Edited: 18/09/21

Elizabeth Blair Scott loved her name as much as she hated it. She was a woman filled with trauma, people and events in her past that marked her future and present.

Blair had trauma that led to the refusal of the use of her first name. No one was allowed to call her Elizabeth — unless they were her mother or her adoptive grandfather.

Like most days after she finished ballet practice and / or med school, Blair stood in her fathers kitchen, listening as Harry Scott told her about his recent arrest.

Harry Scott was an officer in Hells Kitchen, one with a questionable past and questionable choices. Of which she elected to ignore, simply because she had enough on her plate with out cutting out the only person left in her family.

As she searched for a can, she half listened to what he was saying. She never found police talk all that interesting. Talk of work, school or dance were not her favourite conversations. Every time Harry spoke of the police, she was reminded that there was a time he amongst others failed her and that there were countless people who were also being failed by the system.

She walked to the leather sofa, holding two cans. Each of her steps made on the balls of her feet — it was a habit she had had for a long time, something she picked up from her past because those steps were quieter, giving her the upper hand.

"And then she said this man in a black mask saved her." Harry explained, taking the coke can of his only daughter. His voice danced with annoyance.

She sat down, taking a sip out of her lemonade.

She never understood why people hated vigilantes. Blair personally preferred them over the famous heroes that never seemed to care for the mess and destruction they left behind. Damaged properties left behind because of heroes and not villains.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Blair asked, watching the tension in her fathers jaw as she crossed her legs. "She would of been raped if he hadn't showed up."

"Baby, it's not as simple as that. He is a crimson as well."

"Don't call me baby, I'm not a kid anymore." Blair grumbled. She hated being called baby, for multiple reasons. One, she (along with many women) got called it far too often by drunk men. Two, she wasn't a kid and she felt like it belittled her. Three, she simply just hated it.

Harry looked at Blair. He never understood her fascination with vigilantes. He blamed it on her mother and adopted grandfather, he blamed them for her distrust in the system.

He wanted them to stop talking about the masked man that 'protected' the streets of Hells Kitchen. He had noticed an uprise in her emotions. Usually after work, Blair would come to his home all moody, but today their was a smug sort of happiness in her face — a sort of twisted joy that wouldn't shy away from her lips.

"Why are you so smiley?" He asked, poking the girl in the arm.

She cringed, as he poked a cigarette burn mark. Blair has many marks upon her skin. Marks that he often forgot about or blatantly ignored.

The twisted joy returned to her face as she completely forgot about the masked man. Blair turned her body to face him, ready to fill him in on the gossip. "So, you remember Jake?" She asked, her face screwed up for second.

Harry nodded, he had heard rumours of the man. Possible lies that many girls spoke, his daughter included. He didn't know if the statements were true. Jake was the kind of guy that people believed was good. He had been captain of the football team in high school, head boy too. He had been prom king and was pretty poplar. Harry believe Jake was the perfect person for people to describe as a rapist — wether he was one or not.

"He got kicked out for trying to sleep with our bio-chem teacher and is actually going to trial for rape next week." Blair told him, so happy that the pain he caused others was catching up to him.

Jake was a violent man who never respected boundaries. Jake was someone who didn't always understand no, especially when he had had a drink. He wasn't a good person, and that was a shame because the school saw potential in his skills.

But people still saw the good in him, and worried about how the trial could affect his future. But no one cared how the trauma could affect the girls' future.

"How is school, Kid?" The father asked, there was still disbelief in his eyes. He didn't believe it with out proof — another thing Blair forced herself to ignore.

Jake and his friends had attacked her on multiple occasions for being bisexual. Jake had once nearly raped her. Yet, people elected to believe he was good.

She sighed. "Yeah, it's whatever." Blair spoke with disappointment. She really hoped that he'd believe her now. "So you know Claire?"

He nodded. Claire Temple was one of Blair's closeted friend, and someone who helped her in her medical based courses.

"She's helping me revise and because of it I have the highest grade at the minute."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Blair unlocked her apartment door, her dance bag weighing down on her shoulder. When she pushed open the wooden barrier she was confused. She dropped her bag down and nudged it aside with her foot as she shut the door behind her.

"Claire Bear?" She questioned, looking at what she assumed was the man protecting Hells Kitchen, passed out of their sofa with her nurse best friend checking him over.

Claire made a sound of acknowledged as she checked out the wounds on the man. She placed her finger tips to his neck, feeling for a pulse.

"He's breathing." Blair spoke up, watching the ever so slight raise in the mans chest.

She kicked off her shoes before grabbing a pair of rubber gloves. Blair came to stand next to Claire, offering her assistance.

The nurse glanced up at the ballerina for a few seconds as she grabbed a flashlight. Claire looked back at the man, pulling his eyelids apart as she shined the torch in the man's eyes.

The two watched as his pupils didn't dilate. There was only two options from then on. The man was blind or in a worse state then they expected.

Blair hoped for the simplicity of the issue that the man was just blind. But that itself brought up questions. How did the blind man defend the innocent so well? For simplicity reasons, she hoped this man wasn't like another man from her past. She wondered many things — whilst simultaneously hoping that he was blind before hand, otherwise this was going to be one hell of a shock.

"Blind?" Blair tried, her head tilted and lips pursed. "Dying?"

"Ay, um..." Claire mumbled, grabbing her phone. She unlocked it and began to dial the emergency services. As they were waiting for them to pick up, the once masked man reached forward and grabbed her arm, surprising her.

"No, no calls." He said, quietly.

Blair's brows furrowed. The two women were nurses and students, and due to that did not have a lot of medical equipment to help them.

"It's okay, I'm just trying to help." Claire promised, sincerely.

"No."

"We have to get you to the hospital." Claire told him.

"They'll kill everyone."

Blair looked at him, a little concerned to say the least. Was he bringing them into danger? Should she push him out the window and hope that these killers wouldn't come after them? Was the last one too far? Decently too far, she decided.

"Who?" Claire questioned, building on Blair's moment of panic.

Blair was perfectly okay with the dying man on their sofa but she was not okay with possibly wasting money by not finishing school and dance considering the amount of money the two cost her. She was not okay with the idea of someone going and killing people just to find the man in the black mask. What was so special about him anyway? She was definitely reconsidering pushing him out the window, or dragging him down the stairs, simply to give them some sort of safety.

"The men who did this. They'll kill everyone in the hospital to get to me." He said, rolling over before groaning.

"Yeah, buddy, could you stay still?" Blair asked, rocking back and forth on her feet to try and release the pain and tension in them.

"Blair, you're not helping." Claire muttered.

Blair held her hands up in surrender, muttering out a low 'sorry' that sounded as though she was mocking the woman.

"Okay, you can't . . . don't. You've lost a lot of blood. I think you might have been stabbed." Claire told the man, who seemed to be ignoring the women, trying to push himself up.

"I don't know what gave you that idea."

"I have to leave." He told them, completely pushing himself up, rather painfully as expected.

"Good luck." Blair said, watching the man with amusement as he walked the wrong way. "Doors on the other side, honey." Blair told the blind man as Claire stood up beside her.

Claire pointed towards the door. The man turned around and walked towards it, grunting.

He was quick to fall over, passing out on his way down.

Blair couldn't exactly say she expected any different outcome. The man literally did what they said not to do. They said not to do it for this exact reason.

The two stepped over to the man, crouching down either side of him.

"Claire? Please refrain from bringing home bloody men who don't listen." Blair told the slightly older woman as they began to heave him back onto his back.

Neither of them fancied having to drag him over to the sofa when he was clearly not interested in staying there.

"Yeah, I'll remember that next time." Claire commented, pulling a face at the medical student.

"Good." Blair nodded, pushing herself up onto her feet. She told Claire she'll be back in a 'hot second' as she left the room, dragging her dance bag behind her.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As a police siren wailed out in the streets, the man opened his eyes. He was still lying on the floor, breathing heavily as Claire and Blair still tending to him, cleaning some of the cuts.

"Are you gonna listen to me this time?" Claire asked, looking up from his cut.

"Us." Blair corrected, picking up a needle and throwing it at the woman.

"If you throw another needle at me I'm going to hit you." Claire lightly threatened Blair, a look on her face that made the other one nod in understanding.

It wasn't like Blair couldn't take a hit — she just didn't want to, especially not against someone medically trained.

"Where am I?" The man asked, ignoring whatever was going on with the other two.

"You're in our apartment."

"Mysterious." Blair laughed slightly, doing jazz hands to add some sort of affect, a smirk on her lips as she proceeded to carry on annoying the other woman.

"Serious, shut up." Claire said, trying to hold back the amused grin.

"Who are you?" He asked

"I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage, and she's the one who thinks I'm going to bring more half dying men home." Claire said, sounding amused at Blair's thoughts.

"I'm not here to judge, but I'm pretty sure it's illegal." Blair spoke, tugging the fresh rubber gloves (that she had put on after changing into an oversized shirt and shorts) off her fingers.

"What do you think I'm doing with these men?!" Claire questioned, her face morphed into disgusted.

"I don't want to know. And what do you mean these men? There's more then one?"

"I hate you." Claire announced, picking up the needle that had previously been thrown at her and threw it at Blair.

Blair raised a brow, a small smirk on her lips as her mind wondered back to a memory of only a few weekends back. "You don't make out with people you hate."

"I was curious!"

"I make a lot of people curious." Blair shrugged, glancing down at the matter at hands — aka the once masked man who wasn't so masked now.

The man felt his face, finding his mask missing. "You've seen my face."

"Yeah." Claire said, unsure of what else to say.

"Great."

"If it helps, you have a nice face." Blair told him, her voice blunt as she watched the man think. Claire looked at her friend, sending her a look. "You were thinking it too." She told the woman.

Claire stared at her but knew Blair was right. She clicked her tongue. "Your outfit kind of sucks, by the way." She added, trying to push past her friends straight-forward-ness and the slight awkwardness that had fallen further over the situation.

"Yeah, it's a work in progress."

"You should get something sturdy."

"Like I said, work in progress."

"Why would you think that would work though? Like it's terrible, cheap and not protective in the slightest. Yes it conceals you and you can hide in the shadows but it ain't exactly doing anything other then that."

"Yeah, again, it's a work in progress."

Blair looked at Claire. "Do you recon it's a work in progress?"

"I sometimes wonder how you have friends." Claire spoke, her eyes flicking up to Blair for a quick second.

Yet again, the vigilante tried to get up, groaning in pain.

"Okay, I really wouldn't try to move too much." Claire warned the strange man. "You've got two or three broken ribs, probable concussion, some kind of puncture wound, and that's just the stuff that we know about." She said, pushing the man back down. "And your eyes, they're nonresponsive to light, which isn't freaking you the hell out, so either you're blind or in way worse shape than I thought."

"Do I have to pick one?" He asked.

"Yes, just the one please."

"Do you mind telling us how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in our dumpster?" Claire asked.

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Says everyone but that's like so not true. No matter how much we know, if we are linked to you by him someone who blatantly hates you we're done for. Regardless if we know your name or your backstory." Blair pointed out, adjusting her legs as she felt one of them start to feel odd — the sensation that is usually followed with pins and needles or numbness.

Claire shrugged, and then sighs deeply. "The wound on your side... knife?"

"Probably. Ah..." He groaned.

"I think we got the bleeding to stop, but I can't tell how bad it is internally without a full series of X-rays, so-" Claire said, whilst she allowed the medical student to look at the wound.

"No. No hospitals."

"This is my night off. I'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch." Claire pointed out the man

"Are you two doctors?"

"Something like that." Claire agreed. A nurse and a medical student, was close enough if you asked her, apparently.

"Most people, they find a bleeding masked man in the garbage... they call the police."

"Ah, that happened often with you?" Blair asked, her head tilted as she watched him. Her eyes continued to examine him, finding small ticks of pain run through his body.

"Why are you helping me?"

"The less you know about me, the better." Claire quoted, a little proud of herself for being able to use those words

"You two got a name at least?" He asked.

"I'm Claire, she's Blair." Claire answered. "Don't suppose we get to know yours?"

He said nothing.

"All right, I'll call you Mike."

"Mike?"

"Yeah, a guy I used to date. Turns out he was very good at keeping secrets, too." Claire explained, watching her roommates face.

Blair's gave mimicked disgust and pain. She hoped 'Mike' changed her attitude and altered her perspective of the name. One terrible experience shouldn't make everyone called Mike be avoided by her.

"Thank you, Claire, Blair." He said, taking both of their hands.

"Rest. Make sure you're stabilized. We'll figure the other stuff out later."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"What is it? What's wrong?" Claire asked, panicked as she kneeled at his side whilst Blair leaned against the back of the sofa.

"I can't breathe." 'Mike' gasped out.

Claire used one of their stethoscope to listen to his lungs, whilst Blair sat unsure what to do. Sure, Claire had guided her threw a lot of medical emergencies but she was still a student and completely helpless in this situation. She was only twenty three and only on her second year of proper Med School, having finished her pre-med course just before.

"You've got air in your chest. It's collapsing your lung. I'm gonna relieve the pressure, but I'm gonna need you to hold still, okay?" Claire asked calmly, placing one of her hands into Blair's to give her a quick squeeze, showing the younger woman that she knew what to do. It wasn't that Blair didn't know that, it's just she sometimes panicked silently.

Claire grabbed some supplies from her medical bag. She pulled 'Mike's' shirt down a little and begins the procedure. "Here we go... This is gonna hurt."

Claire pierced 'Mike' with a needle. He grunted loudly and gasped. She removed part of the needle, causing air to hiss out of the man's chest.

Blair turned away from the scene, moving over to the windowsill where she had left her hot chocolate. She took the warm cup into her hands, before stepping back to Claire and 'Mike'.

'Mike' groaned as his breathing stabilised and Clair removed the needle. "Good. Just breathe normal." Claire listened to the vigilantes lungs again. 'Mike' sighed and his breathing becomes normal again.

"All right. Look let's just say for the sake of discussion I buy this whole, 'We can't go to the hospital because whatever,' story you've got going on. But we need to talk about what happens if you give up the ghost here in my living room. Because I'm listening to us explain to the police how I let this happen, and every version ends with us in handcuffs, so convince me it's worth it."

Blair was scanning the man cautiously, her mind was plagued with everything that could have gone wrong in the moment or the near future.

"They kidnapped a boy."

"Who did?"

"The Russians."

"I feel like it always is." Blair mumbled, remembering her high school history lessons, that painted the Russians as evil. She didn't get it, tv shows set in America always seemed to use Russia as their bad guys. Did Russia still hate them? Part of her couldn't blame them, they were an obnoxious country.

"They've been running a human trafficking ring out of Hells Kitchen. Took over when the Italians folded up. Two days ago, they pulled a kid out of the back of a van. Beat his father while he watched."

"Jesus."

"I knew the kid would still be alive. At least until they took him out of the city. I tracked the Russians to a warehouse not far from here. Thought I was being smart, how fast I found them. Turns out, I wasn't."

"They were waiting for you." Claire concluded.

"And I walked right into it." 'Mike' mumbled.

"So, they took this kid just to get to you?"

"Yeah, I've been making their lives... difficult lately."

"Honestly, Claire, you're not asking the right questions." Blair shook her head, coming to terms with the situation. "Is the kid safe?"

No reply. That no reply was a make it or break it situation. 'Mike' wanted to say yes, but he couldn't say for sure.

"I shouldn't of asked, sorry. Back to 'making their lives difficult' and Russians hating America again, which is pretty fair, you're blind, how you doing this? Whatever this is?" Blair asked, looking at him intrigued.

"There are other ways to see." The man chuckled.

Blair's eyes widened, her first thought was that he could see out of his hands like the weird monster she saw in some Spanish film. "I'm sorry? What the fuck does that mean?"

'Mike' said nothing, rather enjoying the way she tried to figure it all out.

"This is what you do, you make life difficult for bad men?" Claire asked, just as unsure as she gathered they were not learning about his other ways to see.

"It's one way of putting it."

"No offense, but you don't seem to be very good at it."

"Next time you get mugged, he isn't gonna help you now." Blair tutted, shaking her head at Claire.

"I was mugged once, in high school."

"That's not the point."

"So these men that took the boy they're out there right now, looking for you?" Claire asked, getting back to their main subject. There was a long pause. "Mike?"

"Someone's coming."

"Wait, what?" The two woman asked.

"There's someone in the building, a man, going from door to door."

Blair looked at him, sceptical. "So what, you're what the new and improved Edward Cullen?" She wanted to not believe him, but she was living in a world where earth was attacked by some Norse god, so at this point it became believable. Pretty much anything was believable. "If you watch us sleep I will expose you to the police." She told him lowly, her voice painted in seriousness.

"I won't watch you sleep." The man promised, amused at her comparison and threat.

"How do you know that someone's coming?" Claire questioned, getting them all back on track.

"Shh. He's on the third floor already. Smells like Prima cigarettes and discount cologne." 'Mike' tried to get up, groaning in pain.

"Last time you got up you collapsed."

"You can smell a man on the third floor?" Claire asked.

"Whats next you can hear him from a few streets away?"

"You'll smell him soon enough. He really likes that cologne." 'Mike' said, sitting up, partly wondering if he should tell them he could hear their heart beats, but he gathered it would make them a little more freaked out and uncomfortable. "You're looking at me like I'm crazy, right?"

"Just a bit."

"Seems the appropriate response."

"There are some things I haven't told you about me, Claire, Blair."

"You haven't told us anything about you. All we know is you're very good at taking a beating." Claire pointed out, a brow raised.

"And that you can smell people on the third floor." Blair added, finger gunning Claire, to indicate that she was adding to her point.

"That part I got from my dad."

"You're on about the fighting part, yeah?"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

'Mike' rummaged through a drawer in the women's kitchen and pulled out a knife. The two watched, uncertain if he was mentally stable. They weren't sure if they should call the police, a doctor or simply hint for the man to get a shrink.

"This all you got?"

"Not all of us go out, or go around stabbing people, you see." Blair pointed out, her face morphed into certain look.

'Mike' pulled his mask over his head, whilst Claire told him it was for vegetables and not people.

"He's at your neighbor's door." 'Mike told them, walking to Claire's and Blair's front door.

"Right, Mike two point oh, you can't really stand up." Blair said, grabbing at his arm to pull him away.

"That's what the knife's for."

"That's a dumb idea, knives don't exactly help you stand up, they're not crutches." Blair's hand remained around his wrist. Her skin soft compared the the roughness of his.

"Wait! Don't do this." Claire said, interrupting the man from pulling Blair off of him. "Not in our home. Okay, nobody has to get hurt. Just stand over there on the side and be quiet and I'll get rid of him, or Blair can scare him." Claire said, stepping forward.

"Scare means target his fragile masculinity, yeah?" Blair checked. There had been multiple times when Blair had been the one to make door to door people go away, some went back confused or crying others went back a whole new person. She felt proud of herself.

Claire nodded and Blair took her hand of 'Mike'. 

They turned at the heard a knock at the door. 'Mike' tried to walk forward, but Claire blocked him.

"Please." Claire whispered as her roommate asked who's at the door.

"NYPD, ma'am. Please open the door."

"What if I don't want to?" Blair questioned, buying them more time as Claire tried to get 'Mike' to move away.

"Blair!" Claire hissed. The younger woman held her hands up in a mock of surrender. "Hide." Claire then whispered to 'Mike'.

"Okay."

"Go."

'Mike' walked away to hide as Claire took her gloves off.

"Sorry, ignore me, we'll be two seconds." Blair shouted, watching Claire throw stuff behind the sofa and make things not looks like they had dying men in their home.

When the apartment looked a little presentable, Blair placed her hand on the handle watching Claire for a fraction of time.

"Move over." Claire whispered, pushing the blind man to a darker space.

Claire walked to her door and looked threw the keyhole. The NYPD man held his badge up to it. She closed the keyhole, sighed with a nod, and let Blair open the door.

"Sorry to bother you so late. My name is Detective Foster, with the 65th Precinct. We had a bit of a disturbance a few blocks from here. We're asking everyone if they've seen or heard anything unusual in the past few hours." The man told them.

"What kind of disturbance?" Claire asked, as Blair leaned on the door frame, ensuring that their bloody vigilante wasn't in a line of sight.

"Armed robbery. Some dickhead in a black mask shot up a bodega on 38th. Owner put up a fight. Perp fled on foot, leaving a trail of blood in this direction."

"Damn, I hope he's not dead." Blair huffed at her fathers college.

"Elizabeth." The man started, looking at the woman he knew through her father.

"Don't call me Elizabeth." Blair said, interrupting him with a sharp look. She hadn't been called by her first name since she was eleven, since her mother had been murderer.

Mary Rose Scott (previously Leeds) was the reason she kept with ballet. Blair has been considering stopping when she was in her preteens, after all she had been doing it since she was six, but when her mother was found dead, she carried on. She treated ballet as her therapy when she was young, using it as away to put her grief into something occupying, before finding a peace in it.

"Wouldn't want me telling daddy of you're little attitude, would you?"

"I don't have an attitude and I'm not fourteen, what the fuck?"

"We haven't seen anything." Claire quickly spoke, trying ease the situation as he placed her hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Probably long gone by now, but just in case, you know. You see anything, hear anything tonight?" Foster said, turning more to Claire then Blair.

"No, sorry." Claire said, shaking her head.

"When are you leaving."

Claire elbowed her friend, apologising for the bluntness of Blair.

"Just being thorough. You have a good night, Ladies."

"Thanks. You, too." Claire said.

They watched him leave, before Blair slammed the door.

"Can you not slam the door." Claire said to her.

"He called me Elizabeth." Blair scoffed, leaning against the door, her lips pulled into a scowl.

"See? No reason to get all stabby. Boy, were you right about that cologne. What, does he dip himself in that crap?" Clair complained, confused how Blair wasn't as affected by the smell.

"He didn't believe you."

"He never does, he has it out for anyone that can best him in his job." Blair told him, an irritation running through her tone.

The two women followed as 'Mike' walked out of their apartment, after gently moving Blair away from the door.

"Mike!" Claire called, as they stood in the hallway.

The man in question grabbed a fire extinguisher of the wall, and held it over the railings on the stairs. He listened as Foster walked down the stairs, calling someone, and began to speak to them in Russian.

"What are you doing?"

"I get that he's a dick, but could you like not kill him?"

'Mike' listened closely to Foster's movements, ignoring his new partners. After a few moments, he dropped the fire extinguisher, and then fell back against the wall. Claire looked down to see Foster lying on the floor unconscious, with a splatter of blood around his head, whilst Blair stood blinking, before looking over.

"What do we do now?"

"I know how to hide a body, just in case."

Claire rolled her eyes at Blair. "Could you make yourself seem any more like a suspect?"

"I could always try."

"That's not the answer I was looking for."

"More for you, then."

"I hate you."

"I don't doubt it."

'Mike' grabbed the two girls and pulled them back. "There's someone else one floor up watching us."

"Oh, no?"

"He's young. He's scared."

"Well I think most people would be when a guy dressed in black basically kills someone!" Blair whispered shouted at the man, his head tilted towards her, silently urging her to shut up.

"Santino?" Claire checked, her and her roommate watching as he ran into his apartment. "He's the one who found you in the alley."

"He's seen my face, too?"

"He's a good kid, he won't tell anyone." Blair said, cautious that he was going to drop a fire extinguisher on the kids head. "And he's a kid."

"Yeah." Claire agreed with both statements.

"Claire, Blair, go upstairs and get him. We're gonna need help carrying Detective Foster to the roof." 'Mike' said, grunting as he walked forward.

"What the hell are we going to the roof for?" Claire asked, the two looking at each other with the same sense of fear and panic mixed with confusion. 

"Less chance of someone in the building hearing him scream." The man said, walking down the stairs.

"What the actual fuck are we doing?"

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

'Mike', Blair and Claire were on the roof. The vigilante was tying Foster to a ladder by his hands with some cable, grunting out as he did so. Claire and Blair watched him.

"You find anything?" He asked the two women.

"You smashed the hell out of it with that extinguisher. He had a badge. What if you're wrong?" Claire said, holding up the smashed phone.

"I'm not."

"Who says?" Blair asked, arms folded over her chest cold, from wearing a pair of shorts and an oversized top.

"I say."

"This is way past what I signed us up for."

"What exactly do you think that was?" 'Mike' asked.

"I found a man who needed help, so I helped him."

"Oh, yeah? That simple?" He asked.

"What? You want a detailed essay about her morals?" Blair asked, her eyes brows raised and her feet aching. They just had to do this when she was still recovering from blisters and bruises.

"Do you really want to get into this in front of him?" Claire asked.

"He's out."

"Ever heard of acting? He could be faking it." Blair spoke up, looking towards the sky.

"He's not." 'Mike' said after a moment.

Blair didn't understand what was going on and that made her feel uneasy. "Right, yes, and you know that how?" She then thought for a second. "You know what, I don't think I want know." At this point she was more talking to herself.

"Okay, that right there, that's what I'm talking about." Claire said as 'Mike' began taking off his gloves. "Okay, I find a guy in a dumpster who turns out to be some kind of blind vigilante who can do all of this really weird shit, like smell cologne through walls, and sense whether someone's unconscious or faking it. Slap on top of that, he can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint."

"The last part's the Catholicism."

"The punishment sounds like it comes from a different aspect of your life, buddy." Blair spoke, amusement running through her voice.

Blair wasn't sure anything would surprise her after this: evil Russians, blind vigilantes and religion, what more could shock her. Ok maybe one thing would, and that had to do with her dearest father.

"So, what? We're supposed to take it on faith we're on the right side of this?" Claire asked him

"You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. You knew which side you were on the moment you found me. Why'd you help me, Claire, Blair?"

Blair had no answer, she just helped because extra training was extra training at the end of the day. She shrugged, she didn't really help, she just added in the odd comment and hoped for the best.

"I'm a nurse. Work the ER at Metro-General. A few weeks ago, cops bring in three men. Said they were robbing tourists, beating them up pretty bad. Apparently, a man in a black mask took issue with their activities and decided to step in. I counted nine broken bones between them. A few days after that, EMTs bring in a 19-year-old waitress, said some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her and he saved her life. So, yeah, word's getting around. And I want to believe in what you're doing. I really do. But this?" Claire said. gesturing towards Foster and scoffed. Blair wanted to add to Claire's points but she also just wanted to sleep.

"I know you're afraid." 'Mike' said and walked towards them. "You can't give in to the fear. If you do, men like this win."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

On the rooftop of the water tower, Foster woke up, inhaling quickly. He looked up and momentarily tried to get out of the cable, before looking down at 'Mike', Blair and Claire.

'Mike' was wearing his costume, and Claire was wearing a hoodie with her face covered, whilst Blair also had her face covered, and her top tucked into her shorts.

'Mike' walked forward. "Here's how this is gonna work. I'm gonna ask you some questions. You're gonna answer them. If you're lying to me, trust that I will know, and I will be unhappy. Where's the boy?"

"He's dead."

That struck something in the vigilante. He punched Foster. Foster grunted and coughed in response.

"This is what unhappy looks like. Where's the boy?"

Blair and Claire looked at each other. What had they signed up for? Had they signed up for a life she had left behind?

"What do you care? If he's not dead yet, he will be." Foster coughed out.

Blair had gathered that wasn't the right thing for the man to say. She began to think of the many ways this was going to end — not many of them seemed to end well.

"Why did you take him?"

Clearly he hadn't heard his own words from earlier.

"Figured you'd come running."

"And after I was dead?" 'Mike' asked.

"Sell the kid, like all the others."

Blair was annoyed that she thought this man worked with her father, this man that she had spoke to many times was not the police man she thought he was. Why hadn't it clicked? Her father often spoke about the people he worked with, Foster's name never popped up, she'd never seen them together, yet she blindly trusted him. She trusted that he knew her dad despite her dad never being around him even when she was. Elizabeth Blair Scott felt like an idiot. She crossed her arms tight over her chest and she bit her tongue between her teeth, not wanting to disrupt this mans beating. She also didn't want her teeth to chatter due to the coldness.

'Mike' punched Foster again. Both of them grunted, whilst Foster coughed. "I was telling the truth on that one."

"I know."

They all knew, Blair and Claire didn't need to hear his heart to know that Foster wasn't lying. They felt sick knowing that was the truth and that people were like him.

"We got you good, didn't we?" Foster asked, teasing, grasping at his last chance to win.

"Who do you sell the children to?"

Blair watched, she was annoyed, at herself, at Foster, at the angry Russians and at America for being the target for what felt like everything.

"I don't know. Whoever has the money."

She didn't understand why people felt the need to buy kids, had they never heard of adoption? Or even better, getting pregnant or impregnating someone else? Why did some people think kidnapping or human trafficking was the answer.

"Where's the boy?"

"So you find him. So what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling. Nothing you do tonight will change that. But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first."

'Mike' was holding Foster's head up by the hair when Blair walked forward, after some sort of silent agreement with Claire.

"Try stabbing him in his trigeminal nerve." Claire said, watching as the younger one stood in front of 'Mike'.

"Where is it?"

Blair placed a hand on 'Mike's' arm to keep her balance her. She stood on the her toes, before placing her pointer finger where his trigeminal nerve is.

"Go in through here." Blair spoke, placing a gentle amount off pressure to the exact point. "That's the supraorbital foramen. You want to go in right under there."

'Mike' nodded as she moved away. Blair retreated next to Claire.

'Mike' held the knife up to Foster's face, preparing to make the cut. Foster struggled. "Hold still. I might do some serious damage if you squirm." Foster panted and continued to struggle. "How will I know when I find it?"

"He'll scream." Blair said, some sort of guilt hitting her. Strangely, it wasn't guilt about what was going on, or for the fact that she was a okay with it all, but because she was told by her dad that this was all wrong. Maybe her mother and her mother's mentors (who was also her mentor, until her mother's death) ideas and ways hadn't left. Her father had tried to ban her and her mother seeing their mentor, it didn't work until she was eleven.

'Mike' went in for the nerve. There was a squishing sound, making Blair pull a disgusted face. Foster began screaming loudly. 'Mike' left the knife in for a few seconds. Claire looked on, whilst Blair faced her, looking for a reaction or comfort, or something that she could mimic the feeling off. After 'Mike' pulled the knife out, Foster panted. Blood flows down the side of his face.

"You're right, what you said before. I kill you, somebody takes your place, but they'll end up back here just like you, and sooner or later, one of you is gonna tell me what I need to know." 'Mike' jumped up and cut the cable holding Foster. He then threw Foster over his shoulder and carried him to the side of the building. 'Mike' as he does so. Claire and Blair followed, was he going to kill him?

'Mike' held Foster over the edge. "This is important." Foster grunted, interrupting the man. "Shh! Listen, I need you to know why I'm hurting you. It's not just the boy. I'm doing this 'cause I enjoy it." Foster was pushed even further over the edge.

Red flags should be popping up for the two females but they blindly ignored them, surely he didn't enjoy that. He wasn't a sadist, right?

"No, no, no! No, no, no!"

"Where is he?" Foster said nothing. "Where is he?" 'Mike' asked again, yelling.

"No! Underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and 44th." Foster sobbed out.

'Mike' grunted, and pulled Foster back over the edge.

Foster chuckled in response. "They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start in on the boy. It would be a shame for you to have to watch what they do to him..."

'Mike' suddenly pushed Foster over the side of the building. Foster yelled out. Claire shrieked whilst Blair let out a strangled noise, the two women ran forward watching in shock and pain. A loud thudding noise was heard.

Claire pulled off her hoodie and face cover. "Oh, my God!"

Blair was still in silence, looking down as she pulled of the mask, eyeing the floor, shocked. Who knew she'd be reliving her childhood so soon.

"It's all right. He landed in the dumpster you pulled me out of."

"Is he dead?" Blair asked, turning to face the others, her hand tightening around Claire's.

'Mike' paused, listening as he breathed heavy. "He'll live. You need to get your things and leave. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

"What?" The two women asked, eyeing him, strangely.

"He wakes up, he'll be back, and he won't be alone next time."

"But he didn't see our faces." Claire reminded him, holding her face cover.

"Claire bear, we are wearing the same clothes from when we saw him in our apartment."

"That was just for effect, to scare him. He knew you were lying when you answered your door." 'Mike' groaned in pain.

"Mike?"

"Do you have somewhere you two can go?" 'Mike' asked, breathing heavy.

"Would say my dads, but he'd be asleep or working." Blair said, turning to her roommate for help.

"I'm cat-sitting for a woman I work with. Her brother's sick. She's in Oklahoma."

"What's the address?"

"Come again?" Blair asked, fairly sure he told them not to tell anyone.

"I'm thinking if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up." 'Mike' told the nurse and med student.

Claire thought for a few seconds. "Tenth and 54th. Apartment 412, um, in the building above the liquor store."

'Mike' placed his hands on Claire's and Blair's shoulders. "Hey. Thank you, Claire, Blair."

Blair's hand gripped his, feeling uncomfortable with the hand on her shoulder. Noticing her discomfort, he was quick to remove his hand before beginning to walk past them.

"I don't believe you." Claire told him. 'Mike' stopped, his head tilted towards the females. "What you said. I don't believe you enjoy this."

Blair wasn't sure what to believe, she honestly didn't even believe today was real.