Demons
In Nye Verden, there are no such things as coincidences. Chaos breeds disorder, but it also weaves fates and souls. You are just as likely to meet the love of your life as you are the one who will strike the final blow. And they are often one and the same.
Iwonder somedays if my existence is a joke—a cosmic hiccup in the grand scheme of the mayhem provided by the Disruptions.
In the early days it had felt freeing to be the only one with these abilities.
To step into the shadow and reappear wherever I wanted—I had felt like the most powerful woman to exist. Add in the shadow bending, manipulation, and general fear factor when approaching the common Remnant or criminal? I was on top of the world.
But this power only ever isolated me.
And as Harlot makes her way across the rooftop, I realize that the most ridiculous part of it is that I had to name these powers myself. Shadow-step? Darkness manipulation? There’s never been anyone I could talk to about them. There’s never been anyone who earned that trust.
And the one person who got the closest is frog marching her way to a quick, shallow grave.
“Dark One,” Harlot turns before she pushes open the roof door, “take control of the narrative. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
The shadows gather around me and the roof disappears.
DAEMON was founded in Chicago before the Affliction War.
After the Disruptions and war tore the world into slices, leaving most of the old European countries as utter wastelands, New Chicago became the mega-corporation’s forever home.
The building itself, though, never really matched the rest of the city-state.
Where most buildings in New Chicago followed the same rustic, copper theme resembling the old industrial boom, DAEMON chose to look like a steel monster.
When the Second Disruption opened the floodgates for the flow of Affliction out of whatever realm had contained it, DAEMON had only grown in its otherness.
The entire building is that of dark steel, towering into the sky. Only one other building outdoes it, and that's the capital itself. Affliction flows through the tubes that run the length of the megacorp, culminating at the roof where the swirling “D” logo illuminates the sky.
The entire thing screams “sinister evil corporation,” but no one's proved ill-tidings, and they own nearly everything on the New American continent.
I perch along the nearest rooftop from their central courtyard and watch the people coming and going.
Each look like the normal corporate type, their suits probably matching to the hexadecimal.
And each have their heads bent low over a phone or tablet, their whispered corporate conversations barely reaching my vantage point.
My HUD blinks with no new messages and the enhanced vision provided by the mask provides no information as to where Percy might be. I shoot her a terse “where are you?” but receive nothing in the several minutes I watch the front doors.
As it nears almost two in the afternoon, the plaza clears entirely.
Evidently, the mid-afternoon break has ended.
The front door opens, and I see her.
Percy's black peacoat whips around behind her as she tucks her hands into her jacket pockets. With her head tilted low, I can’t tell the expression on her face, but the brisk walk doesn’t endear “success.”
She makes her way across the courtyard and pauses briefly before crossing the street and angling towards the large parking structure.
I move along the rooftops, ensuring that no one else follows us before leaping down beside her, hiding in her shadow.
Despite being a few inches taller than her, the aspect of the shadow alone captures me like a warm blanket. Apparently we’re friends today. Suppose maybe their exploits last night had been a one-off.
Though, maybe it would easier if they’d do it again—and finish the job this time.
I nearly crash into Percy’s back as she freezes in place. And I realize I’d stopped following directly in her shadow, rather my right foot had crunched along broken glass along the parking complex’s floor.
She turns on her heel and raises her service pistol directly to my forehead. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, but she doesn’t drop the gun.
“Is this where we’re at now?” I ask, my voice still modulated by the mask. “You’re going to pull a gun on me like we were never friends?”
“Friends don’t keep this shit from one another,” she hisses, hand never wavering. Her bionic grip tightens along the metallic handle.
I snort, stepping into the barrel so it presses to my forehead. “Your reaction has hardly proven otherwise.”
“I should bring you in,” she says quietly, amber eyes hard. “You’re a murderer.”
“And here I was concerned that you were on your way to pick a fight with DAEMON.”
“What?” she bares her teeth in a sardonic grin. “Were you sent by the Guild to stop me?”
“No,” I hiss, pressing the barrel firmly against my forehead. The mask won’t protect me. Nothing will at this rate. “I got here as soon as I heard about your idiotic decision to go it alone.”
“Was I supposed to wait for you?” she asks, her fingers tensing along the trigger. “To protect me?”
“Why do you act like I wouldn’t?” I ask, almost feeling hurt despite the rising anger in my throat. “Why do you act like I wouldn’t do the right thing?”
“I don’t know what you would or wouldn’t do. I don’t even know who you really are.”
My hands clench tightly as I steady my breathing. Blood and death is one thing. Social conflict is an entirely different type of battle.
“You’re the only fucking person who knows the whole truth, Percy,” I grit out. “And you’re the one with the gun to my head.”
Percy huffs out a breath, but it almost sounds like a choked sob. Then tears build at the corners of her amber eyes, brightening them a shade.
“I loved you like a sister,” she whispers. “You were a sister to me.”
Pain threatens to lance at my heart again, but I swallow it before it makes contact.
“It was mutual,” my voice sounds hoarse as I try to blink out the tears that might otherwise mar my electronic vision.
We stand in silence for what feels like an eternity. Then she shifts her footing, gun still leveled at me like I might lash out.
“So now what?” she asks.
“Did you learn anything from Roberts?” I ask, not yet moving away from the loaded weapon.
“He wouldn’t even let me in the fucking door,” she answers, expression tight with annoyance and exhaustion. “Pretty much told me to get a warrant and come back. As if any judge would even grant me one.”
There’s something else, but I can’t tell from anger in her voice.
“I could try—” I start, but she grips the gun tighter.
“You will stay as fucking far away from this case as possible. You’re done. We’re done.”
The rejection stings. Like she’d leveled the gun at my already torn heart and unloaded the clip into the still-beating flesh.
“You couldn’t stop me,” I say softly, backing up a step. She doesn’t follow, but the gun does. “No one can.”
“Are you a god or something?” she asks, her tone not hinting at the question being sarcastic.
I can’t help the bubble of laughter at the utter contrast between the way she sees me and the reality of it all.
“A god? No, gods don’t have fucking nightmares. Gods don’t feel alone. They don’t fear the unknown.”
“Yet you see the damned and hide amongst the shadows. You wield darkness as a weapon and walk like the world itself caters to your every whim.”
“You act like I want to be this way,” I snap, whirling to face the darkened parking structure.
I step between the shadows, moving this way and that. She spins on her heel, trying to keep her weapon pointed at me. She doesn’t move in time before I cup gently at the base of her neck.
“You think I want to be this?” I hiss, and she whirls to face me. This time the gun doesn’t come up to meet me. Only amber eyes that radiate fear.
Her fleshy hand grips loosely at the bionic elbow as her pistol falls to her side.
“I hate myself, Percy,” I hiss, closing the space between us. “I hate the person in the mirror every time I see her.”
My helmet tears free easily and I drop it on the floor beside me.
She stares up at me, eyes wide and unblinking.
“I never wanted to be this way,” I say, feeling emotion choke at my throat.
“Then turn yourself in,” her voice is small, almost tremulous as she speaks. “And we can get you some help. Let them test your powers. If you’re capable of hiding them from the Reliquary, imagine what you could do with help.”
And I can tell her offer is sincere. That she truly believes RISE would help me.
“Your faith is misplaced,” I say, bending slowly to grab my mask. “They’d only put me down.”
Percy takes a tentative step forward, but she stumbles.
I glance down and see the heel of her boot has sunk into the concrete floor.
“What the—” she begins, but several of the nearby vehicle alarms pop off at once.
Then they cut off suddenly.
“They will likely put you down anyways, Dark One,” a higher pitched voice trills through the garage. “Or I can, I suppose. I’ve always wanted to try myself against you.”
The nebula-like helmet appears from between two vehicles, like they’d been there the whole time. Golden armor radiates softly in the dim light, reflecting along the nearby vehicles.
Percy’s stumble and cry of panic tears me from my gawking as she almost falls flat on her face. I catch her and pull her out from where the boot has firmly phased with the ground.
The probability of atoms matching in such a way that they phase through one another is infinitesimally small.
And yet with Omen it’s almost an assurance.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” I ask, doing my best to subtly push Percy behind me. Omen’s gaze, hidden by the helmet, seems to be firmly on me, though.
“Darkrend heard about your little skirmish with one of his generals. He’s upset to learn you turned Titan into a stuck pig but is willing to forgive the slight if you turn over the detective. Just my luck I find you two together.”
It’s never just luck with Omen.
“What does Darkrend want with two dead bodies?” I ask, letting the shadows rise around me. “First he sends Titan, now you. He must be worried.”
“This issue doesn’t concern you,” Omen hisses, voice completely unidentifiable. “You only managed to get in the way. This would be the third time, now.”
They take a step forward, their golden armor shifting and bending in weird ways that only make sense when you consider the Remnant wearing it.
“Why didn’t Darkrend come here himself?” I ask, turning to shield Percy with my body.
Omen seems to consider me for a moment before a dark chuckle emanates from the helmet.
“Darkrend hasn’t done his own dirty work in a long, long time. He’s working on much more important matters.”
“I’m not letting you take her,” I say firmly, my shadows licking at the ceiling as I expand them further. “You’re going to have to go through me.”