Ash Dawson awoke in a cold sweat, flashes of his dream resonating in his psyche. As he blinked his eyes into reality, he saw the convention center collapsing. He could swear he caught the faintest whiff of that pungent smell of blood, rubble and fire. His mother’s screams over the sound of sirens echoed and blurred into daytime traffic. Then, he remembered; the blue arms of Cobalt swinging him up to safety as blood dripped from his adolescent nose. His eyes opened and he finally caught up; he was sleeping in a hollowed out food truck. Ash got up from the twin sized mattress and stood up in a daze. The events he was forcibly remembering happened four months ago. He got up and walked to his right, sheet metal piercing cold onto the soles of his feet. Ash Dawson, since the death of his mother, has been sleeping in a food truck, stripped of all equipment. There was a man strung up in his truck, an IV bag full of blood hanging next to him.
William Kohl awoke to his captor slapping him playfully. In the first few moments of the blissful new day, he almost forgot that he was tied to a pipe, duct tape on his mouth. The blurry image slowly gained composure and he saw the pale, barely alive face of Ash.
Ash stood there in a pair of tattered sweatpants. Veins protruded from his skinny, porcelain musculature. He picked up a nametag which read “Hello, My Name Is Bloodlust”. Kohl rolled his eyes at this, just as he had done in the past. A quick wisp of smoke enveloped him and then a pain shot through Kohl’s veins. Ash ripped the bag off the IV forcefully, but with great precision. In a split second, the line was sealed and Ash was holding the bag. He unhooked the stopper and drank from it. Ash replaced the bag and reopened the seal. The city councilor could barely shake in protest as he was drained another time. He’s been stuck in this goddamn food truck for the past three weeks.
“Today’s a big day, Billy.” Ash said, wiping the blood from his chapped lips. His voice was light and chipper, with a hypnotic cadence to it. Straight, black hair came down in spikey wisps around his forehead. He went over to the stereo at the head of the truck. He turned it on, playing “Business on Parade” by MDC at a reasonable if loud volume. Curtains hung from the windshield, obscuring him from the hustle and bustle of the city of Pittsburgh. A small pile of potatoes was rotting in the corner by the driver seat. Otherwise, the truck contained little to no foodstuffs. Only the few personal belongings that Ash had been able to salvage from his duplex before being evicted.
“I wasn’t gonna poke you again until Thursday, but I gotta be on my A-game today.” Ash said. He leaned over and pulled a grinder and a pack of wraps out of the cushion of the passenger seat. Fangs draped over the paper as he rolled himself a joint. He flicked his thumb and a small spark of flame came out. He lit up. “Today, I’m gonna take back what’s mine.” He said.
Ash pulled the curtain back a bit. The just rising sun burned ever so slightly on his fingers. He saw a girl across the street. Maybe 17. He recognized her. The last time he saw her, her hair was red. Now it was a bright forest green. He recognized that blank, hazelnut stare anywhere. She wore a stained Nirvana shirt. “Fucking posers.” He whispered, bringing the joint up to his mouth. As she stepped forward he saw another girl with her. It was Kohl’s daughter. They were hanging up missing flyers. The flyers had a smiling picture of the councilor.
Ash chuckled and got up. “You should be proud, Bill.” He pulled some clothes out of a top cabinet and got dressed. “Your kid. She’s looking for you.” He turned and faced Kohl, the joint hanging from his lips. He stared his victim down, blew smoke on his face, and sniffed him a bit. “I never told my mother how much I cared about her. And now look where we are.” Ash put the joint out on Kohl’s forehead. The councilor wheezed in a pathetic attempt to scream. Ash went back up to the driver’s seat. He pulled the curtain the whole way around, started up the truck and took off down the road.
-
Eric Petersen awoke to the sight of ninja Man-Bats. As he sat up, his trade paperback of Batman and Son fell in his lap. He rubbed his eyes and took note of his situation. He was on the couch. The TV was still on the Netflix loading screen. He had watched Bojack Horseman until he passed out the night previous. Eric could smell eggs and coffee coming from the kitchen. Liz Moto walked in with two steaming mugs. Her wet hair grazed across the collar of her purple bathrobe.
“Good morning, love.” She said with a smile on her face.
“Morning.” Eric groaned out, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It is…” Liz sat down and looked at the cat clock on the wall. “Seven-thirty.” Eric spit out a bit of the coffee he was drinking.
“I’ve been asleep for 11 hours?” He exclaimed, arms in the air.
“Hey, you earned it.” Liz playfully punched him in the arm and sipped on her coffee. “What are you gonna do with your day off?”
“I don’t know. I might head out for an early patrol.” Cobalt had been making more rounds on his nightly patrol. His outings increased exponentially around this time of 2020.
“Really?” Liz’s voice picked up a bit with the question. “Don’t you want a rest day? You’ve been going pretty hard recently.”
“Go hard or go home. I learned that from Scott Snyder.”
“Shouldn’t he have also taught you to quit when you’re ahead?” Liz looked Eric up and down. Eric hadn’t picked up on the concern in her tone. He gave a grunt of appreciation during a long gulp of coffee.
“Good pull.” He said. The second hand on the cat clock ticked on for some time before Eric could muster the courage to say, “Hey I was gonna ask-” Liz’s phone then rang from the kitchen; her super-burner. As she answered the call, Eric sat on the couch running his thumbs along the ceramic. Liz was talking in the cadence of Siren from the kitchen. Eric switched the TV to the news, quickly turning it off when the first story was that William Kohl is still missing. He scrounged around for his pack of nicotine gum and popped one in.
“I gotta go.” Liz said, walking to their bedroom. “Dani needs me to look at a murder scene.” Her tone was blunt and fast. At this point, the line between the voices of Liz Moto and Siren were blurred.
“At this hour?” Eric asked, yelling across the room.
“It might be important.” Liz scrambled through their closet, making a bit of a racket.
“And what does that mean?”
Liz walked out fully dressed, heading for the door with her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She gave him a lingering stare. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Eric stuttered a little bit. He took a deep breath and looked at his partner of five years.
“So,” he started. “The other day, my mom came into the library. Long story short, she asked me if we would want to have Thanksgiving at their house.” Liz shook her head and blinked rapidly.
“Okay, not what I was expecting.” Liz sat down on the couch and took Eric’s hand gently. “Why would she even ask that? She knows that you won’t be in a house with Chuck, right?”
“Chuck’s not in the picture anymore. They’ve been separated since March.”
Liz looked off into the distance, putting the equation together. “Eric, how long have you been waiting to ask me this?”
“It’s been a long time.” Eric rubbed his hands on his face. “I think I want to go. I haven’t seen my brother in so long and I’m just hoping that I can-I don’t know. Cope with this, somehow. Can you please do this with me?”
“Of course I’ll do this with you.” Liz leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. She got up quickly. “I gotta do the costume thing. Don’t stress too much. Love you!”
“Good luck. I’ll try. I love you too.”
Liz slammed the door on her way out.
-
Tanner Bishop awoke the same way he had for a good while now. Having graduated from college in the fall of 2019, he hasn’t had much time outside of the Yorba to use his computer science degree. This allowed young Tanner to coax himself out of bed every morning, just in time to start his Volvo and make it to Squirrel Hill in time for his shift. Usually, he’d start around noon. Still, his schooltime habits kept him waking up at about 8 o’clock every morning.
He started this morning like any other morning before that, by opening his phone and checking his Discord server, composed mostly of friends from MMOs past. His profile picture was a drawing he had commissioned of himself as a typical anime girl. His username; Nausicaa the Opulent. In the server, most called Tanner by this name, shortened to Naus. He had grown used to sending his good morning texts and receiving greetings back. He smiled and covered himself with his blanket.
At 8:05, he got a text from Liz. His smile drifted a tad, as the message read: “Can you boot up the Turing System? Got called into the field.” Tanner activated the remote starter on the Turing computer stashed in the Yorba Public Library’s basement and went back to bed.
-
Detective Dani Guevara stood at the crime scene with a cigarette in her mouth, burned close to the filter. She took a long puff and exhaled through her nose. The smoke glowed in the hints of morning light coming in from the broken window. She was alone in this shitty apartment. The precinct hadn’t assigned her a new partner on account of the past two dropping like flies. She put out the Marlboro on the heel of her shoe and pulled out another one, stashing the butt in the pack. The nicotine stains on the walls and the copious amount of full ashtrays gave her enough permission to smoke inside. She lit up and sipped her coffee. Then, Siren came in through the open door.
“Good morning, Dani.” Siren said.
“Morning.” Dani blurted out. She pointed down at the body on the floor. It was a young man with a patchy beard and baggy clothing. There was a black arrow with blue fletching coming out of his forehead. “Do you know anything about this, S?” Dani asked. Siren took a step back and sighed before gaining her composure. She crouched down, taking everything in.
“Not about the arrow, no.” She walked over to the shattered glass on the floor. “The guy on the floor is— His name is Victor Reyes. I- I have a hard time being clinical about this one, on account of the fact that he used to work for us.” She took the top of the arrow and flicked it. She noted the way it bounced back and forth; just a little. She clicked a mechanism near the ear of her mask. This took a screenshot of her current perspective and sent it back to Turing’s computer in the book-cave. “But I’ll give it my best shot.” She said.
“I thought that you didn’t have moles anymore.”
“We don’t.” Siren turned around and put her hand to her chin, watching over the crime scene. “You think my partner had something to do with this?”
“Last time I checked, he’s the only one running around with blue arrows.” Dani said, putting out her cigarette. The young crimefighter hunched over the body again. She pulled a small black light out of her utility belt and shined it on the entry wound. Siren took one last look at the shaft of the arrow before walking away from it, letting her cape hang down and cover her arms. “Look, this is an open and shut case.” Dani said. “I think your partner’s been giving into the dark side.” There was a silence between them. Siren hung her head low. Dani scratched the back of her head before taking another sip of her coffee.
“There’s no way that Cobalt could’ve done this.” Siren started. “First off, the carbon fiber on the arrows is way too dense. They may even have a steel core to them, but I can only see so much. The brand that Cobalt buys is made up of a more hollow construction so that they fly better with the bow that he uses. Just from this, we can assume that our suspect is using a compound bow to make up for the higher weight of the arrows, something completely out of Cobalt’s M.O. Also, all of Cobalt’s arrows are labeled with braille so that he knows what kind of arrows he’s using, even the non-trick ones. These arrows are void of any labeling, so our suspect might have needed prep time to construct the duplicate arrows they were using. Prep time that they apparently didn’t get.”
A notification came up in Siren’s heads-up display. “Speaking of the arrows they were using,” she said. “Just based off of the reconstructed glass from the shatter pattern on the ground, and the fact that there were no arrows on the sidewalk when I walked in, they would have gotten the victim in one clean shot while also breaking through the window. This had to have been shot from a distance. Most likely, from the roof of the deli across the street, given the angle. The pattern also shows that the arrow was moving slightly upwards when it hit the victim.” Siren gestured down at the head of Victor Reyes.
“The entry wound is also far too wide in radius to be anything in Cobalt’s arsenal, backing up my theory that this was done by somebody with a lot more funding and a lot more expertise. The fletching, under blacklight, also seems to show the remnants of fingerprints, almost as if they had been burned off. Cobalt uses full gloves when shooting. The suspect also left the arrows in the victim’s head. You’ve been working with us long enough to learn that Cobalt never leaves his arrows behind.” It was true. The only arrows that the police have ever been able to collect from past years were flaming arrows that burned out, coupled with the occasional straggler. “Lastly, there’s the fact that this body is still fairly warm. I would put the time of death around 2 hours ago. And Cobalt was asleep two hours ago. I should know. You’re barking up the wrong tree here, Dan.”
Dani’s mouth went agape. “You’ve been here for two minutes.”
Siren grinned at her compatriot, walking over to a duffle bag in the corner of the room. “I don’t like to waste time.” She said, “I did notice something of interest over here.” Siren pulled a small plastic baggie of fluorescent red crystals from the bag, showing it to the detective.
“More Bloodstone?” Dani asked. The team has been seeing this drug scarcely around the city. Most of the baggies they’ve found have been small samples on people who generally have a history of dealing. There have been stories of the drug in surrounding rural areas. Tales of users walking around aimlessly, their eyes turning a glossy black, and generally not acting like themselves. So far, they haven’t been able to find any leads on where it’s coming from.
“Seems that way.” Siren replied. She gave the bag to Dani.
“You think there’s a connection?” Dani asked. “Maybe whoever’s selling to this guy thought you guys were still working together. Wanted to snuff him out and turn the public’s trust on Cobalt.”
“Maybe.” Siren put her hand gently across her chin. “Something’s telling me it’s not that simple.”
-
Izzy Guevara-Robinson walked through the crowded halls of her high school. She tried to check the time, but the clock on the wall had been stationary since the school year started. She checked her watch. It was 2:27 PM. The last class of the day had let out a few minutes ago. Izzy was leaning against her locker. She already had everything packed up and ready to go. She was just going to put her headphones in when she saw Kate Kohl coming down the hall. Kate was wearing another one of her floral rompers. This one was covered in soft pink lilies, a canvas jacket over it. Her face looked worn and tired. Neither of them knew how long it had been since she slept. Katie sighed when she came up to Izzy, trying to break a smile on her face. “Hey.” She greeted.
“Anybody find him yet?” Izzy asked in reply.
Kate chuckled a bit at this. “No, not yet. Would you wanna flyer a little more?”
“About that.”
“Please don’t tell me you have to work tonight.”
“There’s j-j-just some really important stuff going on. Book stuff, you know.”
“You know what’s important?” Katie stomped her feet down. “My dad is missing right now.”
“I’m sorry.” Izzy froze.
“Don’t apologize.”
“Okay.” The two walked out of the school together in relative silence until they got to Mrs. Kohl’s house in Carson. Izzy took a deep breath as her hands shook a little bit, watching her first ever girlfriend walk back into her house, distraught. She took out her walkman, equipped with a compilation of her own called “You’d Better Run”. She waited to play it until she could climb up to the roof of a building a block away. As she stared down into her neighborhood, she played the first track; Die on a Rope by the Distillers, on full blast and started running. Once she made the leap across the first alleyway, she was in a rhythm; tucking and rolling, using different structures as springboards, and swinging from fire escapes and flag poles. She did this the entire way home.
-
When Eric Petersen crossed the threshold into the Yorba’s basement, otherwise known as the book-cave, he could hear the faintest hint of Porter Robinson coming from the Turing system. Eric perked up a bit.
”Tanner!” He said. “What brings you here? You don’t work today.”
”Neither do you.” Tanner said mundanely, eating a bagel. “Liz got called in for something and Lord knows someone’s gotta run the back end.” Tanner gave his friend of eight years a quick side glance before going back to what he was doing; looking over Siren’s POV footage from the crime scene this morning. Tanner took a deep, shaky breath. “Hey, Eric.”
”Yeah?” Eric said, having already started the process of changing into his Cobalt suit.
”Do you happen to know anything about this?” Tanner turned the screen, showing Victor Reyes, an arrow sticking out of his forehead.
“No.” Eric said. “Oh my god.” He whispered. “What the fuck is this, Tanner? What are you showing me?”
“It’s the view from Liz’s mask this morning. Eric, did you-?”
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“I already told you, this wasn’t me.” Eric walked over to the computer and motioned to toggle the audio. “What is she saying about this?” Tanner obliged and Eric listened to Liz’s analysis: “There’s no way that Cobalt could’ve done this.” Eric smiled a bit.
“There’s another archer in town?” Tanner asked.
“Seems that way.”
-
Liz Moto ate her turkey sandwich on the picnic bench next to Yorba's dumpster. Ms. Dillon and Liz had added it there years ago. The green spray paint on it had all but mostly chipped off by now, leaving the dark, rotting wood below it. Liz chipped at the paint with her fingernails. She had headphones in. Gimme Danger by the Stooges was playing from her phone. She was at the last few bites of her sandwich when Ms. Dillon came out and greeted her. Her dreads were tied up and her long, red cardigan flowed over her hips. It took Liz a few seconds to realize she was even there.
“Hey.” Liz took her headphones out. “Sorry.”
“Never say sorry for party rockin’.” Ms. Dillon said, pumping a fist in the air. Overcome with shock and trying to contain an involuntary laugh, Liz almost spit out a bit of her sandwich. “What’s going on, kid?” Jessica sat down next to her daughter. “You seem a little off today.”
“It’s-” Liz looked down at the ground. “Alright, I know better than to beat around the bush.” She grabbed her phone and yanked the headphones out, bringing up a photo and handing it to Ms. Dillon. “I just keep looking at it.”
“Did Eric do this?” Ms. Dillon asked, shocked.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m about 89% sure that he didn’t, but I don’t want to leave out the possibility.”
“If he did, what does that mean? Like, for Siren and Cobalt?”
“I don’t know.” Liz gave a passive wave of the hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Are you sure?” Ms. Dillon put a comforting hand on Liz’s shoulder.
“Yeah.” Liz nodded her head furiously. “I think so.” The two exchanged a few pleasantries before heading back into the library. Izzy had already started her shift a few minutes ago. The building was mostly empty. She was reading Green Arrow: Quiver. Liz stood over the counter and kicked her heel up.
“How’s it goin’, kid?” She asked.
“Fine.” Izzy said. “Have they heard anything yet?”
“No.” Liz sighed.
“Don’t worry!” Ms. Dillon said with complete certainty. “I’m sure somebody will find him soon.”
-
Ash drained the rest of the blood out of William Kohl over the course of the next hour. He dumped the husk into the Monongahela River at sundown. The last of the oxygen in his lungs wheezed out and bubbled up. The mortal remnants of the city councilman floated down the Mon as the sputtering food truck took off down the bridge.
-
Dani Guevara exited her precinct at 5:07 PM. She had just been chewed out by Captain Lucas Holtstetter, her superior of three years. She was told that she’s on thin ice for allowing Siren to view the murder scene that morning before anybody on the force could establish a chain of evidence. She was told that she needs to put in at least two more double shifts this week in order to meet her assigned caseload; that the supers have been distracting her for too long. She was told that she’s not trustworthy. Dani drank the last of her coffee and tossed it in a sticker-covered trash-can outside of the precinct. She heaved a little bit as the just setting sun came over the hill. She lit up a cigarette and pulled out her phone. She scratched her head and puffed before calling Izzy. It took a few moments for Izzy to pick up the phone. She was doing sit-ups in the book-cave. She could barely hear the sound of her phone ringing over Liz working the punching bag next to it.
“Hey, mom.” Izzy answered, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Hey, baby.” Dani said in a sing-song fashion. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m alright. Just training.”
“You guys finally investigating that rental car?”
“Yeah, and the plane tickets.”
Dani chuckled and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Of course, the plane tickets. What time do you think you’ll be home, girl wonder?”
“I’m not sure. Just depends on what leads to where. I’ll try to be back by 2 or 3.”
“2 or 3? It’s a school night.” Dani sighed. “Okay, it’s superhero business, just— please be careful.”
“I will. Love you.”
“I love you too. And I’m proud of you.”
“Why?”
“Cause you didn’t ask if we found him when I first called. Things will get better, sweetie. I promise. Go kick some ass.” Dani hung up and finished off her cigarette before flicking it off to the side of the road. She walked across the street and put another number into her phone. She held it up to her ear with her shoulder and lit a fresh Marlboro. The line rang for a few seconds before being picked up by a bright, chipper voice.
“Denise Sullivan, City Council.” The voice greeted.
“Denise, hi.” Dani said. “It’s Dani. I know you don’t have a lot of time, but— have you given any thought to what I said?”
Denise sighed. “I’ll have to shuffle some things around. It’s going to take convincing for the rest of the council. Are you sure you still want this? It may only be a temporary thing.”
“Yes. Yes, I want this.” Dani took a long drag off her cigarette. “I’m just at a crossroads in my life at the moment and— I just want to do something good.”
“Alright. If Kohl doesn’t turn up within a month, you’ll be on the city council, given the results of a special election.”
-
Cobalt went on a leisurely patrol that night. He was mostly using it as an excuse for cardio and getting caught up on Kevin Smith’s numerous podcasts. The blue of his gloves wrapped firmly around his black shortbow as he swung through the streets of downtown Pittsburgh. Occasionally, he would see a crowd of already drunken friends cheering and waving at him. Naturally, he would wave back. He landed on a rooftop and took a deep breath before noticing a bit of royal purple out of the corner of his eye. Making a few zips over with his grapple arrow, standard greetings from multiple media ran through his head. That’s when he noticed it wasn’t his girl. It was still a girl, but there was no cape. Her entire suit was purple, with a cowl that came over her head. Curly red hair spilled out of the top, some strands in intricate braids. She was on her knee, aiming a compound bow at a building below. A quiver was hanging at the side of her waist. Cobalt took careful steps towards her. He listened to her breath. As it slowed down, he made his introduction.
“You know, it’s not often I find another archer ‘round these parts.” Cobalt said, hands on his hips. The girl turned to face him. He could see now that her suit was highlighted with a navy blue, the most noticeable of which were the glass lenses covering her eyes and a symbol of a crescent moon on her chest. She had a practical armory strapped to various parts of her suit. Though her uniform was blue and purple, all her equipment was pitch black. “Maybe we could exchange business cards.”
He extended a hand to shake. She immediately stashed her arrow and swiped for Cobalt’s arm with her bow, the pulleys at the end barely missed his temple as the blue clad hero jumped back and notched a bola arrow.
“Hey, you’re using a compound. That’s cheating!” He fired and the bola wrapped around her legs. Before the wrap was taught, she drew a small knife and cut through the cord like butter. Cobalt took this as an opportunity to throw a smoke pellet down and kick downward at her shoulder. She narrowly dodged and struck him across the face. He went tumbling down the rooftop, eventually regaining his balance. He was barely aware enough to catch an arrow out of the air. He stashed the first one in his quiver. Avoiding being hit by the next eight seemed like the pertinent move. He closed the distance between them, firing off an arrow or two to no avail. He swiped her leg and put her in an arm lock. “You know, out of all the strong silent types I’ve fought, you’re definitely the strongest and the most silent. Would you like a medal?”
She turned Cobalt’s power against him, spinning around and striking him in the chest. She leaped up, tackling him to the ground. Cobalt’s foe stood over him. She drew an arrow and placed it up against his throat. The razor sharp tip punctured a small hole in his bandana as he squirmed. She leaned in, smiled a bit and then peeled off of him, jumping into the nearest alleyway. Cobalt swung down with a grapple arrow only to find the alley empty.
“And then there was me.” He sighed out before sitting on the ground. He put his finger up to his ear. “Turing, did you see that?”
“Yeah.” Tanner answered from his perch in the book-cave. “What are we gonna do about the redhead?”
“What do you do with any information?” The archer stood up and kicked a rock with his blue boot. He pulled her arrow out of his quiver. The shaft was a metallic blue, the fletching alternated navy blue and purple. “You just stuff it deep down inside and keep an eye on it.”
-
The Rollin’ Spuds food truck drove smoothly and slowly across the Liberty Bridge. Agnostic Front was blasting from the speakers. Ash had swapped out his joint for a Newport Menthol. He had on a Big Black sweatshirt with the hood drawn over his head, layering it with a grey canvas trench coat. The last of the sunlight for the evening had finally drifted off. Wrinkles had subtly spilled over his face in a permanent, pale scowl. His fangs punctured small holes in the filter of his cigarette every now and again. He turned the corner after a few blocks and eventually came up to his old landlord’s neighborhood. It was a junker house the guy had renovated over the years. There was a Cadillac parked in the single space driveway.
Ash parked a ways down the street and switched the engine off. He took a deep breath as smoke enveloped him. His entire body disappeared into the fog. The fog slipped out of the car through the air vents, snaking quickly along the concrete and into the house. Upon entering, the fog which inhabited Ash Dawson transitioned quickly into a handful of large spiders. They split off into multiple directions, coming in on every corner of the living room. The landlord was watching Family Feud, drinking Jack and Coke. The spiders converged behind his reclining chair, slowly stacking on top of each other into a humanoid mass. Ash stood behind him, hands in his pockets.
“Frank Greenwalt.” Ash said in a deep, gravelly voice, almost a whisper echoing throughout the room. This was the voice of Bloodlust. Frank jumped in his chair, spilling his cocktail on his white tank-top.
“Jesus Christ!” Frank turned around, not getting up from his chair. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Do you remember Katherine Dawson?” Bloodlust said, walking over to the mantle. There was a large ship in a bottle placed upon it. He picked it up and felt the heft of it. “She used to live in one of your apartments in Mount Oliver. Bottom half of a duplex on Belonda. She died four months ago. And you evicted her orphaned son a month later.”
“Look, what do you want?” Frank asked. Bloodlust broke the bottle over the mantle and zipped over to the landlord in an enormous, frantic cloud of smoke. He grabbed Frank by the throat and put him up against the wall, clattering a few paintings to the ground. The sharp edge of the broken bottle rested gently upon Frank’s cheek.
“I want justice.” Bloodlust said. “You’re a piece of garbage. People have to sleep on the street because of you. Not just that kid, but others before him. The ‘homes’ you rent out, you don’t even bother to fix. You just sit here comfortably taking people’s hard-earned money. We don’t need another leech like you in this city.” Bloodlust jammed the bottle into Frank’s shoulder. Frank fell to the ground and screamed in pain. The rubber sole of Bloodlust’s army surplus combat boots squeaked slightly as he stepped over his prey. He grabbed Frank by the top of the head and yanked his skull from his jaw. There was a twinge of surprise and terror in Frank’s eyes before the blood came gushing into Ash’s mouth.
-
Siren and the Charade quietly approached an apartment in Oakland. Siren’s cape flowed behind her as she swung on her grapple gun. The Charade was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, swinging and sliding on metal railings every now and again. Her pinstriped blazer, buttoned in the middle, hung tight over her turtleneck. Siren went for her lockpicks as she came up to the door. Charade had already tried every window. She adjusted her white bauta mask, a much more vibrant version than the one she had frayed at the Neon Man’s mansion on the Fourth of July. She put her hands in her pockets and watched Siren work. Her black, curly hair draped towards the ground as she looked at her shoes. She tapped them on the sidewalk rhythmically.
“You can talk, Charade.” Siren said. “There’s no one in the house and I know you want to say something.”
“Siren, what are we doing here?” Charade asked. “Shouldn’t we be looking for Kohl?”
Siren sighed, turning the knob and walking in. “There’s no leads on the Kohl case. He literally vanished in a whiff of smoke. I have my theories, but until my contacts in the field get back to me, then we should be using our time efficiently.” Charade followed into the darkened apartment. She almost felt the need to take off her shoes at the door. The place was pristine; vacuumed recently, the smell was still there. Everything was in its place and nowhere else, the apartment of a young professional with a little bit too much of a stick up their ass.
“And an efficient use of our time is going on a wild goose chase for the King of Hearts?”
“Unless the Turing system and my own eyes can’t be trusted, this isn’t a wild goose chase. I saw Allen during the Neon Man case. One of those high-tech guns Mr. Edwards was peddling didn’t make it into the evidence locker. Even if the King of Hearts doesn’t have it, I don’t want to begin to think of who he would sell it to.” Siren turned to face her apprentice. Her royal purple cape hung over her elbows as she crossed her arms. “And I, for one, think that doing something to get our mind off of the Kohl case and focusing on what we can do will be productive.”
“Okay, I just-”
“Hey, who the fuck is in my apartment?” A voice asked from the open doorway. The scrawny man was holding a paper bag filled with groceries. Milk and broccoli spilled onto the floor as the Charade grabbed him by the collar of his yellow polo shirt. His glasses lay askew on the bridge of his nose.
“Jeffrey Lamont.” Siren said plainly, taking a receipt out of her utility belt. “We have some questions for you.”
-
Ash Dawson parked the Rollin’ Spuds truck on the corner of Brownsville and Margaret with the hazards on. He looked to his left and saw a Lutheran church. He chuckled and spit in its general direction. He put out his joint on the dashboard and left the roach in the cupholder. He put the black hood on his sweatshirt up and grabbed an empty duffle bag from the passenger seat. He took a deep breath as smoke enveloped him once again. He became one with the fog, the only remnants of his humanity in the cloud being his glowing white eyes.
The smoke slowly slipped out of the open window of the truck, slithering quickly down the side paneling and onto the street. Ash made very careful movements in his smoke form to get into the Northwest bank a few blocks up. He slid under moving cars and the walking feet of pedestrians to no one’s notice. He sent himself through the air conditioning system, which flung him right into the main vault. Before manifesting in a humanoid form, he sent smoke to cover every security camera in the vault. Then, Bloodlust was standing in the center, slinging the open duffle bag over his shoulder. He frantically pulled out drawers and started dumping money in the bag. He filled it until he could barely zip it up. Once he was about to recede out, the vault door opened up. A security guard was aiming a gun at him.
“Freeze!” The guard yelled.
“God dammit.” Ash said, sighing and putting up his hands. “Fuckin’ pigs.”
“Who are you? How’d you get in here?” The guard asked, shaking. Ash smiled as the smoke slowly returned to his body. He disintegrated into a pile of roaches. The guard screamed as the insects covered him, slowly growing into the form of the man he was standing down. The roaches congealed themselves into the shapes of fists.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” The roaches yelled, teeth spewing from an obscene caricature of a mouth. The guard almost passed out staring into the infinite maw of the vampire. Bloodlust threw the poor guy across the lobby. The plate glass cracked ever so slightly as he slid down onto the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The roaches had given way to the form of the hoodie and trench coat at this point. Bloodlust ran for the door, clearing the lobby in less than a second. The alarm for the bank blared behind him as he barreled into nighttime traffic.
It was at this moment that Antionette Richards, known locally as Astrea, heard the commotion from a few blocks over. She was patrolling the streets of her neighborhood in her white leather get-up, though a tad less revealing than what she was wearing when she first gained notoriety over that summer. This whole dogooder thing came at her by force. She didn’t have a lot of experience, but she knew alarms and screams when she heard them. Snub nose revolver in hand, she ran towards the commotion, only to be floored by Ash going mach 2 across Onyx Avenue.
“I swear to God.” she groaned, mustering up the strength to stand.
“Need a hand?” the voice of Cobalt spoke from behind her. The blue-clad crimefighter helped Astrea off of the ground.
“Didn’t you hear?” Astrea said, dusting herself off. “Your girlfriend and– I mean, whoever that kid you roll around with is to you. They’re not fans of me.”
“I can’t see why.” Cobalt drew an arrow from his quiver and notched it. “We both shoot pointy things.” He looked in the direction where Ash fled. “This gust of wind bothering you?”
“What was that thing?” Astrea asked
“Whatever it is, I think this is more my responsibility than yours, given the arrangement.” Cobalt zipped up to an adjacent roof. “Can you cover me, ‘Nette?”
“Consider yourself covered.” Astrea grinned and followed at as quick a pace as she could. Eventually, Cobalt saw Ash counting his winnings gleefully on a nearby roof. He approached quietly after motioning Astrea to go around the block. Ash took a relieved sigh before the archer spoke behind him:
“You know. There are easier ways to make a withdrawal.”
Ash turned around and scowled at the archer. “You,” he whispered before going in for a punch. It was a swing and a miss as Cobalt narrowly jumped backwards and notched an arrow. The brick of the chimney next to him collapsed into rubble as the punch landed.
“Whoa.” Cobalt said, letting some slack on his bow. “Who’s your personal trainer? Doc Savage, the Man of Bronze!?”
“Shut up.” Ash pulled his hood up and charged at Cobalt. The archer barely let an arrow fly before being grabbed by the throat and carried across three rooftops. The two landed with Ash strangling the life out of Cobalt. “You capitalist tool. You— You blue fascist.”
“You have… no idea… how… uncomfortable that makes me.” Cobalt could barely squeeze out the words as he fumbled in his utility belt. He put a taser arrowhead right into Ash’s temple. This allowed him to roll out of vulnerability as Ash fumbled for the piece of metal in his skull. Cobalt took this split second opportunity to attempt a roundhouse kick. Ash caught the leg and threw the archer to the side. Cobalt screamed as he gained his bearings again. firing a grapple arrow and swinging up to the roof of Knoxville Junior High. As he looked up, he saw Ash on all fours, charging towards him.
“That’s it!” He yelled, notching an arrow. “You wanna get nuts?! Let’s get nuts!” As he released the arrow, it caught on fire. The arrow snagged Ash’s coat. The canvas lit up, engulfing him in flames. The hoodie and the trench-coat were reduced to smouldering ash by the time he made it to the archer’s post. Before Cobalt could get another arrow off, Ash tackled him to the ground. He opened his mouth and let a pool of black sludge fall down onto Cobalt’s chest. The archer squirmed, flailing his arms frantically. “Jesus Christ!” Cobalt yelled.
“You killed my mom, you piece of shit.” Ash said. “I’m going to enjoy this a lot more than I should.” He pulled up a hand, letting the claws protrude out of his fingernails. As he went to swing down, a shuriken landed in his palm. He screamed and grabbed at it. It was in this split second that Siren’s quarterstaff went across his neck. She was behind him, dragging the teenager off her frazzled partner. Ash clawed back at her futilely as the Charade came into view. She punched Ash in the temple and he fell like a sack of potatoes.
Siren walked over to Cobalt and extended a hand. “You looked like you could use an assist.” She said, pulling him onto his feet.
“You always know how to anticipate my needs, and that’s why I love you.” Cobalt answered, dusting off his uniform. “What do we do about this guy here?”
-
Damien Freeman poured himself a glass of wine as the TV blared in the background. He was sitting on a velvet loveseat in the basement of his mortuary. The TV was a small tube style, leaving a fuzzy picture of the WPXI anchor. Grainy footage of Cobalt leaping across rooftops could be seen as the reporter blathered on about what this new assailant to the city’s heroes might be. Damien nodded thoughtfully as smoke slowly filled the room. Two of the drawers in the room opened up, containing men in finely pressed suits. One had long blonde hair and thin framed glasses. The other had a shapely black beard and and buzzed head. They yawned and stretched before coming down to the floor in wisps of smoke. The blond man looked over the TV and then back to Damien. The boss had his hands intertwined thoughtfully. The broadcast glared off of his scarred eye.
“That’s not good for us.” Bradley stated. Damien nodded. “What will we do, sir?”
“We won’t be doing a thing.” Damien turned off the TV and stood up, walking up the stairs. “I will be handling this one personally.”
