The city of Ankora. "Chicago's bigger, uglier, cousin." They call it. For good reason, too. It certainly is bigger than Chicago. Almost on par with New York. It certainly is uglier, the architecture is a smorgasbord of nonsensical grouping. Why the hell is there a gothic cathedral right next to a brick and mortar gyro shop? The streets are covered in grime and the air is smoggy. That's just the surface. Dig any deeper and you'll find the really ugly part of the city, the people. They rape, they murder, they steal. Or, at least, some of them do.

On this note, you'll find Ankora's one saving grace. The vigilantes. A group of costumed crime-fighters might seem sily when one notices that Ankora has a police force. It gets less silly when you realize that Ankora's police force is woefully understaffed, with a healthy serving of corruption among the leadership.

Which is why, on nights like tonight, you'll see Vigilantes gallivanting through the chilly, October night. They search of crime to fight. God knows they'll find it.

Glass shattered below, a dented trash can slammed through the front window and set off an alarm in the empty store. More glass cracked into smaller shards as the hooligan responsible for the breakage entered through the window. A bandanna covered his lower face, long brown hair was tied into a ponytail which flailed as he avoided cutting himself on the damaged window. A moment later the alarm was removed and the hooligan pushed open the front door to let his four companions in. Each of them had their faces covered too, they were small town crooks but still criminals. The cops weren't going to come for them anytime soon.

Mason Richards, better know by his 'heroic' alias of Vindicator watched each second of the scene unfold from two stories up on a building next to the store. The street was pretty barren, some dead end road in the downtown section. Anyone with semblance of sanity was tucked in their homes. The only ones bold enough to be out here at this time were criminals and the vigilantes that aimed to stop them. Vindicator didn't have a 'sense of justice' like some of the others did. He was a fully legal, government endorsed vigilante that was bored between missions. He smiled underneath his helmet, then waited for the entire group to enter the store before he dropped off the roof and landed in an alleyway between the buildings.

As Vindicator came around the corner he leaned against the wall, he could hear them inside rumbling around. He imagined one of them was stamping through the cash register, stuffing green paper into his pockets. It was a pawn shop, there was all manner of valuables inside. Televisions, jewelry, instruments, stuff petty robbers just couldn't resist. He felt like a predator hunting its prey, and that was a feeling he loved. He stepped towards the front of the store, then into the doorway, flicking his night vision on as he did so. Three glowing red forms appeared in his sight, two with flashlights, and sure enough one at the cash register. The fourth and fifth must have been in the back office of the store. The armored vigilante turned his vision back to normal right as a flashlight was shone on him, he could practically sense the fear in the crook as he figured out who was after them. This made him smile again as the robbers stared at him, non moving yet but several yelling.

"Who the hell is that?" One over in the far right corner shouted as he stood over the jewelry display, a crowbar in his hand.

"That's Vindicator, don't ya know? He's with the feds!" The one behind the register exclaimed, still shining the now shaking flashlight on them.

"No way man, no way. Those heroes are a bunch of wannabes, none of them are like that." The would be jewelry thief replied.

"We can take this fucker, come on!" The third one in the room, and the one was also closest to Mason yelled. A wooden baseball bat in his hands as he was about to steal a couple of electric guitars when the vigilante walked in the door. The crook charged towards Vindicator, the bat raised. At the last second as the man swung at him, Vindicator rose an arm and blocked it. The bat cracked as it was blocked, the force of the blow shook his arm but did not do any real damage.

The robber was not so lucky as Mason lashed out at him and grabbed him by the shirt. Then with his attacker in hand, he slammed downwards, spiking the criminal into the hard floor. The force of the impact shattered a couple of ribs but he was not done with this fool. Vindicator rose a metallic boot and slammed downwards right into back of the man's right knee, easily shattering the kneecap and keeping him off his feet.

As the first one hollered in pain Vindicator was on the move as he charged towards the one behind the register. The flashlight went to the floor as the hooligan was slammed into the wall, Mason tackling him powerfully. He hit the man with a hard right hook, blacking him out and knocking teeth out. Merchandise which hung on the wall fell to the floor in a commotion, only adding to the chaos.

One more left in the room, as Vindicator moved towards him this one tried to dash for the doorway. The vigilante lunged and brought the criminal to the ground. He placed his hand on the man's head and bounced it off the floor, then he peeled the bandanna off the down man's face. He looked to be in his late teens, early twenties, just some stupid kid. Mason would try not to kill them all, unless of course they angered him enough. That didn't mean he couldn't have some fun with them. With another smile he was on his feet and towards an open doorway in the back. That was logically where the two other hooligans went. His logic was proven right as he entered into another room, a desk at the back of it, file cabinets around. Behind the desk knelt one of the robbers as he tried to open a safe. The other and final accounted for crook was to the side and staring right at Vindicator, he also had a revolver in his hand.

"Stay back! We don't want no trouble." The criminal muttered as he tried to intimidate the vigilante. It didn't work, not even the slightest bit. It actually almost made Mason laugh underneath his helmet.

"Well, I do. Where's the fun in anything else?" Vindicator replied, his voice amplified by the helmet's speaker. It made him sound more imposing which often worked in his favor.

He then took a step towards the gun pointing crook who squeezed the trigger twice in reaction. The flash of light came from the revolver as two shots rang out and both of the .38 Spc bullets pinged off of his armor. Then Vindicator was upon the man as he body-slammed him into the wall, throwing a kick at his face. While that occurred the fifth crook had made a break for the back exit and was currently running through it and into another alley.

Mason was calm as he yanked his submachine gun off his back, then knelt down and aimed it in the direction of the running man. The red dot centered on his left leg, and with one suppression of the trigger a bullet slammed out and right into the final robber's leg. The man went down with a yelp and a spray of blood as Vindicator was on his feet and walking coolly after him. The crook was still trying to flee as he weakly pulled himself to his feet. Unfortunately for him Mason was upon him as put a free hand on the man's back and pushed him back onto the ground, hard. He then pressed the barrel of his gun into the criminal's other leg and pressed the trigger, blood spraying out once more, another scream coming from the wounded fool.

"My advice kid, put pressure on those wounds and don't try to move too much. The cops will be here soon, make sure you tell them who took you idiots down." Mason said with a wink as he taunted the downed criminal, he then holstered his gun and disappeared back down another alley.

Joseph sat inside an abandoned warehouse close to the port. Half a decade ago shipments from around the world full the warehouse, but now one of his father's business partners was allowing him to take residence. In the one of the more well light corners, the only corner with any light at all, Joseph sat at a desk covered with papers. Each page was full of information about soviet agents, plans, and a few other things that he had managed to bring with him to America. On the wall was a number of photos where pined with red string connecting them to each other. Some of the photos had a paragraph of information next, while most had just a few simple words. His armor was in pieces on a small bed against the other wall. At one time it was a bright and shining, but it had gotten a rust red paint job prior to entering the country.

Joseph had been fallowing the paper trail of a soviet agent apparently smuggling weapons into Ankora. His code name was Sickle, though his real name was Igvir. At one point he was the Soviet's poster boy along with his brother Hammer. After some time the brothers fell from public fame and began to work dirty jobs for the Soviets. From what Joseph had gathered, Igvir was highly skilled using blades to fight his foes, while his brother was a better shot. Hammer was also the smarter of the too, that is Igvir was almost a complete idiot. It would seem that Hammer is doing something in Asia, meaning that he wouldn't have to deal with the both of them. Which was a small blessing as the two of them together are near unbeatable.

A loud thud brought Joseph's attention towards the front of the warehouse. He grabbed his pistol off the desk as he stood to turn off the light. Joseph knows how to handle the dark, and there was no time to put on any armor. He almost seemed to glide around the warehouse floors. Joseph moved behind a stack of boxes to pick towards the large front doors. Seven men had just walked through the doors. The last of the men closed the doors behind them. They didn't appear like a Soviet hit team, so the must be local criminals. Only two of them had guns, the others had an odd range of melee weapons. Joseph couldn't make out there words because of his still terrible understanding of English, but he understood the words bank, rendezvous, and Mr. Blonde. He didn't like the sound of that.

Moving out from behind the boxes Joseph fired three shots, the two of the men dropped to the ground dead. Third shot was to low and hit the man in the stomach. Deciding to conserve the small amount of ammo he was, Joseph dashes towards the closet man. Landing three fast blows on the mans ribs then uppercuts the man knocking him out cold. The next two men charge him at the same time. Ducking around each of there attacks, Joseph manages to sneak a hook on one of the men. He then moves behind the unbalanced intruder, and grab him. He turns his arm back and slams his palm on the elbow, snapping it back. In a blur he's on the next man down on the ground, out cold.

The last man had ran out the door, but Joseph will have to track him down later. He now has to deal with the man with a bullet in his stomach. He turned to see the man holding out a badge. It would seem that he had almost killed a cop.

Pointing at the man, "be safe, take doctor. Wait"

Joseph hated not being able to speck actual English, but it would have to do for now. Going back to his corner he quickly put his armor on. He didn't know if there was any more danger out there, and wanted to be prepared for what might be out there. He also grabbed a rag on his was back to the cop.

handing the rag to the man, "hold Wound, forget face, secret." The voice changer in his armor made his voice sound low and raspy.

Picking up the man run outside and jumped inside on of the cars that he guessed belonged to the men. Luckily the keys where still inside the car.

In the city of Ankora, a woman screams. It's a common sound for most citizens of the corrupted metropolitan to hear, many women are targeted by the scum of the Earth, expecting most to be an easy mark. After the cry comes a quieter but just as disturbing sound of tearing fabric as five men begin to pull at their victim's clothing. In most cases, this would be followed by sobbing, grunting, sexual moaning, and finally the escape of a woman's last breath.

Not tonight though. Not as long as good men are willing to do what's right.

On the opposite side of the alley, a single figure stood wrapped in shadow. "Let the girl go," he told her attackers, standing firm. His posture clearly showed that he was ready for a fight with fists clenched in front of him.

"And do what? Fuck you instead? Sorry buddy, but I don't swing that way. My friend Billy here doesn't really care whose hole he's plugging with his-" the leader of the rapists began before being cut off by a sudden impact to the head. Whoever was standing the criminals down had thrown some sort of short, wooden stick at him and sent him to the ground in pain. Rising off the hard pavement, he looked back at the stranger with a rage-filled glare. "Alright, now we're going to put you in the ground asshat."

The five men charged at him with switchblades, lead pipes, and broken bottles, but still the figure stood unmoving and unafraid. Until they were only a couple feet in front of him. Suddenly another one of those short, wooden sticks appeared in one of his hands and blocked one of the incoming blows.

Another assailant stabbed forward with a broken beer bottle, only for his arm to be grabbed and his body pulled closer to the hero. A quick strike to the leg and the back of the head and he was down for the count. Only four remain.

Next, the the largest of the group, who also was wielding the pipe, tried to make a swing at the stranger's rib cage. The weapon never made it to its target though as its user left his vital points wide open. "A man can't breathe, he can't fight." Thank you 80s martial arts films. A lightning fast chop to the neck and the man was on his knees gasping for breath before a knee to the nose knocked him out cold. Three.

His next opponent would be no where near as much trouble though as the thug threw a punch, leaving the hero a chance to flip him over his back and eat the concrete ground. Two.

Turning to his last opponents though, he found both running away to the chainlink fence that cut through the dark alley. "Oh no you don't. You're not getting off that easy," the man said before finally stepping out of the shadows and into the light, revealing his blue uniform. The Blue Eagle sprinted toward the last of the perpetrators, grabbing them both by the collar of their shirts and slamming them into either brick wall. And that's the last of them.

Walking toward the woman he had just saved from being raped, he held out a friendly hand to help her up. "It's alright, miss. You're safe now," he said to reassure and comfort her.

Instead of any sign of appreciation or thanks that one would normally expect to see from someone in her position though, Victor was met with a can full of pepper spray to the eyes, the only thing keeping him from going blind being the goggles on his mask. "Keep away from me, freak!" she shouted while running off into the street, leaving Blue Eagle alone with the men he had beaten up. "How typical."

A shuffle from across the room. A pause, scratch, clatter as a can is bumped and they know she's there. Nothing to be done - the noise has been made and her presence is known. She scuttles about the floor, low to the ground and invisible to the untrained eye. And though her enemies know she is there, they know not where there is. Her escape in sight, but tunnel vision sets in as the goal edges ever closer.

Freedom never comes as Arlene Jefferson ends the poor rat's night with a knife straight through the neck.

Arlene crouches next to the rat's corpse, leaning in close in order to examine her latest victim. The rat had light gray fur once, but a lifetime of living in the gutters and alleys of Ankora had permanently dyed it to a deep brown. It was something Arlene knew well - anything she wore that wasn't black quickly became so. Arlene removed her knife from the rat's body, wiping her knife on her boot before returning it to its sheath.

It was a shame, she mused, that the rats were doomed to a life of scavenging with no hope for the future. But could she be blamed for killing the poor creatures if they found their way into her pantry? Of course not! Punish the thieves for their actions and let it be a message for those to follow.

"Maybe it's time to quit being so fuckin' dramatic, Arlene, you have shit to do," the rat murderer muttered to herself, kicking her victim to the side of her apartment. Maybe she'd throw it out later, maybe she wouldn't. Not important. Every minute she wasted on rat killing was another minute that her people had to suffer without her protection. Graffiti threw on her gas mask and hood and jumped out her window to the fire escape.

As she navigated the creaky stairs and ladders of the fire escape, Graffiti kept an eye and ear out towards the city streets for activity. Gunshots could be heard intermittently throughout the small area of downtown Ankora local residents had dubbed "The Blood Blocks," or simply the Blocks, for short. The area was known for its older, shorter, more run down apartment buildings and its incredibly high crime rate. Graffiti's entire tenure in the city was based in the Blocks, an area that reminded her all too well of her home in Chicago. It was from here that Graffiti felt she could have the most impact for her people. If she could stop crime in the Blocks, she felt could stop crime anywhere.

Of course, finding crime was the easy part. Figuring out which crime took priority was the hard part. It was moments like these Graffiti wished she had her own Alfred in the Batcave giving her direction. Or maybe her own Oracle. Graffiti always had reserved a special place in her heart for Barbara Gordon.

"Focus, honey. You can crush over comic book heroes later."

As she neared the roof, Graffiti jumped off the ladder, rolling as she connected with the rooftop adjacent to her apartment building. She ran across the rooftops with grace, running one of the dozen or so routes she had through the Blocks and the area surrounding. These routes had a pretty solid rate of finding crime, though Graffiti figured you could probably make it about twenty feet in the Blocks before you tripped over a mugging or something. That she sometimes ran routes and came up empty was the real mystery.

She hadn't yet made it to the end of her block when a scream in the distance caught her attention. Female adult, Graffiti guessed from the sound of it. Never something she liked to hear at night. She stopped in her tracks, scouting the rooftops in between herself and the source of the scream. She'd have to cross a few streets, and none of them had any way of crossing without Graffiti dropping to ground level. Typically, Graffiti would look for a billboard, or some telephone wires, or a construction site with a crane should she be so lucky. But there were none of these on this route, so she'd have to drop.

The streets made her out of place. She stuck to alleyways as much as she could, but crossing the street exposed her. It was silly when she looked at it in a vacuum, but put in context, that much exposure for someone of Graffiti's kind was exactly what she didn't want. So she spent as little time there as she could; the street crossing policy was always dead sprint, stop for nothing. It never changed, no matter the circumstances. It was just a risk that Graffiti could not afford.

The alleys were easy enough to maneuver, and within a minute, Graffiti had found her screamer - a woman with her shirt half ripped from her body and some ski masked idiot with a knife pointed at her. She ran up to the two loudly, making her presence very clear to them both. As expected, Ski Mask turned to point the knife at Graffiti, holding it out at arm's length.

"Back away, bitch. You don't want to end up like her, do ya?" Ski Mask motioned at Screamer to prove his point.

Graffiti laughed. Ski Mask adjusted position awkwardly; Graffiti realized she had left him out of the joke. "Are you blind? You see this gun. Now, I don't have a whole lotta ammo for it right now, but-" In an instant, she drew the gun and sent a bullet into Ski Mask's leg, dropping him to the ground immediately. Screamer flinched as the knife clanged loudly in her direction. In a moment, Graffiti would see to this woman's well-being, but for now, she had work to do. Graffiti walked up to Ski Mask slowly, grabbing the mask and yanking it off his head, revealing a young white man, maybe in his early twenties.

She snarled, "You have a thing for power, huh? You like taking women that can't defend themselves?" Graffiti withdrew a knife from its sheath, flinging it into Ski Maskless' leg, just above the gunshot wound. "Well, you see, I have a thing for power, too. Funny, isn't it?" Another knife, even further up. She was about halfway up his thigh now. "It's not really a sexual thing. I'm not into your type. You know, the type with those things hanging between the legs."

A third knife to the inner thigh. Ski Maskless winced and tried to back away as he realized where this was going. Graffiti grabbed him by the shirt collar and jammed the latest knife even deeper than it had initially penetrated.

"These, though?" She withdrew the final knife, holding it up to Ski Maskless' face. He began to cry, out of a mix of pain and fear.

"These go great between the legs."

His screams rang through the alleyway until he fainted, unable to endure any more.

Graffiti turned her attention to the woman she had rescued, lifting up her gas mask to reveal her face. "You okay, honey? He won't be bothering you, tonight. Or any other night, for that matter." The woman could only nod, her emotions confused between gratefulness and fear.

"You're... you're Graffiti, right? I've heard about you," the woman stammered, her voice shaky and weak.

"Yeah, that's me. Didn't answer my question though. You okay?" Graffiti smiled, warm and sincere.

The woman felt it, smiling in response. "Yeah. Yeah... just a bruise when he grabbed my shirt. I live just a few doors down, I'll be okay." She glanced at the bloody mess Graffiti had left, turning away quickly and covering her eyes. "Can I go? That's a bit much for me to deal with."

Graffiti hurriedly helped the woman to her feet. "Of course, of course. I'm really sorry you had to see that. Look, if you ever need to find me again, for whatever reason, come back here and leave a spray can. I'll find you. I need to wrap up here, okay? You sure you don't want me to walk you home?"

"I'm sure. Thank you." The woman rushed off at that, holding her arms close to her chest. Graffiti was sorry she had to expose the poor woman to that mess, but some things just couldn't be helped.

Graffiti stood, shook up one of her spray cans, and got back to work.

Criminals come in many forms in a city as grimy as Ankora. Low-level thugs are often beaten down by the police and vigilantes before they can become a threat, and even the self-styled mob bosses are frequently just making themselves more of a target, a higher-profile reward for whichever government agent is sent to bring them in. But the truly invisible criminals, the ones who standard vigilantes rarely learn of and who the police can't or won't touch with a ten foot pole, are the ones at the top, the CEOs and their cronies, and occasionally those as far down as middle management. Rarely are their crimes so base as murder, rape, or petty theft; more often, they deal in millions both legitimate and laundered, embezzling funds for their already-excessive lifestyles whilst the world beneath them goes to rot, or if they must perform these lesser crimes, they do so on a greater, more excessive scale.

It is rare that the fat cats are ever put to trial in any area of the world. In Ankora, however, there are those rare few with a mind to off them, and so to receive twofold benefit - to end their crimes, and remove from the competition a rival in the field of business.

The Red Claw has gathered evidence against one Jonathan Cape, CEO of the Blendlite Corporation's local branch. Disgustingly rich, disgustingly lacking in morals, and generally disgusting to look at, John has left a trail of breadcrumbs indicating that he has stolen from his company over five million dollars in the last year alone, and has likely taken far more than that over time. Somewhat less important is that the company he keeps for his direct inferiors and successors are incompetent yes men who, other than those schemes Jonathan himself has headed, have in total lost Blendlite Corporation twenty seven point nine million dollars. Without Jonathan to cull their activities, they will surely drive their branch into the ground and themselves out of a job, leaving Ankora free of their presence. The Red Claw frees the world from the influence of a corrupt man; meanwhile, Alexis Righte acquires more business. The world keeps on spinning.

Jonathan Cape lives in a mansion in one of Ankora's richer districts, colloquially called "White Avenue" both for its low diversity of skin tone and its relative lack of blue-collar crime. This purity is, of course a facade; the rich commit crimes of a different scope to the poor, but they are crimes nonetheless. And besides, there's always some people from the Blocks who get it in their heads that, for example, one of those rich ladies in the district of rich people is probably very tight. Or that a CEO will be forced to pay excessive amounts of child support if he gets his rapist pregnant. White Avenue of course has its alleyways, the same as any other street - less messy avenues than their low-class cousins, but alleys nonetheless, which the Red Claw uses to remain fairly hidden on his path through to Jonathan's mansion.

Sound emanates from one of them, something akin to a violent struggle mixed with various movements of cloth on cloth and rather unseemly slapping sounds. The Red Claw, passing by, is drawn to this ruckus, and comes across a scene that most in the area would turn and run from: a white-skinned, dark-haired man in a blue suit, a couple of long holes leaking red through it, with his lower body exposed and mounted by a black woman with long curly hair, dressed in clothing which may or may not be high-quality even as far as middle-class clothing goes, but which remains extraordinarily tacky in a district of this sort, armed with a cruel grin and crueler blade. Blood drips from its edge, and it currently presses hard against his throat, cutting into his neck even as it limits the strength of his breaths, preventing him from doing much other than attempting to buck her off. An obviously counter-productive strategy.

Rape of an innocent. Assault and battery with a sharp weapon. Likely intentional attempts to game the legal system. Guilty as charged.

With no fanfare, the Red Claw brings his right arm up, aims at the woman's head, and lowers a finger momentarily. Two bullets are fired, and she dies in a shower of blood, brain, and bone fragments, slumping off the man's body even as he is finally freed to scream in terror and shock. Beyond replacing his lost clothing, he seems incapable of deciding what to do, whether or not he should stare at the still-warm corpse or his terrifying savior. He is shaking violently, and though unlikely to bleed out, could probably still do with the medical attention.

"You ought to call an ambulance for yourself."

The modulator in the Red Claw's helmet masks his voice, making it sound harsh and metallic, and giving it a lot of presence in a street otherwise free of noise beyond slowly-diminishing yells. His job in this regard done, the Red Claw turns and leaves the rich man to whatever fate befits him. A more important task remains to be completed.

Time passes. The Red Claw reaches the estate of Jonathan Cape. It is fenced off, the fence made of steel and topped with razor wire. No matter. A hand twitches, three blades emerge from the front of one gauntlet. Five seconds later, there is a hole in the fence, and the Red Claw is on the estate, marching toward the seemingly-silent house. Two minutes after that, he has reached the front door. It is torn down, and the mansion invaded.

Not long after that, the first guards arrive, aiming their weapons toward the Red Claw - FN P90s, firing high velocity FN 5.7×28mm rounds, which are highly effective against human flesh and most forms of personal armour, but woefully useless against tank-grade titanium plates. Even so, and as a matter of practice, the Red Claw observes where they are aimed, and moves out of their firing paths just as projectiles begin to fly, at the same moment raising his arms and lowering a finger on both hands. He has already spotted the weak point at each guard's neck, and in just under ten seconds, the hallway is clear of living beings. The Red Claw has already moved on.

The pattern repeats a few times. Guards show up with ineffective weapons, the Red Claw kills them with his claws and his bullets, the Red Claw continues to search. At some point, he stops outside a front-facing window, and looks down at the front drive. He has performed jobs such as this a few times before, but every time, the target has a mind to escape, yet not enough of a mind to escape through a path other than the front door. "He wouldn't even consider going back the way he came," they must think, "not when it'd be silly to do so!"

The fat executive called Jonathan Cape is spied running- lumbering, rather- toward his car, surrounded by a unit of several guards. With no guards presently in sight in the corridor the Red Claw in is, he aims out at the group, then begins spraying the area down with projectiles. Cape falls almost immediately; several guards also perish in the ensuing firefight, and the intended escape vehicle, a large SUV of some sort, has three of its tires popped and the metal frame of its body shredded. At some point, the Red Claw stops firing, vaults out of the completely shattered window, then lingers on the frame for a moment before dropping a story to the ground, minimising impact force to his body with a roll, though the armour plating and strength enhancing undersuit certainly helps mitigate any potential harm.

The Red Claw charges over to the escape group. His ammunition is somewhat low for the time of night by now, and so he reserves it; instead, the three remaining guards are subjected to the sight of him releasing all four blades on both arms as he approaches, shrugging off their small arms fire seemingly effortlessly. He moves into melee range, and subjects them to rather gruesome deaths; with all said and done, one has been decapitated, another has had his head and shoulder sliced into strips, and the last has been bisected at the waist, then impaled through the heart and lungs.

Aiding a known criminal. Assaulting a vigilante with a just cause. Guilty as charged.

Finally, the only sounds left are the Red Claw's own breaths through the modulator, and those of one other person. Jonathan Cape himself, a severely overweight bald man dressed in a blood-soaked white suit and a dark shirt and tie, sweating from his exertions and pale with fear. He is still alive, if only just, and currently attempting to crawl away from his doom. The Red Claw strides over to his form, grabs him by the neck, and raises him over his head.

"Guuh... puh-please! Don't do this! I-I can give you anything! F-f-ff-fame, wealth, power-"

"Embezzling of company funds, five million dollars plus. Sending armed guards to prevent the course of justice. Assaulting a vigilante with a just cause."

"What?! Embezzli- UUUGH... I-I don't- where's the p-p-proof of th-that?"

"One does not need to show a dog its own leavings. Guilty as charged."

Three blades impale the fat man's gut, and are dragged upward through his body, disemboweling him to the lungs. His body is discarded as its last breaths are emitted, and the Red Claw retracts his weapons and walks away from the scene, happy with the knowledge that justice has been done. Jonathan Cape shall embezzle no more.

---

---

Walking across the rooftops on a brisk October night wasn't what she called fun, but she had a job to do. Bills to pay.

She wouldn't admit she was as cold as she was. Her heart was pumping which kept her warm enough, but she knew she maybe had to invest in a better uniform for when the cold took over.

Vixen lept from one roof to another, keeping an eye out around her. It was quiet, almost..too quiet. And yes, she hated sing that cliche, but it was true. The city full of filth had nothing going on?

And then she heard the scream.

Ah, there it was. She began running towards the sound before she saw the figures emerge in front of her. She noticed the woman, the five thugs around her, but before she could go deliver her own brand of justice on their asses, a call rang out, and a masked man stepped forward.

She observed the ordeal from all the parties involved. It was cute, comical even, seeing the masked man deal with the thugs who thought the woman wanted a good time; whether she agreed to it or not. She heard that song and dance before. She expected the woman was out and about, a stupid thing really at this time of night and in this city, and the guys were pestering her. She expected they've tried to flirt with her and she brushed them off. They tailed her and then attempted to force her into a situation that the masked man tried to stop.

Five against one. Nice odds.

If she were a betting woman, she'd put her money on the lone man. He was physically fit, she noticed. She eyed him up and down. Strong arms. Nice butt. Yeah, he would win. The thugs posed no threat. A small smile crept on her face as he beat them senselessly. Quite the hero.

Sure enough, the masked man won and attempted to help the woman. "No," she thought to herself, "You saved her, let her go on her way." Before she could voice her opinion, the woman screamed and ran away. She sighed and lept off of the roof she was watching off of.

"Quite the thank you," she said as she sauntered over. The man would notice a woman decked out in all leather, form fitting. Her long, blonde hair held back by a black headband and a black mask over her eyes. "I for one would be...very grateful for that. Then again, I know how to take care of myself in this city. A girl has to nowadays." She walked over and put her hand on his arm, felt him up a little bit. "My, quite impressive. You handled thosee brutes splendidly. I just had to watch." She smiled at the man before letting go of his arm and waling off. "Thanks for the show handsome, but I got somewhere to be. Maybe I'll catch you later sometime? Won't that be fun?" She said before she turned her back and prepared to walk off.

A few days ago...

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," she said to Jack after he opened the door to let her into his apartment. Lily was well aware of the fact that he didn't approve of her vigilante nonsense, but he was one of her closest friends...and a paramedic as well.

"You know I can't let you run around town with a wound on your arm," he finally replied with an expression on his face similar to that of a mother playfully scolding her child. Lily made herself comfortable on one end of the couch as Jack went into the bedroom to fetch his personal first aid kit. "But I don't need to know it happened, or from who!" he added from the dimly lit hallway. Lily couldn't help but laugh at his comment. She took off her shirt to inspect her bandaged arm, figuring that he would have it all stitched up for her rather quickly, not that she was looking forward to it.

"So let's see what we have here." He pulled up a chair and put on a pair of gloves. Jack was only about a foot from her, his muscles very visible under the tight t-shirt he wore. Once again, Lily cursed whichever god made him gay.

"So...are you and Mike officially done?"

"Mhmm," he sighed as he reached into his bag to fetch some of the tools he needed. "Him and Lucas have more in common than I thought."

Lily regretted asking the question, so she decided to offer some comfort. "Oh, don't worry about him, you'll find another man to love and--"

"To fuck?" he interrupted her with a smile, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Just like you will too," he finally added with a more serious tone.

"Yeah, we'll see," Lily said before cringing in pain. As she concentrated on Jack working on her wound, Lily wondered how many nights Black Widow would go without getting blood on her hands...or taking a life, for that matter.

As Victor was handcuffing the the five would-be rapists and leaving a note for the police, the sound of a woman's voice suddenly interrupted him. Turning around to face her, the first thing that stuck out to him was her choice of attire, or really lack-there-of, as she seemed to have more leather covering her arms and legs than her torso or chest, leaving very little to the imagination. If not for the mask, he might have mistaken her for having a very different occupation. I'd make a comment about it being a little early for Halloween, but that would probably be a little hypocritical.

The mysterious girl then walked closer, running her hand up and down the muscles of his arm and sending a chill up his spine. Something told him that this girl was trouble, but another part of him didn't seem to care. That corset was messing with his head more than he'd like to admit. Replying to her comment of the lack of appreciation of the woman he saved and how he handled himself in the fight, Blue Eagle replied, "I've dealt with worse. I'm just glad no one had a gun. Victim included."

When she took her hand away, a sudden feeling seemed to grow in his chest that he couldn't place. It was strange and unfamiliar, but neither bad nor good. Weird. Realizing that she was leaving now though and not wanting that to happen, Victor spoke up, "Wait, I didn't catch your name. Mine's V- Blue Eagle. What's yours?"

Winter gave a knowing smile before she turned around and walked back to the man, "That's right. Rather rude of me. Well v-Blue Eagle," she said with a grin, "You may call me Vixen. Yes, I know how that sounds, but I find it to be a rather...fitting name, don't you?" She flipped her hair back before giggling a little.

"Well now that we are on a first name basis, such as it is, I gotta ask. What's a nice guy like you doing in a city like this? Other than helping damsels in distress?" She tilted her head in a coy, flirtatious manner as she looked into the man's eyes with her dark blue ones. Trying to figure the man out, she couldn't get a good sense of him, and that intrigued her. She was usually able to easily read people, especially men. Sure, she knew the man was taken aback by her attire, part of the reason she walked around in revealing clothing, but she couldn't place anything else.

Victor couldn't help but smirk at her mocking his word fumble, admittedly finding it humorous as well. "It's nice to meet you then, Vixen," he replied. "And to answer your question, rescuing 'damsels in distress' is basically the only reason I'm here. I say basically because I try to save non-damsels as well. I'm not too selective honestly." It was then that he noticed the way she was looking at him, how her eyes seemed to be staring directly where his should be if not for the lenses on his mask. She was trying to evaluate him, figure him out, something Blue Eagle was all too familiar with during his day job in law enforcement. Sure, she was trying to hide it with her flirty expression, but he could tell, which only made him grin more. "What about you? Ever since the creation of the The Vigilance Accord it's been a bit dangerous to wear a mask, especially here in Ankora. What inspires you to go out on a cold night like this, dressed like that?"

This little back and forth of theirs was interesting, to say the least. It could go on all night, and she had a job to do. "Ah yes, the Vigilence. Quite a name. Doesn't interest me, but seems right up your alley." She twirled around a bit, "You like? I figure, use your assets to your advantage, would you expect anything of me other than some street walker?" She put her hands on her hips as she moved around, "As for why I am out and about, well I am not going around saving people. I have a job to do. I imagine a smart man like you could figure it out, I'm not exactly unknown in these parts. Surely you've heard of me." she said with pleading eyes, almost mocking.

The hero hadn't recognized her name when she had first said it, but when she mentioned her notoriety it confirmed his suspicions. It was far from what he had been hoping. "I do like the outfit, yes, but if you're the Vixen I've been reading about in the news... Well I'll admit that I'm less than ecstatic about your chosen profession. Thieving isn't exactly legal in these parts, even if it's from people who may deserve it."

Vixen made a pouty face, "Aww, I'm sorry. Does this mean you have to arrest me now?" she said, holding up her hands, "Gotta tell you though, handcuffs kind of turn me on." She gave a wicked smile before she stepped a few inches back. Can't be too careful with these goody-goody types. "What's the harm? I take from the rich and give to the poor, I'm a modern day Robin Hood! But, better looking, of course. And yeah, some of these....gains may come into my own pocket, but I did a job. I'm only doing what I'm paid to do."

"Well no, I can't exactly arrest you when my only evidence is your word. I'd need to either catch you in the act or find your... ill-gotten gains," Victor responded. "Besides, I used all of the handcuffs I brought with me on the goons behind me. So for now all I can give is a formal warning." Taking a couple steps closer, Blue Eagle leaned up against one of the nearby walls, attempting to stifle a chuckle from the thief's dirty joke.

"Ooooh a warning. I'm shaking in my boots." She stepped forward and got closer to the man in front of her, "A girl's gotta have some fun in this city. Besides, I don't always steal. I go out and save the streets from evil too. But no one broadcasts that. Nope, only when I steal things am I the topic of conversation." She gave a light shrug, "Ah well, what will be, will be. So, when not saving damsels and non-damsels fron certain doom, what else do you do?" She was close enough to him to touch him, a step she didn't take often with others, but she felt she could trust this man, at least for now. He wasn't her enemy. Yet.

"Talk to beautiful women in dark alleyways apparently. I understand what you mean by the media focusing more on the less-than-admirable activities you commit over the more heroic ones," he said referring to his day time occupation. Police are often criticized by the public whenever one makes a mistake and oftentimes all officers are thrown into the same stereotypical group. Contrary to popular belief, most cops actually join the force to do good. "It still doesn't make it right though. A crime's a crime."

"You sound like a politician, you know that?" she frowned and stood up, "Well I do have a job to do, so this is where I must bid you a goodnight. I am sure you'll hear from me again, real soon. We must get together, I bet we'd have a lot of fun!" with that, she leaned over and gave the Blue Eagle a peck on the lips before she stepped back, "Until then, handsome." Before the man could make a grab or whatever, she backflipped away and ran off down the nearest alleyway, where she made a beeline for the nearest shadow. "Tonight definitely wasn't boring", she thought to herself before she made her way to her target.

Despite Vixen's show of acrobatics, Victor might have still been able to catch her if not for the small kiss she left him with. With that simple peck though, his eyes widened in surprise and watched the agile woman make her escape. Why is it that I always seem to fall for the bad girls? With that the hero went back to his rooftop patrol of the city, though his night certainly never reached the kind of excitement he had just experienced.

---

Tonight was not like most nights. Which was saying something, as most of Galahad's nights followed a predictable path.

First, he'd don his armor a safe distance from his home in the Northern Suburbs of Ankora. Then, he'd do a spot inspection of his equipment. Then he'd set off on one of his patrol routes. A litlle earpiece in his helm was tuned to a police scanner. He'd hear of crimes in progress and stop them if they were within his power. Then, he'd put away his armor and have a drink at one of his favorite downtown dive bars.

Tonight was not like most nights.

Tonight, Galahad would not be going on patrol. It felt strange, not going over routes in hs head. He had more important things to do. Or, rather, he had one very important thing to do. It had come to his attention that a Vigilante called Vindicator was becoming more active. Normally, he'd celebrate such a fact. There was one fact preventing him from doing so.

Vindicator was Accord-Compliant. The very thought made him angry. In his mind, the Compliants were sell-outs. Vigilantes who had given up the very thing that made them so effective, their independence. Of course, they thought him to be a selfish asshole who was driving the city further into chaos due to his stubborness. Or, that's what Stryker had believed at any rate.

Galahad furiously shook his head. He couldn't think about her, not now, at any rate. He needed to focus on the task at hand. He needed to find Vindicator. Convince him, or perhaps, her, to join The Round Table. Galahad occupied himself as he searched by thinking of which title they'd take. Lancelot, perhaps? Or Arthur? Gawain? Such thoughts drove him as he searched for the armored hero.

Vindicator walked through the street, he didn't pass by many civilians and if he did then he sort of enjoyed how they looked at him in amazement. He was fully legalized as a vigilante, so technically he was on patrol. As he moved down a sidewalk his eyes scanned the area around him. There were no criminals, nor crimes going on that he could hear in the distance. He should have invested in one of those police radios, maybe ask his handler about it. Convince the man he'd use it to 'protect the innocent' or some goody bullshit.

As the armored man walked he glanced at windows of the stores and houses he passed by. Many of them were sealed tightly and curtained, that didn't surprise him. He took another turn down an alley, a short cut on the path back to his apartment. It was still a few blocks away and he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Maybe go to one of the strip clubs and get a lapdance, or relax in a bar somewhere. His mind flashed back to his takedown of the five criminals that were robbing a pawn shop, poor kids barely knew what hit them. It made him almost laugh out loud.

"Perceval!" Galahad whispered into his radio. "Are you in position?"

"Yes, sir." Came the slightly garbled replied.

Galahad allowed himself a smile. At the very least, he wouldn't die here tonight. Not so long as Perceval did his job. He made sure his helmet was on tight, and drew his sword and shield. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the alley and into the street, finding himself facing Vindicator, about ten feet away.

It hadn't been hard to find Vindicator. He had merely followed the screams of wounded man in an alley. A slight incentive, by way of threats, had yielded him the direction the Vigilante had headed. From there, they tracked him and set up the "ambush".

"Greetings!" Shouted Galahad in a neutral tone. "You are Vindicator, correct?"

"You're god damn right, who are you supposed to be?" Vindicator said back as he paused in stride once the stranger emerged in front of him.

The man had his weapons, an old timey sword and shield drawn. His get up reminded him of that knight from that old Monty Python movie. That amused him a bit. His armor was practical, whatever this stranger had on was something else entirely.

Galahad frowned under his helm. He had hoped that this, Vindicator, would be nicer. It was no matter. God knew he wasn't nice, Stryker could attest to that. He sighed.

"I am Galahad." He said firmly. "One of the three surviving founders of the Peacekeepers, and the only one who hasn't sold their soul to Uncle Sam." He cleared his throat. He should have phrased that differently. He didn't want a fight. "I have a proposition for you, Vindicator. I'm intending to gather thirteen vigilantes for my new group. So tell me, Compliant. Will you join the Round Table?"

Vindicator was silent as he listened to Galahad's words. He carefully processed each one, recognising the Peacekeepers when they were mentioned. They'd disbanded a year after he returned the civilian life. This man also knew that Mason was compliant with the Accord, that didn't surprise him. He was a pretty well known vigilante. As the man's offer went on Vindicator had to stop himself from laughing. Round Table? Was he King Arthur?

"What's in it for me? I'm pretty cozy having 'sold my soul to Uncle Sam'. I do just fine by myself, I've taken down countless criminals and protected many lives. What will becoming a knight of this Round Table get me?" Vindicator replied, smirking towards the end of his words.

"What's in it for you?" Galahad was taken aback. He was silent for a moment, surprise brewing into anger. "You fucking rat! I'll have no words with one such as you." He raised his sword and shield. He hadn't come looking for a fight, but his temper had gotten the better of him. He thrust his sword into the air melodramatically. He sighed in relief as he saw his partner creep up behind Vindicator. He only hoped the boy was ready.

Perceval practically sprinted into the street when he saw Galahad raise his sword. That was the signal, right?

It's probably the signal.

He produced a long revolver from his coat. He frowned slightly. The revolver didn't quite fit the seventeenth-century highwayman vibe he was going for, but he wasn't about to use a matchlock or something. He took a deep breath and pressed the barrel to the back of Vindicator's helmet, his other hand clutching a dagger.

"Put whatever weapons you have on the ground."

Vindicator did not expect such a reaction from the hero. It was a bit overly dramatic, but so was the costume. Seemed he gotten offended by a simpe question. Mason didn't even believe it was a bad one at that, some heroes were poor and needed heathcare or whatever. He was taken care of in that situation and only inquired to entertain the vigilante.

"Fuck that. I dare you to pull that trigger kid. I'm a god damn hero, you kill me and the government will show you no mercy. Every single one of the others that are compliant will come hunting for your head, they won't be half as nice as I am." Vindicator answered as he kept his hands and weapons where they were.

Killing another vigilante, especially one as famed as he was would only go badly for these wannabes. The public adored him, he dies and they find out who did it, well they could kiss goodbye to their plans for a respected team. He didn't really want to kill these fools, but if they pushed him enough then he'd put them down. They were technically criminals.

The noise of a pin getting pulled could be heard as tear gas canister dropped from Vindicator's belt. He hit the switch on his mask, givinghim access to the oxygen supply in his mask. With a smile on his face he threw an armored elbow backwards into the punk that held the gun to him. Then with his other freehand he drew his already loaded shotgun from its holster on his back.

He moved towards his side, standing so that he could look at both men that were after him, his shotgun aimed towards Percival as the tear gas started to spew out from the grenade.

Galahad cursed himself. If only he could get his damn temper under control. He blew up at Vindicator for asking a question, and now Perceval was in danger.

Damn it! Damnitdamnitsamnit...

He rapidly surveyed the situation. Vindicator had the advantage. The shotgun pointed at Perceval rooted Galahad in place. He couldn't move, lest Perceval end up with a few new holes. The tear gas would keep Perceval from drawing his own weapon. Luckily, Galahad's mask had an air filter, but that only solved one of his problems.

He could make a dash towards Vindicator. If he measured his strides right, he could probably have a sword at his throat. Then again, his sword might not be very effective. Logris could penetrate a lot of armor, but something of that quality, he wasn't sure.

Alternatively, he could surrender. This posed a few problems. First off, he didn't want too. He didn't want to imagine the chiding Perceval would give him for blowing up like that, and he definitely didn't want to think about the smug look Stryker would give him when he was brought to court in handcuffs. Besides, he was wanted for four counts of muder, two on resisting arrest, one on illegal vigilantism, and one assault on an officer. It wasn't really an option.

He'd have to attack, and he'd have to move fast. Bash him with the shield, get his helmet off. If he got his helmet off, he was fairly sure he could win this. So long as he had his sword, he was fairly sure he couldn't be bested in physical combat. Then again, he'd been wrong several times tonight. He took a deep breath and acted.

The tear gas was, for Galahad, advantageous. Perceval would disagree, if his moans and wheezing were any indication, but the gas had created a slight screen between the Knight and Vindicator. He couldn't hide, not by a longshot, but it might mask his initial movement. He bounded forwards, coming to bear in but two strides. He shouted and brought his shield towards Vindicator's head.

As Perceval suffered through the tear gas to one side of him, Vindicator heard footsteps to his other side. He had to gave Galahad some credit, he was bold. That wasn't always the best thing to be in some situations. He had no problem putting these fools in their place, the shotgun was already aimed towards the downed one. He squeezed the trigger once as the recoil kicked the weapon upwards. Buckshot sprayed towards Perceval, impacting mostly into his lower body.

It wouldn't kill the vigilante, but it'd hurt very, very badly. Maybe kill him if he didn't get proper medical attention. That wasn't Mason's concern, they had decided to assault a government aligned hero. They were already criminals that were now commiting any even worse crime, only digging themselves a deeper hole. Right as the shotgun rang out Vindicator was knocked off his feet as a shield smacked into him. It shook his head and made his skull ring, dizzying him for a moment. His shotgun went backwards with him, shooting down back end of the alley.

"You idiot, you're going to wish you didn't do that!" Vindicator exclaimed from his position on the ground. He opened his eyes and his vision stopped twitching, he started to backpedal towards his shotgun, hoping to snag it before the vigilante made another charge.

Galahad took his moment. He was angry, very angry, that Vindicator had the nerve to shoot Perceval. He wanted nothing more than to dismember the sell-out and vandalize the alley with his blood. There was something more important though, Perceval would die if he didn't act now.

He did a quick about-face and sprinted to Perceval, snatching him by the collar and flinging him onto his shoulder. Perceval made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp, and Galahad felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He had ruined this meeting. That being said, Vindicator was not without his blame. He could have killed his partner. Galahad kept running down the street, intending to get away before Vindicator could stand up and draw his gun.

Vindicator pulled himself to his feet, as he did so he watched Galahad sprint away, the wounded Perceval with him. Mason clenched one of his hands into a fist as the rage inside of him subsided. He could have given chase but that who knows where that might have led him, perhaps into a trap where he would be more greatly outnumbered. Hopefully the injury he had given the wannabe vigilante would serve as a reminder to them.

He walked towards his shotgun and picked it off the floor. An inspection of it showed no damage, if they had dented his weapon then he would chase them across the country. Vindicator slid it back into his holster then scooped up the now depleted gas grenade. He would need to speak with his handler, tell him about his encounter with Galahad and his accomplice. The feds would want to know all about it, illegal vigilantism was a serious crime, assaulting a legal one was even worse. He'd get his payback.

His attackers disappeared, the footsteps fading into silence as Vindicator walked out of the alleyyway, continuing on his former course to his apartment. He needed a drink more than anything right about now.

A few hours had passed. Perceval was laying on a table. Luckily for him, the pellets hadn't sunk very deep. He'd still be out of action for a few weeks. He was out cold, a side effect of the morphine he'd given him. He kept this make-shift hospital in his basement for this exact reason.

Galahad was angry. At Vindicator. At Perceval. Mostly, at himself. He hadn't shot Perceval, but he may as well have. He needed to get his temper under control.

Maybe she was right... He thought. Maybe I do need a shrink.

Joseph flew down the roads of Ankora in the small black car. He may be some form of criminal, but he didn't feel like it was a smart idea to just let the cop die. While trying his best not to hit other vehicles, he used his helmet's comlink to contact Duncan, his father's business partner. After dropping the cop off he'll need someone to clean up the mess in the warehouse.

The com rang twice before Duncan answered. He spoke in his native tongue, "had a party at my place, would you mind getting the maid for me? "

It was simple code, but it was what they had to work with. Joseph didn't wait for a response as he pulled in front of a hospital. Getting out of the car, he could hear yelling and a gunshot in the distance. Moving with haste he pulled the cop from the car and ran him close to the doors. Setting him on the ground he ran back to the car then pulled out his pistol. He waited for a moment then shot up into the air, then drove off. Hopefully the doctors won't think he shot him.

An hour later Joseph returned to the docks, he took the extra time to make sure he wasn't followed. Parking several blocks away from his actual warehouse to take even more precautions. He hoped that he was too careless taking the cop to the hospital, but there shouldn't be very many people that can recognize him. Joseph reached his warehouse and saw that the other car was gone. There was a new sign on the door that read UNDER HEAVY SECURITY. Chuckling he walked back inside and got back to work.

Mourning Jack's sudden and unexpected death hurt just as bad as it did back when she mourned the loss of her own mother. As she stood over his fresh grave, the burial only a few hours ago which she happened to miss, Lily couldn't help but attempt to reconcile the mismatched events of Jack's life. For nearly half an hour, she stood in complete silence looking down at the ground where his still body was buried. A simple headstone with his name, birth and death dates, and a message all engraved was the only indicator within the large cemetery that her young friend was gone for good.

"Goddammit, why did you have to leave me as well," Lily whispered, a single tear escaping the corner of her left eye. Images of the last time she had seen him popped into hear head uninvited, making her even more emotional than she was before. She hugged herself for comfort as the tears continued, not noticing the shadow about 20 feet behind her. The figure hid behind a tree, watching her, remaining just as still as she was. Lily only became aware that somebody else was there when a squirrel dashed across the ground and up the same tree, the sound of the leaves startling her into reality as she turned around to see where the noise had come from. She caught a glimpse of the man, and knowing that he had been caught, he sprinted in the opposite direction. Lily's heart was already racing when she broke into a run after him, regardless of the fact that he had a good distance on her.

"Hey, stop!" but she knew better than to expect the stranger to do as she said. As the two weaved through headstones, tress, and whatever other obstacles were in their path, Lily noticed the distance between them slowly increasing. By pure luck, Lily realized she had her gun with her. Stopping for just a quick second, she reached into the bag that hung across her torso and pulled out the weapon to take aim. Just as she was about to pull the trigger, Lily heard some movement behind her followed by a sharp pain on the back of her head which made her drop to her knees, her hands by her side now as the weapon dropped next to her.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved," was all she heard from a familiar voice before being knocked unconscious by another blow to the head.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, Arlene. This is truly a work of art."

Taking a step back from the spray painted mural, Graffiti took a deep breath of the lingering fumes as she appreciated her own work. Using some duct tape she had found in a dumpster, she had posed Maskless on the alley wall in Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man pose, completely naked and showcasing the wounds she had left on his body. Surrounding the corpse was a painting of deformed birds gnawing away at the body set to a backdrop of stars and nebulas. She made a mental note: Color palette was midnight black, steel gray, and solar yellow on brick. It was a little bit of a departure from her normal works, but Graffiti was of the belief that the best artists learned to diversify eventually.

She emerged from the alleyway, taking in her surroundings. In her adrenaline fueled rush to the crime, Graffiti had paid no attention to where in Ankora she had ended up. Laundromat, hardware store, park in the distance, bank to her right - wait, if that was the bank, then that was not a park. Graveyard! She was by the graveyard. That meant Arthur's Diner was nearby, and that meant she was getting a free meal to reward herself with for her good deeds.

--

The back window into the diner's main room was open, as always. Arthur Rose was always as careless a manager as he was good a cook. She crept in, making her way to the kitchen and taking the ingredients she needed for a sub sandwich. She prepared the same sub as always: six-inch with ham, pepperoni, mozzarella, and olives, all doused in a red wine vinaigrette. It might as well have been a pizza. After checking to make sure she closed - and locked - the back window she snuck in through, Graffiti sat down at the window seat. Sure, she was visible to the street, but Arthur didn't get himself the corner location for his customers to not appreciate the view of the graveyard across the street. Not that Graffiti was ever really a formal customer at his diner, but he didn't need to know that. She took her first bite of the sub, delighting in the wonder that was the pizza sub.

The moment Lily opened her eyes, she realized she was lying on a cold, wet surface. With a painful groan, she pushed herself up to sit on the ground. The dark graveyard scene sparked her memory, one that she wished wouldn't resurface. With a trembling hand, she touched the back of her head. The caked blood was a tangled mess within her short hair, and it was then the sudden realization hit her. Jack wouldn't be there anymore to patch her up, or give her the same advice he did every time she came to him for help. She now felt cold, although Lily wasn't sure if it was because of what had happened to her or if it was due to a temperature drop. She stood up without much trouble, looking in all directions to make sure her attackers weren't there with her. After deciding it was relatively safe, she started walking back through the same path she'd used earlier to visit Jack.

A few minutes later, Lily found herself on the sidewalk, directly across a diner that appeared to be closed due to the dim lighting, but had a customer sitting on one of the tables. Or maybe it was an employee? She paid no mind to it, and instead, dug inside her bag to fetch her phone. Lily sighed and shook her head when she found out that her phone was dead, and looking up at the diner again, she decided she might as well ask them for a small favor. She crossed the street at an increased pace, even though there were no cars around. Once she reached the other side, she proceeded to walk around to the main entrance and knock on the door.

Graffiti had watched the woman emerge from the graveyard and approach the diner as she munched on her sandwich. The woman didn't seem like a threat, and Graffiti had a semi-biased personal rule that women always got the benefit of the doubt, even in Ankora. If anything, Graffiti admired the woman's bravery, walking alone in this neighborhood with what Graffiti guessed was a dead phone, from the looks of it. And, hell, she was her type. Graffiti closed her eyes, simultaneously blessing and cursing whatever god made her gay in a world with such few women to reciprocate. This was a song and dance she was all too familiar with; there had been enough women in the past for her to know that her chances of striking out early were high. She did the quick math - Graffiti was maybe batting just under 0.100. She'd keep herself low-key; besides, nobody appreciated any kind of romantic advance at this kind of night. That shit was just rude.

It took Graffiti a few seconds to realize her little dive into her relationship history had distracted her; the woman was knocking on the door of the diner. That was a first. Usually people steered well clear of others in the area around the Blocks. She looked a little shaken, too, now that Graffiti had a closer look at her. She jumped up from her seat, grabbing the key to the door from behind the counter and rushing to open the door.

"Honey, are you alright? Can I help you?" Graffiti questioned, concern in her voice as she gave the woman a once-over. "Is that blood in your hair? Come inside and take a seat, let's get you put back together, yeah?" Graffiti stepped back, holding the door open and her arm out in an offer inside. By no means did Graffiti have the right to invite guests into Arthur's Diner, but Arthur would understand, she was sure. Well, he'd never know, and that was just about the same thing.

"Thank you," was all she could say as the girl showed more kindness to her than she was expecting. Lily thought that given the late hour, she'd get cursed out, or at the very least turned away. She proceeded to take a seat like the girl suggested, looking around the empty diner.

"I've had a rough night, actually. I was in the cemetery visiting a friend when I was attacked from behind after chasing down some creep. You know how that goes, right? I woke like 5 minutes ago, and aside from this wound on my head, I'm unscathed. I mean, I even have all my belongings with me. Weird, right?"

She smiled at the girl, glad to be able to interact with someone who wasn't trying to hurt her. "So you work here?" Lily asked purely out of curiosity. "I didn't mean to interrupt your meal, but I'd rather not be roaming the streets alone at this time."

As she interacted with the young girl, Lily wasn't aware of the fact that she was in the presence of Graffiti, someone she's heard about and at times admired. But the odds that Black Widow and Graffiti were to be caught together in a diner after hours were pretty slim, so the possibility never crossed Lily's mind.

"Well... not an employee, no. Arthur tends to forget to lock up properly, so I help myself to some food when I'm working at night. I'm a painter, do buildings and stuff," Graffiti motioned towards her gas mask resting on the table. It wasn't particularly a lie, and it had gotten her by well enough before. Nobody really doubted the black woman with the gas mask claiming to be a laborer. She double-checked the door to make sure it was locked, and retook her place at the table. "And trust me, I know all too well what this neighborhood is like. I'm just glad you're okay. Normally girls like us end up a lot worse."

Graffiti tilted her head slightly, examining the wound on the other woman's head. "I'm no doctor, but the wound doesn't look too deep. And you're walking and talking straight, so I think you can rule out a concussion." She looked down at the table, finding a sandwich with but a few bites of it left. It was gone quickly. She wiped her mouth, disposing of whatever crumbs might have decided to stick around on her face.

"You've got a friend in the graveyard, too, huh? I'm sorry," Graffiti said solemnly. She knew far too many people in that graveyard, and did her best not to think about it. "I can walk you home, if you want. I'm just about done here, but you can take as much time as you need to get yourself settled."

---

It was almost too easy. What little security the family had, it was easily circumvented by her devices. She nabbed what she could and left her signature calling card in the safe. The man of the house deserved it, while his wife spent time at her charitable organizations and helped the unfortunate, he went around buying cheap tricks and dealing in hard drugs, especially to little kids. The city was already a hell hole, it didn't need the extra help. Once she safely made it out the window she hopped up on the nearest rooftop and prepared to make her way home.

The streets were still quiet as Vindicator walked through the street, he turned down an alleyway in silence. The pain in his face had gone from his encounter with Galahad and his sidekick. He was on his way home, but was in no hurry. As he moved in a brisk pace along the sidewalk he noticed a figure emerge from a window in a building across the street. He paused in stride as the stranger jumped onto a rooftop.

Mason smirked underneath his helmet, not many ordinary criminals moved with that type of finesse, it was more like a cat burglar you'd see in an old movie than a modern day idiotic thief. He moved towards the building the figure had hopped onto, and noticed a walkway on one side of it. Vindicator pulled himself up the ladder, then began to scale up it as he moved towards the top. His sturdy metal boots clanked against the steps as he jogged up them.

As Vixen moved forward she heard the sound of clanking metal. Someone was coming up on the roof, it seemed. A curious onlooker maybe? The police? She laughed at that last thought, the police wouldn't be out and about doing anything, they were more crooked than the man she just robbed. Still, she had to be careful. She could probably take whoever it was, unless it was some big, muscle coming, then she may have to make a quick getaway. Either way, she was amused. Two run ins in one night. She wondered if this person was as cute as the Blue Eagle she ran into earlier that night.

Vindicator reached the top of stairwell, as he came onto the rooftop he saw the figure and noticed that they were a woman. One dressed in a strange costume that indicated they were not just some simple street criminal. He then wondered if it was one of those illegal vigilantes, but why would they be exiting a building like before in such a hurry. It was a curious situation.

"Woah there, slow down. Why are we in such a hurry?" Vindicator exclaimed, as he stared at the woman from underneath his helmet.

She noted the man that came up. His suit was more shinier than Blue Eagle's and it seemed more hi-tech. She couldn't she the man's face, which she assumed was the whole point of it. Still, it tickled her that she ran into two masked men in one night, when all other nights she usually was alone.

"Why, it's late. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how dangerous it is to be on the streets late at night. I'd ask the same of you, but I think I can assume given your ensemble that you are out and about for other various tricks. Am I right?" she said with a sly grin.

Vindicator took another step towards her, then stood as he looked her over a little closer. She had stopped, which was what he hoped. He didn't exactly feeling like chasing a woman in a much lighter outfit than his across rooftops. He listened to her words, and wondered if she knew who he was.

"Yes, it's especially dangerous late at night if you're a beautiful woman. But you look like you can handle yourself," Mason said, as he matched her grin. "I am indeed up to something, you could call it a patrol. You can call me Vindicator, what can I call you?"

This little interaction between them amused her greatly, so much so she decided to stick around a bit longer. She could have made a break for it, easily, but how often was it that she got to talk to someone that didn't want her dead?

"You can call me whatever you want, baby. But if a name is what you desire, you may call me Vixen. I am sure you've heard of me, or am I being too modest?" she said with a purr. She walked over towards him, but not close enough, she had to maintain some boundaries. "Yes, I can handle myself. A girl these days needs to have some protection. You say you're on patrol? Am I to assume you are after some wrong-doers?"

"I am after 'wrong-doers', Vixen," Vindicator replied, smiling at the words. He wasn't doing it out of the stereotypical reasons. "Unfortunately I have not heard of you, should I have? Are you another crime fighting vigilante? Or something else? Have you heard of me? I am somewhat well known around the city."

"Well it seems my reputation doesn't precede me. Ah well" she shrugged, "Let's see...I may have heard of you before, but I know SO many people." She spun around a bit, "As for my outfit, I guess you could call me a vigilante, of sorts. Better than the other names everyone else has for me."

She looked back at the man's eyes, or what she assumed were his eyes, "So let's be real, what brings you up to my rooftop? Surely I'm not in trouble, am I?" she said with pleading eyes.

Mason smirked at Vixen's words, it seemed she was well traveled around the city. He would have to ask his handler about her when he saw the man, perhaps she had an outstanding high paying warrant for her capture.

"Well, I saw you emerge from a nearby building and make a break for the rooftops. Unless that's your home then I think you might have been breaking into there. See I'm in accordance with the Vigilance Accord, I have no secret identity. I'm technically supposed to bring in anyone suspected of crimes. Might you have been commiting one?" Vindicator asked her as he crossed his arms. He didn't exactly want to have to handcuff her and drag her all the way down for arrest. He was still pretty tired from his scuffle with Galahad and his buddy.

She sensed the situation was getting a little warmer than she wanted, so she backed a bit towards the roof edge, just in case, "Ah, the Vigilance Accord. Twice I've heard that today. Well, if you must know, that is indeed not my home, but that of a very bad man. A man I am sure your little organization knows all about. Or not. Either way, I was paid for a job, and I did it. If working my job is a crime, then arrest me now," she said as she put her wrists out playfully, "Not all crime fighters go along with the societal norms, you know. Surely, a man like yourself has bigger fish to worry about than some woman on a rooftop? Not that I don't love the attention."

"Honestly I can't fault you for doing a job like that, especially if the man you stole from is a bad one. I get paid for my work as government employed vigilante, it's not the only reason I do this, but it helps to pay the bills." Vindicator said, then reached both of his hands upwards as he twisted the bottom of his helmet. Then Mason lifted it off to reveal his face, he looked upon Vixen with his face uncovered. He wasn't sure why he did it, but his real identity was known and he had nothing to hide, or to protect besides himself.

"I just had a much stranger encounter with a man dressed like the Black Knight from that old Monty Python film and his as oddly dressed sidekick. Avoid him if you see him, he has a temper. I honestly need a drink after something like that." Mason said with a smirk. He wondered if she knew about Galahad, if she did then he might be able to extract some information from her. If she didn't, then no harm done.

She had to admit, she didn't expect the man to remove his helmet. Now she saw who she was. She didn't recognize him, of course, but it was a simple matter of taking a picture of him with her own mask and searching for him. "My, how handsome. I hope you don't expect me to reveal myself. This is our first date, after all. I'm not that kind of girl," she said with a smile. She felt a bit more at ease, but still, that could be part of his game.

"A Black Knight you say? How medieval. I do believe I know of the man you speak of, but only by reputation. I never had any dealings with him or his sidekick. No the man I met before called himself the Blue Eagle. I got the feeling he isn't part of your Accord, but I could be wrong."

"Yes, medieval was the perfect word for him. Galahad was his name, it's a shame you only know him by reputation. He did assault a 'legal' vigilante, it's a serious crime. I have heard of the Blue Eagle and he's not aligned with the Accord," Mason said as he smiled at the compliment and her words. "Did he try to attack you or something? It would be a shame if he tried to hurt such a pretty thing."

"No he didn't. In fact, just the opposite. We had a nice chat, much like we're having now." She received a little bleep on her headset and noticed hse had a message from her contact. She would have to leave soon, but she couldn't help herself, she was having fun and it wasn't often she had fun after the job was done.

"So I believe we're at a stand still here. Are we enemies? Friends? I won't hide what I did tonight as I do take pride in my work, but if anything what I did was harmless to everyone except the man in that house."

"Friends. I am not going to arrest you, I doubt I knew the man you took from and even if I do then it's his fault for not getting better security. If anything it'll teach him a lesson, one he should know from living in such a rough city." Mason said, as he clenched his helmet in one of his hands, it felt nice once in awhile to feel the fresh air on his face.

She nodded her approval and smiled then, "All right. It seems I'm destined to meet a bunch of handsome men and then have to leave them, but I do need to meet my contact soon if I want to get paid. I'd say the pleasure was mine, but I know it was more yours," she said with a flirty grin.

"Perhaps we will meet again, Vixen. I can only hope as much." Mason said as he returned the flirty grin.

She nodded again and waved a bit, before she turned tail and lept off the rooftop towards the other one. She began pacing away, but not before she took one last look at Vindicator and blew him a kiss. After that, she hopped down to street level and was off to her meeting point. The night was definitely her most interesting to date.

Mason watched the woman leap to another rooftop, another smile on his face at the blown kiss. As she disappeared into the night he stuck his helmet back on then exited the same way he had come up the rooftop. Vindicator returned to his apartment then promptly removed his costume so that he could think over the odd night he just had.