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Writer's pictureJ. Joseph

Rite and Wrong

Angie walked out of the building, followed by her former mentor. “Alright, whoever Wyman actually is, whatever he’s up to, he’s got to be in the area. Only way he could work here and keep the line of information rolling. There’re still some Goar crews that know of me. I can make contact, they’ll seal the coast, lock the bastard in. Clean sweep of the region, we’ll trap Rite and can take care of the bastard.”

Behind his mechanical mask, Jason sighed. “That seems loud. Sometimes finesse is called for, you are aware.”

“Fear is always better than finesse,” Angie countered.

Jason cocked his head. “And if he manages to slip through the cracks? You and I have both done that.”

Angie shook her head. The ex-god’s nonchalant attitude was worrying. It meant he had something going on. And that was never good. “Then we find the bastard’s hideout without him, and track how he thinks. Eliminate his avenues of survival one by one until we catch him. We’ve done this before.”

“We have,” Jason said, “When you… I mean we were both in better practice. Now.”

Angie stepped up to her mentor, grabbing his lapel and sliding a knife into throat contact. “What did you do?” she hissed out.

“Nothing,” Jason answered. He was lying. She didn’t know why, but he was lying through his teeth. She pressed harder. Blood began to trickle down the blade, oozing onto her hand.

“He really didn’t.” A voice said from behind her. Instinctively, Angie threw the knife at the woman who had just left the building. The instant she did, she also realized her mistake. She’d been the one to let M out. Turning around, she faced her former foe. The woman she’d sworn to kill. This time, M had managed to catch the blade before it hit her. “Thank you again,” M said, “Your last gift proved quite useful.”

Angie reached down, gripping her grenade launcher. The hand of her former mentor stopped her. “Wait,” Jason said, “She might help.”

“Or she might, you know, kill us?” Angie countered.

“Unlikely.” The mechanical eyes of her mentor’s true face whirred wildly. “She hath been challenged. She shall meet said challenge, or she will be forgotten. And she refuses to be forgotten.”

“There are two ways she could go about doing that,” Angie stated, her voice unwavering. “You assume a lot.”

From behind her, M responded to the accusation. “That is because he’s my friend. He knows me better than you do.”

“Not helping,” Jason said, turning back to Angie. “But she’s right. I do know her.”

“Perhaps,” Angie counters, “But as you yourself are aware, you’ve missed some steps. Not all godly and whatnot.”

“What do you imply?”

“I’m saying that maybe your head’s not in the right place. Your failure to comprehend the situation earlier didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence in your decision making abilities.”

M begins to speak up again. “Or may haps-”

“Shut it, or I will shut it for you,” Angie spat at her old foe without even looking. “See, she’s just trying to prove she’s clever.”

“Well, she is.” argued Jason, “And I just believe, she may well be of use.”

“Certainly to this Wyman fellow. Probably going to go there to help him out. Or take over for him.”

“I just wish to say,” M begins.

“You don’t get an opinion on this matter,” Angie said at her.

M smiled. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll be heading to this supposed rival’s lair. You feel free to bicker with your toy while I take care of the problem.”

“You know where this Wyman fellow makes his home?” the mechanically masked man with a god complex asked.

M simply smiled. Again. It was an infuriating smile. Jason’s face turned to Angie. “Fine,” Angie said to Jason, then to M added, “But know I’m going to be keeping my eyes on you.”

“I expect nothing less from my toys,” M replied, “Even those I’m borrowing.”

Angie muttered under her breath, “I’m gonna kill her.”

Jason turned to M. “Well, lead the way.”

M, still smiling, starts to walk towards the exit. Only to be bodyblocked by Angie. Angie held out her hand. M had two of her knives, and Angie wanted them back. M tried to move around Angie, but one of them had been in bed for most of recent history. “Fine,” muttered M as she handed over the knife she’d caught after leaving the hospital. That’s one. Rather than move, Angie cocked her head, continuing to stare down the woman with her empty face. After another groan, M handed over the bloodied knife. “What if I need to protect myself?” she asked as Angie gripped the knife.

Angie pulled it out of M’s hand. “You claim to be smart,” she said, smug calm emanating, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She stepped aside to allow M to lead the way to this mysterious Rite. To the man who’d tried to have her killed.

Angie knew M was a lot of things. She was utterly insane, completely untrustworthy, and, from the walk to Rite’s lair, had zero sense of direction. The trio of people who could barely stand one another’s presence meandered in awkward silence through the nearly barren land, making their way to what seemed to be some kind of farm or ranch. In a past life, at least. Now, it was a vast, empty field with a shack on one side. As logic dictated, M led them towards the shack. M gestured for the others to head in. Though, rather than into the shack, Jason pointed at the cellar door outside. Using old Greenie hand signals that Jason, at least, would recognize, Angie indicated that they should head down, she’d do a sweep of the house then follow. Jason responded in kind, then gestured for M to follow him down into the depths of this place.

Angie hated land. The whole being utterly stationary bothered her. Because of that, this old house was much better. Nothing was stationary, it was as though every individual plank was constantly settling independent from its surroundings. Angie moved quickly through the building. If it were a trap, it would’ve been sprung earlier. If it held the lair, speed would be important to stop Rite. If it were neither, her enemy might escape. The sweep revealed a few things, though nothing of imminent import. Save an old journal, belonging to a woman. Not Wyman’s, but significant to him. Interesting. In the attic, Angie took a moment to think. Wyman’s paranoid but clever, operated entirely out of dead drops. There’s no way he was operating out of a cellar. Not one with only one entrance and exit, at least. The other exit would also be on the farmstead. Practical reasons. He didn’t have the manpower involved in this activity to make a tunnel himself, so it was one that the old owners had made for some reason. At the edge of the empty fields, Angie spotted an odd bit of brush. It was too thick to be natural. She headed full tilt in that direction. She hopped out the nearest window, slid down the rusty gutters, and sprinted across the former field.

When she arrived at the unnatural brush, Angie was pleased to find she’d been right. It was planted intentionally there, to cover what appeared to be an old manhole. Using a crowbar from her duffel, she forced open the manhole, and slid into the dark tunnels.

Voices echoed down from the main area, barely audible. Angie could only make out fragments. “For you,” and “In the way,” and “No one else.” The usual evil dude doing evil things speeches baddies make to help them feel better about themselves. Egos have always been most people’s greatest problem. As she walked down the tunnel, a sharp pop rang out. Loud. Gunfire, or some kind of distraction and disruption device. Either way, it was a problem. Moments pass quietly as Angie silently treaded forwards.

M nearly ran into her, hurrying through the passageway. “What are you doing here?” her old foe asked Angie. Angie simply cocked her head. M continued. “Listen, I need your help, he just bolted, did you see a skinny fellow run by you, or did I take the wrong - “

Angie didn’t even let her finish. She stabbed her through the chest, between two ribs and into her heart. M was shocked, though Angie wasn’t sure whether it was from the pain, the abruptness, or the thought that a ‘toy’ was the one to finally kill her.

“How?” M muttered as she started to collapse.

“Simple,” Angie stated, “If you weren’t lying, you would never have stopped to talk to me.” She stabbed the woman a couple more times for good measure, than rolled her body to the side of the passage. Best avoid any unfortunate conversations, she figured. That done, she headed onwards, to the main cellar.

The cellar was larger than she’d expected. Inside the single massive room was a workbench, a bank of computers, some maps and files and pictures and just about anything one might need to inflict mental torture on some fools. Lying in the center of the room were two bodies. One had a hole in his head the size of a lemon, the other, unfortunately, was merely unconscious. Looking around further, waiting for her ungodly friend to awake from his beauty sleep, Angie found a rather large safe hidden behind a false barrel head. By the time she had the safe open, her former mentor was stirring. Inside the safe was quite a lot of gold. Jason walked over to her. “What’s this?” the man asked.

Angie shrugged. Ignoring the dumb question and gesturing towards the corpse, she said, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Wasn’t my choice,” Jason replied.

“Really?”

Jason shook his head. “My choice would’ve been to make it hurt, make it last. Someone removed that choice from my hands.”

“M?”

“M.”

“Where is she, anyways?” Angie asked as she began gathering about half of the gold into her duffel.

“You didn’t see her?”

Angie shrugged. “I swept the house, realized he’d be an idiot not to have some kind of escape route, found that, and followed that to this cellar in case you didn’t have the stones and he managed to outwit the pair of you. By the time I got into the cellar, she was gone.”

Jason sighed. This whole situation was less than ideal for him. “Give me some of that. I don’t want to head home depressed, worried, and empty handed,” he said, gesturing for the gold.

Rather than do it for the idiot, Angie simply took her gold and stepped out of his way. “You ever figure out the why?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jason replied, “The most cliched shit.”

“Fair enough,” Angie said, “Is it going to continue from his end?”

“Shouldn’t.”

“Good enough for me,” she said as she walked away. Heading for the door, she added over her shoulder, “Tell your lady-doctor thanks for the ride. Also, I hope I never have to see you again.”

“Given the only way I could see us interacting again, that feeling’s mutual,” Jason replied.

Angie smiled beneath her mask. It felt good, being herself again. She’d taken care of her promise. The people behind her attempted murder were all taken care of. It would be some time before she could shed her face again. Last time took a lot of effort over several months. Perhaps, in the meantime, Newest York could use a reminder of why she was meant to be feared. After all, whoever Jason’s newest pets were clearly would need a refresher course in the hierarchy of those to be feared. Taking out her grenade launcher once again, Angie headed back across the dead country to Diane’s boat. She wasn’t certain what the future would hold, but it was good to have the past off her chest. For once in her life.


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