Good Bones
Back up was coming, you called and they were coming. Your trust in your team was strong but your earpiece was gone and the edges of your vision were going blurry.
Inhale through clenched teeth.
You were going to fine, the world was hazy your hands were cold and the asphalt beneath you was painted in blood, back up was coming and you were going to be fine
Exhale through heavy lungs you pass out.
As you lay on rough asphalt, blood that's half yours and half not soaking your hero suit. You remember how this life was sold to you with bright smiles and chirpy voices.
They talk about how the city has survived, wounds made by people who lost their way. They talk about how villains were maggots in those wounds. Festering, rotting, liquefying, the very flesh of the city. They talk about how the city has good bones.
They're sturdy and springy, still young and fruitful. They talk about treating the infected areas to help heal the place you grew up in, the only place you have ever known. They talk and they talk and they talk. It's how they won you, your friends and the city over. A Lot of talking, a lot of false promises and a lot of people dead.
You might join them soon with the way black dots dance around your vision, closing in towards the center with hasty movements. You can't feel your fingertips but you can feel how tired you are.
Eyes closing shut for just a bit longer than it should have. Something moves in the dust cloud you're stuck in, limbs too heavy to move and lungs too sore to breathe you don't even try to see what it is. There's a hand on you now and someone is saying something, your eyes shut for good.
White walls, antiseptic, beeping.
Your dreaming. At Least you think you are, you're in house you used to love that you used to know, your sitting by your childhood friend, they haven't changed much since they died, except for the hole in there face where the bullet made it's swift exit.
You're both sitting on the roof watching the stars that look more like ships on the ocean than celestial bodies.
'You have to keep fighting .' They speak, voice softer than you can ever remember, a part of you knows that isn't their voice. You forgot what it sounded like long ago.
'What?' You're confused this was off the tracks, the both of you just talking about… about… The scene changes. You're standing with your sister. It is your mother's funeral. It's raining. You don't have an umbrella. There is no flowers on her grave but you have a singular rose in your hand. It's too heavy to hold but the thorns dig into your skin. You can't let it go. Not yet.
Your sister turns to you, she looks stressed and you want to blame it on the funeral. You know it's not about that. 'You need to wake up now.' Her voice cuts into your skin. You blink.
There's someone carding through your hair, your in a car well you think your in a car. It doesn't mean much. Someone starts humming. You cling to the person that is allowing you to use their leg as a pillow, your arms snake around their torso, head in their stomach. Their hand never leaves your head.
There is a wall of memorial in the park closest by your house. You visit it every Saturday and every Saturday you pray that you don't have to look for a name on the wall. That it suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night . Every Saturday you are disappointed.
Your friends try to make you go out more, to take up less patrol shifts, to take up hobbies and leave the house for more than just work.
A year later the commission offered you a place in the hero tower. You moved in that weekend. It was a mistake like most of your decisions. . 'Don't say that' a ghost whispered. You can't bring yourself to argue with them.
The apartment was bugged, your pretty sure there's a camera in every room.
Your pestered more for more information, for more privacy. They land on deaf ears. You roll with the punches. At least you say you do.
Your in a comfortable bed and someone is sleeping next to you. Your head hurts and you refuse to open your eyes. This was a good dream. You never liked sleeping alone.
The first time you got interviewed as a hero was nerve wracking and not alone, rather you were with another hero. The Commission told you not to speak much and make sure the other hero looked good. You ended up speaking more freely than allowed.. The Commission was going to blacklist you from public appearances. The public thought you were cute and wanted more screen time of you. The Commission was always one for fan service.
You got another interview this time it was sidetracked by a conversation about philosophy, you went off script. Commission said you were childish and irresponsible. The public called you hopeful and refreshing.
There's an area of the city where the buildings were too close together, light posts either all burned out or so dim it didn't matter, soot clung to the bricks, desperate in a way for life.
It was in one of those small alleys you came across, someone you shouldn't have. It would have been a bloody and difficult fight. Instead you called a truce just for the night.
You were still new to the scene as an unnamed vigilante. This was before everything, it was still going okay, going well, everyone was alive and- Shrike stood at the mouth of the alley.
He was new too but unlike you, he had made his way to the top. His first appearance at the right hand side of Plague and Seer two infamous villains.
Your voice echoes for a second too long against the bricks, a truce. Shrike for whatever reason or another agreed, fading back into the shadows.
Later that week was the start of what would be known as the most nerve wracking three day event of the city. Where Shrike held the entire city hostage in the wake of Plague's death and the capture of Seer.
Shrike hasn't been active since he got Seer back. The city waits for the other shoe to drop.
The person next to you has curled around and on top of you, grip a bit too tight to be comfortable to anyone but you, it felt secure like zipping into your hero suit. Wait, you're not wearing it anymore, your eyes snap open but you don't move, the bed is soft and the body on top of you is warm. You only see a head of black hair on your chest. You try to stay calm but you're in pain and everything is blurry.
There's this famous video of you protecting a vigilante from the cops, an illegal act. The Commission strikes a deal with you so you dont go to prison. Your back still aches and you sometimes wake up clawing at your neck because you know something is there that shouldn't be. You stopped helping vigilantes after that. Openly atleast.
The interview after the video with the vigilante went viral was rough. There was a constant pressure on the back of your neck and you could barely move your torso without flinching inwards. The public noticed. You didn't show up on the news after that, not as a guest at least.
Vigilantes seemed more lax if you were in the area after your display of disobedience, the brave ones came up to you, some for information others just to chat.
This reputation with the vigilantes was how you sat on a rooftop with two of them. They were new and painfully young from the way they speak and present themselves. You couldn't stop them, a part of you didn't even want to try. You knew what it's like so you gave them advice and a burner phone.
A lot of information you gave out was really simple, others not so much.
Don't linger on crime scenes.
Don't talk to the media but do talk to the people you encounter.
Don't make your way into a hero vs villain fight unless it's absolutely necessary. Someone's going to appoint you a side. You don't want to be seen with either of them.
If you see a villain not doing illegal acts don't engage, most vigilantes never turn back up after they do.
Don't take off anyone's mask, protect everyone's identity and they'll protect yours.
Don't go after the opposing side's family, it doesn't need to get personal, you stand for an idea not a person.
There are neutral areas where masks can go to get more information and they won't get an eye. There's a diner on Fifth Street. Go to the back and ask for Rue. She'll hook you up with what you need to know.
If you get shot there's a clinic in ninth that won't bat an eye at it and won't ask questions. Tell them that Oleander sent you.
'How do we know if we can trust your info or that you won't track the phone.'
'You can't this business is risky, evalue whether it's worth it or not, I won't track you but others might, don't take it home or your hideout or anywhere that leads to you, most people keep burners in public lockers under a false name or stashed in rooftops or abandoned buildings do what you wish. Just don't die.'
