a little death ➴ ᵏᵃᵗᵉ ᵇⁱˢʰᵒᵖ

𝟷𝟹

➴

"They held the wedding hostage," Remy began, sitting cross-legged in her therapist's office. "The intruders, they, like, demanded jewelry from the guests," she shrugged.

"You must have been scared."

"I was scared, I feared for my life, I feared for Kate's," Remy confessed, refusing eye contact. "Kate's sister, oh God." What was supposed to've been a memorable day for Susan Bishop had turned to utter shit. Remy winced in realization.

"The bride?" the man asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"Susan— Kate's sister— was in tears," she remembered. "I can't shake the image of her crying," Remy paused, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "This was my fault."

"What makes you believe you caused this?"

"I dunno. It's whatever— 'ts nothing. I misspoke."

In the previous weeks, Remy's anxious investigation regarding her car accident had proven unerring. She was now nothing short of certain that her accident on Christmas was a targeted attack, an attack meant to scare— or perhaps distract her from something larger.

This group, Remy figured, had similar motives to the Tracksuit Mafia— who'd been incarcerated following the events of the Bishop Security holiday party.

The Tracksuits worked for Kingpin, Kingpin aimed to create and rule a criminal empire in New York City, The Tracksuit Mafia was tasked to eliminate threats to their organizations, which included Elanor bishop. This new threat, which Remy had yet to identify, was motivated in a similar nature— only this time, their target was Remy. The missing piece to this obscure puzzle was—

"Why?" Kate sat comfortably on her couch, nursing a mug of coffee as Remy opened her computer.

"I don't know why," She explained, massaging her temples. "It's got to do with my mother, I know it."

"You never told me about her," Kate said, eyes wide in curiosity.

"She's dead, it doesn't matter," Remy waved off, turning her laptop around. "She worked for them," She explained, pointing to her screen, which read 'Advanced Idea Mechanics.'

"A.I.M.?"

"Both of my parents disappeared under this company. I suspected, at first, that they may have been involved in the robbery," Remy sighed, opening a new image. "But now I know for certain."

'Wedding in NYC chapel rescued from hostage situation,' the headline read. Below, a photo of the scene was attached. "But do you see that?" Remy asked, tapping her finger excitedly against a labeled vehicle in the image.

'A.I.M.'

"This is a lot." Kate was agitated, Remy noticed.

"Police didn't even show, remember? Didn't ask for statements, nothing. This was A.I.M., this was organized."

Kate sighed, closing the laptop.

"Believe me."

"I believe you." Kate shifted in her seat, crossing her arms. "You didn't tell me about your mom."

"I make an effort not to think about her. Please don't make this about her," Remy pleaded, interlocking her fingers with Kate's. "Let me take care of this, let me ensure our safety, your family's safety. I need to be rid of this."

"M'kay.. Get some sleep for now?" Kate asked, drawing a warm smile from Remy opposite her. "You tell me all about A.I.M. in the morning."

➴

Remy sat across from Kate at the dining table, her fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. Remy hadn't wanted to talk about her parents, but the truth had a funny way of bubbling up when she'd least wanted it. Sleeplessly, she peered up at the digital clock hung before her. 7:18AM

"My ma, she worked for them— AIM, I mean. And not just some desk job. She was involved in things that..." Remy trailed off, trying to find the right words. "Things that people like Adrian Hanover made efforts to cover up."

"Who?"

"Wilson Fisk, part two."

"So, your mom... and AIM.." Kate trailed off, her voice gentle but firm. She leaned forward, setting her own cup down, her eyes locked on Remy. "How do you fit into this?"

Remy sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "They want my attention, Kate. It's all connected: the wedding attack, the car accident..."

Kate leaned forward, her brows furrowed in thought. "So, what do they want from you?"

"That, I don't know. "

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but the silence between them lingered for a moment, growing thicker. Finally, she whispered, "Okay, well, what are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna cooperate," Remy nodded to herself.

Kate shook her head, her expression shifting with passive frustration. "Remy, you don't know how dangerous these guys are."

"Exactly," Remy nodded, tapping the edge of her cup.

"This is a trap— a hilariously, stupidly obvious trap." She scoffed. "Remy, how can you fly into their web like that?"

"They're not being discreet. This isn't a trap, it's a message, an invitation."

➴

It was a few days later when Remy clocked into her final shift at Claire's diner. The bell above the door jingled, and the familiar scent of greasy breakfast filled the air. She greeted the regulars with a half-hearted smile, knowing full well this would be her last night.

The shift passed in a blur. Remy was wiping down the counters when the door chimed again. A man in a dark coat slipped into the diner, his eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"Can get you anything, sir?" she asked, her voice steady.

He smirked, sliding into a booth near the back. "Actually, Ms. Bass.."

Bass wasn't Remy's name, it was her mother's. Her complexion fell pale, realization washing over her. Remy tensed as she walked over, trying to mask her anxiety. "What do you need?"

The man leaned forward, his voice low. "We need you to follow orders. Hanover doesn't like people who step out of line."

"Mhm," she nodded. Hanover. "I'm not familiar with a Hanover."

The man smiled, pulling a small envelope from his coat and placing it on the table.

Remy had made the careful decision not to open the package until she was alone in her dorm. A short message was written inside, and attached were various images and addresses belonging to her closest relatives. What pained Remy most, was the name of her young nephew's school.

'Beverly Bass left unpaid debts. It'd be smart to cooperate. A.H.'