Vengeance

20

Being a vigilante isn't like being a schoolteacher or a doctor, you don't simply turn in your papers, retire, move to the Hurricane State, and spend the rest of your days dodging flood waters and sipping pina coladas.

To don a suit is to pledge an oath and like any oath is comes with the burden of responsibilities and consequences. It is a life of service and secrecy. Enemies are made, lives lost, pain survived, and one day you may hang up the cape, but the instincts don't fade. The need to act remains, as does the ability to see it. It taunts you.

Few ever retire from the life entirely. They try, tormented by all they've seen or done, but find themselves unable to relinquish that crucial aspect of their identity.

Alan is no different. He recited, moved out of the city, found a house to occupy his time, but he kept the suit and gear tucked away for the day it may be needed again.

Seraphim's gloved hand caresses the gruff brick ledge. Beneath is a dead street. The abandoned elementary school sits on the other side behind a vine-ridden wire fence.

Seraphim has her own doubts about this plan, not that she would dare to vocalize them. This plan of Alan's relies solely on two things: the surprise resurgence of Warlord and the strict-territorial dividers of the Paradox. To the outside world the school is the Wild West, but in reality it has more defined borders than some countries. The criminal underworld operates on a series of unwritten rules and territory is at the center of it. Barring Angel's information is up to date only the front and rear exits will be accessible to the mercenaries.

Seraphim's focuses her gaze on the front doors. Only two visible guards with their guns tucked in their waistbands. Seraphim draws her stare up to the roof, populated only by those indulging in a carnal embrace and those injecting poison into their veins in the futile search for Nirvana.

Warlord yanks the grappling hook free from the sheathe strapped to his thigh. Anticipating a fight, he brought his suit and all his old gear with him. It's odd to stand beside Warlord again. The last time they fought together she and Angel were on the cusp of adulthood. He aims it down and fires. The titanium hook bullets through the air and pierces the concrete wall. All this time, it's good to know he hasn't lost his touch.

Alan inclines his head to Seraphim and tests the secured line. He snags the hook and runs towards the ledge. The momentum sends him zooming through the air. Seraphim doesn't wait to see if he sticks the landing, she thrusts herself into the air. She soars over the deserted street and the sprawling layout of the former school and drops down in the back parking lot. Her feet barely greet the ground when gunshots ring out.

Seraphim shoves the door open and storms through, her senses alive and her body poised to strike. The guards must have fled to the front at the sound of gunfire. She steps over the sprawled out form of a junkie. His dazed eyes and incoherent rambling confirm he is alive, but it is all he's capable of in this state. Propped up against the opposite wall is a woman, a few years younger than Seraphim, with baby pink hair and track marks half-concealed by the heavy amount of black ink scattered across her arms.

The rest of the halls are lined with battleship gray lockers, several are dented having been the victim of an unfortunate collision with a poor guy's head or an angry fist; others are missing their doors. The remaining ones are covered in graffiti, announcing their ownership and secured with locks.

The Paradox's most cardinal rule governs interference. If you don't want a bullet in the head you don't meddle in another's business. Some of the classroom doors are wide open and bustling with activity while others are barred shut. Seraphim stalks past a Blood Dragon guarding a heroin operation. She ignores him and he eyes her as she passes, but makes no move. Any other day, she would relish in a chance to lay them to waste, but at the moment the last thing she needs is to start a feud with the Blood Dragons. It would be an inconvenience.