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[ 01 ]

A LONG TIME AGO, she had discovered the line between hero and villain was a thin one, indeed.

A long time ago, she had walked it freely, an acrobat clinging on by the mere curl of her toes.

A long time ago, she had fancied herself some sort of vigilante, a masked saviour operating under the cover of darkness.

Tonight, Narcissa knew that she would never be able to walk that line again, not after what she was about to do. Feeling for the pistol in her pocket, she chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her feet were silent on the worn asphalt of the road, completely empty save for the occasional car every few minutes.

With a resounding screech, a huge animal that resembled a tiger more than a cat came to a halt, glassy orb-like green eyes narrowed into slits.

"What is it?" she murmured, rubbing her fingertips beneath the feline's ruff, hiding her tiny smile as it purred richly. Cocking its head, it stared at a spot in the distance, and Narcissa instinctively cocked her gun.

Tonight, they were not alone.

Usually, she would've gotten Ayana to chase down their rogue buyer, but her accomplice had insisted she do it. Even she seemed scared by the mystery shrouded around the man that bled gold. It wasn't like her to avoid such a high-pressure chase. Usually, Ayana seemed to thrive in it, soaking up the nerves and creating something, perhaps, even worse. Narcissa preferred tactics, strategizing master plans and sticking to them - if anything went wrong, and it rarely ever did - she had six more escape routes or defences up her sleeve.

Swallowing, she stepped forward, the cat curving sleekly around her feet. Her hair swung with the movement, the night air cool on her skin. Beads of moisture from the mist slid down her face, droplets on her thick black lashes. Even her gloved hands were wet, cold and clammy beneath the black material. The necklace around her neck, a smiling silver chain tapering into a fat pointed diamond, stuck to her damp skin, the neckline of her plain black top not high enough to cover it.

It was meant to be seen - and people would know that she was either rich enough to afford it or a good enough thief to acquire it and keep her sticky fingers firmly clasped around it. It dared them to reach out and try to grab it before they were flung to the other end of the street, coughing up their own blood, hot and sticky as it trickled out of their sorry mouth. As far as records went, no one had managed to steal it successfully apart from Narcissa herself. Most ended up dead, comatose, or both in a varying order.

Her leather jacket hugged the curves of her body, packed with lean muscle that looked as if it had swallowed a skinny frame whole. As a child, she'd been a tiny little thing, but her teenage years had added a few inches to her height that she'd been impatiently waiting for all her life. With heavy eyebrows and red lips, the deep colour of dried blood in the dim light coming from the headlights of the car in front of her, Narcissa almost resembled one of the demons of Semper City.

An urban legend, whispered in crooked doorways when those cursed - or blessed, it depended on who you asked - walked past. Those strides were usually masked with smoke bombs, followed by sirens as the whirs of dark colours filled the streets. Boys who sat on their doorsteps swore that they had seen the invader's faces, but Narcissa knew better than that. After all, she had held those bombs in her own hands so many times that the whispers followed her everywhere.

The old women often said the same things.

It was always when they prayed to their gods that never seemed to listen, whether it was with crosses raised or fingers running along beads as they mouthed silent prayers. They never met her eyes, not when she was wearing the mask. Now was one of the only times she wasn't wearing one whilst outside. This mission was special, for more reasons than one.

Narcissa wondered whether her allies knew what she knew. If they did, then she'd be in for a treat once she got back to the base. Them, not so much. Violence was not something she favoured, not as often as others, at least. All bite and no bark, words whittled down to a knife's point, plunging deep into their flesh and carving themselves a home. Gritting her teeth, she crouched down by the overturned car, gripping the scraped car door for balance. And then she began to lift, closing her eyes and straining.

It took up nearly all the strength in her body, but after less than a minute, the car was on the road, wheels on the ground. She knew it was too damaged for any actual driving to take place, but it would be much easier to drag a body out of it once the car was the right way up. Her buyer was behind the wheel, eyes closed and faces battered with bruises from the airbag. The sight of him sent a jolt of familiarity through her body, and her strength faltered. Tears stung at her eyes, and she blinked them away hastily, curling her lips into a smirk.

He was unconscious, but he would be alright. Cuts marred his dark brown skin, blood smeared everywhere. But it wasn't normal blood. The liquid that trickled from this boy's wounds was molten gold.

Narcissa didn't try to slap him into consciousness. Her usual strength combined with the shock and anger she was feeling would've killed him, and though she was many other things, she was not a killer. For now, at least, she thought darkly, scowling as she fished a small box out of her pocket. Pressing her thumb over it, she threw it onto the asphalt, the golden boy's body slung over her shoulders. It quickly began to grow and shift shapes, eventually forming a car. Not nice enough to attract too much attention, or be a robbery target, but still nice. One of her own inventions, she thought smugly.

She knew that she shouldn't be saving him, but she couldn't help but squirm at the feeling of unease in the air. They were right on the outskirts of Semper, out of the rush of the city inside the walls. Semper City was built right where the Hartsicke River looped, creating an island large enough to house an odd few million people. Bridges crossed over to join Semper to the rest of the country, but only one still stood. Quite literally, when the old heroes had gone rogue, they'd burned the bridges along the way. Nearly eighteen years later, and they still hadn't bothered to rebuild.

Semper City had not been built to be an avid member of US Society, so it was no surprise that crime thrived in its seclusion. Law enforcement was corrupt, and though SCPD cars patrolled around every street corner, they still couldn't seem to cut down on it. At all. Youth education programs were abandoned, the money used for building more and more prisons instead. Street gangs were a more looming threat than ever, and even with a loaded gun at her belt and superhuman powers at her disposal, Narcissa kept finding herself looking over her shoulder. Something brushed against her legs, and she jumped, before the green eyes of the cat glowed in the light cast by the tiny lamps above the rear-view mirror. It leapt up before slinking into one of the back seats, purring once more as it dug its nose into the leather upholstery.

Opening the door with her foot, she strapped the golden boy in one of the back seats, cursing all the while. Shadows loomed all around them, each taking a form worse than the last. They seemed to croon closer as Narcissa thrust the keys into the ignition and the car roared to life. With a grunt, she veered it along the road, jabbing at the radio with one finger and waiting for the sound of music to calm her nerves. Some pop song that she'd heard a thousand times before played, and she hummed along loudly, trying to mask her own ragged breathing.

Behind her, the cat kept purring.

"Shut up, Cat."

Cat still purred.

The cat was creatively named Cat because she didn't have the time or energy to give him a name. Ayana had brought him back to the base, resulting in an argument that had caused an act of attempted defenestration. Of the cat, not Ayana. Throwing one of the most vicious young women in all of Semper City out of a window would be suicide, in more than one way. Even with superhuman strength, Narcissa didn't even want to imagine what Ayana would've done to her. After working with her for four years, she'd known only anger and brutality from the girl - and that was on her good days. She was small, but she was fierce, that was definite.

A sudden hiss and the shudder of the car announced a flat tyre. Narcissa swore loudly but didn't pull over. The road was completely empty, and if someone was unlucky to find themselves along the way, she'd strangle the bastard with her bare hands. Tonight had just been meant for picking up money for a jewel heist, and it had turned into a goddamn nursing home. Stepping outside, she studied the vehicle, and with a cold quiver noticed the slashes on the tires.

How the hell had that happened?

Cocking her gun again, she inspected the road, footsteps silent. Cold air turned into clouds of vapour in the night, an uneasy stillness on the country road. It was completely pitch black apart from the headlights. A sick feeling clawed at Narcissa's stomach as she tore one hand away from the butt of the pistol and scrabbled around in her pocket, producing a small sphere. The metal was slick in her hand, a distant glow radiating from it. She threw it onto the ground, pursing her lips into a thin line in wait. The sphere became four tyres, stacked perfectly on top of each other in one long ring.

'Why is it always me doing this shit?' she thought, but before she could start, a pair of hands seized her shoulders.

Not today.

Kicking upwards, she focused on the iron grip, using it to her advantage. In a sharp arc, she flipped backwards, wrapping her legs around their neck and squeezing tightly before rolling over. She landed on the ground with a slight thump, breathing heavily. The person, whoever they were, were masked. But it wasn't a typical grill-mouthed one, or an extravagant silk one that a glamorous assassin would've favoured. Hauntingly so, it was plain white. The type that little kids poured paint all over at birthday parties, or scribbled shapes on, bought from anywhere from a convenience store to a craft supply. An involuntary shiver went down Narcissa's spine, and she drew her gun and fired a few times, landing shots to the very centre of their head, chest and stomach. There would be no springing up for now, she thought with grim satisfaction. Drawing her penknife, she slit their throat for good measure.

Looking over her shoulder, she emptied out their pockets, finding nothing but lint in their pockets and completely normal hems. If they had anything, she would need to find some dodgy doctor to do some more analysis, perhaps in exchange for a few fat diamonds. Or something. She didn't evaluate the specifics there and then, although if she had more time, Narcissa would've gladly done so. The mask was the last thing to come off, and though she would never admit it, it was because it creeped the hell out of her. There was something even more unsettling about such a common mask. Blood pouring all over the now-evidently man's face, she wiped the bits that yet dried away with the sleeve of her leather jacket, holding back a gag at the gaping bullet hole in his forehead.

Dressed in a zip-up grey hoodie and black joggers, he wasn't much to look at. Just another face in the crowd, a plain face with an unshaven jaw and a musty smell to him. Narcissa couldn't leave him here, of course, so instead, she picked him up with one hand, the other fiddling with her knife, and rolled him into the boot of the car. More investigation would follow later, in the bright lights and security of her workshop. Like an engine, she would take him apart, bit by bit, until he was nothing but blood and bones. Some would call it bloodlust, but Narcissa believed she was being analytical. If everything was in one piece, they hadn't looked close enough. Not even she could be precise enough to investigate and then act as if it was a regular autopsy, or try to give him a funeral.

Anyway, anyone who opposed her didn't deserve a kind death, nor a kind afterlife. A kind life, however, was something that they could forge for themselves.

If they hadn't been lucky enough to forge it, how was that her problem? She couldn't help them, not if they had chosen to do dumb shit.

Like your old friend slash enemy in the back of your car, a snarky voice in her head murmured. She brushed the thought away coolly, starting the car again. The tyres were fine - and she'd known it. The slashes had terrified her, definitely, but Narcissa had only pulled over to lure her tracker into a false sense of security. Now, he was dead in the boot of her car. Underestimating Narcissa Corvus was like punching a bear and not expecting it to attack - to put it simply, it was dumbassery at its finest. A smile tugged at her lips, though the momentary smugness was overridden by a feeling of unease.

In front of her, the road stretched on for forever.

[ end ]