Vengeance

24

Spending the day as Samantha's errand girl ranks low on the list of most enjoyable times Seraphim's had. By the time she lands at the doorstep of the Guardian headquarters, there's a permanent scowl etched on her face and a rage fueled fire burning in her core. She tears a path to the case housing her suit and then to the changing room. She strips out of her day clothes into her Firebird suit in record time. Seraphim emerges and stalks over to Angel and his wall of screens.

Angel is leaning again the desk, awaiting her. His gaze flickers over her, taking in her red and orange clad form. Her silvery waves are tucked into her raised hood and the extra measure of the sculpted mask conceals her identity from the public.

He reaches out and catches her hand. He uses the leverage to tug her closer. Seraphim rests her free hand on his shoulder, her gray orbs boring into his chocolate ones. His arm coils around her waist. "Promise me, you'll be careful. If the police show up you have to get out of there, I'm not trusting them to differ between friend and foe."

"Angel, I'm always careful, but I need answers."

Her words do little to soothe the worry that's taken hold of his face. His head bobs slightly. It's nights like this that make him feel inadequate. Only a few years ago, he'd be in his suit, heading out with her, watching her back. Now all he scales are digital walls and the only fights she has are with hackers. What use is that in the real world? His grip on Seraphim's hand tightens.

She squirms, drawing him from his thoughts. Without a word, he swoops down and molds his lips to hers. Seraphim returns the kiss. She raises her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, drawing him closer. The gesture is enough to quell the rage that burned in her and by the time they part she has forgotten the day's troubles. Angel rests his forehead against hers for a moment, savoring her presence before untangling himself from her.

He looks down at the keyboard and strikes a couple keys. A map of Metro City slides up onto the central screen. "It took some digging, but he's in town on a contract."

"The massacre?"

Angel shakes his head. "No, an accountant - mob accountant, who's made the deadly mistake of turning state's evidence against one of the families. As you can imagine they're not very happy about that. The accountant is being kept in a federal safe house in South Citak." Angel points to the red dot on the screen.

"I'd suggest starting your search for Bullseye there."

"Thanks Angel." She downloads the address to her suit.

***

The safe "house" is a pizza place with enough building over top to carve out two apartments. One belongs to the owner, the other is on lease to the government through four shell companies. There's only one building with a clear view into the top apartment, the bodega across the street. Firebird lands on the roof. Hopefully, Bullseye is oblivious to the news and hasn't abandoned the job before he's had a chance to fulfill it.

Firebird doesn't have to wait long for Bullseye to scale over the roof's ledge, clad in black with a rifle case slung over his back and a couple of firearms strapped to each thigh. Firebird emerges from the shadow as Bullseye is reeling in his line.

"Bullseye."

He whirls around, gun drawn, the barrel aimed at her chest. Seraphim raises her hands in surrender. He tightens his grip on the gun and eases into a standing position.

"Don't take another step," he growls.

"We need to talk," she states.

Bullseye's finger hovers over the trigger. "You come to take me in." It's a statement, not a question.

Seraphim eyes the gun. "Depends on your answers."

"What answers?" Bullseye demands.

"I take it you haven't watched the news today," Firebird remark, wryly. Even in the limited light she can see his brows draw together. "Did you commit the massacre at the DA's house?"

His eyes widen and his grip on the gun falters. "Massacre? Fuck no, I don't kill anyone that's not in a contract. I sure as fuck don't do massacres."

It may be foolish to take the word of a contract killer, but she believes him. She also knows enough about him to know if he did he would assume credit. Still, she needs to be sure. "The bullets had your signature on them."

"I didn't do this! I just got into town last night."

It was as she expected. He's been set up, but that raises another series of questions. Whoever orchestrated this knew Bullseye would be in town, they knew his signature, and went to great lengths to mimic it. Who had the resources to pull off something like this? Why? Why Bullseye? What's their endgame?

Seraphim stares at Bullseye. "Get out of my city. They're coming for you and they have no intention of taking you alive. Get out of Metro City and don't ever come back again or I'll turn you in myself." The shadow cast by the moon leaves all but her cheek and mouth hidden from view.

Bullseye meets her stare, testing her resolve. Firebird doesn't falter. He lowers the gun, sliding it back into its holster. She doesn't move, she's not stupid to turn her back on someone as dangerous as him. He kicks the gathered line over the side of the building and gripping the top, leaps off. The night devours him.

Bullseye never returned to Metro City.

***

"The Attack...it happened two weeks later. The case was never resolved." Seraphim gulps, forcing back the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. "I got close to something. I want to know what and what it has to do with what was done to me." There's an edge, a fury in her voice.

Alan sees it reflected in her eyes. She is no longer the wide-eyed hopeful champion he took under his wing. He cannot help that every time he looks at her he sees the little girl, huddled over her parents' bodies, sobbing in a halo of flames. She is a child no longer though and what the Guardians did to her has broken her in ways he fears not even Angel's endless patience and unconditional love will be able to repair. He is terrified that hate and revenge have already consumed her and that she will become what she once fought.

Her silver orbs, sharp as a dagger's edge, cut through the room like a sword through flesh. This has grown into an obsession, a need to uncover truth and administer justice that she was robbed of. Angel knows this. It has become all consuming, every breath she draws it fueled by the promise of vengeance. Angel fears, his limited help won't be able to resolve her fracturing self. It'll never be enough.

Whoever is responsible has left a trail of death that stretches through Metro City and possibly beyond it. She can sense it, something malicious hiding in the shadow, arranging the show like a puppet master pulling the strings. A faceless menace, arranged her death, and whoever they are has been promised death.

Seraphim cringes, shutting her eyes as flashes of the Attack assault her. In the blink of an eye she can feel the bullet rip through her flesh and muscle, the knife slashing her skin, the blood coating her stomach. Wincing, she runs a hand over the clothed area where evidence of her pain remains.

Angel coughs, shattering the oppressive silence. "We need to see if there are other cases like this, villains framed for attacks they didn't commit, see if there's a pattern or if the massacre at the DA's house was an isolated event. Alan perhaps you should review the case, study the victims, see if there's anything we missed."

"Print me a copy of everything you have," Alan agrees.

"I'm going to call Ashley," Seraphim announces.

Both Alan and Ashley whirl around to face her, but it's the elder that makes his objections known. "Do you think that's a good idea?" The last thing he wants to do is drag a young, naive girl into Seraphim's deadly crusade.

"Hecate has been training her for the last two years. She can hold her own." Seraphim turns and departs from the Hub before a counterargument can be raised.

Two years ago she would have fought to the bitter end.

***

"Hello?"

"Ashley, it's Seraphim, are you busy?"