The office of Nadar Realty sat in the corner of a small, single-level business complex set slightly back from the street. It shared its home with a failing nail salon on one side and a chinese takeout restaurant on the other, which may as well have been the agency’s personal catering service for how often they patronized the establishment. The owner of the agency was one Mr. Patrick Nadar, who kept a small but impeccably organized office at the back of the layout, across from the door and through an open floor space lined with a handful of asymmetrically aligned desk spaces for his few employees.

His second-in-command in the agency was the lovely if somewhat aging Miss Natasha White, who flicked through a filing cabinet in the corner of Patrick’s office, occasionally pulling files from obtusely numbered manila folders and adding them to the increasingly heavy binder tucked under one arm while Patrick worked to copy files onto a flashdrive before removing them from the agency’s computer system and deleting them off his personal harddrive, a level of paranoia his team had always been curious about but which none had ever approached him to ask about. After all, wasn’t it only appropriate to make the added effort to protect your clients’ confidentiality?

Patrick’s hand stopped mid keystroke, his eyes focusing on something before him that wasn’t on his screen. A small smile touched his lips, and he rose calmly from his seat, tucking the flashdrive into the inner pocket of his immaculately tailored steel gray suit. “I think that’ll have to do, Natasha,” he said, gesturing toward the door with one manicured hand in invitation. He stepped briskly out onto the agency’s main floor after her, clearing his throat as he took up position in the doorway of his office.

The hushed clamor of voices speaking into phone receivers stopped, the faces of his employees turning to face him as one. “I think that’s enough for today, everyone!” he announced with friendly vigor, clapping his hands together in front of him. “You’ve all been working exceptionally hard lately, and I cannot express enough how much I appreciate each and every one of you. We have the best team in Illinois, I really believe that! Possibly the best in America, or even the world! So I think as a show of my appreciation, we’ll call it here for today and you guys can take the rest of the day off, my treat.”

There were murmurs of confusion and hesitation; they had clients on the phone, of course. They couldn’t just leave! Patrick just laughed and waved away all voices of dissent. Almost on cue, Patrick heard the crunch of tires on gravel as a car turned into the parking lot outside. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll understand! And if they don’t, then they’re free to enjoy the good graces of our competitors. With how much trouble those guys will give them, I have no doubt they’ll all be back before long!” He punctuated the claim with another laugh before clapping his hands together once more. “Now, all of you, enjoy your evening, rest up, spend some time with your families, and I’ll see you all again tomorrow morning, okay?”

There was another breath of hesitation before Patrick was met with the clatter of phones being hung up and chairs pushed back as his staff started to rise and gather their things. He really did have nothing but appreciation for his team; Patrick understood how rare it was to find such competent, obedient people.

“Great,” he said to himself under his breath, before turning to Natasha. “I can trust you to handle things, right Natasha?” he asked, taking the binder from her as soon as she moved to hand it over.

“Of course,” she replied, meeting his smile with one of her own before heading for the door.

Patrick nodded to himself in satisfaction, then turned on his heel and headed back into the office. He and Natasha had an understanding in place, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would perform admirably. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk to pull two things out at the same time he heard the little bell over the door ring again, this time caused by someone stepping inside.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment!” he called, pulling the snow white mask over his head and lacing up the back with practiced fingers. Patrick wished, not for the first time, that he had a mirror in his office; he would have loved to see the mirrored surface of the mask’s face staring back at him, reflecting everything he looked at. He set the binder on the floor by his desk before turning to go greet his guests. It would be a shame not to have physical copies anymore, but he supposed those were the risks he had to accept in this line of work.

He leaned back before stepping through the door of his office, letting Erik’s grasping hand sail through empty air. Patrick stepped lightly around the man as he stumbled off-balance from his unexpected miss. Quick footwork sent Patrick spinning around another attempted grab by Mateo, and he thrust his leg out to send the larger man tumbling into one of the desks.

“Gentlemen, I must request you keep your hands to yourselves,” he tutted, folding his hands behind his back. “This is leaving such a bad first impression for me.”

“What can I say? We’re just too friendly,” Erik quipped back, circling around him as Mateo got back to his feet. “I always liked to think of myself as a hugger.” Then he rushed the realtor, his fist flying toward Patrick’s face and meeting empty air. Patrick’s own fist found painful contact below Erik’s ribs before whirling around him and sending two more strikes into Erik’s back.

Patrick ducked under a swing from Mateo, dancing out of reach as the man followed it with a shoulder check and another slug from the left. The pair were trying to pin him between the two of them, using the cluttered space to their advantage, but any time it seemed like they might manage it Patrick would simply duck in close and go under one of their arms, coming out the opposite side.

“Oh, you brought another friend with you,” Patrick remarked out of nowhere, weaving around one of Erik’s punches and delivering another of his own into the man’s stomach. “Let’s make room for her, then.”

He stepped around Erik, jabbing him in the kidney before kicking at the back of his knee, buckling it out from under him. Patrick grabbed a monitor and yanked it free of its chords, slamming it across the side of Erik’s head. The man went down in a daze, and another kick into the back of his head put him out cold.

Mateo snarled in rage, leaping up on top of one of the desks and using it as a launching platform into the air to bring a fist down at Patrick’s head. Patrick danced to the side, then spun into a kick at Mateo’s head in turn as the larger man landed, sending him sprawling. Mateo got back to his feet, shaking the dizziness from his brain as he did so. Patrick had a fleeting thought to keep up the pressure on him, but he had another appointment to keep. He withdrew something inside his jacket from its spot under his arm, beginning to turn to the side as he did so.

Right on time, a faint thp announced the next arrival, synchronizing perfectly with the flex of Patrick’s finger on the trigger. THe crack of a gunshot tore through the small office space, and Bouncer fell out of the air as a bullet ripped through her side, crashing on one of the desks before falling to the floor.

It was a grazing blow, too far to the side to hit anything critical. Bouncer bit back the pain, gripping the side of the desk to pull herself back up. Mateo was back in the fight, but he couldn’t land a single hit on the bastard in the reflective mask. The hand with the gun hung at the man’s side, only using his empty left fist to throw hits back at Mateo as he danced around the mobster. Bouncer grit her teeth, squaring her feet beneath her. The guy might’ve gotten lucky once, but he wouldn’t again. There was another faint thp and then-

A second gunshot rang out, a bullet tearing its way through Bouncer’s thigh. She swore loudly as she hit the ground again. “Language!” Patrick scolded. “This is a place of business, madam!”

Bouncer grunted in pain as she tried to pull herself back up to her feet. She saw Mateo slump to the ground as another kick caught the side of his head, and a groan from Erik told her that while he might be regaining consciousness, he wasn’t getting back up any time soon. “Son of a bitch! she cursed through clenched teeth as her leg buckled underneath her. Bouncer pressed one hand against the hole in her side, the smell of iron beginning to clog her nostrils. It was joined by a second, acrid stench beneath it, and she slowly realized smoke was beginning to fill the building.

“I do apologize for this,” Patrick said, shaking Mateo’s hand off his leg as he returned his pistol to its holster. “Honestly, this really is quite the mess here. I don’t suppose any of you folk could tell me where you got my address from? Leaky lips sink ships, after all!” He laughed softly as he gazed around at the three of them, then sighed and brushed his hair back out of his face. “I honestly can’t think of who it might be, though. The few I had the pleasure of speaking with seemed like discreet sorts.”

“Oh!” Patrick clapped his fist against his palm, something occurring to him. “Maybe it was that shifty fellow who thought I didn’t notice him checking out the building. Though honestly, I’d just thought he was planning to rob the place!” He laughed again, shrugging his shoulders as if he’d made some clumsy mistake. The smoke was getting thicker, and Bouncer felt dry heat prickle against her skin. “Oh well,” Patrick continued, stepping over Mateo as he walked toward the door. “A shame about the office, but I was considering a change of scenery anyway. Goodbye everyone, and sorry again!” Then he disappeared through the door.

”Shit.” Bouncer tried to get to her feet again, pulling the rabbit mask off her head. It was getting hard to breathe in here, and the mask was only making it harder. ”Oi!” she shouted, trying to rouse Erik and Mateo back into motion. ”We need to-” she tried limping toward the exit, only to fall again. She could just teleport out, but…

Rabbit crawled with one arm and leg toward Erik, dragging her wounded leg behind her and keeping a hand pressed on her side. “Hey.” She grabbed his suit when she reached him, shaking him as best she could to rouse him back to full consciousness. “Hey!” Erik groaned again, but made no effort to move. The air was thick and black above her head, and she could see flames starting to lick through the walls. There was shouting outside, from people evacuating the other businesses in the complex. Rabbit didn’t hear sirens yet. “God damn it!”

She looked over at Mateo, where he was trying to get back up, struggling to find any strength as he coughed against the choking black smoke. Rabbit shook Erik one more time, and was rewarded with weak coughing as the man started to shift. “Damn it,” she cursed softly, fighting back coughs of her own. She didn’t have time for this.

A faint thp and she was outside, the gravel of the parking lot digging through her slacks into the leg she sat on. She took quiet gasps of clean air, looking around her at the people gathered outside the burning building. A few noticed her as she appeared out of thin air, an elderly Chinese woman beginning to step toward her after processing her injured state. Rabbit accepted her help, leaning on the woman’s shoulder as she made one more attempt to get back to her feet.

“Inside,” Rabbit started, gesturing toward what used to be a realtor agency. “There’s-” She faltered. What was this old woman going to do? Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone who looked capable of hauling two large men out of a burning building. She still couldn’t hear any sirens.

She pushed off the Chinese woman, balancing on one leg as she began to hobble back toward the building. There was a thp and Rabbit was back inside, collapsing immediately as her lungs were assaulted by smoke. She squinted her burning, watery eyes through the miasma, looking for where Erik and Mateo were. She saw Mateo first, where he had tried to crawl toward the door but stopped, too injured and coughing too much to continue. Rabbit crawled toward him, trying to keep her head beneath the smoke so she could breathe easier. She reached her hand out, taking hold of his sleeve before looking back toward the door.

A thp and Rabbit was back outside. She looked down, seeing only the gravel topped parking lot and a strip of tailored silk clutched in her hand. Rabbit threw it aside, then vanished and reappeared back in the burning building. She found herself closer to Erik this time, close enough to wrap her arms around his chest. She gripped him tight, pulling him as closely as she could, then with eyes shut tight against the burning, acrid smoke there was a thp and she was back in the parking lot, once more holding nothing but scraps of cloth. How long had it been? A few minutes? She still couldn’t hear sirens.

’Don’t tell the gods I left a mess, I can’t undo what has been done.’

Fingers drummed against the shoddy metal desk beneath them, chipped and chewed nails clacking idly. The equally chipped wooden clipboard beside them moved slightly from the vibrations, or maybe just from how flimsy the desk was beneath it.

’What if I’m the only hero left? You better fire off your gun.’

Finally the hand stopped and a heavy sigh fluttered the ends of the paper, before the other hand brought its pen around and began to fill out the boxes on the lower half of the page. The top was already filled out. Name, age, sex - all the easy information. Even the marks and wounds section was mostly filled out.

’We are the heroes of our time… but we’re dancing with the demons in our minds. Hero-o-oes!’

Probable cause of death. Now that was a bit more tricky, since no one should be looking too closely…

“Mr. Henry!” The earbud was pulled out of the gaunt man’s ear by the wire, causing him to jump. He cursed as his knee hit the bottom of the desk, knocking half the contents over - including his phone, which clattered to the floor, ripping the other earbud out. At the moment he didn’t care about that, since Sean was shooting to his feet in a ramrod straight posture, eyes wide and panicked.

“Uh, Mister Anderson! Uh, I was just, filling out some paperwork-” The much more put-together man before him just narrowed his eyes, and Sean could almost see the ban on any electronic devices already being passed down to the morgue. Sean didn’t dare turn his gaze away, but as the seconds ticked by he couldn’t help but swallow nervously, adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

“Oh, your earbuds broke.” Sean’s eyes shot over to the other person in the room he didn’t have the nerve to look at before, not with the Head of HR having caught him in such a position. It was a very tall redheaded woman, dressed… nicely? He guessed? It wasn’t workplace appropriate, but she wasn’t crying and covered in smudged make up so he had no idea why she was in the morgue.

But more importantly she was holding his phone in one hand, earbuds in the other - frowning as she looked at the end of said earbuds, the metal of the jack snapped clean off and no where to be found. Sean couldn’t help but groan, raising his hands to run down his face. He had just bought that - crap, did he get the warranty?

“Here, I’ll pay for it.”

“Miss Kasimir, that’s not necessary. He shouldn’t have been-”

“No, I insist.” The woman flashed Sean a small smile, handing him the phone before reaching into her purse. Before his mouth could reconnect to his brain to say something - anything - she had pulled out a wallet and he nearly choked on his own spit seeing the contents.

Who walks around with that much money on them? Who even walks around with money anymore?!

“After all, if I wasn’t getting the tour we wouldn’t have interrupted.” She laughed as she held out a hundred dollar bill as if it was nothing. As if that was an appropriate replacement for his shitty dollar store earbuds. Sean made a very intelligent ‘uh’ and took the bill.

“... Tour?” He finally managed to say, prompting Mister Anderson to sigh deeply.

“Miss Kasimir is touring her hospital on a good will project.”

“Yes! I wanted to check out the morgue first, I know it’s not a very glamorous job but what you do is important.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sean rubbed one arm with the other, having stored both his phone and the money into a pocket. Her hospital, huh? And he was caught listening to music. The haggard man glanced around, wondering why they had to pick when his boss was gone. He would be much better suited to this. “I guess I can show you some of what I do?”

“That’d be wonderful!”

Sean merely nodded, turning and gesturing to them to follow him. He moved passed the initial office and towards where the stiffs were kept - the compartment doors lining the wall.

“So, uh, this is where they’re all kept until they’re ready for transport. Once we’re, you know, done with them. And the family decides where they go. Uh, or the government, in some cases? We mark them with tags on the toes with all the info-” He reached up, grasping onto the handle of one of the compartments.

“Wait, wait, wait-” Sean stopped, turning to look to his two guests. Anderson was hanging back, but the Kasimir broad was close and didn’t seem to be doing too good. “All these compartments have… dead bodies in them?” The man paused, before laughing weakly.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a morgue.” She didn’t look too good after that, taking a step back.

“Yeah, yeah of course! I just wasn’t expecting … so many. Um. And they’re like…?” He waited, but she didn’t seem to be keen on finishing her sentence. Finally Anderson cleared his throat and stepped up.

“Perhaps we can come back later, when Ivan is back? He’s in charge, after all.” The woman looked relieved, nodding rapidly.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you anyway, Mister…?”

Sean blinked, then started as he realized she was asking for his name.

“Sean.” Anderson cleared his throat and glared pointedly. “Uh, Sean Henry.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Sean. I’ll see you at a later time then!”

Considering how quickly she retreated, Sean doubted it. He escorted the two back to the doors of the morgue, breathing a sigh of relief once they were gone. He flopped back into his desk, groaning. What a fucking day. After a moment Sean pulled his earbuds out, frowning at the end of the jack. No more music today for him.

… Aw shit, was the end stuck in his phone?

---

“Thank you again for your time today, Mister Anderson. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem Miss Kasimir. If you ever desire another tour, or need help with your project, please feel free to contact myself or Wilson again.”

“Of course! I’ll let you get back to your work now, though!” The door of the limo was closed behind her as Zoey slid into the back seat. Instantly her muscles relaxed, and in a flurry she ripped open of her laptops stored in the limo. It had been a couple hours since the beginning of her tour in the morgue, and by now she should have a plethora of information.

The phone connected to her home computer, feeding a copy of all the information contained within Sean Henry’s, via a little metal prong jammed into the earphone jack. The actual tip of the earbuds was discarded a few floors up and halfway across the hospital.

The little device was costly, but worth it in this moment as Sean’s history opened to her.

Most of note was the history of his phone’s GPS. Zoey knew where he lived already, and this address wasn’t it. A quick search of the internet revealed the location - a ceramics factory.

Strange. A frown crossed Zoey’s face, and she quickly opened a new tab. A brief stalk through Sean’s socials didn’t reveal anything to do with ceramics. Even with his recent influx of money he used to buy increasingly nice things - and subsequently brag about them as though to cover up what little else he had to post about - he didn’t seem to be taking up a new hobby.

Considering how cool the trail was, it was a good a place as any to go sniffing around.

The lot the old factory sat on was dark and poorly maintained. Tall weeds grew up through the pavement and several windows had been broken out. There was nothing to indicate any recent activity. At least, not until Wraith circled the whole thing and noticed an unmarked moving truck parked in a loading dock.

Wraith camped out on a nearby roof and watched that truck for a good twenty minutes before sheer boredom pushed him forward. Whatever was happening here, there was clearly no rush to get it done. He ventured down the fire escape and slunk through the shadows until he found a window that was broken enough to climb through.

The inside of the facility was no less dismal. It was dark, with only the moonlight flooding in from outside as light. An abrasive smell lingered in the air. Wraith recognized it as the smell of burnt flesh and hair, but couldn't remember why it was a familiar scent.

The moonlight gleamed off of the metal surface of ten industrial kilns. This particular area was the only one that was swept clean. The implication tugged at his chest. The atmosphere was stale and quiet. He thought he heard the scampering of a few rodents, but other than that…

The silvery glow of a young woman casted an eerie light across the floor ahead of him. Wraith met her empty gaze. She looked back evenly, but her expression was one of pain and sorrow. She didn't want to be here. She just wanted to rest. But this was the curse of a soul with unfinished business.

"Come with me," She said, her voice soft but yet it carried across the vast atrium hauntingly. Wraith gave her a wordless nod. His boots scuffed the concrete floor, while she glided silently across it.

She led him down a hall, through what looked like a warehouse area, and finally to the loading dock door that he assumed the truck was on the other side of. Could it really be that easy?

"You won't die, will you?" She asked. It seemed that she may have met his skeletal friend. Obviously she had turned his voyage down in favor of settling her affairs. The whole process of dying was a strange one, even though every living thing would do it eventually. Some crossed over, some stayed here until they felt they could rest. He often wondered if she- No, he couldn't space out now. He had shit to do.

"Not with this," He motioned to the suit, "Should I be ready for something bad?"

She nodded silently, and walked right through the door. Well, best to get it over with quick. Wraith had always been a "rip the bandaid off" kinda' guy. He gripped the chain to haul the door open, and it shot up with a loud clatter. Well, that probably alerted every crackhead, thug, and sewer rat on this block. He stepped out onto the dock and lifted the truck's gate with the same amount of caution. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, his stomach churned.

It was the very thing he expected and dreaded: bodies. At least fifty. They were piled on top of each other haphazardly, seeping blood, pus, and god knows what else. Wraith grimaced as his eyes wandered down to the shiny metal bands on every other ankle. Then one of the toes twitched.

Wraith thought that he had just imagined the movement, but upon closer inspection, the suspect body's chest was still expanding and contracting. He wouldn't call it a steady breath; it was shallow and off rhythm. But that person was definitely still alive, if barely. The new anger he felt was quickly redirected when a bullet flew past his head.

A shout sounded behind him. The lackeys were crawling out of the woodworks to investigate the noise. Wraith turned and began closing the space between himself and the ten odd thugs that had been drawn out. The only thing slowing him down were the bullets piercing him, jerking his body back for only a second before he continued his advance. They were getting scared. A couple already turned to run. Wraith grabbed the nearest gun and yanked it away. He then used it as a club to make the man that was holding it wish he was never born.

Her elbow caught the underside of the thugs chin and his head snapped backwards. He recovered quickly and moved towards her again, but Kitsune hooked his leg out from under him and sat him on the ground; his dizziness caught up to him and he didn’t try to get up again after that, apparently accepting his defeat.

It was a quieter night than the one before, but the abductors were still out and looking for prey. Word had spread apparently, because there were fewer people on the streets, fewer people for them to grab, but it still took less than an hour for her to stumble across them; another van, the same motley crew of hired muscle in generic dark clothing, two plus a third in the diver seat. Same as before, minus the homeless person being dragged into the back this time; she’d caught them before it got to that point this time, thankfully.

All three know lay on the ground, in various states of consciousness, while Kitsune nursed fresh bruises on her arms and cheek; she was pretty sure her mask was cracked. It was harder to fight when you were constraining your movements so as to not pop your stitches. Maybe she should have given it a few more days before doing this again, but even the two days she gave herself to rest was starting to make her itch to do this again. Putting on a mask and walking around at night, getting into fights; it felt… right wasn’t it. Not good either, she wasn’t a thrill seeker and she didn’t enjoy hurting people or getting hurt. It just felt… normal. Routine.

The same antsiness she used to feel if she didn’t exercise for a couple days she would now feel if she didn’t do this.

She should probably be concerned about that. Would have been, if she didn’t know that a large part of it was just a feeling of responsibility. The first time she had done this she hadn’t been sure it was a good idea or even necessary; how much of a difference could she make, powers or not? How much crime could there really be, that it was worth wandering around at night hoping to run into trouble. A lot, as it turned out. Enough to keep her busy. Enough to make this worthwhile. A few months of this and there were dozens if not hundreds of people out there she could claim to have ‘saved’; people that she had kept from losing their wallets, or more, and all she did was patrol a few blocks a few nights a week.

Every time she took a few nights off, needed to take a few nights off, it felt like a waste of time. How many people would get hurt, because she broke a bone and couldn’t be out there? How many people had been abducted in the past two days?

Her ability or willingness to interrogate people hadn’t improved since last time, so she didn’t try. A swift kick saw the man in front of her knocked out for the time being, giving her a chance to search their van and look for… something. Investigating wasn’t her strong suit, but since the run in with Grim the other night it was clear that just beating these guys up wasn’t going to solve anything; she needed to find out who these guys worked for, where they were taking people and then tackle the issue at the source. Or more likely just turn over what she found to the police and let people supposedly more qualified deal with it.

It was probably too much to hope for to find a folder with ‘secret plans’ written on it in the glove box, but as she hopped into the passenger seat and began looking around Kitsune was at least expecting to find something with a name or an address written on it. No luck on that front, unfortunately; just some old receipts, a parking ticket, a gun. Nothing useful. Climbing over the gear stick into the driver’s seat, Kitsune reached for the smartphone that was mounted on the dashboard to use as a GPS. It was still on, but wasn’t set to lead anywhere at the moment; opening the saved addresses produced only a single entry and when selected, provided a route that seemed to lead towards the more industrial side of town. A warehouse?

----

Technically speaking, Akeno didn’t have a valid licence for the vehicle she was driving. Although given that the van was also stolen and that she’d just physically assaulted three men and left them on the street, driving without a licence was probably the least illegal thing she would do tonight.

The warehouse that the GPS was pointed to was pretty far away and at the cautious pace she was driving it would take her a while to get there. Her plan once she did was just to scope the place out from a distance, wait until she found or saw something incriminating and then call the police with an anonymous tip. Ideally she would call in a hero or two as well, but she didn’t have any way of contacting any that she knew of. Maybe she could look around and see if any of them had an online presence for things like that. Did Grim have social media? He seemed like the type to have social media. Probably ran his own fan sites.

She was about halfway there when she saw the smoke.

Pulling into the almost empty parking lot, gravel crunching under the tires, she saw the burning building with acrid black smoke pouring out of the broken windows. She couldn’t even tell what the building was for, the sign above the door obscured by flames and smoke, only that whatever it was before didn’t matter; the building was done for.

Opening the door she hopped out and approached the only other people she could see; an elderly Asian woman and a younger woman bleeding out on the pavement.

“Hey! What happened here?”

Everything was starting to feel foggy. Distant. Lights blurred into one another, colors fading and becoming polka-dotted with white. Sounds were muted, indistinct; the only notes with any sharpness were a keening in her ears and a dull thudding in her head. Rabbit’s throat felt agonizingly dry, and she tasted iron in her mouth. She tried to get to her feet again and fell, all sense of strength seeming to have abandoned her the moment she turned her back.

They were still in there. She couldn’t see them through the smoke, had to shut her eyes against the heat if she tried to get closer, but she knew they were still in the building, and she couldn’t get them out. Rabbit squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the look on that woman’s face if she went back without them. She pulled one leg back underneath her, trying to stand again. It was a small office, they were ten feet from the door, they had to be. It didn’t matter if she could barely stand, she would drag them out if she had to.

Was someone talking to her? Rabbit’s eyes blinked open, casting around through blurred vision for the source of the voice. Was it the old woman again? Did she get taller, and buffer? Bouncer’s vision cleared, barely, but just enough to recognize a white fox mask covering the person’s face. She almost laughed.

Of course. A hero. Why wouldn’t one show up? Her own face suddenly felt naked somehow, as she vaguely recalled dropping her own mask inside. “There’s-” Rabbit started, looking back toward the building. She reconsidered.

“A guy came in with a gun, started shooting,” she lied, placing one hand against the hole in her side as if for emphasis. “He set the place on fire. There’s still- a couple of my coworkers are still in there.”

Admittedly, Zoey thought long and hard about making Sean Henry lose a tooth. Maybe two. Maybe the whole set and proper function of his eyelids for a bit. Ultimately, with the address of the odd ceramics factory in hand she held off. If the lead proved hot then as long as that little metal prong was stuck in Sean’s phone she had a useful in - even though she was still not completely certain of his role in the whole endeavor, and certainly wanted to break his spindly little ankles for using the hospital to do it.

Still, hopefully this would clear things up a bit.

A couple of the black drones that heralded Grim circled the top of the ceramics factory, parallel to crows congregating on a wolf’s prey. They stayed high, blending into the inky blackness of the sky and the suffocating light pollution that strangled out the starlight, streaming to Grim what lay below. In truth there didn’t seem to be much going on for the factory - it seemed to not even be in use. Dishevelled, broken, not even someone scrounging around looking for a place to squat. There was, however, a van. A van that-

What was that?

Grim paused, having been hunkered down blending into the closest building’s shadows. There was a loud movement of something in the factory rattling, metal on metal - something fell?

Something opened?

It was quite different from the near silence that had been going on before, either way. A clear sign of something on the wind changing. Then again, quieter, with a slight movement from the back of the truck. Grim was just inputting the command for one of the crows to get closer when a new sound cracked the air, and without a moment of hesitation the shadowmancer dropped into the darkness at their feet and went straight towards the gunshots.

The lack of upkeep in and around the ceramics factory provided ample places for Grim to disappear and reappear through, ending up doing repeated shifts until finally emerging upside down from the ceiling, clinging to one of the beams to survey the situation. There was a group of men shooting towards the back of the truck - no, towards someone. Someone who juggernaut’d forwards despite being riddled with bullets, eventually taking a gun and -

Oh it was Wraith.

Should’ve guessed after the previous night, but that particular brand of violence was all him. Still, even if he could take all that damage and keep kicking it wasn’t very sporting to let him experience all the - wait, could he experience pain? Was it just force and pressure to him?

Questions for later.

Grim crawled back into the darkness of the ceiling, only for his arms to appear underneath the man furthest away. Gloved hands grabbed onto their ankles and yanked, sending him crashing forwards onto the floor. The gun he was holding disappeared into his own shadow, just to be ejected from the ceiling - falling a good amount of distance to clock another over the head.

Oops. He was aiming for the arms to knock the weapon out of his hands. Grim really hoped he didn’t just kill someone.

“We really have to stop meeting up like this - there’s already enough rumors about us on HeroWatch!” Grim’s voice once more boomed, almost coming from above for the first part, and then ground level for the second with some theatrical juggling of the shadow portals he controlled. Unfortunately, the loud mouthed hero was not nearly as bullet tolerant as Wraith, and kevlar only got you so far. It had Grim ping ponging around in the shadows - the first man he had grabbed went to kick away only to half-sink into his shadow, screaming, before popping out like an inflated balloon held underwater. He flipped, but ended up on his back with his hands sporting new friendship bracelet zip ties.

Grim emerged from the wall, throwing a right hook despite not being near anyone. A dark fist the size of a man’s head instead followed the motion, emerging from a shadowed wall and clocking another man straight into the side of his head. A left uppercut followed, smashing another man in his - ooo, that had to hurt. Grim really needed to aim better.

A bullet slammed into the hero’s shoulder, sending them to the floor with the force - where he disappeared. The one who shot Grim immediately went aiming for his feet - only for the masked man to launch from the wall like a shark attack. He tackled the gunman, and they both disappeared into the floor.

The gunman being ejected at speed into a metal beam was definitely not personal.

“Fuck.” Grim stepped out near the truck, having not seen the contents yet and instead using cover to gingerly check on his shoulder. Kevlar did its job at least, but that was going to bruise tomorrow.

“You never take me anywhere nice, Wraith!”

Wraith was pulled from his blind rage by a familiar voice. He dropped the gunman that he was currently beating to a pulp and glanced up. Oh, it was Grim again. What the hell did he say about rumors? Wraith could only imagine what was floating around out there about him. He preferred not to find out.

With the last thug dropped, Wraith followed the hero to the truck. He could feel the last of his own wounds closing up, pushing out the lead for him to find later. The broken ribs, however, remained an ever present and sharp reminder. They hurt with almost every movement, but after some time, pain was no longer a deterrent.

"You okay?" He asked, ignoring the other hero's quip. "Didn't think you'd show up again after last night," He paused, "I don't do team ups a whole lot. It's not easy when everyone thinks you're crazy." He gave a single, humorless chuckle, "It's even worse when they're right."

His attention turned to the van. Seeing that Grim was going to be fine, he went to check the contents again. He found the one body that had been alive minutes ago, only to find no pulse now. Even if they could have gotten them to a hospital, there was no guarantee they would have lived. Still, it stung. No one deserved to die like this.

As Wraith climbed back onto the loading dock, something across the warehouse caught his attention. Was it movement? There could be more lackeys hiding. Maybe some that he could beat answers out of.

"Stay here with the bodies," He said to Grim, "Call the cops...and a few ambulances. Some might still be alive. I'm gonna' make sure the rest of the factory is clear."

He stalked off towards the other end of the warehouse, down the hall, to where the kilns sat silent and imposing. There didn't seem to be anyone else here. Maybe it was just all in his head again.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he felt a presence behind him. Wraith whipped around to be met by the familiar silhouette of a certain mind manipulator. "What are you doing here?" He growled, "Do you have something to do with this?"

"I do…In a way." The voice sent another chill down Wraith's spine, because it hadn't come from Mindraker's mouth; it had echoed directly inside his head.

"So, what, you're here to try and molest my brain again? That didn't go so well for you last time."

"You're right, it didn't. But it did jog an old memory of mine. I know it did for you as well, but your mind has been so thoroughly trained that you didn't recognize it as a memory at all."

His voice was scowling, "The hell are you talking about?"

Mindraker took a step closer, and Wraith tried to take a step back. He found himself anchored to the spot. The villain had just enough control over him to keep Wraith right where he wanted him. "You don't remember me."

"You're the weirdo that was hanging around the Bad Boy asshat gang, of course I remember you."

"You've met me before; three years ago. Your mind has been programmed to reject that reality no matter how much proof you are given. No matter how ridiculous the cover story may be. Between the traumatic brain injury that has permanently altered your personality for the worst, and the psychological trauma that you will likely live with for the rest of your life, I'm afraid that fixing you isn't an option."

"I don't need to be fixed," Wraith snapped, "And I don't need some creep like you gaslighting me."

"You will never stop rejecting the truth so long as your brain remains broken, unable to heal. You weren't always this way: violent, callous, unstable. You know this deep down; I've heard your conversations with your "brother". Even your own wife wouldn't recognize what you've become."

"Leave her out of this!" He yelled with sudden rage. Wraith tried to fight the control over his mind so he could show this guy how he felt with his fists.

"There it is. The uncontrollable emotions, the rage, the violent urges. These are all classic symptoms of the brain damage you've suffered. It's not who you are, so I can't hold it against you. Fortunately, you aren't a complete loss. Modern medicine can't heal you, but you hold the power of the arcane within your suit. So long as you wear it, you cannot die, and it can heal even the most grievous of wounds. Isn't that how it works?"

"I don't see how that's relevant. This "brain injury" happened before I had the suit, so it won't heal it." Despite the annoyingly condescending tone Mindraker described his condition with, he had Wraith's attention. What if he was right?

"An unfortunate limitation. However, I believe it could heal you completely of every wound or disease you have ever suffered. All it needs is to start from scratch. You must be reduced to nothing and rebuilt."

"I don't really follow, but that doesn't sound pleasant."

"It won't be. And I'm very sorry for what I must do. You, more than others, know what it means to make hard decisions, and to do what needs to be done despite how much it may hurt. You won't forgive me easily, and that's perfectly understandable, but I hope you realize someday that this is for your own good."

"What are you-" Wraith paused when two more forms appeared out of the shadows. Shank and Mutt seemed to have accepted a new leader, and they were more than happy to carry out whatever fucked up thing Mindraker had in mind. Wraith fought against the mental restraints as hard as he could, but he could only barely move. The two goons grabbed him and dragged him backwards towards one of the industrial kilns. This didn't look good.

"This treatment will only fix the physical ailments of your brain. The traumatic injury and the artificial prions designed to mimic FFI without the fatal aspect. It won't fix the emotional and psychological damage; but it certainly is a start. Just remember: I'm not the one who made you like this. I am only trying to set you free. When you recover, find Dr. Ellison. He is the one to blame."

"LET ME GO! Shit! Don't-" He wasn't able to finish his pleas before he was unceremoniously shoved inside the kiln. Shank cackled gleefully as he turned the dial all the way up and stepped back. The heat was immediately intense. Where a normal person would have at least passed out, Wraith was forced to remain conscious. He screamed his throat raw as his skin melted and his muscles fell loose from the bone. The only relief he got was when his nerves were thoroughly cooked and he could no longer feel. Soon after, everything stopped. He wasn't sure if he was dead. He couldn't see the red hot glow of the heating elements, he couldn't hear his own bones cracking apart, he couldn't feel his body being reduced to little more than ash, he couldn't smell the stench of burnt hair and skin.

He was floating in limbo. In a way, it was kind of nice. Quiet, peaceful, painless. It had been so long since he had been able to detach himself from the waking world. Was this the peace the Reaper had told him about?

Mindraker left with his new crew, leaving the kiln to reduce the man inside to nothing more than ash and shards of blackened bone. Wraith would remain lost in this space between life and death until the kiln was turned off and the arcane properties of his suit began their work. Then, he would be thrust back into the living world, where pain and anguish would greet him without mercy.

As soon as she heard that there were people inside, Kitsune was on her feet and moving towards the building. As she approached the broken window the temperature drastically rose, the flames inside pouring out heat in waves as they grew and spread with every passing second; she hardly felt it, the perks of having a heat-related power, but anyone still inside would be suffering. It didn’t affect her though, she could run inside no problem if heat was the only issue; she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get burned even if she stepped into the flames directly. The smoke was the bigger issue; thick plumes out it exited the building and rose into the night sky, the signal that let her know to come here in the first place. It filled the interior of the building and smothered the air inside; it prevented her from getting any closer, threatening to choke her if she tried.

She hesitated, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what she could do. Calling the fire department was the obvious choice, if someone hadn’t already done so. There were no sirens approaching, none that she could hear; anyone inside would be dead by the time they arrived. It was just her. No one else around to help.

Just her.

Akeno took off her mask; it wouldn’t help her to breath and she needed the visibility. She ran back to the van and grabbed a black sweater that had been left inside by one of the abductors and began to tear it apart. Wrapping the remain around her face to try and block out the smoke, she dashed back to the building and entered.

She was blinded immediately. Even staying low to the ground, where she knew the smoke would be thinner, she could hardly see; the caustic chemicals in the air stung her eyes and made them water and visibility was reduced to a foot or two at best. She tried to calling out, but the roar of the flames was loud enough she could barely hear her own voice and all it did was draw in more air that made her cough and choke; if the co-workers responded then that too was drowned out by the noise.

All Akeno could do was crawl on hands and knees and feel around for something soft enough to be a human being; thankfully not having to worry about burning herself on anything she touched. After what felt like minutes, but was likely only seconds, her hand touched a fabric covered lump and she dragged herself over to it. Through watery eyes she could make out a face, but couldn’t tell if the person was still alive of not. Regardless, she grabbed them under the armpits and began to pull them back towards the door and out onto the street.

A few moment to breath fresh and feel the now shockingly cold night air on her skin and she went back in, spending another few agonising moments searching for the second person before her hand touched fabric again and she dragged a second person from the burning building.

She dragged them as far as she could, which probably wasn’t far enough from the building or the flames to be safe, and collapsed. Her arms and legs were shaking, her lungs burning, and she still couldn’t see.

“Is there…” she found it hard to breathe or speak through the makeshift mask, so she tore it from her face and tried again. “Is there anyone else inside?”

She could finally hear sirens in the distance.

Rabbit watched dumbfounded as the vigilante woman emerged from the flaming office, Mateo gripped tight under her arms. She set him down, then turned and went back inside without a word. Rabbit’s legs felt numb, stuck sitting in the dirt of the parking lot with her body defying any order from her brain to move. She felt… she didn’t know what she felt. Ashamed, perhaps? Embarrassed that a stranger was doing what she had failed to? Angry at her own helplessness despite her power?

The vigilante came stumbling back out of the door, carrying Erik with her. The woman’s legs seemed to give out beneath her, and this time Rabbit’s body obeyed the command to move. She jumped forward, just enough to catch the vigilante on her way down and leaving them both kneeling in the gravel, close enough to feel the burning heat of the fire. “No, that’s- that’s everyone,” Rabbit answered, her gaze resting on Erik’s limp form. She could see his chest rise and fall, barely; still alive, then.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, but how else could this have gone? She wasn’t cut out to be a hero, something she understood perfectly, and never would have attempted if she hadn’t been pushed into it by an overbearing dog in a nice coat. Rabbit scooted back away from the vigilante, listening to the sound of sirens echoing closer. Fire trucks, and likely an ambulance or two as well. Late, but enough to handle the situation when they got here.

Looking around, Rabbit saw the vigilante had come in a truck of her own. On her way somewhere else? “Thank you,” she said after some hesitation. “We- we should be fine, now. Once the… the trucks get…” She faltered. The vigilante looked like she hadn’t quite recovered from the smoke, even if she looked otherwise unharmed. Rabbit was anchored to this parking lot so long as the hero was still here, to maintain the illusion of an ordinary office worker; if the woman couldn’t leave, neither could she.

“Are you alright?” Rabbit asked tentatively. “You’re not- you didn’t get hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Grim waved a gloved hand off, tense muscles relaxing at Wraith’s appearance. It’s not that the other hero was particularly comforting, but his presence indicated the rest of the threat was taken care of. At least in the immediate area.

“And, hey, mentally unstable or not it’s good to have back up. I’d have still ended up sniffing around anyway.” He laughed to himself, finally taking his attention from his shoulder to see Wraith had gone back to investigating the truck. It was a bit dark in the warehouse - just the way Grim liked it - so he moved forward to see what was going on, mentally bracing himself in case it was more human trafficking.

Zoey’s stomach dropped.

Wraith was holding a wrist, yes, but the skin was pallor and tight against muscle, the fingers limp and nails bloodied. When he dropped the wrist Zoey’s steel-blue eyes followed it up the person’s arm, to their shoulder, to where the rest of the body was covered by another. And another. And another.

Bodies upon bodies, stacked upon each other like bags of trash in a garbage truck.

The mask fitted over Zoey’s face kept what must have been a horrid smell out, but she could almost smell her own bile building up in the back of her throat - could feel the tug of her stomach revolting at the sight. Wraith said something but his voice seemed far away, the words registering in her mind with the sloth-like fashion of Windows Explorer trying to submit a form.

”Some might still be alive.”

Some might still be alive.

Some might still be alive.

Wraith’s fading footsteps didn’t register at all as shadows burst forth from beneath and around Grim, reaching in as numerous pairs of hands to the top of the pile. It wasn’t good to jostle injured people, but they were suffocating each other. Zoey was suffocating in her mask. She yanked her gloves off, slender fingers with nails painted a bright, happy blue pressing into the neck of each person pulled to her. The edges of her vision darkened, but not with the shadows she controlled - vision narrowed in front of her.

A teenager, gangly and malnourished. She had a small butterfly tattooed on her ankle, one of the wings half covered by the metal band. It was probably her first tattoo, placed in a spot easily hidden from her parents.

No pulse. The large, wisping hand of a shadow moved her aside to place against the floor and went to retrieve another person, even as a different hand moved another person before Zoey. An old man, skin sunken and shrink wrapped to his bones. He had what looked like an old bullet wound from days long passed, the scar a permanent reminder.

No pulse. A middle aged man with curly hair, laugh lines crinkling the edges of his unseeing eyes. No pulse. A young woman with gauges still in her ears and undercut barely growing in. No pulse. An older woman probably a mother with hopes and- no pulse. A father. No pulse. A son, a daughter, someone’s child - no pulse. A person with hopes, with dreams, now little more than a tragedy and a horror story that had no pulse and another and another and another-

A pulse.

For a moment Zoey just stared at her fingers, the blue of her nails a mocking contrast to the veins that almost bulged from the sallow skin barely holding them. A man, barely older than her. With a pulse.

The large, shadow-made hand holding him moved to cradle as Zoey frantically began to check him over. There were wounds along him seeping blood and pus, and shadows crept along Zoey’s hand, reaching out to touch them.

But she wasn’t her father. She was powerful, and could make great constructs made of pure shadows - but she couldn’t use them to do what he did. The man before her wound’s remained gaped open.

”911, what’s your emergency?”

“It’s Grim.”

…

“I need help.”

By the time the parade of sirens were approaching, Grim had replaced his gloves and had an outright morgue laid out around him. The heavy coat he wore was underneath the second and only living man left, a teenager barely old enough to even be called a man yet, laid out away from the open doors in some semblance of warmth. The first didn’t make it, his wounds half patched with a drone’s medical supplies before the point became moot. A pile of jackets dragged off the corpses of the nearby gunmen was underneath an older woman, her head limp to one side as Grim hovered over her attempting to perform first aid - for what little help it would do. It was to this scene that police came, guns drawn.

“This area is secure.” Grim’s voice rumbled with thunder, not even looking up from his work. A few of the weapons were trained on him, but he didn’t flinch away. “Wraith is clearing the rest of the building. Check those who I haven’t yet.”

“Jesus Christ.” The leader of the group grimaced and looked away from the hovering bodies, a dozen still left to be checked, cradled in the grasp of shadow-made hands the size of a man’s torso. Grim didn’t have hope for any of those left. Finally however the officer braced himself, calling out. “Spread out around the room and secure it. You two, come with me - check for pulses. Call clear for the medics.”

In a few minutes the last few people hovering in the air were set down, all confirmed to be dead. Once the large room was secured medics rushed in, all of them experiencing the same halting reaction at the scene of carnage and death, before one pushed forward and all but shoved Grim away to check on his ‘patient’. The rest of her team came forward, allowing Grim to sit back on numb haunches.

“There’s another.” The shadowmancer barely nodded towards the man that was obviously different from his fellows, with his attempt at warmth. The paramedics split off to go secure him, leaving Grim’s shoulders to slump. He took a deep breath that shook his lungs, his chest rattling even under the binder beneath his costume. He allowed himself this moment of weakness, masked face falling forward to his awaiting hands, the metal pressing into his palms even through the thick leather of the glove.

“What the fuck happened here?” For a moment Grim didn’t respond, taking those few precious seconds.

‘Game face on, my little Zoey.’

“Captain Jonas.” The name slipped from Grim’s mask as he finally rose up and turned to the speaker, recognizing him after a moment. The Captain didn’t even so much as nod back, gesturing around them.

“Grim, it’s a fucking bloodbath. What the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know.” The words felt hollow even to Grim, ringing empty. The red and blue lights flooding in from outside highlighted how Jonas grimaced, deep valleys of stress carved into his face from years of experience.

“How can you not know? You called it in!”

“Wraith and I were following a lead.”

“A lead? A fucking lead? And you didn’t think to involve police?”

“There was nothing to involve, up until now. Just suspicions.” This was why Grim did little more than chat to authorities when they showed up. Though heroes and police were on the same side in the written sense, the truth was there was so little trust and such differing methods between them it was difficult to foster any sort of connection. Grim was loud, encouraging, a showboat - safe, as far as a hero went. Yet even still, he also suffered from an aversion to police, despite their mostly friendly working relationship.

“Yeah, well right now I’ve got more men on the way to help secure the rest of the site. I’m going to need everything you know about this. Fuck, the book says I should be putting you in cuffs until it’s all sorted out.”

Grim politely didn’t mention they wouldn’t hold him long, anyway.

Excluding Sean Henry and his family’s hospital, the hero dutifully informed Captain Jonas about establishing a pattern of increased human trafficking. About finding Wraith following the same trail. Any inconsistencies were met with a shrug and a simple, “It’s Wraith I was working with. Getting straight answers from a crazy man is like wiping up an oil spill with a penguin.”

Yeah, he got a weird look for that one.

The hero was given a break from his careful information sharing when one of the paramedics approached to ask Grim for assistance in moving one of the survivors. Jostling the woman more than necessary could be catastrophic, and the ambulance ride to the hospital would be rough as is. As it were, shadows didn’t have nerves to shake and jostle like a human or a piece of equipment rolling on the ground. From beneath the woman the shadows solidified, Grim lifting her and carefully moving to the back of the ambulance. She was set with the greatest of care inside before Grim retreated, once more doubtful about her rate of survival if merely moving her would cause this much stress. By the time he came back to the Captain, the other man was barking out to his newly arrived back up orders on securing the rest of the site.

All in all, it was a bit more time before they could speak again. Especially since even when Jonas tried to tell Grim to stay put, he just ignored the Captain and slipped off to assist in sweeping the area. Oh yeah, Captain Jonas did not look happy when Grim returned. Just as their conversation went to restart, the door slammed. Grim shot around, nerves frayed, only to find one of the officers stumbling in, holding his stomach with something streaked down his front. It took a moment for Grim to realize it was vomit.

“There’s a person. They’re alive.” The man choked out the words. Jonas frowned but went to call for more medics, but his officer was shaking his head frantically. “Cap- Captain. We found one of the kilns on and turned it off. When we, when we came back around there were noises and - they’re still alive.” It took the Captain a moment to register what he meant, but Grim was already taking off.

It was clear across the factory, but the closer Grim got the easier it was to find. First it was the officers, pale or sweating and looking back the way they came. And then, it was the sound. A voice dragged through gravel for miles, shredded on shards of glass, ripped to pieces, and it was crying out. Lastly, it was the heat. As Grim emerged into the room full of industrial sized furnaces, one of them was open with the inside a glowing molten orange, flooding the room with heat. There were officers here but all of them were backed away from the kiln, for good reason.

The hero barely stepped up before realizing just how bad it was.

The person inside could hardly be called as such. They were more ash and a brittle mess of goo that was once muscle clinging to cracked bone. Their arms and legs weren’t even a thing anymore, and they themselves consisted of most of a torso and a half melted skull. The fact they could even scream was an aberration to God himself.

They were alive, and it wasn’t a good thing.

“Jesus!” Captain Jonas had caught up just as shadow hands were reaching into the kiln, repeating his earlier words with more oomph than before. He probably looked sick, but Grim couldn’t take his eyes off the mess inside the still orange-hot kiln. The claws shuddered visibly just a few inches inside the kiln, the ends of the ‘fingers’ wisping away rapidly at the onslaught of light and heat.

“Give me your gun.” The Captain paused at Grim’s words, staring at him with confusion and not a small amount of anger.

“What-”

“Give me your gun. I’m not going to let them suffer.”

“I’m not going to let you fucking murder someone right in front-”

“It’ll be a mercy!” Grim’s voice boomed once more, a roar of anger and sickness. He had seen a lot in his time since putting on the mask, and this was perhaps some of the worst. His very last nerves were frayed and he was on edge. “Say I attacked you and took it, put a warrant out for my arrest, I don’t care! Just give me it so I can put this poor son of a bitch out of his misery.”

The Captain was obviously conflicted, but before he could decide a female officer stumbled up, not able to look inside and already unstrapping her pistol to hand over. She didn’t say a word and Grim didn’t thank her. Jonas watched, but didn’t protest further, and only offered one more piece of advice as the hero stepped forward.

“Be quick, the heat might make the gun discharge.”

“I know how a gun works.”

The edges of the kiln still glowed and likely would for quite some time. The shadows were of no help in getting inside. So all Grim could do was take a deep breath, ready the gun, steel himself, and in a swift motion choked down his regret as he lunged half inside. His costume provided some protection but the heat was intense, the thick leather already seeming to bubble on his palm and knees as he leaned over the person and felt flames licking all over.

Zoey tried not to vomit inside the mask.

The person was moving, and she could actually see the burnt vocal cords moving in a gap of melted flesh. It was a fucked up curse of a miracle that this person - she couldn’t even tell their gender - was alive. She brought the gun up to place right against the skull of the person.

And stopped.

When Grim had first looked inside, the skull was half gone, blackened and cracked. He knew this for sure because he could see the person’s brain and could only wonder how that must feel. Now he couldn’t see the brain at all, the skull covering it still black and charred.

He glanced down, and could no longer see the vocal cords as skin, curling under the heat, slowly crept over them.

Grim yanked himself out of the kiln, sweat pouring uncomfortably underneath his costume and parts of it damaged beyond repair from the intense heat - the palm of one hand and a knee were blistering from the melting leather. His chest heaved, breathing like a corner animal, and abruptly shoved the gun into the female officer’s hands once more with little more care than to make sure it wouldn’t discharge.

The Captain grimaced, but looked sympathetic.

“It’s hard to take a-”

“Move!” Shadows reached out of walls and corners, grabbing the female officer, the Captain, and any other officer not already up against the wall to pull them out of the way. They then coalesced, forming into a set of giant clawed hands, each one as large as Grim himself.

“What is going on-”

Grim couldn’t get his shadows inside the kiln. So instead these giant claws grabbed onto the valves leading into it, beginning to break them off. The heat inside the room became intense, and officers began to scramble out of the room.

“Grim! Grim what are you doing?!”

He grit his teeth, gloved hands curling around blistered skin as the claws then grasped onto the kiln itself. It shuddered, the metal and stone beginning to screech as it was pulled. The shadow claws themselves were wisping, needing to be reinforced every few seconds.

Then finally, the entire kiln lurched off the ground.

’Where? Where can I…’ With a heave of his shoulders as though he was actually holding the kiln in his hands, Grim twisted and the shadows moved with him. The entire kiln smashed into the wall of the warehouse, creating a hole as it was punched right through the metal siding with force. Grim followed it, barely keeping the thing upright.

Out in the cold midnight air, the shadows got the reinforcements they really needed as more hands sprung out lifted the kiln up, tilting it over so ash and bone and a barely put together body slid out the end onto mercifully cool gravel and patched grass. The kiln was thrown aside before Grim was there, falling to his knees beside the pile and hands hovering - afraid to touch exposed muscle and bone for fear of causing more pain.

“Wraith, Wraith I’m right here. I’m right here Wraith. You’re safe now, just focus on regenerating.”

Why did I come back?

It wasn't so bad at first; hardly any different from the non-death limbo that he had been drifting in. The ashes and shards carefully mended together, binding and hardening into fresh bone. Cartilage and ligaments formed to hold the weak structure together. It wasn't until nerves and muscle began to slide across the new body and weave together that Joel wished he hadn't survived.

The pain was indescribable. Nothing else mattered but agony. He could do nothing but exist and suffer. Joel laid in a heap on the floor of the kiln, completely unaware of the drama unfolding around him. He wasn't privy to the heat that hindered his healing process. He had no way of knowing about the horrible croaks and anguished cries leaving his throat.

Organs began to form, a peritoneum ballooning out of nowhere to cradle them. New muscle formed over top, and suddenly, Joel could move. He writhed and thrashed in pain, but he couldn't escape the heat. Still blind and deaf, he had no way to find an exit, if one even existed.

It wasn't until he came tumbling out of the oven that his healing could speed up. Without the heat actively baking his fresh tissue, he could finally form adipose and epidermis. His inner ear brought itself together and allowed him to hear. It was muffled at first. Someone was screaming.

Joel could hear a voice next to him speaking, but only just barely over whoever was screaming bloody murder. Wait...that was him. Joel snapped his mouth shut and suddenly the other voice became much more clear. It was Grim, speaking words of encouragement and comfort to him. He must have freed Joel. Poor guy; this had to be awful to watch.

Finally, new eyes allowed him to see. Joel's skinless face tilted up to look at Grim, acknowledging him for the first time. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was another rough croak. Finally, skin began to form over the exposed muscle and tendons. This new canvas was remarkably perfect: no blemish, scar, nor bruise. Joel couldn't remember a time when he wasn't covered in marks from his chosen line of work. Now he was renewed.

At last, hair formed and made the man recognizable. Joel trembled, doubled over on his knees on the gravel and weeds. The stones pressing into his new skin didn't even register. Finally, the suit that had allowed this affront to nature reformed to cover him. Immediately, Joel moved to rip the mask off. He panted loudly, gasping for cool air to fill his lungs. Sweat poured out of his new glands, and tears streamed down his face. He looked very similar to the way he did last night, during his episode. The same, terrified look in his brown eyes; like a wild animal backed into a corner.

Joel glanced around at his new surroundings, now that they finally had meaning. He wasn't inside the factory any more, and half the East Chicago police force was watching from a safe distance. He retched as if to vomit, but all he could expell was acid, blood, and left over ash. The offensive black mixture spilled onto the grass. Joel then tried to stand, but his shaky muscles failed him. He lurched forward, narrowly avoiding his own puke, thanks to Grim.

"Get," He coughed roughly, clearing his throat, "Get me the hell out of here. Please."

There was someone beside her, hand on her shoulder as she knelt on the ground. The voice in her ear, feminine and young, suggested it was the young woman who had been shot. “No, no I-“ She interrupted herself with a coughing fit, hacking up smoke-colour phlegm onto the gravel. “I’m fine. Just… smoke.”

Just a little toxic smoke inhalation, nothing to worry about. She would see if she could get herself checked out once the ambulances arrived, but compared to what everyone else had been through it actually wasn’t that bad; the two men she had just pulled from the fire didn’t have the same luxury of being immune to fire as her and had been subjected to the same fumes for much longer and the woman who was now showing her such concern had been shot.

The brush of cool wind against her cheek reminder her that her face was currently uncovered. Akeno stood up, knees almost buckling, and walked back to the van where she had left her mask and put it back on. The office worker and the older Asian woman had already seen her without it, couldn’t put that cat back in the bag, but she should still hide her identity from the firemen and paramedics who were about to show up.

Now back in full costume as it were, Kitsune walked back over to the young woman. “Are you okay? You said there was a gunman. Was there anyone else hurt?”

Rabbit faltered. Had anyone else been hurt? She’d only paid attention to herself and the wolf woman’s boys. She glanced around the lot at the others milling around the burning building. They didn’t seem hurt from here, but those were just the few she saw.

“I’m fine,” she answered, pressing her hand against her side. Her throat felt dry, more than it had a moment before. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, really. I think you should check the others, I’ll just wait for the ambulance.”

Rabbit scooted back from the vigilante, grabbing Erik’s shirt to drag him with her, further away from the flames. The blaring of the sirens had grown loud enough to hurt her ears, and a glance toward the street showed the first of the fire engines pulling up to the sidewalk. It was joined a few moments later by a sole ambulance, doing its best to get close to the scene without obstructing firefighters or putting any injured in danger of the fire spreading. No police, though, which was a little odd; they were always slow, but to fail to appear entirely? Either they were more corrupt and incompetent than Rabbit had assumed, or something else had drawn their attention elsewhere.

The arrival of emergency response vehicles had nonetheless provided enough of a distraction that for a moment there were no more eyes on her, and Rabbit took advantage of the opportunity as medical responders carried Erik and Mateo away on stretchers to cast one last glance around the lot before vanishing with a thp. She reappeared in an alleyway across the street, out of sight of the growing line of trucks. She used the wall of the alley to pull herself up, testing her injured leg for a brief moment before vanishing again. A series of jumps took her several blocks away, enough for the energy to sing sweet arias in her veins. Usually she would spend the whole night chasing that song, but the dull pain in her side and growing lightheadedness told her that wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

Rabbit let herself sink down onto the roof she’d found herself on, taking air in shallow breaths. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the hard stonework as she concentrated on the holes in her side and in her leg, feeling the electricity pulse and change its tune in response to her will, gathering around her wounds with sharp tingles. She gasped at the feeling of being stabbed in reverse, the bullet in her leg inching its way back out as her wounds worked to mend themselves.

Several moments passed in silence with gritted teeth, until finally the pain faded into a fuzzy numbness. Rabbit’s clothes clung unpleasantly to her skin, wet and sticky with her own blood, but a cursory prodding with her fingers told her the wounds were gone, with no sign to show they’d ever been there beyond the pale whiteness of new skin.

Her eyes fluttered open as she sat up, taking in her surroundings briefly before standing with a faint grunt of fatigue. She saw distant smoke in two directions, one of which being the building she’d come from. The other… was that what had distracted the cops tonight? Probably. Rabbit considered for a moment, wondering if it was worth being nosy, then sighed and clicked her tongue before vanishing with a thp.

---

The scene around the building wasn’t as crowded as Rabbit had expected - how long had it been since she vanished from the parking lot, twenty minutes? Thirty? She would’ve expected the road to be crowded with trucks by now, but the former realtor’s office appeared to have warranted a trio of fire engines, which she guessed was a pretty normal amount, but… She tried to do math in her head. Assuming the initial ambulance had already carted Erik and Mateo back to the nearest hospital, then there were… Two? Two total ambulances that had responded to this call. What the hell? Were they also busy? What the hell had happened at that other fire she saw?

She flagged down a passing EMT, who stopped in his tracks as soon as he registered what he was looking at.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to find-”

“Oh my god, are you okay?! Quickly, get over to the ambulance, we need to-”

“Oh, this isn’t my blood,” Bouncer interrupted, waving his concern away with her hand. She had torn a strip off the bottom of her shirt to tie around her face as a mask, and the blood soaking part of it kept sticking to her mouth when she spoke. Unpleasant. “I’m trying to find another vigi- hero. Wears a white fox mask? She still around, or…”

Bouncer glanced around, trying to spot the woman in question. She had most likely moved on by now, but Bouncer still wanted to be sure. Just in case.

Watching Wraith reform was not pretty. It was a body skinning itself in reverse, and even just keeping his gaze on the man’s face was nauseating. In truth, if it wasn’t for years of seeing some ‘fucked up shit’, Grim very well might have lost his dinner right over top of him.

It was still a close thing when Wraith looked up at him, trying to speak with a face of exposed muscle and not even any eyelids. Still, Grim just shook his head.

“Don’t try to talk.”

As the skin finally reformed, the shadowmancer slowly reached out, hesitating - and then the fabric of the suit that allegedly caused this was spilling over newly created skin, causing further pause. Still, as Wraith stumbled in his attempt to stand, Grim’s arm shot out to catch him at the chest, almost stumbling with him.

And how could a hero ignore a plead for help?

Rather than respond, Grim just nodded to the request to leave. His own masked face left Joel’s bare one to look around and take in where to go - despite the sirens and his own spotlight drones, the dark of night left plenty of options. In a moment, they both sunk slowly into the ground of their own shadows, icy cold like an arctic breeze, and disappeared from the view of others. The two emerged from the dark wall of a warehouse barely within eyesight of the sirens. Grim kept Wraith braced, hands made of shadow hovering to help as necessary even as he urged the other man to walk back in as he picked out a new shadow to teleport to.

“Come on, I need to see where we’re going - it’s going to be a few trips.” The low, rumbling voice of the dog emblemed hero urged him forward until they were out of sight and sound of the sirens, finally stopping only when the smell of salt water drifted from the nearby shore. Here Grim stopped, glancing down. “Where do you live? Is there… anyone you can stay with tonight? I’ll take you there.”

Joel had never teleported before, and he didn't really have any desire to do so again. He assumed that was what Grim was doing, in a round about kind of way. Joel stumbled, still shaky, to a nearby bench and collapsed backwards into it. The cool, fresh air blowing in off of Lake Michigan helped stave off the urge to fall apart. He pressed his hands to his face and dragged them down.

"This is fine," He said at last, "I just...needed to get away from all that. Too much at once. Thanks." He didn't have it in him to admit that he had absolutely no one left to turn to. His family was gone, save for his father, who he hadn't spoken to since elementary school. There was only one person he truly longed to see, but she was gone and he couldn't change that. The world was cruel that way.

Maybe it was the shared trauma they had just endured; or maybe he was just desperate to let long bottled up feelings out after a near brush with death. Joel opened his mouth, and the words just started pouring out.

"My therapist told me to try and think back to the day all this shit started, but I couldn't. That was…the worst day of my life. The last day I felt okay. The last day I slept. I know my head's not right, but I at least thought I knew why. Turns out, I didn't know shit."

He paused to look over at Grim. There was always a certain moroseness in his eyes; a pain of a different sort. Now, it seemed that his own words were inflicting agony. He didn't want to revisit those memories, but he couldn't stop.

"Do you remember a superhero who went by Nova?" Of course he did. Everyone knew about Nova. She had been one of the most nationally beloved heroes of their time. She had a monument built in her honor in Lincoln Park. The day she had died had been a national tragedy, a televised funeral service attended by thousands. Her famous purple and gold costume was on display at the Smithsonian. She had won a Nobel Prize for her hand in helping create a renewable and unlimited power source based on her own unique energy signature. She had been far more than the world deserved, and certainly more than Joel ever did. Three years ago, her bright light and warmth had been snuffed out.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” The humor Grim tried to inject into his question fell flat, likely not just because of his mask. One hand raised to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing around before finally seeming to make a decision. The shadowmancer moved to sit beside Wraith on the bench, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands in his lap - wincing minutely at the press of burns on his palm. He would summon a drone later to treat it. “That is to say, yes. I remember Nova.”

Grim was not a therapist. Therapists didn’t put on masks and make stylized dog emblems to go beat the shit out of people who should likely be their patients. Still, despite the fact that he was not expecting Wraith to suddenly open up to him, he supposed that being burned alive had a way of shaking you up.

Maybe he just stayed since Grim couldn’t get the image of his face melting in reverse out of his mind.

"Her name was Aurora Hale, and she hated being called by her full name," A small, sad smile tugged at his lips as he remembered all the times he had done it just to antagonize her. "She went by Rory. Our first meeting was…unconventional to say the least. My family had a history of gang affiliation. My father got life in prison for it, my brother was killed by it, my mom poisoned herself with it. For me, I guess it seemed like the only logical next step. I started young; just a teenager. I was never given any serious shit to do. Mostly, I translated when I needed to, or did the occasional drug run. I got into these prize fights that got me enough to pay the bills."

Joel paused to consider the next part. "That changed when I was rounded up with a few other guys to help pick up a shipment. I assumed it was the usual: drugs, guns, whatever. But the truck we opened had people inside. Young girls. I don't know why I didn't think that shit went on behind the scenes. I guess they never trusted me with it before. They were right not to. I knew where they were taking those girls, and I went to find the nearest suit and mask I could. I couldn't talk to the cops without incriminating myself, but I figured maybe a vigilante would be a little more forgiving. I found Nova."

"I took her to the drop off spot and she did her thing. When all was said and done, she came back to talk to me. By this time I had eight whole years of petty crime and street life to my name; I had no interest in talking to a superhero. But she didn't see a thug when she looked at me; she saw potential. She was probably the first person that had given me that."

Joel paused to wipe his eyes on his gloves and take a shaky breath. He couldn't stop now, so he powered through.

"Rory wanted me to turn my life around. I agreed to be an informant. I knew the ins and outs of half the organized crime in the city by then. I didn't have any fancy powers or a suit to heal me, I had her. With her on the frontline and me behind the scenes, we had the gangs in all the major cities in the States on the ropes. Nobody ever reported on the guy in the hoodie, hidden in the background while she spoke to the media after saving the day. I liked it better that way; never was one for the spotlight. But her? She glowed in it."

Joel stopped again, focusing very hard on the mask he was wringing in his hands.

"We married a couple years into our little operation. We kept it private; neither of us had much in the way of family anyways. The media never knew about it, and that was how we wanted it. It wasn't a perfect marriage; none of them ever are. We had our spats, I don't even remember what about. Probably stupid shit like the grocery list and dirty dishes." He paused again to chuckle, "It's funny how things like that don't matter now. I don't remember the bumps in the road. I remember her rule that we couldn't go to bed angry at each other, the way she belted out whatever the song of the week was in the car, the way she made me feel safe."

This time he stopped to glance at Grim. It occurred to him that he had no proof to back this story up. No one had known that Nova was married, much less to some guy raised in the projects. Her identity had been kept from the public after her death, out of respect. Joel's reputation probably made this entire monolog sound like the insane claims of a lunatic. Again.

Thankfully, though the glowing mask hid most of Grim’s expression, he didn’t seem inclined to fight the story of events. In truth it was a hard story to believe, especially from who it came from. With how beloved and public a figure Nova was it’s hard to say some media wouldn’t go digging and not find something like that for so long - even something as simple as forgetting to take a wedding band off one time. Even if her private life was kept under tight wrap.

Briefly, Grim’s mind flittered to stories of coma patients waking up having dreamed up a whole life for themselves, and falling into depression upon realizing it wasn’t real. It wasn’t a hard idea to lay over Wraith, considering his … odd mannerisms, as one would say to be polite.

Delusions or not though, fighting him on it would do absolutely nothing in this moment.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Grim’s voice rumbled through the mask, injecting as much sincerity as he could through the faintly robotic tinny. “Losing a loved one is … one of the hardest things to experience in life. Even young. Especially young.” He lifted a hand to clap onto Wraith’s shoulder.

“It sounds like you loved each other a lot.”

"Yeah," He said softly, "We were married for eight years. It would be ten if she was still around... I don't remember the exact details of that night, but I know enough. We were back in Chicago again after a stint in L.A. I got word that a major crime lord was gonna' show his face at an important trade with some overseas syndicate. I went with her to blend in and keep her updated; we'd done it a hundred times before. But this time, it was a setup. The info was bait to get us there, and we got ambushed by a firefight that neither of us were prepared for. They got me first, and she had to stop fighting to protect me," His breath hitched in his throat; tears glistened in his eyes, "I told her to get the hell out of there, but she was stubborn as always. She wouldn't leave me. They shot and beat her to hell until there was almost nothing left, and then they shot me in the head and left us both to die."

Joel stopped, his eyes growing wide. He had been shot. He didn't remember being shot. He didn't remember going home that night. There was a sizable gap in his memory. When had he moved back into the building he grew up in? When did he sign up for that experimental treatment? Unless...he didn't.

His mind raced to that folder left sitting on his kitchen table, the name that Mindraker had dropped. "I think I might know what's going on," He said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.

“Hm.” The hum was more to acknowledge Wraith’s words, and to cover up Grim’s own confusion. After all, to the shadowmancer Wraith was a mutant with an incredibly powerful healing factor. Though, the fact that his suit regenerated as well from being burnt to a crisp was … another level of complexity added to it. Either way, without the knowledge of Joel’s personal life, the jump from trauma to revelation didn’t click in. Grim probably should’ve looked up more about the people he was working with.

But reliving your trauma was an important step. Zoey had the idea that Wraith had never talked to anyone about this - not even his therapist, if she was reading his earlier words right. After the night they had she felt it right to let him pour everything out, to be there as he pulled himself back together. For that reason Grim didn’t remove his hand from Joel’s shoulder, instead just leaning forward a bit to look into the other man’s face - wide eyed, shocked. Something about telling the story shuffled things into place for him. So Grim squeezed the man’s shoulder to ground him, keep him in the moment.

“What’s that?” Though his voice was artificially made to sound deep and rumbling, in this moment Grim’s voice was soft, an attempt at sounding comforting as he coaxed Joel to continue. Besides, with everything that happened tonight, if Joel’s tale was true being burnt alive could’ve been a very personal retaliation for being burnt by an informant in the past.

"I didn't survive that gunshot wound." He turned to Grim, eyes wide with realization. "Someone got me to the hospital and they kept me on a vent, but I didn't make it. I died. Somebody…Pet Sematary'd me back to life, and this is what came of it!" He gestured to himself, presumably referring to his general mess of a life. "And I think I know who. I need to get back to my apartment. My therapist pulled my medical files; she tried to tell me but I didn't believe her." He ran a hand down his face in frustration. "That's what Mindraker was saying; that's why he shoved me in that fucking furnace. To reset my brain or whatever."

Joel stood, seeming to have regained some strength. He paused and patted the chest of his suit. "I need to pick up a change of clothes too. This thing isn't very comfortable to go commando in."

Kitsune was still around when the paramedic Bouncer had spoken to came looking for her. There wasn’t really anywhere else she could be right now; once the young woman had disappeared there wasn’t anyone else around to tell the firemen and paramedics what had happened and direct them to where they needed to be. Even when they settled in and there was nothing left for her to do, she stuck around just in case she was needed or in case someone had more questions.

Besides, the van she had stolen was boxed in by all of the emergency vehicles anyway. There was no way for her to get it out until they all left, probably sometime in the morning, and by then the guys she had beat up would probably have woken up and alerted whoever was at the warehouse anyway.

So, when the paramedic came over and pointed towards the sort-of-masked woman who was looking for her, she walked over.

“I knew you were way to calm about being shot. What really happened here? Who are you?”

Bouncer was almost surprised; she hadn’t really expected any mask to stick around a scene this long, yet here the fox woman was. She pulled her makeshift mask further over her nose, slouching somewhat under the vigilante’s gaze. She had recognized Bouncer as well, which was also something of a surprise.

“What’re you talking about?” She responded to the fox’s question with another question, affecting a deeper, huskier voice and lifting her shirt up slightly to show a distinct lack of injury. “Like I just told the guy, this blood isn’t mine. I just had a bit of a thing with these other guys, got a bit messy, you know.”

Bouncer brushed past the EMT, almost acting like he wasn’t there as she circled slowly around the fox, her eyes landing on everything except the other woman. The EMT, realizing he wasn’t needed there, went off to try and assist someone else. “I saw the smoke, figured I might find a mask at its source. Someone who could answer questions.” Bouncer held up one hand, a bloodied slip of paper held between her first two fingers. “An address for a property, recently purchased. Did some digging, buyer was a dead end, so I thought my next stop would be the realtor who handled the transaction. But, well,” she gestured vaguely at the smoldering building, then locked eyes with the vigilante, eyebrow raised. “Know anything, Fox?”

“Right…”

Akeno was starting to think that everyone who went around calling themselves a vigilante was just a little bit off. I mean, that should have been obvious really; anyone who put on a mask and a costume to fight crime instead of doing something more sensible with their time had to be a bit strange, herself included, but there was a weird sense of theatricality to the ones she had met so far that she hadn’t expected. Like they existed in the pages of a comic book and choose to act like a fictional character.

Like tying a mask around your face and acting like that was enough to disguise your identity.

She let out a sigh.

“Look, normally I’d be willing to entertain this, play along a little, but I can still taste smoke on my tongue from pulling your friends out of a burning building.” That wasn’t a joke either; she hadn’t expected there to be an aftertaste to that kind of thing, but apparently there was. “You’re wearing the same clothes you were a minute ago, all the way down to the same bloodstains; you have the same hair, the same eyes and you still some soot on your shoulders. So instead of answering your question, how about you answer mine and tell me what really happened here; before I come to the assumption that you’re the one who set this place on fire and decide to do something about it.”

Akeno, Kitsune, let that threat linger for a moment before softening slightly. She relaxed behind the mask and remembered the scene that she had stumbled across when she arrived.

“Your friends are fine by the way; beat up, on breath tanks for the time being, but alive.

Admittedly, this wasn’t how Grim expected to spend most of his night. Meeting Wraith or the other two masked animal lovers was a slim possibility considering what he was investigating, but he also certainly wasn’t expecting to be following Wraith around back to his apartment after only the second time meeting him.

Zoey’s parents would be aghast.

Still, keeping occupied kept Grim’s mind off what happened earlier. Sort of. That scene would be burned into his mind like so many other horrific scenes he’s seen over the years, but for now having something to mull over was a welcome distraction that also allowed him to keep an eye on Wraith. The man went through something no one should and was obviously experiencing some kind of break - a mental break or a breakthrough was still yet to be seen.

“Mother fucker,” Grim cursed under his breath as he finally managed to peel the glove off his palm - or more accurately, peel the skin of his palm away with the glove. The leather material had melted and fused with skin from being pressed to the kiln, and unlike Wraith the shadowmancer had no healing powers. Or … magical regrowing fabric. So on the journey back to the man’s apartment (where they walked for some reason when he had perfectly good portals) Grim had summoned one of the drones and opened the first aid kit inside. He had cut around the ruined portion of palm and had just managed to peel the last of it off, keeping the fabric around his fingers despite how awkward it was in order to cover the painted nails. Next, to disinfect, burn cream…

By the time they turned down the right street, Grim was pinning the gauze in place wrapped around his hand. It wasn’t a perfect job by any means, but it should help for now.

Part of him was tempted to try and get Wraith to settle down. He’s had a hell of a night. At the same time, Zoey knew what it was like to come to an Earth Shattering realization and have to follow it through. For that reason Grim held his tongue, even as they ventured through one of the shittier Chicago neighborhoods, the people around scattering like rats at the sight of them. From there it was a short jaunt to an even shittier apartment.

“You have a coffee machine?”

Christ, they could both use it if he did. Bonus, he wouldn’t have to listen to Wraith talk about being commando again.

The entrance to the building was guarded by a man curled up on the stoop. Joel stepped over him without a second thought and began fussing with the stripped lock until he could finally shove the door open. The interior was...unpleasant. The dark green tile carpet was absolutely filthy with mystery stains, there were several insect carcasses in every corner, and a man was slumped in an arm chair in the foyer. The smell of smoke and pot hung heavy in the air. Somewhere, a dog was barking viciously and a base was rattling the walls. The elevator had an "out of order" sign that predated either of them.

Joel lead the way up the stairs silently until he finally came to his floor. His apartment wasn't...awful. It was certainly neat. As clean as a poorly maintained crackhouse apartment could be. The wallpaper was peeling in several places and the carpet was old as hell, but at least it wasn't piled with garbage. In fact, Joel hardly had anything. The wobbly kitchen table, a couple chairs, an old saggy couch, and an armchair made up the kitchen/living room combo. Up the hall, his bedroom appeared to be almost completely empty, save for a mismatched set of dressers, no bed. Overall, it was nicer than one could expect from a depressed widow.

He picked up the folder off his table and began flipping through the pages until he found the name he was looking for: Doctor Ellison. "Shit," he hissed, reading the report on decreased brain activity. It suggested administering a test for possible brain death. He shut the folder again and went to get coffee started.

"Dr. Ellison was a neurologist. He was the one who convinced me to participate in this experimental treatment for fatal familial insomnia. But he didn’t actually get my consent, because I was dead when he took me. I never had FFI, and now I can't even remember why I thought I did. Aside from never sleeping. He did some shit to my head, made up some..." Joel waved his hand, trying to come up with the right wording, "Fake memories, or something. Now I have no idea how much of what I remember was real or not."

He leaned on the kitchen counter on his elbows and pressed his face into his hands. He was clearly frustrated. "He probably still works at that damn hospital, shopping for his next victims. Northwestern Memorial. You ever been there?"

He glanced over at Grim, then took notice of the other hero's bandages. "Hey, why don't you wash those burns out a little better. I got stuff here to rewrap them. Don't know what kind of shit got in there." Like burnt Joel particles. "The bathroom's up the hall, first aid kit is in the closet in there."

With the coffee maker working it's magic, Joel excused himself to his bedroom to put on some normal person clothes. He shoved his suit into his drawsting backpack and slung it over his shoulder when he was done. Hopefully he wouldn't need it again tonight.

Bouncer was silent for a long moment, rocking back on her heels as she looked down at the blood soaking her pants leg. She supposed she really hadn’t given this plan much thought, had she? Still, wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of superhero etiquette about this kind of thing? Once you had a mask on, you were someone else, or something like that. Even if you weren’t, you were. It was like… respect for privacy, or whatever. Kayfabe. Bouncer could’ve sworn that was a thing. Beyond that, something about the fox’s tone made her chafe. It was too… familiar.

The other two were alive, though. That was expected, but Bouncer wasn’t sure how to feel about it. They were alive, and from what she could tell no one had recognized them for their vocations yet. That… well, Bouncer supposed she’d call that good enough, then. It was something she could deal with later.

She raised her eyes to meet the fox again, planting the soles of her feet back on the ground, then looked off again, back at the dying flames. “I told you what happened,” she finally answered, dropping the feigned voice. Bouncer played the course of events back through her mind, trying to make some sense of it. “I looked into an address, found a place that had got sold off.” She tossed the slip of paper at the vigilante’s feet, watching it flutter briefly through the air before the blood staining it dragged it down to the earth less than halfway between them. She looked away again.

“One of them old apartment complexes, being used to hold people snatched off the street. Owner was just some dope used for a name on paper, so we were gonna look into the guys who handled the transaction, see if they had any leads.” Bouncer gestured vaguely toward the ruined building. The former office of Nadar Realty, smoldering beneath the dark sky. “Then I got shot and the building caught fire.”

Bouncer didn’t bother to mention any of the smaller details. Who her “friends” worked for or how it was them who had looked into the address in her place. How she’d only been allowed to come along to humor her, or how she’d been told to stay in the car while Mateo and Erik handled the situation because they thought she’d just make a mess of things, and had thus missed everything up until she’d decided to go in anyway and saw them getting their asses beat by a guy who was supposed to be some scrawny accountant type. How the guy had seemed to know where she’d be before she was even there.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, trying to brush some of the ash off her suit but only succeeding in staining her palms. Bouncer clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels again. She really wanted a shower, and all the smoke in the air stank. “I mean honestly there’s not much I didn’t already tell you. I just figured, you know, you’re supposed to be a hero or whatever. Maybe you’d want to look in on it now you’re…” Bouncer trailed off, thinking of how to phrase it. “Adjacent? I guess? I kinda suck at detective crap, so.”