My tactical pants, turtleneck, and balaclava went into the bottom of my bag. I piled my sketchbook, a change of clothes, and some schoolwork on top of them. Out of sight, out of mind. I checked myself briefly in the small mirror I had and nodded. Normal looking enough, with my cargo shorts, black shirt, and leather jacket. I frowned and played with my hair a bit, mildly annoyed. It was down past my shoulders now, too long.

  With a sigh, I pulled it back into a tight bun. That would have to do for now, until I found time to get a proper haircut. What would I do with all of it? A small, niggling part of me said to cut it all off. Mom had always been on my ass about it, making sure it was taken care of, brushed out. A pain. I sighed and shook my head; problems for another night, I had bigger ones tonight. I slung my backpack and headed into the common room, making my way to the connector.

  “Hey Lia,” Autumn Rain, or Violet since she’d unmasked to us all the other day, waved to me from the couch. “You going out?”

  “Over to my girlfriend’s,” I replied with my alibi. “Running a bit late so…”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” she said lightly, offering a smile. “It’s um, Amy right? Tell her I said hi.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, nodding. Weird, but whatever. “See you.”

  I went through the connector and headed up to street level, shaking off the nerves that had come with being stopped, being witnessed. It would be okay, the other Wards saw me heading out to Amy’s all the time. This was no different, except she was at the hospital because it was a Friday and she’d be there til at least nine.

  I caught the bus that would take me that way, then rode it a few stops further before I hopped off. I was a little ways into the West Side, the opposite direction from where I was going tonight but that was okay. My trail was covered now, so I walked a couple blocks and waited at another stop. A painfully long fifteen minutes later, I got another bus going the other way.

  Sitting at the back, I slowly ran through the information I’d been gathering the past couple days. Hooks had been a part of it, telling me where Bailey had been operating the night he’d been injured. The other part was digging through news reports in my lunch hours, piecing together some kind of picture of where Wotan’s Wolves were operating.

  The whole of the East End, it seemed. A fight pit busted up in the Treeville neighbourhood, another near Viscount’s Park. Those were more than a mile apart, and Bailey had been working roughly between them. It was tough, since the PRT put out plenty of reports about their stunning victories over local gangs, but never in much detail.

  I wasn’t expecting much from tonight because of that. Maybe I’d get lucky and nail a Nazi or two, but I was considering this as much a fact-finding mission as a fight night. I figured there was a pretty good chance something would be happening on a Friday night though, and I intended to at least figure out what was going on; even if I might not play the party crasher tonight.

  It was pretty easy to tell when the bus crossed into the right side of town, or rather the wrong side of town. Part of it was the Docks, but not where I was going tonight. Things were barely better around here now than right after Leviathan, and only slowly improving. I had a feeling the active gang wars were part of that.

  When I finally stepped off the bus, I instantly felt out of place. My outfit wasn’t particularly nice, but it was clean and obviously new, a contrast to the few people still out on the streets past eight. The sky was barely grey now, the sun already set, so I slung my bag and got a move on.

  I kept my head up and eyes moving. As far as I was concerned, my patrol started now even if I wasn’t dressed for it yet. I probably looked like a tempting target for the sickos of the world, and they’d get a hell of a surprise if they decided to fuck around. Ideally though, they’d wait until I at least had my face covered before making me break their bones.

  The place was full of ugly signs of Brockton Bay’s Nazi woes. The crossed-Ws, slur-filled graffiti, and occasional swastika were grim reminders that this part of the city was marked out in red for a reason. Despite the frequent gang signs, obvious gangsters weren’t quite so common. Small groups of teenagers and twenty-somethings smoking on the street corner may be suspicious, but they didn’t have colours so I left them be.

  From what I’d read, the actual members would have an armband with a wolfsangel on it, or be wearing that symbol somewhere obvious. It was utterly confusing that they used the exact same logo for their guys as Werwolf did, but Nazis weren’t exactly creatives. I checked my watch and sighed. Nine, about time to suit up and start looking for trouble.

  I ducked down an alley after double checking the street was empty, then hid myself in an alcove behind a dumpster. After digging my clothes out of my bag, I stripped and changed as quick as I could. My projection wasn’t going to protect anything but my balaclava, so hopefully Wotan’s Wolves didn’t have a Hookwolf 2 waiting in the wings.

  A crash echoed up the alley and I flinched as I was pulling on my balaclava. I stuffed my jacket, shirt, and pants into my bag, then zipped it up and slung it before running towards the sound. I could hear low voices that sounded vaguely threatening, and at the far end of the alley there were two figured crowding another against the wall. I shook my head in disbelief, walking towards them. No logo, but they were two skinheads and the person they’d cornered wasn’t white; my math skills may have been dogshit but two and two was still four.

  “Really guys?” I said, raising my voice as I approached. The skinheads whirled and their victim cringed away. “Right in front of me just as I was getting ready? You shouldn’t ha—” One of them took two swift steps towards me and jammed their fist into my gut. I grabbed his wrist and glanced down, seeing a glint of metal between his hand and my stomach. “Oh you really shouldn’t have.”

  I could have taken his hand off, but I settled for squeezing until I heard a ‘pop’. The guy shrieked and tried to pull away, but I held him fast. I punched him once in the face, rolled my eyes, then moved my projection off my knuckles and broke his nose. The other one had turned and started to run, but his victim had grabbed his shirt.

  I saw a flash as I ran forward and barely intercepted the switchblade before it could gut the poor kid. That was another broken wrist, and a rabbit punch that made the skinhead drop to the ground, groaning in pain. I delivered a swift kick to his kidney, then walked back and did the same to the other guy. Satisfied, I returned to the victim who was staring at me with wide eyes.

  “Hi. Next time don’t try and attack your assailants unless you’ve got a weapon.” I pointed to the knife on the ground. “You can have that one if you answer a couple questions for me.” He eyed me suspiciously, then glanced at the skinheads.

  “You a hero?” he asked. Fair question.

  “Yup,” I said with a nod. “Forget names, not important. I’m going to guess you know all about the Nazi problem around here huh?” He nodded slowly. “Well I’m looking for them, see. Want to put guys like this in prison to rot. I don’t expect you to hang out with them or anything, but you know any places that you don’t go anymore?”

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “Yeah, couple places,” he replied. “My old man got jumped down on Thirty-third, buncha people did. Just like a, I dunno, hotspot.”

  “Sound like it,” I said, making a mental note. “I’m gonna ziptie these guys, you got a phone to call the cops?” He scoffed.

  “Cops don’t come around here,” he said bitterly and I frowned.

  “Call the PRT, say there was a cape,” I said. “Not a lie, here I am, and it’ll get them hauling their asses. Wait five minutes, then call them, that cool?”

  “I guess I can do that,” he said, glancing at the fallen skinhead. “Do I get the knife now?”

  “Just don’t gut these two and it’s yours.”

  He nodded and I let him grab the knife while I restrained the first would-be mugger. Fortunately I didn’t hear the sounds of a knife stabbing a Nazi when I went and ziptied the other guy, so things were looking up. I grabbed the blade the first skinhead had dropped and pocketed it, then patted him down quickly. No gun, but a wallet filled with cash. I took the cash and dropped the wallet on his head, then continued searching til I found something else. A brass knuckle, oh that was going to be handy.

  They went in my other pocket, then I went over and handed the wad of cash to the victim. He seemed taken aback, but was quick to accept. After double checking the ziptie, I left the alley and started down the road towards the bay. Thirty-third Street would be near the Docks proper, where residential turned into industrial. Made sense they’d base themselves there, lots of real estate that could be used for their main trade of dog fighting.

  Well hell, things were looking up already. The fight had barely raised my heart rate, maybe all that training with Hooks had really paid off. I still kept my head up and gaze roaming the streets. I was walking around now as either a burglar or a cape, and neither were going to invite a kind response. But the streets were practically deserted, too dangerous to be out now for most people.

  Sirens screamed up the road behind me, and I ducked down a sidestreet, out of sight. They faded away, and peeking out I could see green-white flashes on the building further up the road. Well, at least he’d actually waited to call them. I picked up my pace down the hill, jogging until I hit the street that the victim had indicated.

  It didn’t look much worse than any other, didn’t look much better either. I turned and headed down the road, deeper into enemy territory instead of back towards the downtown. Only now did my heart start beating faster, the street seemed to get lighter like the few working lamps had gone into overdrive. I swallowed, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

  Oh I was getting keyed up. I paused for a moment, leaning my back against the fa?ade of a shuttered storefront. I scanned slowly up and down the street as I took slow, deep breaths. Yamada had pushed these on me to deal with anger and anxiety, but it worked here to help slow me down a little. I wasn’t in it yet, and couldn’t jump in stupidly. Had to make sure I had some element working in my favour; a distraction, surprise, or at least knowing when a hit was coming so I didn’t flinch.

  Satisfied I wouldn’t be jumping at shadows, I continued my midnight stroll. This was definitely a hotspot, like the kid had said. The further I went, the more tags there were. The buildings here were mixed between squat brick apartments and big warehouses; even what might have been a factory or two.

  I kept my eyes moving and my ears sharp. I hadn’t been out solo in a long time, not really since the Slaughterhouse Nine were around. Back then I’d been scrambling to find Amy in the shitshow the city was after Shatterbird blew everything up. Now it was different, now I was in the position the Nine were then; hunting.

  It wasn’t all that different feeling, the acid bubbling in my guts as I turned my head at every noise that wasn’t my footsteps, my body so tense every ligament could snap. But this time I had months of experience and actual fighting training under my belt, this time things were different, no matter how I felt. That thought helped, at least a little.

  I eyed a small group of smoking, drinking skinheads as I passed them at a crossroads. They gave me ugly glares, but didn’t make any moves when I walked by. I barely made it ten paces before a flurry of slur-filled curses filled the air behind me as a bottle smashed against the pavement. I turned as I saw the group of four approaching, arching a brow. Not even one of those had been close, but I could forgive them if they gave me a reason to break some bones.

  The one in the lead, a lanky guy with a really shitty rendition of a swastika on his neck, held a broken bottle in one hand. Well that wouldn’t do him any good, neither would the small knife another one held. A clanking chain might have posed a problem, so I decided they wouldn’t be the ones making the first move. I stuck my right hand into my pocket and slipped my fingers through the knuckle I’d grabbed earlier.

  The glass bottle raked across my chest, tearing my turtleneck and doing nothing else. My counterpunch into Bottle's stomach doubled him over, and I had to rapidly backpedal to avoid the spew of vomit from his mouth. Chain was next, a broad guy only a couple inches taller than me. I circled to make sure the other two couldn’t flank me, and when Chain swung his...chain, I raised my arm and let it wrap around.

  He chuckled dryly and pulled on it, then frowned when I didn’t budge. I grabbed the thing and pulled myself towards him, using the moment to land a brutal hook into his jaw. I crushed the links in my hand to free myself, then backed off as the two remaining gangsters approached. Both had knives, no problem, but they were two and I was one; problem.

  Had to go on the offensive then, take it to them before they could gain more of an advantage. I shook the chain from my forearm and grabbed one end. No clue how to use it effectively, but a steel whip across the face should make anyone shy away. I took a half-step more back, bounced on the ball of my foot, then darted forward.

  Either they weren’t used to fighting as a team or they were too drunk or stupid to use their numbers right. One of them flinched back as the other moved in to meet my charge. His buddy followed a second later, then paused again when I whipped the chain out and hucked it at his face. The aggressive one got the satisfaction of stabbing his knife into my gut before I put his lights out with an uppercut.

  The last one started running, and I let him go, breathing heavily. Shit. Shit. I quickly made sure the fallen skinheads were still breathing, which they were if somewhat ragged. Well, they had come at me, and anyway I was—

  No, I wasn’t on patrol in fact, and if I got found here… I pocketed my knuckle and left the gangsters in the street, taking off at a jog. I checked my watch and swore, how the fuck was it eleven-thirty?! My light jog became a run, and I turned to head back towards the downtown. Behind me...yeah, that was the sound of pissed off skinheads finding their buddies, but I was long gone.

  I made a few evasive turns to make sure I wasn’t being pursued, and by the time I felt safe enough to slow down I was nearly out of the East Side entirely. Sweat was stinging at my eyes, and my clothes were clinging to my body. I could feel a gentle breeze against my skin, probably from the variety of shit that had tried to spill my guts on the sidewalk tonight.

  I leaned against a nearby fence, head suddenly swimming. Ohh fuck if I’d flinched even once tonight that would have been it. My ears rang as I felt like throwing up. I swallowed, panting heavily as I pulled myself upright against the fence. I was fine, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even felt like it. I’d seen every hit coming, had made sure I did. I knew how to fight and I’d pulled it off no problem.

  I continued walking, stopping down another alley on the way to change back into my shorts, shirt, and jacket before heading towards Amy’s. By the time I made it, it was way past midnight and I could feel muscles I hadn’t since I’d fled the Siberian. But I got to her building unscathed and slipped my bag off my back, digging my phone out as I punched the buzzer. To my surprise, the lock clicked and I was let in without having to call and wake Amy up. I took the elevator up and knocked on her door when I arrived.

  “Hey,” Amy said quietly as she opened the door, stepping back to let me in. “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, slipping in and dumping my bag by the door. I turned and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “Got caught up late, didn’t mean to.” Amy sniffed.

  “A workout?” I nodded against her chest.

  “Yeah, just more training,” I said, guts squirming as I lied. “It helps and stuff so…”

  “It’s okay,” she said, letting me go and stepping back. “You want a massage? I can do pretty good ones you know.”

  “Yeah?” I perked up. A massage sounded...nice. “Okay cool, let me just grab a shower and—”

  “Massage first,” she said, taking my hand and leading my into her room.

  I followed along, a smile on my face. Not ten seconds and I was already feeling better…