Super

The man replies cryptically, but I deduce that he means no harm to me unless I attempt something first, which is a relief to me. "Ok, I believe you. I don't want to make trouble, ok?"

I turn away and I know that the other two men who had ran down the alley were too far away to catch up to, so I turn to the woman. "You said you had a store somewhere near? You have a phone there I could use to call my personal doctor? He could come by there instead of my house, if you don't mind." I wince again at the pain in my shoulder. "I... I wasn't completely truthful. I... I'm not fine. It hurts... like a bitch. And I can't fly with it. Too much pain to move the wing. Can't even properly conceal them like this." I hope the store is somewhere out of the way. And close. Close would be nice. Especially since the darkness lapping at the edge of my vision wasn't going away any time soon.

So the two were peaceful. At least they claimed to be.
But if I wanted to help, then I couldn't keep questioning that.
There were times action had to be taken. One of those times was now.
"Nope, I'm not one of those pencil-pushers. They are too much in love with their own political system to get anything done. They're probably not even going to know about this until about a week as passed. I work for three people, me, myself and I."
So, what were we supposed to do now? That girl claimed to have a lace to stay for the other girl. Can she be trusted? I have no idea, but it's not as if I would have any alternatives to offer. So I guess we're following her then.
"We need to get her to safety quick. The government might not be the brightest bulbs, but the press should be back any minute. So, where do we need to go?"

The masked man finally released Nick and backed off while stating the obvious of him having the ability to take his life with ease along with other men. Nick, who was in complete agreement with this statement a little more than he should be, nodded with the nervous smile still expressing itself, "Yes, Yes thanks for the advice, now I really have to be somewhere in a little bit, so i'm just going to be on my way. Sorry about all of this and thanks for not squeezing lemon juice in my eye!"

'Get out, get away. Get out, get away.'

He had been relieved that the man was finally backing off, but getting the heck out of there was still top priority. Nick was already formulating a plan for once he was back in the crowds and if the man didn't stop him. He would wander around aimlessly a lot before returning home. There was always the chance of this man being interested in his little vigilante business he had revealed. He would have to keep an eye out for being stalked, this man may have known his face, but he didn't know where he lived. It would take a while to find out where he lived, and by then he might be long gone, not like he had much in his apartment anyways.

"No questions. No eye contact. Just get out."

((Dunno if Shade would stop him or not so i'm just going to leave this here, apologies about such a short post))

She looks away from the man, her attention focused on the girl again as she spoke "I'm an employee at the florist across the street. .. but you need help now, Not later. My apartment is about a block away if we follow these back alleyways. I really mean no harm, I just want to get you fixed up before you're sent out into any possible danger."

She glances to the newest man, her eyes studying him as they were a bit red from the irritation the contacts were causing her now. She turns back to the girl, "having a bullet wound hurts like hell. And if it doesn't come out soon it might be harder to dig that bullet out"

He wants to leave. Reasonable. Not done with him though. Can't follow him though. He's not that stupid and I don't have time to change. I'll have to go back. Check with the restaurant. See what happened in there. Maybe pick up foot-prints. Hair. Something. I'll find it.

Still, one last thing.

Don't want him to leave thinking we're enemies. We're not. Really. I'm just a bit too curious. Part of my darker side.

I put a hand on his shoulder. Stop him.

"Hey." I offer my right hand to him. To shake. "No hard feelings?"

Seems like everyone is doing a lot of talking and not doing around here. That's what I don't like about trying to work with other Supers or do-gooders. It seems like the more people that are around, the less likely it is that someone will do something about a situation. So I'll have to fix that. Like I do at night. Except, I seem to be getting beat up more than doing the beating lately.

"Well if we're going to do something about my arm, can we get to it? The more I stand around, the more agonizing this wound gets. Show me to this apartment or where-ever, please?" I direct my question to the girl.

They are trying to do WHAT? They want to get the bullet out now?
Are these people insane or just very, very stupid? I have to object before they are going to kill the poor girl with their own idiocy!
"You really shouldn't do that.", I exclaim.
"In its current state the bullet she was shot with acts like a plug on the wound. If you were to remove it now, you would not only risk severe hemohorraging, but also open up the wound further for infection. Meanwhile leaving the bullet where it is is not nearly as harmful. The lady had already stated, that she has a doctor. I heavily suggest leaving this kind of work to the professional. And additionally the transport should not be done quickly either. Moving around too carelessly can cause the wound to open up further. Thus I suggest to thread carefully instead."
Again - what were these girls thinking? If they were vigilantes, then they should have at least a basic grasp on medicine and first aid. And if they weren't, then how did they get into this situation in the first place?
Among all the uncertainties in life human idiocy has once again remained the only constant.

The man halted his movement, with a hand to the shoulder, his right one. Nick turned to see what the man wanted, half expecting a fist to fly into his face. To his surprise, and relief, the knuckles of a hand didn't smash into his nose or chin or anywhere on his face.

"No hard feelings?" the masked man had asked.

Nick gave a smile and shook the hand with his left, "Yeah," he quickly said before starting on his way again, trying to disappear into the crowd and follow the flow of wherever it took him. He didn't quite know how long he should walk around, but at least he wouldn't have to put up with the solicitors that often dropped by his apartment's door every hour or so.

So he decided to just wander about, away from the alley and away from the strange masked man. Lesson of the day had been taught, and now there were probably going to be consequences. If he was lucky, that man would just completely forget about him, if not then a great number of things could happen and possibilities were practically endless.

Maybe he should just lay low for a while...after he's moved of course.

She looks to the man who spoke about not taking the bullet out and says a little aggravatedly "then we won't get the bullet out. But either way my house is safe and she can rest there until we can get her home."

She takes the girl's arm gently in her hand, pulling gently as a sign to follow "until then we need to move steadily and not let her get herself hurt worse. Please don't try and stop me either, Though you can come to if you mean no harm."

She hated inviting people to her house, well apartment. She needed them to stop trying to argue though...ahe wanted to respect the girl's wishes as well as make her safe someplace.

Hurm.

The kid walks off into the crowds. Thinks he'll lose me there. He wouldn't, but I won't follow. I'll be seeing him again soon.

Was right. Shook with his left. Protecting his right. Grabbed the shoulder. Hard. Too hard. Has to be metal. Prosthetic. The entire arm. Can't be too many companies who make a prosthetic with that kind of realistic range of motion. Not too many owners either.

I've got a face. Now I just need a name. From there, I can find everything I need. Still, going to have to use the computer. Unfortunate. Irksome. Oh well.

I've got work to do. The pig in the bar will still be drinking swill when I come for him. For now, I've got more pressing matters.

Take off my mask and make my way to the car. Start. Going to be a busy night. Hop by the grocer. Going need more coffee grounds.

(I'm skipping my post. I really need Crim to take poor Aria to her place instead of dawdling. Come on, she's got a bullet in her shoulder. X'D)

(Skipping myself. Of course I could write another huge post about sitting around if you'd like for me to do so.)

Nick hurried his way through the crowd, eager to get as far away from the scene as possible. He pushed past some people, leaving some to wonder why his right hand was so hard. He finally calmed down once he had put a good distance away, and began to blend with the crowd a bit more. He was out of breath, his lungs were gasping for a break, and were relieved just to slow down a little bit.

Who were those people, and why did that man have to look so suspicious? Why did Nick have to be so cocky? He gave a sigh of frustration before walking onward until his legs felt as if they could walk no more. He returned to his apartment, completely ignoring a man asking him to buy his rip-off of a popular product and closing the door in his face. He locked the chain across the door and locked the door handle, even though it was likely that anyone could just kick the door in with ease.

What should he do first? He leaned back against the door, debating whether or not to research this man. No, best not to and just work on getting the hell out of here. Luckily, he had very few things that weren't replaceable or expensive.

Mara led the girl steadily through the back alleyways, careful to not go to fast and provide support for her if she needed it.

What was she thinking? Bringing a strange girl home.

At least it wasn't a strange man.

After what likely seemed like forever to the girl, she arrived at the back door to her apartment building. The worst part was trying to help the winged girl up a flight of stairs. Good news though was that her apartment was the first door at the right.

Once inside, she led the girl to her bedroom to rest on the bed "I'll be right back..i need to get these contacts out so I can work on patching you up a little"

I'm going to need help.

New York is a city filled to the brim with people. Last census, taken two years ago, estimate the population at about 8.337 million people. That was two years ago. Some estimates suggest a growth of nearly half a million today. Highest population density in the United States. In a place like this, it would seem impossible to track down a single person. Especially without police resources. This is the hardest part of my job. Tracking. Picking up clues. Picking up the pieces and putting them together. Sometimes have to get creative.

As I drive, I think. I don't have much to go on. A face. No photo. Need a name. Just a name, then he's mine. Metal arm. Must be mechanical. Strange. Nothing that complex on the market. So, where did Boy-Wonder get it? Black-market? Possible, though unlikely. Still would have seen these. His own design? Seriously hope not. That would leave me with nothing. Best option is to assume its backlog technology. Canceled projects, thrown into the file room of tech companies across the country. Still, not good prospects. This won't be easy.

He is missing his right arm. The whole thing. Could be something to that. Medical records. News reports. Something. Not much to go on, but it gives me something. Boy-Wonder, you have given me quite the puzzle. I hate to admit it, but I'm a little excited. This is the, dare I say, fun part of the job. Gets my brain moving, centers me. It's Zen, in a way.

I find myself in the warehouse district. This is where my friend lives. Reclusive type, like me. Can't blame her. Half the world is out to get her, after all. The warehouses are large, looming derelicts. Brick constructions, made in the city's younger years, have begun to wither and crumble away. Windows are cracked and smashed, graffiti runs across the walls, a few stray animals live in the many cracks and holes. This is a place long abandoned by polite society. Perfect for people like me. What I do is good, I hope, but I would be naive to think that good means nice.

People like me, we're foolish to think we belong with the rest of them. We don't. We don't live normal lives, don't keep normal hours. We can't even guarantee we'll live to see our next meal. We choose a different life when we decided to pull masks over our faces and run around playing cops and robbers. We're not normal, not a single one of us, and I don't mean that in the "leaps tall buildings" sense of the word. We're not right in the head. We all have some defect, some hole that we try to fill. I accept this. I've been around long enough to realize it and stare it in the face.

It's not a life I would wish on anyone.

I pull on my mask as I park the car a block away from her "house". Big building. Must be at least 250 meters long. Old factory building. Looks the same as the others, at first. A second look tells a different story, if you know what to look for. Small security cameras dot the perimeter. Fairly certain more are dotted through the area. A satellite dish is barely noticeable on the roof. A myriad of wires run into the building at multiple points. Suspect she's stealing power from the grid. Used to be owned a printing company. She has a sense of irony, at the very least. How does that song go? "Video killed the radio star"? Something like that.


I step up to the large, metal door. There is a camera above me. I hear it focus in on me. She sees my outfit. Still won't let me in without the passage. I can respect that. You can never be too careful. Someone may have discovered me. I may be dead. A mask is a double edged sword.

Speak in a hushed tone.

"Te-shan was sitting outside doing zazen. Lung-t’an asked him why he didn’t go back home. Te-shan answered, 'Because it’s dark.'

"Lung-t’an then lit a candle and handed it to him. As Te-shan was about to take it, Lung-t’an blew it out. Te-shan had a sudden realisation, and bowed..."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the door buzzes and I can hear at least six separate locks come undone, in sequence. A small chime. I can come in. The hinges squeak and the door closes behind me with a heavy thud. Inside, the place is deserted. I think I hear a rat scurry away, little scrapes and scratches echoing through the building. This place gives me the creeps every time. I feel like I've just stepped into a tomb.

I walk slowly down a set of metal stairs. The sound of my footsteps ring in my ears. I near one of the press machines and pull the lever that would normally begin the press. Instead, I hear a hiss and I turn around to find a small section of the floor has raised ever so slightly. I slip my fingers underneath and lift up the hatch, revealing a flight of hidden stairs. A tinge of jealousy. Such an impressive setup.

I descend into the basement and she's waiting for me. In front of her is a myriad of screens, giving off a bright, cold glow. Punk music is pumped through speakers mounted to the walls. She practically lives down here. A fridge. Stove. Television. I know there's a bed in the next room. I wonder how often she goes out for groceries. Even I have to do that. It's an odd fact of life that while you're walking down the produce aisle, you could very well be waiting on a man who could rip a car in half to decide on what kind of lettuce he wants. The world is indeed a strange place.

Her arms are crossed over her chest. Boots planted firmly on the floor. She wears tight black jeans. Can see her belly button underneath a black cut-off top. Sleeves torn. Never could tell if this is what she actually wears, or if it's just part of the persona. Short brown hair. She wears a mask similar to mine. A black balaclava pulled up over her ears and covering her face. Except, unlike me, her mask is covered by a large white circle. Looks like it was drawn by hand with large brush. The ensō symbol. It's supposed to represent enlightenment and peace. I guess that's something she strives for. I wish her luck.

Zen is one of the few people in this world that I actually like. Or, at least, that I understand.

A few keystrokes on the keyboard behind her and the music volume lowers to a bearable level.

"Bogart. Always a pleasure to find you at my doorstep." Her voice is run through a scrambler. It sounds low and warped. I guess it's easier on the throat than my method.

"And it's always a pleasure to find myself there Zen. Love what you've done with the place. I'm getting a strong Batcave vibe."

"Psht. Please. You're making me blush." She points to her lack of face.

"Cheeky..."

"Oh, look at the wit on you..."

"I try." I walk up to her command center. Stream a of code and data rush past on the screens. Videos flash by on one. I see a paused Youtube video on another. I never was an expert with computers, but I can still appreciate the amazing amount of skill Zen holds with them. She's elevated computing to an art form.  

I lean over her, peering at the screens. "And what is your pet project today, my little "cyberterrorist".

She rolls her chair over and begins to input some commands. "First, I prefer "cyber freedom fighter". Second, it's the same as last month."

"Last month? Seems like someone's slipping."

"Hey! You try hacking NYDT's entire street camera system, and then we'll talk about who's slipping, old man."

"Touché."

She swivels around in her chair and puts her hands behind her head.

"Now, how can I be of service?"

"Hmph. I can't just pop by to say hello?"

"You could. But you don't."

"Touché again... I need your help. I'm tracking someone. All I've got to work on is a face and a metal arm. Looking for backloged schematic files from major technology firms."

She leans forward.

"Yes. I did say 'metal arm'."

"Fucking sweet. Anything to narrow it down?"

"It had a highly realistic rang of motion. We're talking high functioning prosthetics. Like something out of Star Wars..."

A silence. Can't tell what she's thinking. It's like looking in the mirror.

"'Its like Star Wars...' Yeah. I'll just type that into Google and we'll see what we get."

"I know, it's not much."

"No. No no. If you brought me the entire fucking arm, that would be 'not much'. What you have is a fart in a hurricane."

"Look Zen. Can you help me or not?"

She sighs. Mulling it over.

"Fine," she says, "but are you sure you can't give anything else? You've got to understand this is really going out on a limb."

"I've got a suspicion. I don't think the guy I'm looking for got this thing through conventional channels. You might look through any note worthy stories in the news archives. Something... Tragic."

Another sigh. This one different. I sense some sort of emotion. Still can't read her after all these years.

"You know, not everyone has some sort of sad story in their past."

"Then how do you explain the two of us?"

Didn't mean for that to come out. Not like that. The silence is heavy now. I can hear the computer fans whirring. The music is gone.

After a moment, she talks.

"I bet it's been forever since you've slept. The bed in there is free while you wait. It's going to be awhile..."

I'm not sure what to say. All I can usher forth is a quiet thanks. I turn and pace into the other room. I take off my hat, throw off the coat on a nearby chair and fall onto the mattress. It's a little stiff, but it's clean. It's nice.

I look up. See her working. It's odd. For as long as we've know eachother , neither of us knows what the other looks like. Life is weird that way. I close my eyes beneath this shield, drifting off to a snooze.