78

Chapter 78: Depravation 8-3

Depravation 8.3

Stepping outside felt like a breath of fresh air.

In my head, I knew that there wasn't an appreciable difference in air quality. The bodies hadn't had enough time to start really decomposing, so the nauseating smell of rot hadn't set in yet, either. The majority of the apartment's thick, stifling atmosphere was more a result of my own imaginings and perceptions than something real.

But all I could smell was the Locker. All I wanted to do was put as much distance between me and that blood-splattered room as I could.

Even as I sat down on the sidewalk and let my head drop into my hands, however, I couldn't escape it. When I closed my eyes, I saw it again, that pristine room painted maroon with blood, the dozens of miscellaneous body parts strewn almost haphazardly about. A finger there, a jaw there, a foot there, the shattered remains of a rib there. Like someone had wrapped invisible strings around each bone and attached the other ends to rockets, all aimed in different directions.

Swallowing around the taste of bile, I tried to force the image out of my head. But all it did was call up other memories, Khepri's memories, of Bonesaw and the Slaughterhouse Nine and all the horrors they had unleashed and left in their wake. The mutilated corpses, the Frankenstein monstrosities, the brutal, pointless massacres that seemed aimed only at pulling the wings off of metaphorical flies.

Fuck. What kind of twisted psychopath would take cues from them?

"First time seeing something like that?"

I looked up and back over my shoulder to find a white-faced Vista. She looked like she was handling it far better than I would have expected; aside from her pallid skin and the grim pull of her lips, she seemed completely and entirely unfazed. Like stone — implacable, unmovable, and strong.

It gave her the air of a professional, of a hardened veteran who had seen and experienced loads of things that would give the average person nightmares. The kind of air that you expected on a grizzled, old Noir detective with a gravelly voice and a penchant for cigarettes and booze, not a twelve-year-old girl who padded her chest armor to give the illusion of a fuller bust.

And there was something indescribably sad about that.

"No," I admitted quietly, turning back away. "When…you-know-who died, I was the one who found her. I got a really good look at…at what it looks like when a person is chopped in half. But…"

But that didn't prepare you to see two people torn apart limb from limb. Too, I hadn't seen all of the gory details of Sophia's dead body, even if what I had seen was enough to last me a lifetime. Back then, every ounce of food in my stomach had come back up and been made fertilizer for one of the bushes in my front yard.

The fact that I could still sit there, shaken and disturbed as I was, without rushing over to the nearest trash can and puking up my breakfast was, in truth, something of a small miracle.

"Yeah…"

She heaved a sigh and came to sit down beside me. For a moment, we didn't say anything, just sat there in uneasy silence. I wasn't sure I was up to talking, and if I opened my mouth to try, I might just have needed that trash can.

A part of me felt like I shouldn't have been reacting to it that badly. Khepri had seen worse, to say nothing of the myriad heroes who had done stuff like rip their enemies apart bare-handed or fought in brutal wars, and especially the likes of Vlad the Impaler. It was even tempting to reach out for one of them, to lean on their experience and their presence to calm myself.

I didn't, though. I had to learn to steel myself so that I could weather these sorts of things without flinching. Compartmentalize it, deal with it later, so that I could keep going when the time came to face the greater horrors that waited in this world.

Jack Slash and his Slaughterhouse Nine would not wait for me to finish puking my guts out before trying to disembowel me.

"It was after an E88 rally," Vista said at length. "I don't know if it was an initiation or…fuck, maybe it was an execution. Maybe it was both. We didn't show up until it was all over, and me and…and Kid Win weren't even technically supposed to be there, but I convinced him to go and see what the fuss was about."

I licked my lips to wet them. "What…what happened?"

For a moment, Vista didn't respond.

"They were…were strung up like cuts of beef in a butchery. Three of them, maybe a family, I don't know. One guy looked like a gigantic bruise, he was beaten so bad. I could hear his ribs shift and crackle when they got him down. The other guy, they'd cut his…well, his you know off, and he had blood all down his legs. The girl… The girl was pregnant, and they just… They…"

I closed my eyes. "Stop," I told her shakily. "Stop. I know where that's going."

It didn't help. Behind my eyelids, the scene was constructing itself, and my stomach roiled at the image my brain had conjured, with the help of snatches of memories from Medea's dismembering of her brother and one too many horror movies Emma had convinced me to watch, once upon a time. They brought it to life with terrible detail, from the pattern of the blood spatter to the distinct look of shattered ribs.

The worst part of it was that I couldn't find it in myself to be surprised. Either that the Empire could be capable of such cruelty or that Vista, a Ward who was never supposed to be anywhere near something like that, had gotten a firsthand look. After all, they employed Hookwolf, and even if there'd been…coercion involved, he'd become one of the Nine when they rolled into town. With a monster like that in their ranks, and now leading them, the butchery was less of a shock than I wished it could be.

Like I'd said before, Brockton Bay was a hellhole, even if it was my hellhole.

That was why I needed to be here. That was why I needed the support of the PRT and the Protectorate. Maybe I could do everything on my own, deal with all of the threats that were sure to come — in fact, I probably could — but Khepri had faced down all comers, too. She'd fought and struggled, and because she'd only really had the Undersiders at her back, she'd lost more people than I was willing to risk against the likes of the Teeth and the Fallen and…

…Oh. Oh fuck. Oh, holy fuck, I was not ready for that, don't tell me —

I shot to my feet and whirled around, back towards the apartment building, but I hadn't made it more than two steps before the door swung back open and Armsmaster appeared in the doorway, grim-faced and tense. When he saw me and Vista, he strode back over towards us.

"Apocrypha," he greeted solemnly. "Vista. I need —"

"Is it the Nine?" I asked bluntly.

Please, no, this was too fucking early. I hadn't started any preparations for dealing with them, yet, don't tell me they were already here.

Armsmaster didn't reply immediately, staring at me with his lips drawn tight. What he was looking for in my face, especially since he could only see my mouth, I had no idea, but the silence was no comfort and no reassurance.

"No," he said at length. Around us, the cops I'd forgotten about in my panic let out sighs and quiet exclamations of relief. "Although the level of brutality is what might be expected of them, the method of killing doesn't appear to match any known or suspected members of that particular group."

His lips twitched, and in the earbud nestled in my ear, his voice told me, "And we'll be discussing them and their possible presence later, so be prepared to detail why your assumption defaulted to them."

Aloud, he continued, "At this time, we have no suspects and no solid lead on who or what power killed the couple in the apartment, tentatively identified as Victor and Othala. The power used does not appear to match any parahuman known to be a resident of Brockton Bay, which means it is entirely possible we're looking at a new cape, recently triggered."

He turned away from me, scowling.

"The apartment will be tested for fingerprints, but without intact samples from the victims, it'll be difficult to pinpoint which belong to a possible perpetrator. Furthermore, if he or she wore gloves, then that will also render fingerprints moot, and with so many contaminated samples, DNA evidence is likely to be difficult to manage."

"I see." I startled as I realized he'd also been reporting his findings — to Director Piggot. "Do we have any information on possible suspects at all?"

"Based upon the size of the footprints and the indentations they made in the carpet — although the latter may be unreliable — as well as the length of the stride, and assuming they belong to the perpetrator, I would estimate we're looking for a woman, approximately one-hundred-sixty-five centimeters in height and fifty-two kilograms in weight."

Five-five and a hundred and fifteen pounds. Like that didn't describe half the women in the city under thirty. Worse, if it really was a new trigger, then it could be almost literally anyone who might have a beef with the Empire — assuming, of course, that Victor and Othala had been targeted for being, well, Victor and Othala, the E88 capes, rather than for some other reason.

Which wasn't a guarantee, was it? Ugh.

That was also assuming that this was Victor and Othala. Or, well, had been, rather than some random couple or a pair of squatters who happened to trick their way into an apartment that had apparently belonged to Victor and Othala, or just so happened to have a pair of what looked like their costumes hidden under the bed…

No, it was more likely to just be Victor and Othala.

"No witness testimonies or descriptions?"

Armsmaster gave a tiny shake of his head.

"None. Interviews are still ongoing, but based upon those that have already been finished, no one saw anyone suspicious entering the building around the time of the murders. It's entirely possible that the perpetrator can fly and entered through the rooftop access. I sent Miss Militia with the BBPD's CSI unit to check for more footprints, so we'll know momentarily."

I looked up, towards the top of the apartment building, as though I could see her and the men with her walking there, but of course I couldn't. The building was too tall and I was too close to it.

Fliers… I couldn't think of anyone who could have done what we saw in that bedroom. New Wave was automatically out, because as aggressive and careless as Glory Girl could be, she wasn't an outright murderer and I couldn't imagine her, even at her worst, literally tearing a person apart. Even Nazis.

Purity? Too eye-catching to go unnoticed, and the wrong power, besides. Rune? No — wrong power, again. She didn't have the fine control needed and she was Manton limited. Plus, why would either of them be here to kill Victor and Othala, if this was actually even Victor and Othala? Last I'd heard, Purity was getting the relocation treatment, and Rune was in the same Empire splinter as those two.

If it was anyone in the Empire, I would've thought it would be from the other faction, the second splinter. Crusader's group, if I remembered right. No, wait, Krieg's, but Crusader was in it, along with Night and Fog. Those two? Maybe they could have done it, working together. Maybe. I… No, I didn't think it was them, either. Not with the way the bodies had been torn apart.

I wasn't sure I could rule them out completely, though. I didn't know what sort of damage Fog could do to a person if he really put his mind to being as gruesome as possible, so I couldn't say with absolute certainty that this was beyond him.

…Skidmark? If he overlaid his fields the right way, maybe, but… Well, Skidmark wasn't five-five and a hundred-fifteen pounds, he wasn't really clever enough, and if he'd done it, he wouldn't have done it quietly and without fanfare, everyone in the whole city would've heard about it.

And he couldn't fly. Unless Squealer had come up with something that let him.

The bud in my ear buzzed.

"I've examined the roof, Armsmaster," Miss Militia's voice reported.

"Did you find anything?"

"No sign of bloody footprints on the rooftop access. On a hunch, however, I checked a few of the unrented apartments on the floor above and found more footprints leading into one of the bathrooms."

"The bathroom?" I muttered.

To wash her hands? Maybe… But if this was a cape who had a power that let her tear people apart like that, why would she need to use her hands at all? Unless she was a Striker and had to touch whatever she wanted to use her powers on, then she'd have walked away with all sorts of blood and viscera all over her, not just her shoes.

If that was the case, though, wouldn't there have been more blood dripping from her as she walked? The footprints in the carpet had been basically clean and clear, no sign of other sources of blood.

On the other hand, wouldn't her positioning have meant she was at ground zero for…everything? She would have been soaked. How would she have gotten out of the room without dripping all over the place?

Armsmaster glanced at me. "What did you find?"

"She washed off," said Miss Militia. "It looks like she used the shower to scrub clean, even gave her clothes a thorough rinse, looking at the streaks in the tub. Smart enough to take the towel with her, at least. We'll have to check with the landlord, but if the drain is cleaned regularly, then we might be able to find a few hairs for DNA."

Armsmaster grunted. "Won't do us much good without a sample to match it to."

"It may be the only lead we'll have to go on," Miss Militia pointed out. "I'll have the CSI team check for fingerprints in the bathroom, too. Maybe we'll get lucky and she turned the faucet on without thinking about it."

"We'll still need samples to match it to, but… Good thinking. Director?"

"I heard all of it," Piggot said. "I'll be expecting a preliminary report on your results in a few hours. In the meantime, the CSI unit and the ME will go over the crime scene and the information we have to see if there's anything more to be found. You and the Wards are to return immediately. Dauntless and Velocity will take over for you and Miss Militia."

"Director," Armsmaster said meaningfully, "I am of the belief that we would greatly benefit from Thinker support in this particular case. Can we expect it?"

The Director didn't reply immediately, and after a second, I realized that the Thinker whose support he was talking about was Tattletale. He wanted to bring her in on this case, get her help in solving it.

My lips pursed.

That… might not be a good idea, considering her power. That scene was hard to look at just on the surface level, for someone like me who couldn't pick out all of the little clues. For Lisa, whose power let her see, made her see so much more, it might wind up being too much for her. Too horrific, too many horrifying details that she wouldn't be able to ignore no matter how much she tried. I didn't think she was prepared for something like that.

She wasn't Khepri's Lisa, after all. She hadn't had to muscle through the Slaughterhouse Nine and all of their horrors.

"I'm not sure I can grant that request, Armsmaster," said Piggot.

Armsmaster scowled. "Director —"

"I'll take a look at the regulations and have legal pore over that consultation agreement we signed with her after the Coil fiasco," the Director interrupted, "but as she isn't officially a member of the PRT ENE or the Protectorate and she has no legal license as a private investigator, it may be that we cannot call upon her…expertise in this situation."

Armsmaster's lip curled a little. His helmet and visor hid most of the rest of his face, so I couldn't exactly see his expression in its entirety, but I didn't imagine it was particularly happy.

"I understand," he said woodenly.

"What about us?" Vista asked suddenly.

"You?"

"We were the first on the scene," Vista went on. "We reported it in and examined the scene. This is our case."

"No, it most certainly is not," the Director replied curtly. "You're Wards. You are neither adults nor trained professionals. You are to cancel the remainder of your patrol and return to base. I'd put you on psychiatric leave for a week if I could afford to, right now, and you wouldn't be going back out without clearance from a psych eval, but since I can't, you'll be taking the next three days off."

"With all due respect, Director —"

"Those are your orders, Vista. If you're truly dissatisfied with your current workload, I could certainly see to it that you are reassigned to console duty for the next month, if that's what you want."

Vista's lips pulled back and I could practically hear her teeth grinding together. "I understand."

She turned to Armsmaster. "Armsmaster," she began, "if you have no further need of us, then we should be heading back to HQ. Permission to leave?"

Armsmaster gave her a long, hard look. For all that he could be gruff and blunt, there was no way he'd missed Vista's discontent, but what he thought of it and what he might do about it, he gave no sign and no overt indication.

"Granted," he said at length.

"Sir!" she replied crisply, and then she spun on her heel and left. I hesitated, sparing a glance back at Armsmaster, whose expression remained tight and closed off, and then I turned and followed after her. I felt his eyes — and the eyes of several of the officers and detectives still on the scene — on my back as we left.

"This is such bullshit," Vista muttered angrily once we were out of earshot. "We got there first. We were on the scene. We did the preliminary examination and analysis!"

I grimaced, lips drawing tight.

"The Director is right," I pointed out, and the words tasted like ash in my mouth, bitter and dry. It was a challenge to even force them past my lips. "We're not trained investigators. We can't legally be involved."

Except I really fucking wanted to be.

Someone was using the image of Excalibur. They'd painted it on a bedroom wall — which was about as personal as you could fucking get — in two people's blood. Maybe they were trying to frame me for the murders. Maybe it was some kind of distraction. Maybe a cult had sprung up in the wake of Leviathan's death and this was their chosen symbol.

It was the last one that twisted my guts around the most, the idea that people were going around killing in the name of…what, pleasing me? Just the thought of it was as nauseating as it was impossible to believe.

Whatever the case was, someone was using Excalibur as a symbol, and I needed to know why.

— o.0.O.O.0.o —

NOTES

So certain are you, that know how this ends, you do, hmm?

(That would make a lot more sense from me if I was actually watching The Mandalorian, wouldn't it?)

This is your friendly reminder that, Khepri's memories or no, the memories and experiences of Heroic Spirits or no, this Taylor hasn't seen half the shit canon Taylor did.

P a treon . com (slash) James_D_Fawkes

ko-fi . com (slash) jamesdfawkes

Or if you want to commission something from me, check out my Deviant Art page to see my rates.

Special thanks to all my Patrons who have stayed with me this far, through all the rocky moments and dry stretches. You guys are the best.

As always, read, review, and enjoy.