Reality Intrudes
Part Fifteen: Over and Under
[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]
Grue
"Fuck!" yelled Regent over the sound of enormous dog paws hitting asphalt. "It's Armsmaster!"
"I don't think it is!" Brian took another glance over his shoulder. The most distinctive motorcycle in Brockton Bay had made the knee-scraping turn and was now accelerating into the straightaway behind them. "That's his bike, but it's not him!"
Tattletale looked back as well, hanging tightly onto Brutus as he galloped along. "No, it's a girl, a cape!"
"Tinker? Someone made their own ArmsCycle knockoff?" Regent peered back over his shoulder. "They got the engine note right and everything!"
"Not a Tinker, not a knockoff," Tattletale corrected him. "That's Armsmaster's bike, the real one! She just stole it, and now she's joyriding!"
"Not joyriding!" Bitch put her two cents in. "Chasing us! I know what a chase looks like!"
"Wait, what the fuck?" Brian stared at Tattletale, then back over his shoulder at the oncoming motorbike. "She
stole Armsmaster's ride? How the hell did she pull that off?"
"Did you want to stop and ask her?" Tattletale snarked. "Whoever that is back there is Trouble with a capital T! Whatever she's involved in is something we need to avoid! Bitch, we need to lose her!"
"Hey, what if some of us wanted her autograph?" protested Regent. Brian was sure he was doing it just to be a dick.
"Then you can get off my dog and fucking walk!" Bitch turned Angelica and aimed her at a nearby alleyway. "Otherwise, shut the fuck up!"
Travelling in single file, they barrelled into the alleyway. Brian guided Judas to fall in behind the others so he could see what happened to motorcycle girl. If she lost interest, all well and good. But capes often did the unexpected; it was what made the hero/villain scene so interesting (and occasionally terrifying).
Knocking over trash cans, scaring the fuck out of the occasional homeless person, leaping over dumpsters and other obstacles, they thundered through the alley. Brian kept his seat through long practice, holding tight to a couple of convenient bone spurs. The motorbike pursued relentlessly; its howling engine amplified by the brick walls on either side.
Fuck it. He began producing his darkness, filling the alley from side to side.
Ride through that, smartass. On he rode, keeping Judas up close behind Brutus as they powered on through the narrow trash-filled darkness.
After jumping a fence—ten feet high, chain link, securely padlocked—he looked back, secure in his own mind that the pursuit had been foiled. Instead, he was treated to the sight of the bike going airborne as it somehow used one of the dumpsters as a launch ramp, engine roaring, headlight blazing as it cleared the fence. Twisting in midair, it pulled a near-perfect barrel roll, left tyre-marks on the wall, then bounced off a dumpster before hitting the ground again, having lost no speed along the way.
Inside his helmet, his jaw dropped.
How the hell? Nobody can see through my darkness, much less pull off stunts like that blind.
"She's still behind us!" he shouted, trying to get Bitch's attention. "We have to hit the rooftops!"
Vaguely he heard Tattletale repeating what he'd said, but most of his attention was directed behind them, at the crazy girl on the motorcycle. Even with all the obstacles in the way, she was still gaining on them.
Who the hell is this, and how is she doing what she's doing?
<><>
Morrigan
First things first, this bike is
amazing. For all of Armsmaster's flaws (and he's got more than a few) he's got it tuned to a point that it responds to my every command like an extension of my body. The few things it's not actually set up to do, I can make it do anyway, by leaning into the Matrix just a little. It doesn't even take that much effort.
I haven't done a deep-dive into the Undersiders as yet (why would I? They're small fry), which means that the sight-blocking smoke cloud comes as a rude surprise. But it's not as bad as it could be, because hello? Matrix operative here? It's not air that we're breathing, and it's not light that we're seeing by.
Where anyone else would be floundering blindly—I can tell that it blocks everything in the local simulated version of the electromagnetic spectrum, and muffles sound to a fair degree—I've got resources that bluepills just can't access. Being an operative lets me bend the laws of physics pretty damn hard as it is—here, I can just about tie them in knots—but I can also look past the façade of reality if I squint just right, and see the edges of the code. This doesn't give me my own waterfall display, but it does let me figure out what's in front of me before I hit it, and map out my route through the obstacle course they're trying to lose me in.
I pull the three-sixty roll when I come over the fence because I know Skeletor's watching, and it's funny as fuck to troll him like that. The move is also designed to send a message:
You can't get away that easily. I figure once the Undersiders realise they can't lose me like this, they'll either change up their escape/evasion tactics, turn and fight, try to parley, or surrender.
Whichever one they choose will give me insight into them. All data is good data, as they say.
A moment later, I'm proven right as they pour out of the alley into a side-street, then the lizard-dog critter in front, with the muscular girl on it, leaps at the building opposite and starts
climbing it. I'm actually kind of impressed by this; they don't look like natural climbers, but they're doing it anyway. The others follow along behind, in a move evidently designed to leave me twiddling my thumbs at street level.
Well, their intentions and reality are going to be two different things, if I've got anything to say about it. This whole wall-climbing schtick of theirs might work against Armsmaster and his merry band of spandex-clad do-gooders, but they're up against
me now, and I don't play to lose. So, even as they scramble up to the roof of the three-storey building, I assess my options.
By the time they reach the top, I've figured it out. I turn the bike down the street and gun it for about half a block, then do a bootlegger turn that leaves a perfect half-circle of burned rubber on the asphalt. Kicking the throttle open a couple of times, I put a neat square of rubber under the rear tyre, then I open her out.
As the engine noise echoes between the buildings, I swing wide, then pop a wheelie as I angle in toward the building they climbed up. This is going to take all the Matrix bullshittery I can muster, but the looks on their faces are going to be fuckin'
epic.
Why yes, I
do live for this sort of thing. Why do you ask?
There's a parked car outside the building before the one I need to be on top of; I hit it at just the right angle (converting it from junker to junked) to launch me and the bike into the air. That gets me up just high enough to hit an awning (ripping it out of its mountings in the process, but it's not my awning) and boost the bike even higher. That wouldn't normally be enough, but there's a fire escape that I kind of ricochet the bike off so the wheels hit the vertical wall with six feet to go.
Turns out Armsmaster rebuilt the bike for all-wheel drive, and I'm pushing that to breaking point. Matrix chicanery gives both wheels far more traction than reality wants to allow, but I tell reality to stand over there and stop bothering me. Assisted by the remaining upward momentum, I've got the throttle wide open, engine screaming, the bike clawing its way up the wall.
At the top, just before I would've lost traction, the front wheel tips over the edge, giving it one last burst of
oomph. The back wheel digs in and shoves me up the rest of the way, then, as it comes over the edge of the parapet, the bike pulls a complete backflip. I ease off on the throttle and guide the bike down to a two-point landing. The suspension takes it like a champion; Armsmaster actually does good work in that regard, apparently.
On the other side of the roof, still astride their lizard-dog-dinosaur hybrids, the Undersiders gawk at me in disbelief. Or at least, the girl in the form-fitting purple catsuit (do her parents even know she
owns that thing, let alone
wears it in public?) is staring at me, squinting and shaking her head like I'm screwing with her own personal reality. I can't tell what Skeletor's expression is, the twink in the Renfaire costume has a similarly face-obscuring mask, and the stocky girl with the dollar-store dog mask hanging around her neck is the poster child for 'resting bitch face'.
"Hi," I announce. "Name's Morrigan. New in town, on a fact-finding mission. First thing I want to know is, why did you guys even get into crime? Anything you want to vent about, I'm willing to listen."
Renfaire Twink recovers first and points at me. "That's bullshit!" he accuses me. "How the fuck did you just ride Armsmaster's bike up the side of a damn building?"
Well, he's got a point. It
is bullshit, but a very
special kind of bullshit. The kind I'm a past master at, to be specific.
"I might as well ask you how you just rode those lizard-dog-rhino things up the side of a building," I counter. "The answer is simple:
because I could. So, as we were saying." I point at the big guy with the skull face helmet. "You. Skeletor. What do you get out of being a supervillain? Is it just the filthy lucre, or is there more to it for you?"
There's a frozen pause, then Renfaire Twink and Purple Catsuit snort in either amusement or disbelief. Resting Bitch Face doesn't even crack a smile; in fact, she continues to glower at me. I'm not put off by it, but I have to give her kudos for staying on track like that.
"My name's Grue, not Skeletor," says the guy reluctantly. I can tell he doesn't want to talk to me, but his buddy's already opened a line of communication, and talking's generally better than fighting, especially when you're facing someone who could just possibly kick your ass up between your shoulder-blades. "I'm in it for the money. Why do you want to know?"
"Just information gathering, to be honest." I go to gesture toward Purple Catsuit, but she nearly has an epileptic fit when I do, so I change my mind and call on the smaller guy. "Okay, you. Renfaire Twink. What's your deal in all this?"
Grue (that's a
terrible name; if I was him, I'd complain to HR) audibly chuckles at that, and Purple Catsuit nearly falls off her mount with laughter. Even Resting Bitch Face cracks half a smile, but no more than that.
"The fuck?" complains Renfaire Twink. "Why does Grue get Skeletor, but I get …
that? I'm
Regent, and don't you forget it!" He gestures in my direction with the stupid gold-painted sceptre thingy he's carrying around. My right hand and left leg twitch involuntarily for some reason, but I suppress it.
With the coronet and the medieval clothing, I can see where he's coming from. It's not a great name, but it's a name. I'm just about to make a comment about it when my phone rings. "Hold that thought," I say, and pull it out. "Yeah?"
"
What just happened?" asks Loki, sounding honestly concerned for once. "
You just started twitching up a storm. The restraints stopped you from falling out of the chair or pulling the jack loose, but this was way more than the usual."
"Huh." I'm remembering the gesture with the sceptre. It seems Renfaire Twink, aka Regent, has a few tricks up his floofy sleeve. "Thanks. I'm on top of it."
"
The last time you said that, we had to call in three operatives to clean up the aftermath."
That had not been my finest hour, but I rally gamely anyway. "I dealt with the immediate problem, didn't I? Anyway, busy. Smell you later." Hanging up the phone, I give Regent the stink-eye. "Okay, smart guy. Word of warning? The next time you try to pull that shit, I'm going to take that sceptre thingy away from you and turn you into a twink on a stick."
From the movements of his head, Regent stares at me, at his sceptre, then back to me. "What the hell? How did you do that?"
"Same way I got this bike up here," I remind him. "I'm just that fuckin' good. See these?" I open my coat to show the Undersiders the pistols I'd inherited from Whitey McWhiteface. "I took these off the asshole formerly known as Alabaster, currently residing in the PRT morgue, after I blew his head off last night. I'm willing to bet it'd be a whole lot easier to make
you stay down, so let's keep this nice and polite, shall we?"
"Alabaster?" scoffs Regent. "Yeah, like—"
"Shut
up, Regent," Purple Catsuit says tensely. She's staring at me while squinting hard, like she's not enjoying the view. "She did it. He's dead. I don't know how she killed him, but she did."
"Like a fuckin' boss is how." I focus my attention on her. "While Renfaire Twink is thinking about his answer, how about you? What's your reason for putting on something that any reasonable father would ground his daughter just for
owning, and going out to commit egregious acts of criminality?"
"You are
way too young to be having that attitude," she says, but it's only a medium level of snark so I let it go. Besides, I'm impressed. I'm a decade and change older than the Matrix body I'm currently inhabiting, but how does
she know that? "As for why I'm doing this … well, there are several reasons, of which money is only one. Mainly, bad choices. Lots and lots of bad choices." She tilts her head, still squinting. "How about you? Why are you going around killing supervillains and mugging heroes for their rides?"
"Because I need to kick over anthills if I'm gonna see what the ants do." Ignoring her reflexive twitch, I look at Regent. "Figured your answer out yet, or did you want to phone a friend?"
Somehow, I can tell he really, really wants to flip me off, but at the same time he doesn't want to go the same way as Alabaster (and Victor, if he but knew). "Money, gaming and security," he says eventually. I suspect he's being even more honest than he intends. "Being a supervillain means I can afford the best gaming consoles out there, and not going to school or working a nine-to-five means quality gaming time is all the time."
"And security?" I prod him. "You mentioned that, too."
He makes a motion with his head that I suspect involves an eye-roll. "My dad's a villain too, the type that other villains don't associate with. If I'm with a gang, it means he's less likely to be able to swoop in and drag me back to the rest of the family."
From the way Grue glances at him, I get the impression he wasn't this forthcoming with the rest of his team when he joined. Purple Catsuit and Resting Bitch Face don't react; I suspect the former already knew, and the latter doesn't give a fuck. I can respect that attitude, given that it forms a major part of my worldview.
"And what about you?" I ask Resting Bitch Face. "You got a tragic story, or are you just in it for the big bucks?"
She gives me a challenging stare. "Why the fuck do you care?"
"Listen," says Purple Catsuit tensely. "Her mom abandoned her, she had a shitty time in the foster system, and she triggered when her last foster mom tried to kill her dog. Okay?"
While I'd really rather get that info from the horse's mouth, it's clear Purple Catsuit is trying to avoid a lethal confrontation, and I get the strong impression that Resting Bitch Face isn't the type to back down easily, or at all. Besides, I can fill in the blanks from what I've already been told: kid gets powers, shit goes sideways, and now she's permanently on the run. Joining a gang would've given her much the same kind of security as Regent was looking for.
This gives me interesting insights into the gangs, if the Undersiders are anything like a viable sample. None of them are in it just for the cash; even Grue, if I'm reading his momentary hesitation correctly, has other motives that I haven't figured out yet. '
Curiouser and curiouser', as someone said, once upon a time.
(I'm personally convinced that Alice fell into an earlier version of the Matrix, and only made it out by the skin of her teeth.)
Resting Bitch Face glares at Purple Catsuit. "Did I ask you to say anything?" Yeah, she's definitely pricklier than fifty yards of saguaro cactus.
I speak up again, mainly to defuse the incipient squabble; while I really don't care if they beat the shit out of each other at any other time, I'd rather not have to wait until they're finished before I get the answers to the rest of my questions. "Hey, fight on your own time. So, what's the skinny on Kaiser and his merry band of goose-steppers? Doesn't he know Hitler died decades ago?"
"Knows, doesn't care." Grue sounds appropriately disgusted by them, for which I award him mental kudos. Unless he's black under there—and he might well be, because I can't see as much as a square inch of skin to check—he's to be commended for his attitudes. If he is, then it just means he isn't a fuckin' moron. "We're pretty sure Allfather was his dad. He's just carrying on the family business, and he doesn't give a damn about who dies or gets beaten up in the process, just for having the wrong name or skin tone in the wrong part of town."
"Their biggest recruiter is Lung," Regent chips in without even being prompted.
Good boy. You can learn, after all. "You know about the ABB, right?"
I nod. "I was going to ask about them next, yeah. Asian supremacist gang, if I recall correctly?"
"That's them." He gestures with the sceptre, but not toward me, and I don't feel any twitches. "Every time they do anything at all, Kaiser shouts it from the rooftops, and few more rednecks get insecure enough to join up. Same thing happens when the Empire Eighty-Eight beat up on some minority out on the street late at night: Lung whips the ABB into a frenzy, and they talk a few more locals into joining '
for their own protection'." For someone with a flattened emotional response, he could certainly pack a lot of sarcasm into those four words.
A few more things become clear to me. "So, neither one's really dedicated to wiping out the opposition, because they're each essential to the other's ongoing recruitment prospects. Yeah, that totally tracks." I pause and grin. "Want to know something else about Lung you didn't know before?"
They exchange glances, but only Purple Catsuit speaks up. "You did something to them, didn't you? Just before you stole Armsmaster's bike."
"That's right." I let the silence stretch on for a few more seconds. "I shoved the motorbike I was using then up Lung's nose, then I shot Oni Lee a couple of times and beat the fuck out of him. If Armsy's still got all his faculties, and I didn't hit him
that hard, then they'll both be in PRT custody in the next five to ten minutes."
Purple Catsuit stares at me. "Holy shit, you really enjoy living on the edge, don't you? Alabaster's not a
big member of the Empire, but killing him definitely sends a very loud message, and putting down Lung and Oni Lee for the PRT sends another one."
"Don't forget, she stole Armsmaster's bike," Regent chimes in. "I'm pretty sure the message is along the lines of '
batshit insane, do not engage'."
Grue and Purple Catsuit both tense and look at me when he says that, but I'm not the least bit offended. Besides, Loki's said worse to me with the Captain right there.
"I like that." I throw him a grin. "I might just use it."
"Knock yourself out."
"Sure thing. Oh, I might've forgotten to tell you. After I killed Alabaster, I topped Victor as well, then stole a ton of money and guns from the safehouse they were in. Then I burned down the safehouse with a bunch of drugs inside. And at the same time I beat up Lung and Oni Lee, I chased off Storm-whatsit and the Viking chick twins. Shot 'em all a few times."
Purple Catsuit slaps both hands over her mouth to contain her reaction. Grue just nods slowly, Regent mutters, "fuck me" and shakes his head, and Resting Bitch Face seems to look pleased. Briefly, anyway. I'm getting the impression that a smile from her is basically the equivalent of a standing ovation from anyone else.
"So anyway," I say, "what can you tell me about Coil? His PHO page is pretty scarce on information."
Purple Catsuit raises her head and lowers her hands from her mouth. "Before I tell you that, what're you planning for him?"
I shrug. "Get his measure, maybe smack him around for light exercise. What've you got for me?"
She shakes her head. "Not worth it. He's got some sort of reality bending ability that means he always makes the right choice. Also, fifty or so mercenaries with cutting lasers on their guns. If I tell you what I know and you get through them, then just hand him over to the PRT or even leave him to go free, he'll learn I ratted him out, and then he'll come after me. Hard pass on that."
"Reality bending, huh?" And here I'd been thinking he was almost too boring to mess with. This sounds like a
real challenge. "Okay, so what
can you tell me about him?"
"Hey." It's Resting Bitch Face. "Are you gonna be fucking with the Empire Eighty-Eight again? Like maybe Hookwolf?"
I look over at her. These are the first words she's actually volunteered, so I'm inclined to be nice. "That's always a possibility, sure. I've read he's an asshole."
"He runs dogfighting rings." If talking about someone could kill them, Hooksy would already be pushing up daisies. "Fucker needs to die."
I shrug. "I've heard of worse reasons. See what I can do." Then I look back over at Purple Catsuit. "You were saying?"
She takes her time with her response. "He's got an underground base near a skyscraper under construction. Find that, you've found him."
Well, I've had thinner leads. "Sounds good to me. Night, all. Good talk."
Engaging reverse gear on the bike—Armsmaster installed that, too—I gun it, bringing the bike up onto its front wheel. Then I dance it around in a circle, flick the throttle so the back wheel drops and the bike pops a wheelie. When I let it fall forward, the front wheel goes over the edge of the building, and the rest of the bike follows.
I draw on my Matrix capabilities pretty hard from that point onward. I've got the bike pointing downward at an angle, leaning in as close to the wall as I can. From the bike's point of view, gravity is actually partway into the wall, so as far as it can tell, we're going sideways down a really steep slope, allowing the tyres to keep some level of traction (and leave streaks of rubber on the brickwork). When I'm most of the way down, I give it some more gas; the bike leaps off the wall, finishes the demolition job on the car, and I ride off down the street.
Time to go find Coil and find out what 'reality bending' looks like from my point of view.
I can't wait.
End of Part Fifteen
