The heavy rain made it hard to see through the rabbit mask pulled over her head, blinding her peripheral vision, deafening her with the way it muted the sounds of the city behind its persistent drumming, drumming, drumming. The dirty rainwater soaked unpleasantly into the jacket of her suit, weighing her down and making her skin itch. She could feel it seeping through the cracks in the bottom of her shoes as well, and if she didn’t keep her head down drops of moisture flecked against her face through the tiny, hidden openings for her eyes. Her cheeks were already starting to feel damp behind the face of her mask, and she had absolutely no doubt she’d be getting some kind of rash after tonight. Or at least a cold.

“Guard keeping lookout on the top floor, two more in the side alley,” One of the men with her assessed, nodding at the pair of goons poking their heads amateurishly around the corner. “Doesn’t look like they’ve spotted us yet.”

“There’s an access door on the roof,” said the other man, pressed close against the side of the alley. “Go in through there, then open up the entrance for Erik and I at the bottom. You only need to worry about the ones who get in your way.” He turned his face down toward her. They both towered over her head, but this one, Mateo, was easily the larger of the two. The suits they wore were nearly identical to hers, albeit less worn, and with the faint embroidery of a silver wolf on their ties. “Once we’re all inside, we’ll do a full sweep as a team. Any questions?”

“My socks are wet.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice and dry inside,” Erik remarked dryly. She made a face at him behind her mask, then vanished with a faint thp.

And then she was on the roof. She cast her gaze around idly; no spotter on the roof? Sure it was raining, but were they really willing to kneecap their field of view if it meant not getting a little wet? What a bunch of babies. She turned her attention toward the access door, giving the handle an experimental jiggle. Locked. So they weren’t completely stupid then? She was almost proud.

Energy thrummed inside her muscles, and she slammed her foot against the door. It buckled instantly, flying a few feet backward and tumbling down the stairs with a racket. At least they tried to keep her out? The sounds of men shouting quickly echoed up toward her, warnings and confusion and curses. She had only been told to deal with the ones who got in the way, but if they all ran out to meet her, then was there really a distinction to be made?

Another thp and she was on the top floor, opening the door out of the stairwell. Two men, one of them the spotter hiding from the rain. They saw her for an instant as the door opened, arms with weapons started to move, and then-

She was at the opposite end of the hall, six feet above the ground with her shin crashing into the back of a man’s head. He grunted in shock and pain and went sprawling, and then she was gone again before the other had started to turn. Her fist slammed into his kidney, then she was in front of him, knuckles impacting against his jaw. Stomach, throat, sweep the leg, her black oxford came down on the first man’s head as he started to rise, and then she was the only one left standing. Energy hummed like lightning inside her, but she still had room for more.

A series of thps brought her to the next floor down, and she hummed quietly as the energy began to sing. There were three more men here, huddled around the stairwell door, expecting her. An audience for her concert. Burst of gunfire tore through the air, but she was already gone, her foot slamming into the side of the one furthest back, and he flew, cratering into the opposite wall. Hm. No, she could do better. Two, three seconds passed, and she was alone in consciousness again, bodies crumpled across the hall. She looked back toward the stairwell, but no, whoever had time to take the stairs? The door to an empty apartment hung off its hinges, and through it she could see a window.

And then she was outside the window, twenty feet over the ground. Another window on the second floor below, and she was back inside. She kicked the front door open, and it soared across the hall, carrying an unlucky goon with it.

“Shit! It’s Bouncer!” Another man shouted, gun already in his hand. The crack of two gunshots tore through the air as his finger blindly squeezed the trigger, but she was already gone, her hand reappearing next to his ear shortly before his head was slammed into the floor, the sound of wood and plaster cracking underneath it.

His buddy was clearly a lot smarter than he was. She turned her head to see him running for the stairs, but the fallen sidearm was already in her hand, and a single twitch of her finger saw to it that he didn’t get far. She tossed the gun aside, and an instant later she was back in the open air before reappearing on the ground floor, alone as it turned out. No one else to play with? How dull.

The front door of the complex swung open, her accomplices waiting on the sidewalk outside. The lookouts from the alleyway sat slumped nearby, each showing off some shiny new bruises. Mateo raised an eyebrow at her as he entered, evidently having taken note of the chaos which had danced its way down the building. “I’ll start checking rooms,” was all he said on the matter.

It didn’t take long for the pair to finish their sweep of the building, leaving her on the ground floor to keep watch on the chance the cops actually bothered to make an appearance - or anyone with an interest in… cosplay.

No such luck. “Two urban campers and one of the working girls,” Mateo announced as the two men came back down the stairs, the aforementioned trio following like ducklings behind them. “Anyone else they had here is gone already.”

“We’ll take a couple of these guys back with us, see what we can get out of them,” Erik said, hauling an unconscious form on his shoulder. “You heading back to see the boss?”

Her eyes drifted out toward the street, humming softly to herself as energy continued to sing quietly in her blood. “There are probably more running around out there, right?”

The two gangsters exchanged looks behind her. Then Erik just sighed and walked right past her. “We’ll let Ma’am know you’re out tonight,” Mateo said, raising one hand to pat her shoulder, only for it to land on empty air as Bouncer vanished with a faint thp. “Good hunting.”

Having animate shadows wrap themselves around her ankle was a novel experience, since everything she knew about the world suggested they shouldn’t be able to do that. They were cold to the touch, which wasn’t surprising, and exerted a pressure against her skin while feeling neither soft nor solid.

All very interesting, but decidedly less important than the fact that Grim had for some reason decided to start dragging her across the tarmac and forced her to release Shank. The shadow let go of her ankle soon after, letting Kitsune pick herself and giving her a chance to try and piece together what was going on. Grim had turned his attention to the other fight, a drone overhead shining a spotlight on the pair before lashing out with another impossibly physical shadow.

Given that the two fighting were trying equally hard to stab each other and that Kitsune didn’t recognise either of them, she couldn’t actually tell which one was supposed to be the villain and which the hero and whether or not Grim attacking them was a good thing. That was assuming either of them were a hero to begin with, but given the way that the darkly clothed one seemed surprised and confused by Grim’s sudden attack she decided to label him the hero for now.

Probably one of the more violent ones. Unfortunate, she didn’t like those much.

She didn’t have to wait long to figure out why Grim had decided to switch sides; the other hero shouting for him to ‘snap out of it’ in that ever so cliché way suggested that some kind of compulsion was at work. Or at least that was what the other hero suspected; she’d never had to deal with any kind of super powered opponent before, let alone mind control or whatever this was supposed to be. It seemed like a leap of logic to assume that was the case, especially when it could have been any number of more mundane option, including the fact that Grim had simply lied about being a hero in the first place.

But, well, there was a guy standing off to the side of this whole mess staring very intently at Grim and Grim alone. He didn’t look like a psychic, but he didn’t exactly look like a bystander either so he probably had something to do with this group regardless.

Whoever he was, he was so absorbed in whatever he was doing that he didn’t notice her running towards him. Nor did he notice her jump into the air, or notice her spin, or see the back kick she sent his way until it was too late and her heel collided with his temple before he began taking an impromptu nap.

Oh boy, it was finally happening. All the fighting, the boom of his own mask, loud rap music - Grim was getting tinnitus.

Kind of weird that it didn’t actually sound like ringing. Yet as HotRod tried first saying something to the side - at Wraith? - and then yelling at Grim, all his words came out muffled, as though underwater. Threatening to slap him? Maybe Wraith? What a weird threat.

“Keep your eyes on me, bone boy. I’ll have you know the internet says I’m very protective of Wraith.” The shadows wrapped around Hotrod expanded upwards, wrapped around his bare - and weirdly thick - neck. The tendril began compressing against the sides to restrict blood flow to the brain, but - he wasn’t falling unconscious.

What the fuck was going on? Everything seemed off. Which was absolutely not a good thing to be experiencing in the middle of a fight!

Frustrated at the lack of falling unconscious, Grim made a low noise that rumbled through his mask as the shadows lifted HotRod high in the air, before slamming them down into the concrete.

“Come on, I just came from the rails and bought you an express ticket to SleepyTime Junction. You don’t want to miss your train!” He lifted HotRod again, going to slam him -

And then Grim’s vision distorted. It was almost like an old TV distorting as it tried to correct the picture, and for a moment the hero’s hand raised up to grasp his mask as though it were the problem. Then, his vision righted itself and-

“Wraith?” The shadowmancer hesitated, keeping the man suspended as he looked around. To the side, Kitsune had crashed into Mindraker and brought him to the ground, but he wasn’t even … part of the fight…? And HotRod behind Wraith was pinned to the ground?

Slowly the shadows lowered Wraith, bringing him closer to Grim. The latter took his glove off and reached out from below to pat at the hood and cloth mask, confirming their reality.

Abruptly Grim brought his hand back and replaced the glove, the shadows dropping off Wraith as though they had suddenly turned liquid, and disappearing at their feet.

“I am so sorry,” He rumbled, deep voice surprisingly soft. “I - you looked like HotRod. Because of Mindraker?” Grim tilted his head to look over again, raising his voice.

“Thanks, by the way, Fox!”

"Excuse me?" Wraith's reply was deadpan to Grim's quip. That was right before Grim seemed to decide that homicide was okay after all and the shadow arm wrapped around Wraith's neck. He kicked and fought against the hold, but a lot of good it did him. His lungs burned, his eyes bulged. Ironic, given that he'd just done the same to Endzone minutes earlier. But Wraith couldn't die, nor could he sleep.

When Grim realized his plan to choke Wraith out wasn't going to work, he switched to breaking half of his bones instead. Wraith felt his skull, spine, and pelvis shatter as Grim slammed him into the hard ground. Still unable to breath, he couldn't even scream.

Suddenly, he was lifted again and Grim seemed to realize his error. His bones were still mending back into place as Grim brought him closer and patted his face. Wraith immediately slapped the hand away. "Put. Me. Down." His voice was low and menacing.

Once freed, Wraith brushed right past Grim and towards the lanky figure laying limp on the ground. He had shown the others mercy, but not this one. This one would-

Mindraker suddenly came to again and met Wraith's eyes behind his mask. He could feel the intrusion into his mind. It felt like a cold hand poking around, looking for just the right thing to grab. Worse, it felt as though he had been here before. Mindraker tried to wrap his control around Wraith's broken mind, but withdrew immediately as if he had just grabbed shattered glass. Outwardly, the strange man flinched and got to his feet. Wraith remained in a trance like state while the Mindraker fled.

He wouldn't come back to Earth for another few seconds, and by then, the villain was gone. He rubbed his temples and grumbled under his breath before he looked back at the others.

"Well, I guess that's that, then." He didn't offer anything more before he approached the apartment building entrance and kicked the door in.

Two many small groups, too many individuals. This wasn’t good enough, she needed more, needed another nest. She pressed down on the pathetic bastard’s ribs, heard his sharp intake of breath as pressure was applied to cracked, broken bone.

“Stop, stop, I’ll talk!” he whimpered, still trying to squirm out from under her. She pressed down harder. “I promise! Please! Please…!” He was practically on the verge of sobbing, his face glistening with moisture.

She leaned down, hissing in his ear through her mask. ”Where?” It wasn’t going to last forever, and picking on smallfry like this was wasting time.

“Englewood Apartments,” he wheezed, one hand grasping weakly at her foot. She kicked it away and placed it back on his ribs. “That’s where we were taking them, but I don’t know if they’re still-” The goon’s words cut off with another sharp intake of breath as she kicked him one last time in the ribs, hard, before vanishing with a thp.

---

Bodies already lying on the street outside? She had competition, then. She glanced up toward the roof, considering a repeat of the previous apartment, but… Nah. Let’s greet them properly. Energy sang sweet opera through her body, and she vanished again, reappearing inside the first floor of Englewood. Three masks ahead of her, then an instant later she was ahead of them, visible just long enough for a brief glance at the trio over her shoulder.

“Race ya.”

Then she was gone again, her prey waiting on other floors.

Glowing eyes tracked Wraith as Grim trotted along behind him, taking care to note how he moved and if he was hurting. With every step the man took he seemed to recover a bit more and then - then he just stood there. Staring off at nothing. The shadowmancer tilted his head, ignoring Mindraker for a moment to watch.

It was still disconcerting and frankly violating to Grim that his mind had been manipulated. He had attacked the two people he was trying to back up, and though neither seemed particularly hurt - or at least in Wraith’s case he was recovering, as was rumored he could - it still made an uneasy feeling crawl along under Grim’s skin. Slimy, cold, unpleasant.

“Wraith?” The deep rumble from the mask went unanswered as the man continued to stare, glancing over to the fox and then back to him. However before Grim went to shake him, Wraith snapped out of it and moved on. Kicking open the door to the apartments.

“You’re not going to drag someone out of bed to beat the shit out of them, are you? What are you even doing here?” The drone that had been idly floating overhead slowly puttered down, and Grim leaned against it as though it could actually hold his weight. “My drones just caught sight of a fight.”

Grim’s mask snapped up at motion inside the apartments, over Wraith’s shoulder.

Another, masked like a rabbit and gone just as fast. Another of Mindraker’s hallucinations? No.

“Is that one of yours?” He tilted his head to the fox masked lady curiously, wondering if the similar visage was signs of a partnership.

"Probably," Wraith grunted in response to Grim's first question. He walked up the steps and inside. "I got a lead that an asshole living in this building knows something about the weird shit that's been going on around town. I know you've noticed the uptick in missing persons reports, all young and healthy, male and female, no pattern or relations. I caught an Eastside gang smuggling medical equipment tonight."

He paused at the appearance of the rabbit, but made no other indication that he'd even seen it. That was, until Grim mentioned it. "You saw it too, huh?" Wraith didn't linger to chat. He was clearly on a mission, and whether the other two tagged along wasn't his priority.

The building was an absolute shithole inside. A junkie laid sprawled on the stairs as Wraith stepped over him. The steps creaked under the weight of his boots. The air had a heavy smoke and suspiciously skunky smell.

After climbing several flights, Wraith came to a stop outside of an inconspicuous door. He didn't hesitate to kick this one down too. The inside of the apartment was utter chaos. Someone had turned the place upside down in their haste to pack up evidence and run. Devon had been tipped off that Wraith was coming for him, and he was smart enough to get out of dodge. Wraith stepped over an upside-down chair and fumbled for the nearest light switch. When a sickly yellow hue washed over the room from the old bulbs, he scanned his new surroundings carefully. Devon hauled ass out of here quick; chances were something was left behind.

Everything seemed to work itself out after she knocked out the last of the villains; Grim let go of the other hero, meaning that guy probably was some kind of psychic, and that seemed to be the end of it. The whole thing had been quick and brutal; not exactly what she had expected a fight between heroes and villains to be like, but then why should those be any different from fights between regular people? It was still just a street fight, even if half the people involved were wearing silly costumes.

The adrenaline left her body quickly in the aftermath; tiredness from repeated run-ins with bad guys and blood loss from the not insignificant cut in her side reminding her that she was supposed to be in the hospital right now. She pressed a hand to her side, feeling the dampness under her palm as she tried to apply pressure to the wound; it wasn’t bleeding a lot, but it had been slowly bleeding for a while now and her earlier acrobatics couldn’t have helped. It was as she was thinking of leaving that she saw the psychic make a run for it.

No one moved to pursue him and she herself was in no state to start sprinting. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the guy with all the knives and guns was gone too; he’d made a run for it at some point when she wasn’t looking.

Disappointing.

Weren’t the heroes supposed to catch the bad guys? Neither Grim nor the other guy seemed particularly bothered by the fact that they had gotten away or even did anything to stop it; they just kicked open the door to some apartment building and made their way inside. That seemed as good a sign as any that it was time for her to make her leave. She should probably do or say something about the whole ‘breaking and entering’ thing, but this whole thing seemed like it was above her level. Whatever investigation or… criminal activity they were committing right now was their own business; maybe she’d find out about it on the news tomorrow and then she could go back to chasing after purse snatcher and not getting stabbed.

Grim was looking at her.

“What?” One of hers? “Whatever. Looks like you guys have this covered, so I’m going to back to what I was doing before you showed up.”

Bouncer’s teeth ground together so hard she felt like one of them might crack. The apartment was disheveled but otherwise empty of life, as if the occupants had left in a hurry. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palm. The unconscious bodies outside, the three masks she’d passed on the way in… They’d let them get away.

She tore through the apartment, looking for someone, anyone who might still be around. She tore a door from its hinges, sending it hurtling behind her and smashing into the opposite wall. Nothing. She kicked in the door of the bathroom, sending it hurtling into the tub hard enough to leave holes in the porcelain. Nothing. The singing in her veins was dimmer now, and Bouncer felt the anxiety begin to set in, the urgency to let it continue.

There was a bang as someone kicked in the door to the apartment. Bouncer vanished with a soft thp and was back at the entrance, eager for a fight with one leg already flying through the air, ready to catch the side of someone’s head. But no- an instant before it could, she vanished with another thp and reappeared in the hall of the apartment, across from the door. It was the masks again, apparently down one member. She wouldn’t mind throwing blows with them, but that would just end up causing trouble for Ms. Stark.

“No one’s here,” she said petulantly, stating the obvious. “That mess you made outside must’ve scared them off.”

"It's a little late for Easter," Wraith said dryly at the reappearance of the rabbit girl. She seemed to be upset, and accusatory. He didn't pay her much mind, however; searching this mess would take hours and he didn't feel like spending it engaged in petty arguments.

"Maybe we did," He said noncommittally, knowing damn well that Devon had likely been gone before they'd even gotten there. He had time to round up his pitiful protection detail, two of whom were still bleeding out in the street. The others? Who cared. The only one still at large that posed any kind of significant threat was that weird mind guy. Wraith paused his rummaging as the feeling of the cold hand reaching into his head replayed. What a creep.

He mostly ignored the other two while he went about pawing through drawers and cabinets for something, anything, relevant to the case. As he flipped through an old CD holder (mostly filled with shitty mix tapes), a soft whisper drew his attention. Wraith turned to look at the other two. No, that hadn't been them. His eyes drifted to the spare bedroom, which looked as though it had been set up as an office.

Wraith walked in. The room was dark, save for the dull light streaming in through the doorway. He caught sight of a small desk lamp and turned it on, then glanced around.

"Yeah?" He said into the empty room, "You got something to tell me? Go ahead, I'm all ears."

He would soon regret those words.

They came at him like a tidal wave, crashing into him and pulling him down. Pain, fear, sorrow, loathing. He was drowning in their final thoughts and emotions. He was trapped. He was burning up. He was freezing cold. He was being cut over and over. Being stabbed, ripped, dismembered. A bright light was blinding him, a small, dark room held him hostage. Hundreds and hundreds of unrested souls, all in agony, all wanting to be saved.

Wraith didn't feel the floor coming up to meet him, but at some point, he managed to crawl until he found a wall and hunkered against it: something solid to keep him grounded. "STOP!" He pleaded. He could feel their deaths, he was reliving each and every last second before their bodies gave up and parted with them. "STOP! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU!"

Instantly, the room was silent again. Or rather, was silent still. The only sound had been Wraith, pleading an invisible antagonist for mercy.

His breath tore out of his chest in heaves. He was covered in a cold sweat. Wraith reached up and tore his mask off of his face. It was too much. All of it was too much. His eyes were wide with unadulterated panic. The urge to give in and let that panic control him was almost too strong, but he couldn't do it; not when all those lost souls were counting on him. There was something in this room that they had attached themselves to, and he needed to find it.

Joel pushed himself into a sitting position with his legs pulled into his chest. He pressed his forehead into his knees and closed his eyes, then took several deep breaths. His therapist had taught him this technique to counter these panic attacks.

"Geez kid, you look like shit."

"Not now, Doug," Joel spoke softly, exhausted.

He knew the ghost was right, though. He'd been putting himself through the wringer recently between the near nightly fights and constant patrols. The perpetual bags under his eyes were a deep purple, and he sported a collection of old bruises and scars. He hadn't shaved in several days. His dark hair was a sweaty mess, sparsely flecked with white that hadn't been there only a few years ago. If the insomnia didn't kill him, this job surely would.

“Medical equipment?” The loudest of the heroes gave pause at Wraith’s words, seemingly focusing on that one section. His arms crossed as he mulled over that, letting Wraith step inside the building after the other without him. As guilty as Grim was over hurting Wraith in his confusion, the other man was capable if they proved any danger. Plus, he had already let two others escape while he fret over Wraith’s injuries.

It seemed Kitsune didn’t particularly care what Wraith was up to either.

“Hm?” Grim turned his head to look at the fox-faced woman, glowing mask meeting her eyes. “Ah, of course. I appreciate your help - fights with other powered individuals are always a dangerous endeavor.” He once again moved into a sweeping, exaggerated bow towards her, but paused from fully straightening as he caught sight of something he had missed.

There was red staining the side of the fox woman’s white outfit, wet looking at that.

The knowledge had the shadowmancer hesitating, thoughts switching tracks to their admittedly scarce interaction with Kitsune. She didn’t seem the type to accept help, but they’ve exchanged so little. It did, however, tell Grim that he didn’t have the time to go back to questioning her about the kidnapping attempts. Not right now. He would track her down again, like a dog to a bone.

“Well!” Grim straightened out, voice as loud as ever. “I owe you a debt for being the Timmy to my Lassie!” A few punches to his phone had the drone that was still quietly hovering above lower to beside Kitsune. “In the meantime, I will keep an eye on Wraith and make sure any of his less than reputable activities aren’t a danger to anyone that doesn’t deserve it. Until the next fox hunt, Arctic!”

As Grim turned on his heel and strode into the building after Wraith, the drone left beside Kitsune popped open at the wolf head’s emblazoned on it, revealing a small cache of simple medical supplies. Flying med kit, who knew?

Inside the apartments, it wasn’t hard to find where Wraith and the mystery bunny were. There were crashes of things being thrown, property damage, and Grim was already thinking up different rabbit puns he could make. If only they had shown up a smidge earlier to disarm Mindraker, he had a perfect lucky rabbit’s foot quip.

Then again, Grim still didn’t know if the bunny was with or against them.

By the time the canine marked hero got upstairs Wraith was already pawing around the apartment, which was getting closer and closer to being completely trashed.

“Well, you certainly have a hare-trigger.”

Nailed it.

“So Miss Lola, what brings you to our wonderful den? A little late for the fight, and from the looks of it your burrowing around didn’t find anything.” Grim spoke even as he moved through the apartment, idly picking up little curiosities seemingly at random. He never put his back to the stranger, unknown except for the scraps he could vaguely recall about a rabbit faced person on the forums. He made a point to scroll those.

And sometimes get into arguments with people on the internet.

The picture frame in Grim’s hands shattered as he dropped it abruptly hearing Wraith’s voice yelling to stop. In an instant the shadowmancer was in the doorway of the spare bedroom tense and ready to rumble as he moved in.

There was no one there.

Well, no one except Wraith. Talking to himself.

Before focusing on him, Grim moved around the room slowly, reaching out with shadows to test for anyone that could be hidden. There was something … odd, about the room. How the shadows moved beneath his feet. However, his initial glance proved true. It was just Wraith. And he had always been considered… unstable.

It wasn’t more true than now. Grim came to stand in front of Wraith, taking in his rather run down appearance before finally crouching before him.

“Hey.” Grim’s deep voice was surprisingly quiet, soft. “You’re doing good. Keep breathing. Here,” The hero reached out and took Wraith’s hand, giving a moment to him before pressing the man’s palm very carefully to the top of Grim’s chest.

“Match your breathing with mine. Deep breaths. In… and out.”

”Maybe we did,” Bouncer parroted, doing a mocking imitation of the cloaked hero’s voice. Her eyes flicked over toward the other one when he spoke. He seemed a lot chattier than the first. Maybe if the vigilante business didn’t work out for him, he could pursue a career as a washed up, talentless comedian. Bouncer applauded his punnery with a noise of disgust.

This was a waste of time. Bouncer stalked around the edge of the room as the pair snooped through the shattered apartment, keeping an eye on them while considering her next move. She doubted these two knew much more than she did, but they were clearly under the impression there was something worth finding here. The more mechanical of the grimdark duo seemed intent on keeping her in his line of sight - did he think she was going to steal something? How absurd.

Her hand brushed against something, and she glanced down to see a folded slip of paper tucked between a stack of disheveled notebooks. LED-man appeared to be inspecting a picture frame for some reason, but Bouncer got the sense he was still keeping an eye on her. Ugh, she needed some kind of distraction to keep this guy from nosing on whatever she found. Almost on cue, the other guy started screaming from further inside the apartment. Bouncer’s watchdog immediately dropped what he was doing - literally, shards of glass from the frame went scattering across the floor - and rushed to check on his partner.

Convenient. The paper slipped into Bouncer’s hand and disappeared into her pocket immediately. She eyed the door for a moment, but.. No, that would just invite investigation when they realized she was gone. Instead she stepped lightly after the other guy, finding him in the middle of trying to comfort his buddy, who was hiding his face in his knees like some kind of frightened child. It was almost sweet.

“What the hell was that about?” she asked, leaning one shoulder against the door frame with her arms crossed. “You see a spider or something?”

Had Joel not been in an incredibly embarrassing and vulnerable position, he probably would have pushed the other hero away. But he was, and oddly, whatever Grim was doing kind of helped. Joel's heart slowly stopped pounding in his ears, and his breathing returned to normal. He lifted his head, his expression still uneasy. The things he had just seen would haunt him well after the spirits were put to rest.

"I thought this was some kind of human trafficking thing," He said softly, but his voice steady, "But then I found that medical equipment, and I thought organ harvesting..." He paused to take another deep breath and let it out. Joel clutched the desk beside him and slowly pulled himself back onto his feet. His legs were still shaking under him. "Whatever this is, it's so much worse. They...they were tortured to death. And they don't know why." He raised a hand to hold his head as if it was hurting him. All those voices were still ringing in his ears.

His dark eyes scanned the room again. The other two couldn't see the hoard of empty eyes staring right back at them. "Can one of you, very calmly, tell me where it's hidden." A young boy stepped forward, and Joel clenched his fists. A child. A fucking child. He did his best not to let his anger show, lest he frighten the young soul. The boy lifted a silvery finger and pointed to a spot of patched up wallpaper across the room. The apartment had been filled with pitiful patch jobs; this one would have gone completely unnoticed.

Joel released the desk and walked slowly over to the wall. He dug his nails under the square of wallpaper and tore it off in one pull. Behind it, embedded in the wall, was a locked safe. Joel blinked at it, then turned back to the other two living beings in this room. "I don't suppose either of you have safe opening powers?"

“Spiders are spooky,” Grim provided helpfully to the bunny masked person. Rabbit? Hare? Was it disrespectful to say bunny? He still didn’t even know what side they were on, but at least they didn’t seem more aggressive than any other grumpy masked person around this city.

As it was, this hero stood up now that Wraith was moving around, brushing himself off. Grim’s head tilted to listen to Wraith as he spoke, making a low hum of acknowledgement that rumbled out of his own mask. In truth, it was hard not to think of those rumors and reports of how crazed Wraith was as he spoke. As though he could see the victims, talk to them…

But then again, Grim himself was twisting solidified shadows around his fingers like it was one of those fidget toys. Life was strange. And it seemed even more credible as he spoke out to someone him and the rabbit presumably couldn’t see, going right to a patch of wallpaper that revealed a safe behind it.

Well.

“Not in particular.” Grim glanced to the bunny once more before stepping forth, and the shadows he had been twisting in his hands expanded and solidified into a magicians top hat which he spun around before placing on his head. “However! I do know a little trick or two!”

The shadows that seemed to constantly wisp around Grim’s legs shot up, slithering along his arm as he pressed his palm to the front of the safe. Like liquid they slid from the gloves along the surface, beginning to sink into the thin cracks that made up the door of the safe. The shadows joined what was inside, slithering over the contents like sticky little raccoon hands and submerging the contents into what Grim controlled.

“Nothing in my hat-” The shadowmancer tipped his makeshift magician hat forward, flourishing it. “But look again!” He stepped away from the safe and dropped the hat on the desk. The entire structure of the shadow hat sank like wet sand, slipping off the edges of the desk and merging back with the shadows at Grim’s feet. In its place on the desk was a small array of items. Some money, a gun-

The hospital badge was swiped in an instant, held up to Grim’s face. He studied it intently, the harried looking man… then it disappeared into his sleeve.

“Alakazam! I’m free for autographs anytime.”

Joel made an approving "Hm," At Grim's display of creative power use. This was probably the closest thing to a compliment he would get tonight. Joel crossed the room to the desk, immediately drawn to the cardboard box that had been removed from the safe, amongst other things. He opened the flaps to reveal...very unflattering jewelry.

They were what appeared to be metal bracelets, numbers carved into what was once a shiny surface. But the metal had been damaged and warped by fire, the numbers distorted and filled with ash. Joel ran a gloved thumb over the indentations. Why did the spirits attach themselves to these metal bands in particular? His thumb ran over a particularly rough spot in the metal where it looked like it may have been welded. That unsettled him for some reason, and he wasn't sure why. There was no clasp or clip; the bracelets seemed too small to comfortably slide over the hand. If they were welded as a means of securing them... then they had obviously not been designed to be removed.

He looked back at the contents of the box. A stack of what looked like quick print Polaroids caught his eye. Joel picked them up and began to shuffle through them, but each photo was just a bracelet sitting on a pile of debris. He was on the third or forth one before an oddly familiar shape jumped out at him. This pile of debris had a tooth in it.

"Holy shit," Joel murmured under his breath. He looked closer at the photos, and suddenly, more familiar shapes stood out. The head of a femur, the curve of a rib, the angle of a jaw...These were photos of the victims' bodies post cremation. The metal bracelets displayed in each one was for identification purposes, to prove that the job had been done.

"These are coming with me," He said, dropping the contents back into the box. "I don't think either of you want to take this shit home." Even the most mundane of person would begin to feel the bad vibes coming off these objects with time.

With the box tucked under his arm, Joel turned back to the other two. "This is beyond the usual gang violence we're used to. If either of you are as invested in putting an end to this as I am, then we should probably work together." It wasn't easy to admit that he was far in over his head here, and as much as he preferred to work alone, he needed help. But, tonight was almost over, and he assumed his new potential cohorts came with the need to sleep.

"Maybe lets put a pin in this for tonight, go do some homework, and swap notes tomorrow night. I got a thing at Cozza's around eight if you're interested." A notoriously shady biker bar was a strange choice for a vigilante rendezvous, but Wraith was also a notoriously strange and shady vigilante, so maybe it made perfect sense.

Without another word, Wraith pulled his mask back on and turned to exit the room. The number of ghosts tugging at his mind in there was giving him a headache. Whether or not the other heroes showed up again didn't particularly matter to him. Either way, he was going to do everything in his power to stop whatever evil bastards were behind these twisted crimes.

Wraith took the stairs down and exited the building to a flood of blue lights. Guess the cops showed up to scrape the idiots off the sidewalk after all. He slipped into the alleyway alongside the building unnoticed and disappeared into the fading night. Soon, the city would be awake again.

Joel looked out at the shimmering water of the river. The sky was lightening, and the traffic was picking back up. He looked down at the metal bracelet in his hand, willing the poor soul connected to it to accept his makeshift burial and be at rest. Then, he flung it into the water.

"You've been busy tonight." The fluid black cloak appeared behind him, the figure filling it slowly. It was a stark contrast to the dawn sun shining off the river.

"Yeah. Thanks for the help earlier."

"Help with what?"

"With that guy at the street fight…nevermind." Joel tossed another bracelet into the water. He couldn't put their bodies to rest, but he figured this was better than nothing. At least they weren't being kept as trophies any more. "Hey, when you go back, can you take Doug with you? He's out again, and he won't stop following me around."

"Joel, Douglas Beck is right where he's always been, since the night I crossed his soul into the afterlife."

Joel paused, looking down at the bracelet in his hands. He ran his thumb over the engraved numbers that once signified a human life, now lost and nameless. "Well, then who the hell have I been talking to all night?"

The Reaper was silent for a moment. His skeletal face didn't portray any emotion, but after working with the guy for so long, Joel learned to pick up on it. His words held a slight tone of pity.

"I think you should see your therapist again."

A smooth voice drew him out of his thoughts as he stared at the gold rimmed clock on the wall. The minute hand was slightly too fast.

"Have you had any more homicidal ideations since we last met?" The doctor looked over her half moon reading glasses at him. Joel sat, arms crossed, on the dark green couch across from her chair. The office showed signs of an era gone by: wood paneling, a cherry stained desk, carpet tiles…

"Only a few."

"More or less than last time?"

Joel shrugged. "About the same, I guess."

She wrote on her clipboard and continued. "Any suicidal thoughts?"

Joel let out a single cold chuckle. "I've got two feet in the grave. No point in offing myself now."

She paused and raised her eyes back up to him. Joel spent most of his free time hanging around criminals, gangs, and junkies, but this woman intimidated him in a way that even the most notorious of villains couldn't. Every time he came into this office, he felt like he was being placed under a microscope.

"You're referring to the FFI?"

Joel nodded.

The doctor put her clipboard in her lap and looked at him, meeting his eyes evenly. She was young for this line of work; Joel could only imagine how long getting a degree in superhuman psychology would take. She tilted her head slightly, shiny brown hair falling over the shoulders of the very professional blazer she wore.

"I was hoping you may bring that up. I've been doing research about it. I assume you know just how rare FFI is?"

"Very."

"Only seventy families worldwide carry the genetic mutation that causes it. Your's isn't one of them."

"My family lived in a crackhouse. I doubt either of my parents even had insurance. Mom probably never saw a doctor in her life."

"She has a death certificate, you know."

Joel blinked. He wasn't sure where she was going with this. He'd always been told the same thing: the disease had claimed his mother in her thirties, not long after it manifested. "Well, what does it say?"

"She died of a drug overdose, Joel. She never had fatal familial insomnia. And neither do you."

The cold water hit his face. Once again, the building's hot water heater was on the fritz and the landlord was dragging his ass to get it fixed. Joel didn't mind too much. The cold locked him in, reminding him that he was here and this was, in fact, real.

A quick shower and a protein shake later, and Joel was forced to actually sit and reflect on what Dr. Martin had told him today. He wasn't sure if he believed it or not, but weirder things had happened.

"You agreed that I should have full access to your medical records, so I finally decided to look over them. Three years ago, you suffered a major brain injury. You were in a coma for six weeks. After your heart failed, you were pronounced dead."

Maybe she wasn't really a doctor. Maybe she was hired by someone from his past to fuck with him. She had the paperwork, but anyone could fake that. How could he fake not sleeping for the past three years?

"Well doc, that's not possible. Because here I am, very much alive."

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly, and suddenly Joel felt that microscope zooming in. He was an amoeba pressed between two glass plates. Dr. Martin was very much no-nonsense; she had to be in her line of work. She dealt with mentally unstable individuals who could snap her neck, shoot her with laser beams, or set her aflame at any given moment. She'd always had a talent for reading Joel like an open book, prying open the pages and airing them out without mercy.

"You've been obsessed with death for as long as I've known you. The ghosts, the Grimm Reaper, fatal familial insomnia… Whether or not these records were a mistake, this obsession seems to have started around the same time: three years ago. I know you don't like to talk about her, but I really think you should revisit the memories you have of Ro-"

"Not today," Joel cut her off quickly before she could say the name, "Please, it's been a long night and- …I'll try when I get home. I just can't…"

She leaned back again, and Joel could feel the pressure withdraw. His dark eyes met hers, and she could see the pain and panic that the mere mention of the woman's name had caused. Dr. Martin let out a soft sigh.

"I understand how hard it's been for you. I won't make you talk about her if you don't want to. But I believe she might be the key to where all this started for you."

There was a knock at his apartment door. Joel peeled himself off of the old couch in his living room and went to go see who it was.

"Oh querido muchacho, te ves como un desastre. ¿Cuándo fue la última vez que dormiste? ¿O cuando tuviste una buena comida caliente? ¡Me alegro de que me tengas a mí para cuidarte!"

The short, round, elderly woman standing outside his door with a heaping plate of tamales rattled off at him. A small smile tugged at his lips. Mrs. Ruiz had been doting on him and his family ever since they moved in up the hall so many years ago. Her and his mother would sit and gossip in the living room for hours. He figured she was just happy to have a family of Spanish speakers to talk to. Her English had always been patchy at best. She had taken to visiting him since the very day he moved back here. After the… events that led to the move, he had welcomed the distraction.

"Se ven pesados, Sra. Ruiz. Deja que te ayude." Joel took the loaded plate and stepped aside to let the woman in. He knew she would want to stay and talk for a minute, as she always did. Like himself, Mrs. Ruiz didn't have anyone else left in this world. Her only son had gotten wrapped up in gang affairs, leading up to being found dead in the street one morning. Mrs. Ruiz had poured over Joel and his brother when their mother had passed. She had always had such a kind heart. It was a shame she had to live in a dump like this.

Joel set the plate down on his rickety kitchen table and went to start the coffee maker up. Mrs. Ruiz had already taken a seat, the table coming all the way up to her chest. Minutes later, Joel sat down in the seat across from her and slid her a fresh mug of coffee, just the way she liked it. They chatted for a while. Joel didn't mind her company. Honestly, she was the only reason his Spanish had remained so fluent. After his mother had passed, he didn't have much reason to speak it. Mrs. Ruiz was thrilled to have the excuse to come over and escape her own, too quiet, too empty home.

A few hours later and the loading bar on an old laptop dragged along while Joel dully watched. The wifi in this place was an absolute nightmare. As he waited for the page to load, his eyes drifted to the manilla folder that Dr. Martin had given him. The one that detailed a hospital stay he didn't recall and a death that never happened. That was a can of worms he didn't want to open just yet.

The screen flashed as his Google search finally came back: a listing of every current and former ceramic factory in the Chicago area. He'd stared at those photos for hours, trying to figure out what kind of furnace he was looking at. Funeral homes had furnaces for cremation, but those were typically shaped to fit an actual human body. These were square, and almost too small. The bodies would have been stuffed inside with no regard to dignity, or possibly dismembered to fit.

Plenty of factories had furnaces, but they typically had a heating element inside. This one had slots, almost as if it intended to hold shelves. That was when he realized that these machines weren't just furnaces, they were kilns.

Chicago wasn't particularly known for pottery. Outside of quaint mom and pop shops, the only factory large enough to require that size kiln was in South Deering, just outside of the Eastsider's territory. It had been shut down for a decade before it was recently purchased. With the slow wifi, it took almost an hour to search for the deeds and the name on the account. The name wasn't familiar, but through some Google stalking, Joel found that the owner was associated with other Eastside gang members. He would need to cash in a few favors to find the asshole, and Joel knew just the place to do it.

It was a balmy night with clouds drifting past a dull moon. Motorcycle engines roared in the small parking lot, the patrons measuring dicks no doubt. Joel strode into the dive bar with the confidence of someone who belonged there. The glares he got from most of the bikers said otherwise. But they weren't stupid enough to test their luck.

He made for the basement door and was plunged into a cloud of cigarette smoke mixed with rank weed. The underground room was crowded, shoulder to shoulder just about, save for the ring in the middle. A guy Joel had beat last week was currently swallowing his own teeth. The guy beating him up paused for only a second, eyes meeting Joel's, before he went back to work.

Joel wasn't stupid. He knew most of the people in this room would gladly kill him given the chance. The only exception might be the two he invited here. Fortunately for Joel, his reputation made his attention undesirable. They knew the unspoken rule as it had stood for years: he didn't start shit here if they didn't start it first.

Finding the others in this hot, crowded mess would be almost impossible. He didn't even try; they'd see him soon enough. Joel put his name down on the roster and noticed that it looked particularly empty tonight. Not many were willing to step into the ring with the raging maniac currently ensuring his opponent's next meal would be through a straw.

The fight in the ring was called. The man with the stink eye won. Joel would be next, and the bets were being placed. He climbed up into the ring and peeled off his shirt, already starting to sweat in the hot, thick air down there. His skin was a road map of scars and bruises. The suit only healed what he got while wearing it. He was on his own here, and that was sort of the point.

The man burning a hole through him with his eyes was called Coke Lightning. It was a stupid name, but Joel had no room to talk. The man was around his same weight; this could have been an even match. At least, until Joel watched someone slip his opponent a large crowbar. There were no rules. The bets were placed and the single round fight would begin in 3, 2, 1.

The bell sounded and Lightning flew at Joel, crowbar swinging. He dodged the first blow and weaved behind his opponent to deliver a solid swing to the head. Lightning stumbled a bit, but whipped around again with his weapon just barely missing Joel's face. Joel dropped to the floor in a crouch and swept the man's legs out from under him. Once Lightning was grounded, Joel was on top of him, trying to wrestle the crowbar away.

Lightning managed to jerk away from his hold and create just enough room to kick Joel right in the jaw. Joel stumbled back, the room spinning. Lightning wasted no time recovering and rounded on him.

"You put my brother in the ICU last night, Beck," He growled menacingly, "I've tolerated your ass so far, but you fucked up now."

Joel was back on his feet, but was a second too late to dodge the next blow. The heavy iron caught him in the ribs, and he felt bones break. He was once again on the ground, struggling to get his breath back. Lightning wasn't going to let it happen. Immediately, he began pummeling Joel with the bar, leaving deep gashes in skin and flecks of blood covering the floor. The crowd began to count in joyous unison.

"One!"

A blow to his skin, biting pain. He covered his head to protect himself.

"Two!"

Lightning reared back and kicked right into Joel's already broken ribs, sending him sprawling across the ring.

"Three!"

That was a mistake. The new distance allowed Joel time to get back to his knees. The crowd stopped counting, begrudgingly, and watched the beaten man struggle to his feet. Every breath hurt. Every muscle was screaming for relief. Blood stung at his eyes from the fresh cut in his hairline.

Lightning's mouth turned up into a cruel smirk. He figured this fight was as good as won, and he'd beat the so-called Wraith until he saw brains. He charged at Joel again, putting his whole weight behind the swing that would have crushed the man's head in. But Joel threw himself to the side and Lightning's blow met empty air. He stumbled, off balance, and that was the opening that Joel needed.

He was on his feet and swinging a kick into the other man's gut in an instant. Joel pushed down the urge to retreat from the searing pain in his ribs. He could take it for now. Lightning landed on his back, the crowbar flung from his grip. Joel kicked it away and began to lay into the man with his fist. Lightning took several brutal hits before his hand caught Joel's face.

Lightning shoved Joel off and tried to get back up. The countdown stopped yet again. Joel's hand wrapped around the cold metal of the crowbar and came back swinging. The iron caught Lightning in the jaw, and he was done.

Joel's breath was ragged, painful with each lungful of air. He staggered back onto his feet and glared down at the bloodied man before him. The countdown began.

"One!"

Joel white knuckled the iron bar. It would be so easy to cave that smug face in.

"Two!"

Lightning was a piece of shit and everyone knew it. His brother got everything he deserved, maybe less.

"Three!"

His opponent wasn't getting back up. It seemed that the final strike had been too much. A broken jaw would do that to a guy. Finishing him off would be so easy. Even with all these witnesses, he knew he could get away with it. These people didn't call the cops.

"Four!"

Joel stood over the man, bar in hand, watching for the slightest sign of retaliation; any excuse at all to paint the floor with gray matter.

"Five! Our winner: The Insomniac!"

Joel looked up as if he'd forgotten that winning was the actual goal here. He looked back down at Lightning, still unconscious. Joel threw the crowbar down beside the man with a loud clatter and turned to leave. He held his side as he slowly climbed through the ropes and walked towards the stairs. He needed to take a breather before he dealt with the others.

"When did you get so fucked up in the head, Joel? You weren't like this when I was still around."

"Shut the hell up," Joel spat, "You're the one that brought me into this." Joel had let himself out the back door of the bar. There wasn't much out there but dumpsters and an alleyway that smelled like urine.

"I taught you to fight, not to be a psychopath. The hell is wrong with you?"

"I was raised in a crackhouse, what do you expect?"

"So was I! But I didn't lose my goddamn mind!"

"That's because you're dead, Doug. You went and got yourself killed at the ripe old age of twenty-three, and you left me alone to figure this shit out on my own. What the hell did you think was gonna' happen to a fifteen year old kid with a dead mom, a dad in prison, no money, and wondering why the hell his big brother never came home."

Joel clenched his side where a large, ugly bruise was starting to form. The blood oozing from the cut on his forehead had now reached his neck and was starting to clot. He rubbed at the pesky tingling feeling in his eyes, then turned back to look at the silvery form of his brother.

Doug had his arms crossed, eyes downcast. "I never asked for any of that shit, either, you know. I did what I had to do to keep food on the table, and I got shot for my troubles. I didn't want you to have to end up like me."

"Is that why you follow me around and play Jiminy Cricket? So I don't end up a killer like you? I think it's a little too late for that, bud."

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it? I don't follow you around. I'm not even really here. I'm just a visual representation of your own conscience, and you should listen to me more often."

Joel almost laughed. It was too stupid, but he'd humor the ghost for a second.

"So, what, you're saying you're a hallucination? If I was going to make someone up to play the little angel on my shoulder, why the hell would it be my drug dealer brother?"

Doug shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, Joel, it's your fucked up head."

Joel rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to head back inside. "Go back to the Otherside and stay the hell out of my way."

He had a scumbag to interrogate.

The lights of the Wolf Den glimmered dimly, casting the inside of the club in moody blues and reds that never quite seemed to penetrate into the corners of the building. A lounge singer crooned into a microphone on the stage, offering rather more effort than could be properly appreciated by the handful of drunks nursing their last rounds in the early hours before the sun started to rise. Above the lounge was a large glass-faced VIP box, occupied by Ivetta Stark, the proprietor of the building, who seemed to be the only one still alert enough to enjoy the singer’s talents.

She was a spectacularly tall and slender woman in her fifties, with dark skin and faintly gray dreads that hung like a curtain over nearly the whole of her body. Her long coat, lined with soft white fur, hung loosely from her shoulders as she reclined cross-legged in a velvet chair some couple of feet back from the window, sharp eyes flecked with gold watching the performance. Resting lazily in one hand was an antique japanese kiseru, the bowl of which was carved to resemble a silver wolf’s head. It was also empty, and clean enough to suggest it had always been, though the mouthpiece was covered in faint bite marks. A heavyset pitbull lay at her feet, snout resting on his paws.

“And the shipment?” she asked. Her lips barely moved when she spoke, but her voice carried well enough through the box that you wouldn’t know it.

“Untouched,” Erik replied. “Grim only paid attention to the others. Near as I can tell, he didn’t know it was there.” He and Mateo sat in a pair of chairs flanking Ivetta’s. Erik held a glass of some amber liquor in one hand - whiskey, maybe - while Mateo kept his hands folded in his lap.

“Don’t move it then,” Ivetta instructed. A woman in a rabbit mask slipped through the door at the back of the room, slumping into a chair behind Ivetta without hesitation. Ivetta gave no indication she had noticed the arrival. “No need to draw attention to it. We can pick it up once the police have moved on to not do their job somewhere else.”

“Understood.” The dog got to his feet, walking around Ivetta’s chair to try and climb into Bouncer’s. Bouncer craned her head back, trying to keep the big dog from licking at her face through the eye holes in her mask.

“And the apartment? How went things on that end?”

“Empty,” Mateo replied, wincing as the lounge singer tried a note just slightly too high for her range. “The miss took out the whole crew inside, but we couldn’t find anything useful. We’re still waiting for the first few to wake up again, but it looks like they were just another pack of gophers.”

“And the trio you pulled out?”

“Unhelpful,” Erik scoffed, taking a sip of his drink.

“They didn’t know anything either,” Mateo elaborated. “One of the urban campers mentioned overhearing something about plans to move them somewhere else, but didn’t know anything beyond that.”

“And where are they now?” Bouncer’s chair creaked as she leaned back in it, desperate to escape the affections of Ivetta’s dog.

“I dropped them off at a safehouse for now,” Mateo replied. “They shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else picking them up until this issue is settled.”

“Good.” Bouncer’s chair clattered loudly as it hit the ground, Bouncer herself letting out a yelp of surprise followed by groans of disgust as the dog got what he wanted, licking freely at her face now that the mask had been knocked loose from her head. “You know I don’t like you wearing that thing in here,” Ivetta remarked, finally turning her head to acknowledge the girl.

“Call off your monster,” Bouncer grumbled, pulling the mask fully off her head.

“He likes you.”

“I noticed.” She shoved the dog away, picking herself up off the ground before righting the chair. Ivetta waved her hand, and Erik and Mateo stood to leave.

“Miss,” Mateo offered in a quiet farewell as he passed Bouncer.

“You smell like iron,” Ivetta remarked once the men were gone. Bouncer took up Mateo’s former seat to Ivetta’s right. “More than you should. I don’t mind you pursuing your own interests, but it needs to be done in your own time. You were acting in my name tonight, and should have conducted yourself as such.”

“I was following a lead.”

“No, you weren’t. You were picking fights like a wild dog.” Ivetta leveled a steady gaze at the girl out of the corner of her eye. “I can ignore that if something good comes of it, but as far as I can tell tonight, I could’ve given a bunch of two-bit gangbangers a case of metal bats and gotten the same result.”

Bouncer scowled, sinking low in her chair and walking her feet up the glass of the window. “They’re just goons,” she muttered impetuously.

“Goons don’t exist, Rabbit,” Ivetta scolded. “Those are people, taken advantage of because they needed money. They are not your free fucking punching bags.”

“Says the mob bo-” Rabbit cut herself off at the last second, shrinking under Ivetta’s icy glare. “...Yes, ma’am,” she finished, barely audible.
“I want you to be better than this.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You deserve to be better than this.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ivetta looked at Rabbit for a long, long moment, taking in every inch of her, then let out a soft sigh and turned her head back toward the stage where the lounge singer was stepping down from the mic. “...and get your shoes off the glass.”

They sat in silence for a while, neither one moving an inch. Ivetta watching an empty stage, kiseru clutched in her grip. Rabbit slumped low in her chair, arms wrapped around a heavy pitbull curled up on her with his head on her shoulder. Finally the tension between the two of them seemed to grow too much, and Ivetta spoke again.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“This so-called lead of yours. Did you find anything?”

Rabbit sat in silence for a moment, trying to remember what had gone down in the last few hours. “Oh,” she answered, trying to shift under the dog. “Yeah, in my pocket.” Ivetta leaned over, flexing her fingers into Rabbit’s pants before gripping them around the slip of paper and pulling it free.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking it over.

“I ‘unno.”

“Helpful.” Ivetta squinted at the address, gears turning in her mind. “You’re sure it’s useful?”

“I ‘unno. Maybe?” The look on Ivetta’s face told her that wasn’t good enough. “This group of masks I ran into prob’ly thought so. The place I found it got all torn over, occupant ran out in a hurry and I think he forgot that.”

Ivetta pursed her lips into a thin line. “Hmm. I’ll have one of the boys look into this, then.” She stood, her coat slipping off her shoulders to rest in the crooks of her elbows. “Come on, then. I’m sure you’ll be needing food and sleep before you go out again.”

She ended up not going to the hospital in the end. Instead Akeno had taken the first aid kit offered to her by Grim’s drone and dealt with her injury herself, making her way to a public restroom where she spent an hour trying to treat her wound in the grimy mirror under the wavering light of a fluorescent bulb on its last legs. Not the best conditions to be administering first aid in, especially when she wasn’t even trained, and the result reflected that; an uneven line of stitches stretching across the side of her stomach, an inch or so below her ribs that would undoubtedly leave a scar.

Turning, she stared at the jagged mark in the mirror, the one in her dorm room this time, and sighed. Yeah, it was going to be a nasty scar. Not the smartest decision she had ever made, nor the most pleasant.

Perhaps she should have just gone to the ER after all and spare herself the discomfort. That would mean having to answer questions though, like explaining how she got stabbed in the first place; they might even have alerted the police and after the conversation with Grim she was feeling a little wary of having that kind of attention sent her way. She could just tell them she had been mugged or assaulted and that the attacker had brandished a knife; it wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. It would have been a risk though; particularly if they looked at her medical history and realised this wasn’t her first time making a late night visit to the ER that year. She’d dislocated her wrist a few months earlier and had to get it checked out, and then there was that other time she thought she’d broken her ribs only to be told they were just bruised.

No, it had been the right decision to do things herself. People might start to ask questions if she kept making late night visits to the emergency room; it was bad enough when people in her classes or her dorm mates gave her funny looks because of all the bruises and scratches she showed up with. Cheaper than the hospital too, which was a factor she hadn’t considered when she first started wearing a mask to beat up bad guys.

Being a hero was expensive, even when your costume was monochrome gym gear and you didn’t have any fancy gadgets.

Hearing her phone ring in the other room, she let her tank top fall down to cover the scar and exited the bathroom; at least it the kind of thing she could hide under her clothes. She picked up her mobile from her desk where she had left it, next to an open textbook and the paper that she definitely wasn’t going to be able to finish in time. A glance at the screen showed her the call was from exactly who she had expected, but she still hesitated for a second before answering. After a moment to steel herself she accepted the call and held the phone to her ear, the person on the other end greeting her in Japanese; the tone of their voice already judgemental and exasperated before the conversation had even started.

“Hi mom.”Akeno responded in Japanese of her own, it was the only language her mom spoke after all, but she managed to keep the exasperation she felt in kind out of her voice. Well, she tried to at least, if only to make these calls end a little sooner. They didn’t happen too often, once every two weeks as they had agreed upon, but Akeno definitely saw it as a chore to get over with rather than something to look forward to. She had a feeling her mother felt the same way.

“Yes, I’m fine. Classes are going well… no, I haven’t changed major yet… I like what I’m studying.” Distance had done nothing to improve their relationship, which had been cold even before she had left home. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got time to figure things out… yes I do… yes, I do. It’s only my second year… I’m changing the subject.”

She paced around the room as she spoke, able to hold a conversation like this while only half paying attention by now. Walking over to her desk she let her eyes scan over the unfinished paper, remaindering herself of where she had left off and how much more she had left to do. “Yes, I’m still taking karate… yes, I have time for it… I told you, classes are going fine… if I drop karate it’ll be because I want to take something else instead. Judo or wrestling or something… no, it’s… I’m changing the subject… how’s dad? Is he there?”

Why her mom didn’t just let her dad handle these calls she didn’t know; it had barely been five minutes and they had already had to change topics twice to avoid a fight and they were both getting heated. Her dad at least was someone she wouldn’t mind hearing from every now and then, even if he wasn’t the most talkative type. Maybe because he wasn’t the talkative type. Of course, that would deprive her mom of the opportunity to pry and poke her way into her life, her opportunity to disapprove. “Hmm… and how’s Daisuke.”

Asking her about her brother gave her another minute or two to pace around her room and get things ready for tonight. A couple days to recover were enough for her and she was feeling restless just staying in her dorm each night; her costume was repaired, the stitch job on her shirt a little neater than the one on her side, and she’d washed the blood out. It lay on her bed now, spread out with her mask resting on top of the shirt. She was ready.

“Mom, I’ve got to go now. I’ve got plans tonight… just plans… no, not with anyone… no… no… n-I’m hanging up now.”

“There you go buddy, good as new.”

‘Whirrrr.’

“What? No. It’s not time for new paint yet!”

‘Whir.’

“Because if I give you a makeover today, all the others will want one too.”

‘Beep.’

“Ugh, you’re such a priss.” The compartment of the drone was shut surprisingly gently, the newly stocked first aid kit inside a replacement for the one it lost last night. On the top of the floating machine was the dark emblazon of a dog’s head, shiny and distinct. Slender fingers traced the symbol, pale against the dark metal in a slow, thoughtful stroke.

‘Beep.’

Zoey sighed, a fond smile tugging the corner of her lips as she finally stepped back.

“Alright, you’re all set. Return to dock.” The drone made a low buzzing of affirmation, turning in place and drifting to join the row of identical machines. As soon as it was nestled in place the cover was clicked over, hiding the contents once more. The cover received a fond pat as the tall woman withdrew, sitting back in her desk chair. The penthouse apartment was the perfect deployment site for the Grim-Drones, which had been one of the more attractive reasons for buying it a few years ago. Well, that and the fact that this building was the tallest residential apartment building in Chicago, not to mention the penthouse covered the entire top floor. It was a private island in the city, the perfect hiding spot for Chicago’s loudest hero.

Not that Zoey Kasimir particularly resembled Grim in this moment.

The redhead released a low sigh, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands behind her head. Her body ached from another night of chasing down criminals, sniffing around for clues, not to mention the headache behind her eyes from the new mystery that had unravelled. Just the thought of the little annoyance had her turning her head, steel-grey eyes fixating on the hospital I.D. that was currently taking up residence beside her laptop.

’Sean Henry’.

First of all, Zoey hated him on principle for having two first names. Second of all, the plain man obviously had something going on the side if the location of this ID was any indication. It could have been coerced of course, but either way it painted the hospital in a bad light.

Naturally, she had a vested interest in that.

Speaking of her interests, galactic timing had come together in perfect timing. That was Wilson, Head Administrator of the Northwestern Memorial Hospital calling.

“Wilson, good morning.” Zoey’s voice didn’t boom, nor did it growl or shout. In this moment it was quiet, feminine - and cold.

“Good morning, Miss Kasimir. How are you?” They spent a moment exchanging pleasantries - the weather, his children, her dog. “Well, I’m calling since I’ve finished compiling the first half of the employee records you’ve asked for. I’ve already sent them along, and the other half will be ready by the end of the day. It’s quite a bit of work, are you sure I can’t help you narrow it at all?”

“Oh, it’s alright. I was just thinking that I’ve been rather hands-off, quite the opposite of what made my father so popular. Looking through the files will help me brainstorm some ideas for programs to help the staff - not that I’ll be coming in and trampling over everything. I’ll make sure to run everything through Anderson first.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I’m always willing to help. Your father was… well, it was quite a loss, though circumstances of course… How is he, anyway?”

Zoey paused, fingers unconsciously moving to a drawer of her desk. A small tug opened it just an inch, just enough to reveal the stack of unopened letters stuffed inside like a dirty secret.

“... Talkative, still.”

Wilson barked a laugh, and it covered her shoving the drawer close once more.

They exchanged a few more useless lines before Zoey managed to beg off, citing she couldn’t possibly take up more of his time. Plus, she had a new project to do! He wished her luck before she hung up, immediately turning her full attention to the laptop. The compressed and passworded file Wilson sent was a treasure trove of information, one that wouldn’t have easily been acquired if not for her unique position. It was why she was so quick to snatch that I.D. in the first place.

After all, in the hands of either of the other two with Grim last night, they might have very well just gone guns blazing through her hospital.

“Let’s see… Henry, Sean. Mortuary Assistant…”

Joel made his way up the narrow staircase that lead to the upper floor of the bar. There were five rooms occupied by a handful of ladies of the night. This was probably a safer gig than getting into random men's cars, so Joel couldn't be pressed to report the less than legal activities that went on up there. He picked the last room at the end of the hall and was immediately met by a scantily clad woman who hastily hid her phone and struck a pose on the bed.

"Hey there Papi," She cooed in a low voice, "I love a man fresh from the fight."

Joel dug into his pocket and pulled out the cash he'd just won. He separated a hundred and handed it to her.

"Out."

"Say less," The woman said, immediately dropping the act. She stuffed the money into her bra, grabbed her phone, and sauntered out of the room.

Joel set his drawsting backpack on the bed and shoved his suit aside to find the medical supplies he kept. He took the roll of ace bandage and carefully wrapped it around his chest, securing the broken ribs enough that he could push through tonight. The skill at which he performed the self administered first aid suggested that he had done this once or twice before.

In the small bathroom, Joel cleaned the dried blood off his fresh wounds and applied butterfly closures to the nastier cuts. A chill in the air and a black cloak in the reflection behind him alerted Joel to the sudden presence of a friend.

"Wasn't the purpose of the suit I gave you to avoid wounds like this?"

"Can't afford to get too comfortable, Reap. Won't do me any favors to forget how to dodge hits."

"Hmmm." That was the only response he received to his logic. Joel was actually relieved to see his arcane friend; he had a few questions after the day he'd had.

"Hey Reaper, can I ask a question?"

"Of course, child."

Joel paused and turned to the goulish face in black garb. "You are real, right? I'm not just…imagining this whole thing?"

"I am very real, yes."

"So I'm not just schizophrenic?"

"I know unfortunately little of the ailments that haunt the living. But I do know that your mind is very damaged."

Joel let out a cold chuckle. "Thanks, that's really helpful, bud."

"I wish I could tell you more, but-"

"Yeah, yeah. The rules, I know." Joel sighed, "I know there's things you're not telling me. You want to, but you can't. I can respect that…But, if you aren't allowed to interfere with the living, then why doesn't that include me?"

"It's a bit complicated."

"Is it because I talk to dead people?"

"Something like that."

"Okay. But I'm not, like, dead, right?"

"No, of course not. That would be an incredibly cheesy plot twist."

"Yeah. But you'd tell me if I was dead, right?" Joel turned back to the mirror to place another tape on his hairline cut.

"Joel, I can assure you that if you were still dead, you would be fully aware of it."

"Still dead? What?" Joel spun around to face the Reaper, but he was gone. He let out a frustrated sigh. Any time he managed to pry any sort of information out of that cryptic fuck, the goul took off. He strode back over to the bed and tossed his supplies back into the bag. Joel suited up and went back out into the hall. Immediately, he was faced by the woman that he'd kicked out. She snapped her gum, eyes looking him up and down judgementally.

"Weird shit costs extra," She said flatly.

"Sorry, got more weird shit than cash." Wraith stepped aside to let her have her room back. But before she could close the door, he turned to her. "Speaking of, have you seen a Jerry Walters here tonight?"

The woman made an amused sneer. "Yeah, he's fuckin' Becka in that room right there." She pointed up the hall. Wraith thanked her, and she promptly closed the door in his face.

He approached the other room and didn't hesitate to barge in. There was a shrill scream and a naked woman hastily clamored off the bed and began picking up her outfit. A bewildered, pale, balding man was left behind. He immediately pulled the covers over himself and began to curse.

"The fuck is wrong with you?! Get the hell out!"

Wraith turned to the now dressed hooker, "You probably want to leave."

"He still owes me money," She snapped back at him. Wraith walked further into the room and picked up the discarded trousers off the floor. He pulled a thick wallet out of the back pocket and held it out to her. The woman wasted no time snatching the whole thing and darting out the door.

"Hey!" Jerry protested. He made like he was about to get up and chase her.

"Sit. Down." Wraith's voice was dangerous and low. The meeker man immediately did as he was told. Wraith knew a stuck pig when he saw one; it wouldn't take much to make this one squeal.

"If this about the money I owe Luke, tell him I got it tomorrow," Jerry whimpered, "I'm good for it, I swear."

"I don't care about your dept," Wraith drew closer and the man cowered under the sheets. Barely his head poked out now. "I'm here to discuss your real estate investments."

"What?"

"The ceramics factory. If you're gonna' buy a property to conduct shady business, you should really use a fake name."

The man balked. "Hey, I had perfectly legal plans for that! I was gonna' level that eyesore and open a strip club and lounge. One of the real swanky type places."

"And what is it being used for now?"

The man went a little paler. "I-I dunno'. I got a message that some company wanted to use it. Never got a name. They sent money through the mail, no return address. In this kind of business, I learn to not ask questions, you know?" He nervously wrang the sheets in his hands.

"You haven't been there recently?"

"No, not since whoever began to do whatever out there. I don't wanna' be no witness."

Wraith had to admit that Jerry seemed truthful. After all, a coward like that only stayed alive by keeping their noses out of the wrong places. That meant his trail was running cold. The only thing he had left was staking the factory out and hoping he caught the scum in the act.

Wraith turned and left, leaving the portly man to scramble for his clothes and slam the door shut behind him. The others seemingly hadn't shown, so Wraith was on his own for now.