulder. “Be careful.” She whispered, then followed Lane towards the previously indicated hallway.
Apocrypha tapped an earpiece. “Alright, I’m free. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sure you can handle the Board. I’m a little busy.” A muffled voice screeched through it. He winced. “Sorry! Sorry. Get me a map of this place. These jamming cigs won’t last forever.” He plucked off the earpiece, stuffing it back into his pocket. His third eye faded back into his forehead as he put the helmet back on. “So, what’s the deal?”
The hare-woman leaned in to whisper, in case Lane was listening in at the door. “The Wolf has repressed our memories. Rewritten them.” She hurriedly explained. “An ex-Warden held here might be able to unlock controlled memories. Get the pack out from under his control.”
The older man blinked in surprise. “Really?” Such a woman would undoubtedly be invaluable to the Vigil as well. “How did you survive rebelling?”
“A woman must keep some secrets.”
“You’re a woman?”
“And an assassin, dick. Remember both.” She growled. “So, you going to help? What are we waiting around for?”
“My guides.” As he responded, a ping came from his wrist. A small floor plan of the complex appeared on the wide watchface. “Looks like they got through. This way.”
The Mohn’s estate interior was a mess of meeting rooms, libraries, and labyrinthine, liminal hallways. Even with his associates guiding him, Apocrypha and Four’s progress was slow. Each time the two made their way to a new room, he would have to puff a plume of the jamming smoke out into it, and then dash through in a practiced manner. Four was disconcerted by how easily he turned his back on her. He was completely unthreatened by her, and it was killing her that she didn’t know why. As far as she knew, the leader of the Alloton Vigil was just a mortal man with a unique Root- unlike the aliens, mages, monks, and freaks of science that made up his lackeys.
They eventually turned to a spiral staircase at the edge of this floor, which led up into the other floors. Runes glittered across the archway. “Damnit.” He grumbled, chewing the edge of the fake cigarette.
Four’s ears twitched. “What’s the problem? You can just negate these, right?” They looked like standard security alarms- some earth mage had carved them into the plastic walls.
“I could.” He crossed his arms. “But that will just delay the alarm until I stop looking at it. I can’t go with you.”
That likely wasn’t the whole truth- keeping the minutia of your Root obscured through generalizations is standard practice. Still, Four was shocked at how easily he gave up that information. “Can you call anyone? Sleet Scythe would probably be willing to help- I’ve seen her work runes before.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe…” Apocrypha looked away, distracting himself with another puff of the cigarette.
Four had read that posture before. She narrowed her eyes. “Apocrypha, this is serious. Make the call.”
“I mean, Scythe doesn’t really check her texts-”
“I said call, not text.” Four crossed her arms. She noticed that his earbud was still in his pocket, muted. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”
“Pah, hah, no.” The man scratched behind his head, staring at the wall. “I can be wherever I want. I’m the boss.”
“Sure thing, big guy.” Four rolled her eyes. “And the boss shouldn’t be afraid of calling his underlings.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You’re stalling.” Four leaned in.
“I am… I am respecting my employee’s time.” The larger man leaned down to glower at the assassin. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a manager? Of an entire city’s worth of Vigilants?”
“Let’s see what they think.” Four stepped back, his earbud in her hand. A classic bait. She leapt up, landing cleanly on the electric chandelier far above them. She held down the button to power it on and held it up to her ear.
“No, wait, I-”
The thing buzzed to life. “Boss, you conniving, lowlife, lazy fucker! Doriax is a high-ranking, valuable member of the Vigil, not your personal vacation service!” A shrill voice punched through the earpiece. “Not only did you force him to consume his mark- who knows how long that will take to re-apply- but you let an unaffiliated asset into your office? I know you don’t care to read my debriefs, but I care to write them- and with sensitive information, too, you disorganized oaf!”
Four leaned her head back, grinning. The rant was worth the pain in her back from the jump. “Sorry, but we’re on a job. Would you mind patching one of your subordinates through?”
A moment. “That wasn’t meant for you, sweetie.” The voice was apologetically soft. “I didn’t know he’d dragged another Vigil into this. Where are you from?”
“We're a small sub-Vigil, ma’am. Out of the States. It’s an honor to work with the city.” She lied, trying to keep her voice awkwardly militaristic- that of a new recruit. “Mr. Apocrypha says we need to patch through to someone called ‘Scythe’.”
“That would be Sleet Scythe, our resident cryomancer.” The woman explained. “For you, I’ll see if she can be patched in. But, do try to use your own comms- I very nearly spilled some sensitive intel just now. Only Apocrypha should use this channel.”
“Oh, he’d said I should handle it… That he had better things to deal with than talking to you- I mean, um, never mind, ma’am.” Four reveled in the death glares piercing through the Ace Hero’s mask below her.
“He said what now?” The woman’s voice barely suppressed her rage. She coughed down her vitriol. “Apocrypha is not a good model for our organization. I’m sure Scythe will be able to properly mentor you and your group. May you pass me to him?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Four landed on her good foot and both hands- a silent and well-practiced drop. She grinned as Apocrypha snatched the earpiece from her hand. Good luck. She mouthed to the masked Vigilant.
Even though taking the extra time was risky, the fury emanating through the earpiece was well-worth the risk. It was more than a few moments before Apocrypha was able to get a word in to actually patch through Scythe.
With her, he immediately got to business- asking which runes and in what order to remove them so that their effect wouldn’t activate after he left. Four faintly heard the cryomancer faintly ask why he needed the info, but he dismissed it nearly instantly. He was the boss, after all.
Four had to light a new cigarette for him- the last of his pack- by the time the Vigilant was finished with smudging the runes in just the right ways not to trigger them. He gave a curt goodbye, and cut the connection. He didn’t tell her he’s working with me… Four realized. She wasn’t sure how she could exploit this revelation, but she’s sure she would eventually.
The stairway wound upwards, counterclockwise. The ceiling was low, with few cameras and dust lining the walls. Not the intended entrance.
They heard it before they saw it- a mechanical grating noise over a wet, crunching gurgle. It had all the sickening rust of chainsaw carving through a dying animal. Behind it, muffled screams cried through cloth, and the faint swing of American jazz beat on the walls. The air smelled like old perfume.
Four pushed ahead of Apocrypha. Her steps were soft as she approached the door- a proper, swinging door, not the plastic curtains used elsewhere in the house. Holding her ear to the door, she listened to the imperceptible click of the pins as she tested the knob. Locked. Fishing out a set of lockpicks folded into a handkerchief, it opened enough for her to peek through with her beady eye.
It was a movie set. Three lights hung on suspensions lit up the black box stage, two cameras recorded under a boom, and countless cardboard boxes held reels of tape, extra equipment, and plastic props. Tiny silhouette lounged in a throne of a director’s chair, facing away from the backdoor. His light blonde halo of a bowl cut swayed as he shook his head, dejected. “No, no, no!” He squeaked. “Not right! Again, again. From the top.”
On the stage, a monster pulled its claws away from three prisoners bound on wooden racks. The man it had been carving through was torn to bloody slivers, his naked chest rising in choking, dying gasps. The monster itself seemed to be halfway between a wolf and a crocodile, with metal spikes covering its hair and a needle protruding from its thick tail- an Imperial Hound. Alien bioweapons designed for torture, forcing mutation and servility. The origin of False Roots. They were boogeymen of Earth, the reason for people with powers to take on pseudonyms, so that the ever-lurking Hounds couldn’t find their families and loved ones through their names.
A spiked collar, clearly Savari in origin, glowed around its neck. The monster of monsters stepped away and sat. Its tail wagged wetly across the ground.
Four stepped away from the door as the director stood to reset the stage. Her hands were shaking. “You need to retreat.” Her whisper felt all too loud, as she turned to Apocrypha. “A Hound, loose in there.”
She couldn’t read Apocrypha’s expression through the mask, but he didn’t step away. He lifted it just a bit to whisper back. “What else?” His voice was level.
How could he be calm? If a Rooted was noticed by a Hound… Four didn’t think even that Savari collar would stop it from going berserk. Controllers couldn’t even touch those things. “There’s a boy- Silvio, at a guess.” She explained. “Three captives. One’s near dead, and the Hound blocked the view of the other two. He’s recording some kind of torture film.”
“Any cameras?”
Four thought. “None except on set. Everything was soundproofed.”
“How old is the boy?”
The question took her by surprise. “Maybe a teenager? Probably younger.” She frowned. “Why?”
To her dismay, the Vigilant removed the strap to his rifle, made sure its safety was on, and set it aside. He flexed his fingers. “No guns. Bullets might ricochet. Let’s go.”
“Whoa.” Four’s hand pressed against his chest. “You aren’t thinking of going easy on the boy?”
“I’m not going to shoot a child, Four.” He puffed out his chest.
“He’s a fucking psycho. You’d be doing your city a favor.”
“He is my city.” The Vigilant growled. “The Mohns, you, even Wolf. You are all my city. We’re not going to kill him. Not if I can help it.”
His voice had a passion in it- tired and worn, maybe, but still smouldering with a fire of ambition. Four backed up, nodding. “Fine.” She relented. “He’s controlling the thing somehow. A Savari collar.”
“I’ll distract it. Get the control.”
“You know what will happen once it sees you. I don’t know if the collar will even work!”
The man’s helmet wiggled as he manifested his Rooted eye. “We’ll deal with that when we get to it.” He stepped forward. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Go!” The man leaped forwards, slamming open the door.