Chapter 27: Pattern Recogntion

Guardian

a Worm/Destiny Crossover

Chapter 27: Pattern Recognition

There was a concern to be addressed before progress could be made. That concern being firepower, and more specifically that Taylor did not feel as if she possessed enough. Which was of course ridiculous. Even with just her knife and bow she was plenty dangerous, and more than content to live a firearms free life. Or she'd thought as much, anyway. It was a strange contradiction of desires. One side wanting a thing, the other wanting its opposite. What exactly was she supposed to do in a situation like this, with her instinct and reason in conflict? This concern was of course compounded by the weight of more than fifty missing people. The exact number was hard to determine, even for a Thinker of Lisa's caliber, but it was at least that much. Could she argue with herself about such a thing while so many lives hung in the balance? She found the answer to be no, she could not. So she squashed that reluctance, and set about finding herself some guns.

She tried John first. Her reasoning had been simple; former soldier, man of action and preparation, living in the Bay. It should naturally follow that he had at least two guns stashed about the place. He did not. She learned that John did not much care for guns, and in fact was against the idea of her having one in the first place. Vehemently. She left his place in a hurry.

There were really only two other options. First, she could mug a gang member/members and hope that they had some illegally acquired stuff for her to steal. Not her favorite idea. Or she could go the PRT. If she explained what was happening, shared her information, and stated in no uncertain terms that she would not be removing herself from this, they might – with some unofficial help – give her the firepower she needed.

Or...

They might believe her, accept her information, and then state in no uncertain terms that they would not swarm blindly into action against a supposed, people-repurposing beast of unknown dimensions and capabilities and that, furthermore, they would especially not give guns to a teenage girl. Then, they would kindly show her the door. Or a holding cell disguised as guest quarters, to keep her from running off and getting herself killed.

So she was up a creek. One that smelled like shit, with fifty or more human shaped outlines lining the dirty banks, and not a single, gun shaped paddle to help her out.

But. What if there was?

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"Reaper?"

"Guardian. How may I help you?"

Shadows had peeled away from his jaw again, and it was just as creepy as the first time. That was the thing that stuck out the most about Reaper, to her. That despite his politeness, his strangely formal mode of speech, and the fact that he had not once done anything threatening around her or hers, he was still...unsettling. Off in a noticeable, unnameable way. Still, like she'd established, he'd never tried to kill her, so that put him above Swamp Thing, and the entirety of the Merchants. So she could sit on this feeling, like being around an exposed wire. Until this was done. "I need to ask you for something."

"Well." His lips quirked. "You saved my life, so whatever I can do to redress that balance, I will."

How exactly was she supposed to answer that? "Good to hear. Um. I have my knife and – well, it's effective, certainly, but it's not...enough. I – I'm going to need more than just a knife, if we're going to go after this monster."

Now they turned down at the corners, a look of near-distaste. "Firearms. That's what you ask of me."

Now that she'd said it, she felt a bit more confident. "Yes. I was hoping you'd have some stashed around the city, and if that wasn't the case, you'd know someone who could help."

Reaper was silent for a long moment. Quiet, and still. Not forced this time. Finally, "I...must admit that I find firearms to be lesser than the sword. Those that utilize the former tend to be brash and loud and abrasive, projecting a front of bravery to hide their insecurity and cowardice. Men of the sword, such as myself, they know their ability, and are confident enough in it that they need hide nothing."

"That's..." Forget what he said earlier, how was she supposed to answer that? Luckily, or perhaps the opposite, he wasn't finished.

"However, I am not a man so bound by his scruples that he is incapable of performing what is needed of him. So while I do not possess any caches, I do know a man – a woman, actually – who will act as our supplier."

Taylor latched on to that bit of normality with desperate tenacity. "Great! That's – that's really great, Reaper. Who is she and where can I find her?"

She couldn't see the rest of his face, but she would swear on something very valuable that he was raising his eyebrows at her. "If I've given the impression that you'll be sent out alone, I must apologize. I meant to intimate that I will lead you to this woman, and help you procure what you need to continue."

"Oh, that's...oh."

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Reaper's source was a short, squat, former SWAT officer named Alice Watts. She was muscle under fat under scarred black skin, the remnants of the incident that ended her career with the Brockton Bay Police Department. Her left hand was absent a thumb, index and middle fingers. Her right hand was gone, cheaply made prosthetic in place. Her left leg was in a thick brace, all pads and metal rods reinforcing something no longer capable of performing as it was supposed to. Her right was gone below the knee. This happened, she was willing to explain, because she responded to a domestic disturbance call in Empire territory, and Hookwolf made an 'example' of her. Alice's exact words were, "If I look like I fell headfirst into a fucking huge blender, that's because that's not far from what actually happened. Fucking Hookwolf. Glad he's dirt napping."

That was the other thing. The reason Alice would be willing to supply Taylor with guns on the word of Reaper is because he is the reason Alice is still alive. He found her after Hookwolf dumped her in an alley to die and brought her to a hospital. Then, he tracked down the Nazi cape and killed him. Until now it had been one of the more high profile unsolved murders in the Bay. It still was for anyone who wasn't Alice, Taylor, or Reaper.

The three of them were sat in Alice's cramped, but clean kitchen. She spotted Taylor looking around and snorted. "Crippled, kid. Ain't useless. I can clean up my own damn house."

Mortification turned Taylor into a bumbling, stuttering fool. Well, more of one. "I didn't mean to – I'm – "

Alice snorted again. It seemed to be the closest she came to a laugh. "Ha, look at you. Damn. You make me feel old, kid. You gotta try a lot harder than that to upset me. So," she turned her attention to the shadowed man standing by the doorway. "what are you doing here? Not for the company, you're not one for conversation."

Reaper let the jibe slide without comment and cut straight to the point. It should figure he wasn't one for pleasantries. "I found the thing responsible for all the missing."

Alice bared her teeth, grimacing, before clicking her tongue. "Didn't know anyone was looking, besides me. The fuck is it?"

"A beast. It clings to the bottom of this city and turns forgotten souls into its weapons. It – when I found it, I nearly died in effecting my escape." He nodded to Taylor. "It is only thanks to Guardian and her allies that I survived. Now I – we, that is – aim to destroy it."

Alice clicked her tongue again, gave Taylor an appraising look. Whatever she saw, she approved of, because she nodded. "You're gonna need some firepower. You, there's a bag in the hall closet. Everything you'll need is in the basement. Kid, you're staying with me. I wanna hear about how a young thing like you ends up killing a swamp monster. Yeah, I heard about that. Now tell me the story, don't spare the gory details. Nothing shocks me anymore."

Reaper, perhaps unsurprisingly, did exactly what he was told. Taylor, who was finding herself warming up to Alice – if only slightly – started talking.

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The story took less time to tell than for Reaper to gather what they'd come to retrieve. By the time Taylor finished he had long since returned from the basement, a bulging canvas bag pulling at his shoulders. It was an oddly humanizing moment, to see him struggle with something heavy. When she finally finished laying the whole story out she realized that her voice had worn itself into having a little burr in the back of her throat and that she was very, very thirsty. She finished by borrowing a phrase from her girlfriend by shrugging and saying, "So...yeah. That's about it."

Alice whistled through her teeth. "Well, I'll be damned."

Reaper said nothing.

Taylor shrugged again, feeling awkward and antsy. She wanted to be out of that dim, strangely clean house. She wanted to be back at their base, or at home, or on the bow of that ship in the Graveyard, imagining herself plowing through cresting seas. Or, rather, she wanted to want those things. She wished that was what she wanted to do. No, she found herself longing for the contents of the bag by Reaper's feet. Her palms itched for the metal of a gun, as they once had for the handle of her knife. She wanted to delve into the depths of the city, find this monster, and kill it.

She wouldn't lie, it was somewhat alarming.

Alice stood suddenly, grunting with effort. The head of her cane squeaked from the increase of its burden. Taylor rose with her, concerned that the other woman might fall over or something, even though Alice had never displayed anything to indicate she would do so. The former cop waved her hook at Taylor. "You have that look in your eye, kid. Go do this thing, and when it's done, keep the guns. I can't use them anymore, they're just gathering dust here." She did not sound happy about this.

They left, Reaper handing the bag off to her as soon as they were off of Alice's stoop, his hands flickering and shaking as if he'd just handled something dirty or diseased. They made their way to the van they'd driven here, a white paneled vehicle that Reaper did not own in any way. She put the bag in the back, carefully, and climbed in after them. Reaper got in the driver's seat, the engine coughed into life, and they were off.

Okay, Taylor thought, time for phase two.

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Phase two. It'd be a lot easier, she suspected, to embark on phase two if she had a concrete idea of what it was. As it stood there was a nebulous series of 'needs to happen' floating about her mind. The first and biggest of which was where to begin. According to the data Reaper had provided, each of the fifty disappeared were taken from within a three block radius of one building; the condemned Endbringer shelter below Harper's Laundry. Well, that's what the faded paint on the wall said it had been. The builders of the shelter, some company, Taylor couldn't remember which, certainly hadn't cared. They hadn't given much thought to construction, either, which was why the shelter was condemned and that company was out of business.

So that was the first 'needs to happen' taken care of. Her dad was using one of the many contacts in his Rolodex to help Lisa get hold of the plans for the area. Apparently, he frowned on the idea of his daughter's girlfriend being willing to engage in criminal activity. Shady, on the other hand, he didn't seem to have too much of a problem with. At any rate the plans were soon projected on the wall, and Lisa was pacing in front of them, pencil between her teeth, mumbling to herself. It was curiously distracting.

The second thing. The so-called 'strike team'. Taylor had tried to come up with a better way to put and utterly, totally failed. 'Exploration team' implied that there wouldn't be any fighting, and that was...misleading...to say the least. Anything involving the word 'squad' was discarded immediately. So. Strike team. For reasons of mobility, and not wanting to stand out like a pack of goobers, they were limited to three. Well, two. Taylor was going, and that was that. So now she had to work out who would be going with her. Reaper seemed to be an obvious choice. She knew he was capable in combat, and he had previous experience with whatever was down there. Which put him over everyone else in the base. Negatives; he was almost certainly insane, and...he was creepy. It wasn't fair, but she couldn't avoid wanting to avoid him. Still. He was in. If for no other reason than she'd be suicidal not to.

So, that should be that solved. Except it wasn't, because she wanted a third. A nice, prime number. Problem was, there simply wasn't anyone available, and she wasn't willing to wait for the PRT to get their massive, bureaucratic wheels moving. She had no doubt that they would, but it would take too damned long. Maybe someone from New Wave? No. They'd never met before, and establishing enough trust to be willing to follow her would take too long. Or might not happen at all. Foil was out, Lisa was out, the BBPD was definitely out.

So. Two.

She could work with that.

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It was go time. Zero hour. Any other phrase she'd cribbed from war and police cinema. She had her knife strapped to one thigh. On the other she bore a holster, within which was a Colt Python. A comically large pistol, but the one that felt...rightest...in her hand. Its weight, its heft, the power of it. It just fit. Bullets, each as long and as thick as her pinkie, were in various pouches on her vest. Her bow curled and flickered down the length of her arm, voidlight dancing just beneath her skin. She was in her costume, which she was now starting to think of as armor, and sitting in the back of that stolen van as Reaper drove it to the Harper building. In her ear, snug and secure and carrying Lisa's voice to her, was an earpiece. She was ready.

Reaper's voice, as flat and calm as ever, drifted back to her. "Worry not, Guardian. This is what we do. We find the monsters that dwell in the dark, and we kill them."

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