Chapter 11 Party Masks

  January 25, 2025. Saturday. 6:02 pm.

  I adjusted my tie, taking a moment to admire the effect in the cracked mirror at the edge of the room. Confidence was key, they said, though I doubted anyone in this place cared about a well-fitted suit. Still, I walked confidently toward the bar, ignoring the stares I knew were aimed my way.

  The suit was decent, considering the budget I’d thrown at it, cheap but presentable, the kind of thing you’d wear if you wanted to blend in while still commanding a shred of respect. Black was always a safe choice. The headgear, though, was the centerpiece of the look. A bonnet mask covered my head, and the expressionless white porcelain face glued to the front added a layer of eerie anonymity. I felt the brim of my hat stitched alongside the crown of my mask by interposing there intangible states. It looked better than most of the disguises I usually slapped together, but “better” was a low bar in my decided line of work. Most capes on the villainous side of the spectrum were more scruffy than usual.

  The bar itself was chaos. Neon lights painted the room in pulsing colors, and the crowd was a mix of the bizarre and the downright terrifying. People moved to music that was more noise than melody, the bassline vibrating through the floor. On a table in the center of the room stood the star of the show, a scrawny guy with a mohawk and tattoos that covered nearly every inch of his exposed skin. He wore a welding mask splattered with swirling, chaotic paint.

  It was a ridiculous look, but one that screamed power... Kind of...

  "Woohoo~! Let's party, motherfuckers and fatherfuckers!"

  That was Rave.

  Out there in the real world, if this guy stepped into the street, people would scatter like cockroaches in the light. But here, in this den of lunacy, he was the king.

  I pushed my way through the crowd, keeping my movements steady and deliberate. Confidence was a currency here, and I wasn’t about to show weakness.

  “What are you looking at?”

  The words cut through the music as Rave hopped off the table and swaggered toward me. Up close, he was even more imposing, nearly a foot taller than me and built like a scarecrow on steroids. The welding mask tilted slightly as he leaned forward, sizing me up.

  “You look funny,” he continued, the words laced with casual menace.

  I met his gaze, or at least where his eyes would have been behind that swirling paint-covered mask. “And you look ridiculous,” I shot back, keeping my voice calm and steady.

  The room seemed to pause for a fraction of a second, the air charged with anticipation. Then Rave laughed, a harsh, barking sound that cut through the noise. “You’ve got a mouth on you. That’s rare around here.”

  I let the corners of my porcelain mask lift ever so slightly, a small movement designed to hint at a smile. “A mouth and a message,” I replied. “You’re the kind of guy who likes to know things, right? Hear things no one else does.”

  He tilted his head, considering me for a moment. Then he stepped closer, his height and the sheer absurdity of his presence pressing down on me. “Alright,” he said. “Talk.”

  That was all the invitation I needed.

  "I’m here to peddle my services, plain and simple," I said, keeping my voice measured and direct. "Let me talk to the Crow."

  Rave’s posture stiffened at the mention of his boss. The Crow was a name that carried weight in these circles, more rumor than reality for most. I wasn’t here to join the gang, though; I’d decided long before walking into this pit of chaos that association would serve me better than affiliation. A boss came with chains, expectations, and a list of rules I had no interest in following. That wouldn’t work for what I had in mind.

  Besides, usurping the Crow’s gang? That was the kind of mistake that got people turned into urban legends. I wasn’t planning on becoming one. Not yet. I got dreams. Big dreams.

  Rave tilted his head, his mask reflecting the pulsing lights around us. "What services?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. Sparks flickered across his fingers, little tendrils of electricity that danced in the air before fading. A not-so-subtle reminder of what he could do if he didn’t like my answer.

  I wasn’t deterred. Rave was an Electrokinetic-3, maybe a high 3, judging by the crackle of energy radiating from him. He also had a touch of Acoustokinetic-2, but only enough to boost his bark and boom in fights. Dangerous, sure, but predictable.

  Still, he could be proven to be a formidable opponent for me, considering his power theoretically could counter mine.

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  "Ever heard what happened to Sunstrider?" I asked, keeping my tone casual, almost bored.

  Rave froze. The sparks at his fingertips flared, and I caught a glimpse of his hands tightening into fists. "You’re saying that was you?" Rave said, his voice low. There was no disbelief in his tone, just a thinly veiled threat.

  "It depends," I replied, letting the hint of a smirk creep into my tone. “Do you want to see how I did it?” I tensed for a second, ready to trade blows if found necessary. "It won't be a mere arty trick, that I assure you."

  For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of bass and the static crackle from Rave’s hands. Then he laughed again, sharp and quick. But Rave’s laughter died as quickly as it started. He straightened, tilting his head as if to get a better read on me through the mask. "Alright, funny guy. Let’s say I believe you. What makes you think the Crow’s interested in whatever it is you’re selling?"

  I shrugged, making the gesture slow and deliberate. "That’s not for you to decide."

  He didn’t respond immediately, his static-filled hands twitching like he was itching to test me. I could see the gears turning behind his mask, the calculation in his stance. Rave wasn’t the smartest, but he knew when something was above his pay grade.

  And I'm definitely above his pay grade. I'm a cape killer after all.

  "You really wanna talk to the Crow?" he asked finally.

  "That’s why I’m here," I said. "But if you’re not the guy to make it happen, I can always find someone who is."

  Rave stepped closer, his height and sheer presence looming over me. "You’ve got a lotta nerve," he said.

  "And you’ve got a lotta questions," I shot back.

  There was another beat of tension before Rave stepped back, shaking his head. "Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. You get one shot with the Crow. Blow it, and you won’t leave this place alive."

  "Fair enough," I said, hiding the relief that threatened to slip into my voice.

  Rave gestured for me to follow, his sparks dying down as he pushed through the crowd. The partiers parted around him like he was Moses with a mohawk, their drunken revelry subdued as they realized he was serious.

  I adjusted my tie again, keeping my movements calm. The Crow wasn’t going to be easy to deal with, but I wasn’t walking into this unprepared. After all, I hadn’t survived this long by bluffing without a plan.

  If things went sideways, I could always run. That was the mantra I kept repeating in my head as I followed Rave through the pulsing chaos of the club. The dim light, the bodies moving in rhythm to the bassline, and the haze of smoke that hung in the air all screamed danger.

  "You’re lucky the boss happens to be here," Rave muttered over his shoulder, his tone a mix of annoyance and warning.

  The Crow wasn’t the type to stick around one place for too long, and he liked to keep people guessing. He had a reputation for avoiding his own sycophants, preferring to slither through the city’s underbelly to avoid being cornered or ambushed by those who claimed to serve him. A gang leader like that didn’t thrive by staying predictable.

  "Word of advice," Rave continued, his voice cutting through the music as we approached a heavy, black door at the back of the club. "Don’t try to butter him up with crap you don’t mean. The Crow can smell insincerity from a mile away, and he won’t take kindly to it."

  "Good to know," I replied evenly, though I wasn’t planning on kissing anyone’s boots tonight, literal or metaphorical.

  Rave grunted and pushed the door open, stepping aside to let me in.

  The room beyond was a stark contrast to the chaos of the club. Dimly lit and filled with a thick, sweet-smelling haze, it was quieter, the muffled thump of the music barely audible through the walls. A man lounged on a low, plush couch in the center of the room, surrounded by women who moved with the grace of well-trained dancers.

  At first glance, the Crow looked almost absurd. His raven-black hair spilled down his back in a silken wave, so long it reached his waist. His chest was bare, displaying the kind of lean muscle that spoke of someone who didn’t need to flaunt his strength. It was evident in the way he moved, the way he held himself.

  He was smoking something out of a crude clay pot, the aroma thick and heady. Weed, or something more exotic, I couldn’t tell.

  And then there were his eyes.

  They were impossible to ignore. His pupils were an eerie, almost glowing white, while the sclera surrounding them was a deep, inky black. The sight was unsettling, and I couldn’t help but feel as though those eyes were boring straight into me, peeling back layers to uncover every secret I thought I could hide.

  This was the Crow, the leader of the Murder of Crows.

  An Umbrakinetic-8, capable of bending shadows to his will with terrifying precision. A Shifter-5, though what forms he favored, I didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. And, most unnervingly, a Hypnotic-2, just strong enough to make you wonder if your thoughts were still your own.

  The Crow exhaled a plume of smoke, his unnervingly white pupils settling on me. The girls around him moved as if on cue, drifting back to the edges of the room like shadows retreating at dusk.

  "You’re new," he said, his voice low and smooth, with an almost melodic quality that made it hard not to lean in and listen.

  I nodded, keeping my posture relaxed but respectful. "Name’s not important. I’m here to offer a deal."

  His lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach those unsettling eyes. "A deal," he repeated, as though the word was a particularly amusing joke. "And what makes you think I’m interested?"

  "Because I’m useful," I said, keeping my tone steady. "And because you’re smart enough to know when someone has something worth hearing."

  The Crow leaned back, his long fingers drumming lazily on the side of the pot. "Bold," he murmured. "But boldness alone won’t get you far with me."

  "Good thing I’ve got more than boldness, then," I replied.

  He laughed softly, the sound low and dangerous. "Alright, then," he said, gesturing lazily for me to continue. "Amuse me, newcomer. Tell me why I shouldn’t have Rave toss you back out into where you came from."

  I took a step closer, ignoring the tension that rippled through the room at the movement. "Because I’m the one who took out Sunstrider," I said, letting the weight of the name hang in the air. "And I can do more than just that...|

  The room went still, the faint sounds of the club outside seeming distant and far away. The Crow’s smile widened, sharp and predatory.

  "Interesting," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine intrigue. "Very interesting."

  I had his attention. Now came the hard part.