Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. The moment where someone, anyone would get the drop on her, instead of the other way around. She hoped it wouldn't be this soon, but that's what you get when you spend the last three and a half months interfering in the illicit activities of the leaders of Chicago's underworld.
For once, it was the woman known exclusively as Death Rider who had to look over her shoulders in fear, to make sure no one was following or watching or plotting or anything that she'd construe as threatening in any way. For once, she was being hunted. The shadows that had once been her second home of sorts were now theirs. They could be anywhere, she rationalized. Of course they could, it'd be foolish to believe she was the only person in this city who felt more comfortable shrouded in the cold embrace of the night than they did in the day.
She kept one hand pressed against her hip as she walked, just a couple inches away from the pistol in her waistband. Handguns weren't among her usual armament, but desperate times called for equally desperate measures. Stopping at an intersection, she caught the eye of a familiar face standing just outside a liquor store.
Or, more accurately, a familiar lack of a face.
How have you been, Princess?
His voice was cold, mocking.
She shook her head, convinced she was seeing things. The faceless man chuckled and grabbed onto the sleeve of her jacket.
This ain't no dream. See you got yourself into quite the situation.
It would appear so.
Despite the pounding in her chest resonating throughout her body and the sweat pooling up on the palms of her hands, she stood up straight and forced herself to look as confident as possible. The faceless man nodded his head and grunted.
So you're running? Kind of silly to keep the mask on, isn't it?
She shook her head and smiled wide under the mask.
Who said anything about running?
II
July 25 -- 2:45 AM -- Chicago, Illinois
Being held at gunpoint wasn't anything new for her. This was the kind of situation she found herself in at least once a week, and that was if she was lucky. However, the easiest way she found to lure scumbags in was to blend in. Well, blend in as much as a woman wearing a gas mask could. Then, the enterprising idiots would come to her, point their guns at her and demand money.
Then the tables would turn.
It was routine, and yes for the most part, it was about as safe as you could get fighting crime all by yourself in a city like Chicago.
This was something different.
A set-up.
She knelt, hands against the back of her head as one of the men surrounding her crouched in front of her, waving his pistol around like it was a toy. The other two men stood, one on either side of her, eyes fixed on the man with the gun. The one to her left wielded a kitchen knife…. the one to her right, a baseball bat.
Do you know who I am?
The man kneeling in front of her smiled. Nothing warm or calming, no, a smug, self assured smile. He was absolutely certain the woman in his clutches had heard of him. The smile vanished immediately once she shook her head no, replaced by a scowl and a piercing glare. It was like he was trying to look through the mask, through her completely.
Did I hurt your feelings?
She giggled, and then the man she questioned whipped her as hard as he could with the gun in his hand.
Need I remind you I can kill you at any point?
Need I remind you that you haven't?
The man cocked the pistol and pressed it against her masked forehead.
The smile slowly crept back over his face. Then, it disappeared just as soon as it reappeared.
Why?
Because the eye windows on the gas mask began to shine a bright red, and with lightning-esque quickness one of her hands clamped atop his.
III
July 25 -- 3:14 PM -- Arlington Heights, Illinois
She did what?
Though he didn't raise his voice, The Mad King was furious. His hands, clenched into fists, trembled on the table he was seated at. He gritted his teeth and stared cockeyed at the messenger, one of the men involved in her set-up. The man didn't seem so tough in the daylight without his knife and a swollen, purple right eye.
The Mad King's estate, a McMansion in a Chicagoland suburb, was almost enough to betray his namesake in the eyes of the public. The name "The Mad King" hardly inspired images of perfectly manicured lawns, backyard barbeques, and the perfect nuclear family. It was as far removed from suburban life as one could get.
Yet, here he was. A man torn between two worlds, though he liked to think he excelled at both. That was until some little bitch decided to start playing hero. Because, as it turned out, she was better at it than anyone could have expected.
He kept his eyes locked on the messenger's good eye, his icy blue gaze chilling the poor bastard to the bone.
She killed Lenny. Beat Carlos pretty bad too.
The man stammered his way through the sentences, as The Mad King lounged back in his chair, deep in thought. He could hardly believe it, first that after almost four months of just assaulting his men, she'd gone and killed one of them, and then furthermore, the one she killed was Leonard "Lenny" Caroulis, his personal bloodhound. Something didn't add up.
You were there, I take it?
He pointed to the man's swollen eye and the man sheepishly nodded.
So you saw everything?
Yeah. It was something else, man. I don't even know if I know what happened. One second, she was kneeling there, pretty much daring Lenny to shoot her. Then that fucking gas mask of her's lit up, like out of nowhere. This blinding red light, I think it stunned or blinded Lenny or something, because the next thing I know, she's up and has his gun pointed on him. Then, Blam!
Then why aren't either of you two dead as well?
The mask stopped being lit up. I don't know, because the second that thing went back to normal, she put the gun in her waistband and tried to run. She only fought us because we went after her. Chick's fucking weird.
The Mad King chuckled and shook his head.
She's cracking. How much of a moral crusader can she be when it's all over the news that the 'hero' is resorting to the methods of the villains? That type of comic book antihero shit doesn't work in real life. This is good for us. Thank you, that's all I need from you for now. If you'd please, I have to make a phone call.
The color returned to the man's face as a servant dropped a hand on his shoulder and led him towards the door. The servant shot a glance back at his employer, who gave him a thumbs up…. code that the man earned the right to live another day.
The Mad King reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone before dialing a number and waiting for an answer. On the third ring, he got one.
Hello, Desmond. I'd like to call in that favor.
IV
July 27 -- 2:23 AM -- Chicago, IL
And you're sure this is a good idea?
She shakes her head no.
It's the only idea I have, though.
You can run.
You don't understand. They say they'll kill my sister.
Unless you… what?
Unless I give myself up.
She mimics pulling the gun from her waistband. A bit of practice before it became important, she must be rationalizing. The faceless man studies her for a moment, then cocks his head.
Is everyone in your family as hardheaded as you?
Don't you know everything about me already?
Fair enough. Aren't you curious as to who I am?
Are these two really just going to stand there and talk? I expected her to be a little smarter than that. Oh well, makes it all the easier for me to do my job. No sense questioning it.
I take a few steps out of the alleyway I've been waiting in since the faceless man took his place just outside the liquor store. Gun already drawn, darts already loaded. Don't understand why he wants her alive, but whatever the reason is, it can't be good for her.
She looks away from the faceless man and sees me approaching. I pull the trigger as she reaches for her gun, and the dark strikes her right in the throat. Her grip on the gun loosens and it falls out of her hand, hitting the ground and skidding across the pavement. Then she drops. Her limbs flail as she falls, looking more like an oversized ragdoll than a person. I then grab her hand and pull her up to her feet, slinging her arm around my neck. She's out. Now all I have to do is throw her in the trunk and drive to the warehouse.
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