The room Roxy was in smelled like piss an old cigarettes. The building was abandoned and clearly hadn’t seen life outside of rats and bums in years, but it also happened to look right across the street at the trainyard the shipment was happening at.
Roxy tried not to worry about the suspiciously smelly puddle she stepped in on the way up as she peeked out of the dirty window out across the street. She could see a few skinheads milling about, walking along vague patrol paths or talking with one another. There weren’t many of them, maybe eight or nine by her count. The others were probably deeper inside, beyond view of the street.
Gotta be careful about this, Roxy thought, eying the gun in one of the skinhead’s hands. It was a rifle, though Roxy didn’t know enough about guns to pinpoint the exact make. Didn’t really matter though, did it. The only difference between shot by a 45. or a 20 millimeter was bleeding out quick or staying alive long enough to get two more to the skull. Either way, you were dead. And Roxy didn’t plan on dying tonight.
Roxy crouched down beside the window, doing one last check of her gear. Tonight wasn’t about showing off. She was here to work. She needed to be sneaky, not loud. That meant no fighting unless she absolutely had to. Even if she was pretty sure she could take all these assholes down with no issue.
She wished she had the materials to make that personal noise cloak that had been floating around the back of her head for a while njow, but applying a consistent muting effect to a moving target was a lot harder than blasting out sound waves. Harder, and much more expensive.
“When this is done,” she promised herself, before slinking back into the building.
She crossed the street with relative ease, slinking through the shadows and slipping behind cover every time a pair of headlights made its way down the street. Eventually, she reached just outside the trainyard, with only a fence and a wide open gate to block her path.
She leaned out of the alley she had ducked into only to immediately jerk back as she saw two bald heads. The lookouts had moved up. Now they were standing directly in the entrance instead of just loitering behind it. She could hear them complaining, something about being cold and wishing they could be inside with the rest. The other guy admonished him, noting that they were here until whoever was inside finished loading up.
Loading up. So the shipment was already in there. Good. Roxy hated waiting.
What to do... Roxy tapped on her palms in thought. She couldn’t just take these two down; someone further inside would definitely notice their buddies disappearing, or maybe even spot her in the act. She needed to find another way inside.
Roxy crept along the perimeter, keeping low and close to the fence. The chain-link rattled softly in the breeze, the sound swallowed by the ambient hum of the city around them. She kept her eyes forward and her ears open, listening for anything out of place.
The trainyard was bigger than she’d expected. Rows of train cars sat dormant on rusted tracks, some lined with graffit, others pristine in a way that suggested they were actually being used. Storage containers and piles of lumber were interspersed between the lines, providing plenty of cover and breaking line of sight into the yard itself.
Roxy spotted a gap in the fence about thirty yards down. The links had been cut and pulled away, leaving a hole just big enough for a grown adult to slip through if they really squeezed. Someone had clearly been using this as a way in and out for a while now.
She slipped through it, stepping onto the other side of the fence with only a light gravel crunch. The moment she was on the other side, however, she heard a light cough from only a few feet away. Then footsteps.
Roxy froze, cursing mentally as a man rounded the side of the shipping crate just in front of her. He was wearing a jacket and sported a flat face except for the pursed lips that were currently clutching a cigarette. He also had a shotgun slung loosely around his neck by its straps like a guitar.
Shit. Of course they’d have someone watch the obvious second entrance. Roxy half-ducked back into the darkness, heart beating a mile a minute. He hadn’t spotted her yet, but it was only a matter of time at this distance.
The man’s gaze swept the area, passing over the hole in the fence before doubling back. His brow furrowed as he spotted the gap, then slid to her, hiding in the shadow of the shipping crate. His eyes narrowed then widened as her silhouette resolved in his vision, going from a vague shadow to a crouching cape.
Roxy lunged the moment she saw the recognition in his eyes.
Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of his jacket before he could react. She yanked him toward her, her other arm already coming up as her Thumper pressed flush against the side of his head.
The noise that came out wasn’t really something most people would register as sound. It was a high-pitched whine, barely perceptible, running at a frequency designed specifically to wreak havoc on the inner ear. From this close, with the gauntlet pressed directly against his skull, he didn’t have a chance to even turn his head before the sound did its work.
The man’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, his cigarette tumbling to the ground. He stumbled backward, his balance completely shot as the fluid in his inner ear suddenly couldn’t tell up from down. His hands clawed at his head, the shotgun swinging wildly on its strap, and Roxy pressed her advantage.
Pushing the shotgut out of the way, Roxy grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground, straddling his chest before he could thrash his way free. His hands came up, trying to push her off, but she was already winding up.
Her gauntleted fist slammed into his face, over and over again. The first blow split his lip. The second bloodied his nose. The third snapped his head to the side and elicited a rough groan from his mouth. Roxy didn’t let up. She was a lanky, thirteen year old twig against a grown man. She had to make sure he was down.
The man went limp after the sixth blow, his arms falling slack at his sides. Roxy stayed on top of him for a moment, her chest heaving as she watched his face for any sign of movemen.
He man was clearly out of hit. His eyes were bruised and already swelling and his nose was bloodied and clearly broken. Soft, rasping gasps game out from between his bloodied lips, but if he was conscious, he had clearly decided that he was better off playing dead than taking another hit.
Roxy climbed off of him, her hands trembling with adrenaline as she wiped her bloody knuckles off of the man’s shirt. She looked around, before grabbing the man’s arm and hauling him to the shipping crate. She left him slumped against the metal, just out of view, and threw his gun on top of the crate where he couldn’t reach it.
If he woke up, she’d hear him sneaking up on her, but she didn’t really feel like taking a shotgun to the back any time soon.
Getting her wits about her, Roxy crept deeper into the trainyard, using the rows of train cars as cover. The place was bigger than it looked from the outside, a maze of tracks and storage that seemed to stretch on forever. She could hear voices in the distance and followed them cautiously, keeping her footsteps light on the loose gravel.
The deeper Roxy went, the more the feeling that something was off grew.
The train yard was quiet, almost silent even. She could hear shifting feet and quiet muttering, but it was nothing close to what she should be hearing for this level of operation. Where was the activity? There should have been patrols, people moving crates, the sounds of people prepping for this massive operation. Instead, there was practically nothing.
Roxy crouched behind a rusted container, her eyes scanning the area. Two men stood near a flatbed car about fifty yards ahead, their postures loose and bored. One was smoking, the light of his cigarette flaring orange in the darkness, white the other tapped his foot to an unheard tune. Neither of them looked like they were expecting trouble.
Where is everyone? Roxy thought, frowning behind her helmet. The skinheads she’d overheard on the Boardwalk made it sound like this was going to be a big operation.
Maybe she’d gotten the time wrong? No, she heard them loud and clear. They said nine yesterday, and the lookouts at the gate had said they were loading up. And Victor was supposed to be here. So where were the trucks? Where were the workers?
Roxy moved forward, keeping low as she circled around a train car. She peered around the corner, getting a better view of the flatbed.
The two men were still there, and they hadn’t noticed her. Beyond them, she could see more of the yard stretching out—a few more guards, maybe three or four, scattered between the tracks. Some stood near a warehouse at the far end, while others leaned against train cars, their postures relaxed.
That’s it? Roxy counted under her breath. There’s only like eleven of them here!
Roxy was feeling worse and worse about this. Something wasn’t right.
Roxy eased forward, her steps silent on the gravel as the feeling in her gut worsened. Every few seconds, she paused, her ears straining to pick up anything beyond the ambient noise of the city.
Nothing. Just the distant murmur of those two guards near the flatbed and the soft rustle of wind through the yard. Even the guy tapping his foot had stopped, leaving the whole area stooped in an eerie silence.
She should have turned around then. But she’d come too far to leave empty-handed, and the memory of six thousand dollars vanishing from her hiding spot still burned in her chest.
Just a little further. Scope it out, then decide.
Roxy rounded the corner of a rusted boxcar and found herself facing a large open space between the tracks. A handful of trucks sat parked in a row near the far end, their beds empty. Beyond them, a warehouse loomed, its loading bay doors open and dark.
Empty. The whole place was empty.
There were no crates being loaded, no forklifts or teams of workers hauling merchandise. Just a few bored guards scattered around like decoration, and a whole lot of nothing.
She was just about to pull back and retreat when the first one dropped from nowhere.
Roxy flinched as a figure clad in full black landed right in front of her. The green glow of tactical goggles burned through her helmet as they surged towards her, clutching something in their hands.
Her Thumpers screamed, reflex overriding fear as she raised and hand and blew him away. The noise echoed in the warehouse, deafening to her sensitive ears, but through the cacophony and the fear, she heard two more land right behind her.
Roxy spun, her Sonic Lance coming up just in time to catch a second figure mid-lunge. The weapon shrieked, and the blast caught the figure square in the chest, sending them tumbling backward into the darkness. She angled it towards the other one, but they were already on her.
A gloved hand closed around her wrist, yanking her arm to the side before she could bring her Thumper to bear. Roxy snarled and twisted, driving her elbow into the figure’s ribs. They barely budged while her elbow smarted. Whoever these guys were, they were wearing armor under those suits.
“Got her!” a tinny voice barked behind her, moving to grab her around the waist.
With a grunt, Roxy wrenched her arm back and slammed her gauntlet into the side of her attacker’s helmet. The device discharged with a muffled crack, and the figure staggered, their grip loosening just enough for her to slip free. She scrambled backward, raising her rifle, but there were more of them now, dropping from the tops of train cars and emerging from the shadows between the tracks. Four. Six. Eight.
Too many!
Roxy fired wildly into the crowd, the Sonic Lance screaming as invisible force slammed into bodies and sent them sprawling. Two went down hard, but the rest kept coming, spreading out to flank her. She backpedaled, her heart hammering, trying to keep them all in her sights at once.
A shape lunged from her left. She turned, fired, missed. Something hard cracked against the back of her helmet, and her vision exploded in stars. She stumbled, her knees hitting the gravel, and rough hands seized her arms before she could recover.
“No!” Roxy thrashed, her Thumpers whining as she tried to activate them. But they were holding her wrong, her arms twisted behind her back at an angle that made her shoulders scream. She felt a sharp pressure against her stomach, then a click that rang in her ears.
Heat raced through her body like lightning, a liquid fire that left her breathless and sick. Her legs fell out from underneath her and her arms went slack. She didn’t even feel her lance slip from her fingers as the world tilted on its axis and she fell.
The last thing she saw of the waking world were masked figures hovering over her and a thin voice speaking smoothly through another medium.
“Well done, Captain. Now bring her to me.”
~~~
Roxy woke up feeling stiff, achy, and altogether like she had been out through the world’s most turbulent meat grinder.
Harsh lights seared her eyelids and she grimaced, slowly cracking them open to find herself staring at a bare concrete wall broken only by a steel door. Bright florescent strips lined the upper edge of the wall, glaring right into her eyes
So bright... Roxy squinted. Why wasn’t her helmet---
Roxy froze as a strand of red hair fell into her face. She wasn’t wearing her helmet.
A quick, panicky squirm revealed something even more important. That being, she was tied to the chair she was sitting in. Her arms were lashed around her sides, not allowing for any movement beyond wiggling her fingers or twisting them from side to side. Her gauntlets were gone, as was her jacket leaving only the t-shirt and body armor.
Panic clawed at her throat, as she realized her situation. Whoever took her had taken her helmet off; they knew her identity.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Roxy forced herself to breathe, her chest tight. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat thundering in her ears as she calmed down. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in details through her rising fear.
The room was small, maybe fifteen feet square, with white concrete walls that looked freshly painted. The chair she was tied to was bolted to the floor, and the ropes around her wrists and ankles were thick but not rough. On top of that, they were clearly tied by someone who knew what they were doing.
Whoever brought her here had done this before. That, or they had been planning this for a while. The whole scenario spoke of an obvious set up.
The door opened with a heavy groan. Roxy’s head snapped toward the sound, her muscles tensing against the ropes as two men in black tactical gear stepped through. They moved to either side of the door, their faces hidden behind masks, rifles held at the ready.
More followed. Two more, then four, until Roxy found herself surrounded by a squad of armed men. They lined the walls of the small room, their postures relaxed but their weapons very much present.
She swallowed hard.
“What the hell is going on?” Roxy demanded, forcing the tremor out of her voice. “You assholes know who you’re dealing with? Unmasking a cape is against the Rules, dipshit. You’re gonna have the entire community on your ass for something like this.”
A dry chuckle echoed through the room. It came from the doorway, where a new figure had appeared, silhouetted against the light from the hall beyond.
It was a man, though Roxy thought he had more in common with a skeleton than anything living. He was all skin and bones, wearing a skintight bodysuit that reminded her of one of those greenscreen suits that extras used in movies. It was primarily black, with a white snake winding up from his leg and creating at the top of his head.
There was no face tear or any eyeholes, leaving the entire face completely bare. Despite that, Roxy could feel his stare as he came to rest only a few feet in front of her, hands clasped behind his back .
“A pleasure to finally meet you in person,” the man said, nodding towards her. He didn’t move to sit in the empty chair that had been placed across from of her, and simply stood there, looking down on her. “Your reputation precedes you... though perhaps that isn’t saying much, considering the low profile you’ve been keeping.”
Roxy’s jaw tightened. “Who the hell are you?”
“Someone with considerably more foresight than yourself.” The man’s voice was dry and clinical. “My name is Coil. I can’t say I’m impressed by your decision-making skills, though I suppose we can work on that.”
“We?” Roxy growled.
Coil’s featureless mask tilted slightly, as if he were considering something amusing. “Yes, we. You didn’t think I went through all this trouble just to have a conversation, did you?”
“I think you’re about to learn why you don’t fuck with capes,” Roxy spat, straining against her bonds. “The second people find out what you did, you’re dead. You think the Protectorate is just gonna let this slide? Unmaking a cape, kidnapping them—”
“Who, exactly, is going to find out?” Coil interrupted. “You’ve been making quite a go at making a name for yourself, but I regret to tell you that it hasn’t been very successful. As far as the world is concerned, you’re simply another runaway foster kid who vanished into the ether. Happens all the time in this city.”
Roxy’s mouth snapped shut, her throat tight. She searched for a rebuttal, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because she knew he was right.
“Now then,” Coil continued, his tone almost conversational. “I’d like to discuss your future. Specifically, how it’s going to align with my interests.”
“My future?” Roxy’s voice came out hoarse. “You mean the part where I get out of this chair and beat your skull in?”
“You’re in no position to make threats, child. You’re tied to a chair in an undisclosed location, surrounded by armed men, without any of your precious toys. The sooner you accept reality, the smoother this conversation will go.”
As if to emphasize his point, the armed men around the room rack their weapons. The rough click of metal against metal made Roxy flinch. Even if she had her weapons, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it out of this room with at least a few bullet holes in.
Without them...
“I’m listening,” Roxy said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” Coil clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll be direct. Tinkers are a highly sought commodity in our line of work, and one with your particular specialty would be especially valuable. If given proper resources and... direction, you could be one of the more prolific players in this city.
“I’m willing to be the hand that guides you,” Coil continued. “You’ll have a place within my organization, unlimited funding for your little projects, and an umbrella to take cover under when your ambitions inevitably bring trouble your way.”
It sounded too good to be true. Which meant it was.
“What’s the catch?”
Coil inclined his head, as if pleased she had asked. “A bit of quid pro quo, as it were. In return for what I’m offering you, you will outfit my men with the very same munitions you used on them tonight. Sonic weaponry is rare in our line of work, and much harder to defend against than conventional arms. I would get quite a bit of use out of technology made by a Tinker such as yourself.”
The words hung in the air between them. Roxy stared at the blank white mask, trying to read something behind it, but there was nothing to see---just smooth fabric and the faint outline of the snake pattern winding up his skull.
“And if I say no?”
Coil was silent for a long moment. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the sound pressing against Roxy’s sensitive ears even without her helmet’s filtration. She could hear the soft breathing of the armed men around her, the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of boots shifting on concrete.
“Let me be clear about something,” Coil said finally, his tone still conversational but edged. “I am not a man who wastes resources. You are valuable to me, or you wouldn’t be sitting in that chair right now. However, I also recognize that you are a thirteen-year-old girl who has spent the last month sleeping in a shipping container and eating crackers without anybody the wiser.”
Roxy’s blood ran cold. How long had he been watching her?
“I’m not going to be your slave,” she spat.
“You’re going to be my employee.” Coil’s voice hardened. “One who is well compensated and protected, assuming you follow the rules.”
“And if I don’t?”
Coil stepped forward, his featureless mask inches from her face. He crouched down, bringing himself to her eye level, and Roxy could feel the weight of his gaze even without seeing his eyes.
“I’m not one to answer redundant questions.”
Roxy stared into his eyeholes, expression furious, before she slowly slumped in her chair.
“Fine,” Roxy said, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. “I’ll do it.”
Coil straightened, his posture relaxing with his victory as his mask moved in a mockery of a satisfied smile.
“Wonderful. I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” he turned, showing her his back as he strode towards the door. “Captain Hill will show you to your new home. I’m sure you’ll find it much more accommodating than that leaky factory. Your equipment will be waiting for you.”
Roxy didn’t hear the door shut behind him, nor did she feel the knife sliding through the ropes to cut her free.
“Up,” a voice said from behind her. “Let’s go.”
Rough hands hauled her to her feet, and Roxy stumbled as blood rushed back into her legs. She caught herself on the arm of the chair, her jaw tight, before straightening and turning to face the man who’d cut her free.
He was built like a soldier, all hard lines and rigid posture. A black balaclava covered his face, and his eyes were flat in a way that made Roxy’s skin crawl. Captain Hill, apparently. She didn’t like him already.
“This way,” Hill said, jerking his head toward the door. He didn’t wait for her to respond, turning to stride out of the room like he expected her to follow. Two of the other armed men fell into step behind her, their weapons still very much present.
Roxy walked.
The hallways were polished concrete floors and brick walls broken only by the occasional steel door. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and Roxy’s ears picked up sounds of distant activity much further down. The place was big. Far bigger than anything in the city except maybe the mall.
Underground, then,” Roxy thought, as if knowing that really mattered.
Captain Hill didn’t speak as he led her through the maze of corridors. Roxy kept her eyes forward, her hands curling into fists at her sides like a prisoner. The only thing she was missing was the shackles.
They stopped in front of a door that looked like all the others. Hill punched a code into the keypad beside the frame, and the lock clicked open with a heavy thunk.
“Your room,” he said, pushing the door open. “You’ll find everything you need inside.”
Roxy stepped through, and the door sealed shut behind her with a hiss of pressurized air.
The room was twice the size of her office in the factory, easily. A bed sat against one wall, made up spartan with flat sheets and pillows. A small kitchenette occupied the corner, complete with a mini-fridge and a hotplate, and door on the far side led to what she assumed was a bathroom. Most prevalent however, was the massive steel workbench that dominated the opposite wall, covered in her equipment.
Her helmet sat beside her Thumpers and her Sonic Lance was propped against the table. Even the bag of spare parts she’d left behind in the shipping container rested on one of the symbols beneath the work surface. Everything was there, laid out like an offering.
Or a bribe.
Roxy approached the workbench slowly, her fingers trailing across the cold steel. The surface was pristine, free of the grime and rust she’d grown accustomed to. Built-in outlets lined the wall above it, and a collection of tools hung from a magnetic strip. Even at a glance, she could tell they were high quality. Roxy moved to the bed, pressing a hand against the mattress. Firm, but not uncomfortable. And it had actual sheets, a new mattress, and a pillow that didn’t smell like someone else’s sweat.
It was better. Objectively, undeniably better than a leaky factory or a crowded orphanage. She had privacy, resources, and all the time to work she wanted. It was everything she’d been working toward for weeks, handed to her on a platter.
Except now I’m a prisoner.
Roxy moved to the door on the far side of the room and pushed it open. A small bathroom, like she thiught. It was simple, just a standing shower, toilet, and sink. But that alone was still better than what she had lived with for years. She turned the faucet, watching the clear stream flow into the sink. No rust, no brown discoloration, just water.
She shut it off and leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a sound that would have been intolerable without her helmet’s noise cancellation. Here, in this sterile box, it felt like the walls themselves were humming.
Everything she’d wanted. Everything she’d worked for. And she’d gotten it by getting caught.
A bitter laugh escaped her throat, and she sat down to work.