But it was more than that. It was the itch, the tiny jolt of adrenaline he felt every time a Vigil sighting was posted on the news. He started monitoring the Cult of V message boards, even interacting with some of the visitors. Most were ordinary people, venting about the crime and violence. They were proud supporters of Vigil's fight, cheering every verified sighting or evidence of his activities. A few were psychos, posting disturbing accounts of extreme violence against gang members, ethnic communities, and other groups. The Cult was quick to remove and ban any of that. But he was mostly interested in the posts by Sentry, the enigmatic founder of the Cult of V. The voice memos were spoken by a female, but it was disguised and impossible to trace with his equipment, as was the origin of the transmissions. Her posts were random and general, but the conclusion he drew was that she was someone who had encountered Vigil at some point. More than likely a potential victim Vigil saved in his fledgling career. Whatever the case, she spoke with passionate admiration, and her dedication was contagious.
Not to mention dangerous.
Not a day went by without a report of another act of vigilante activity. Ordinary citizens bolstered by the Cult of V, inspired by Vigil's example. Sometimes it was encouraging, like a week ago when a group of people stopped a mugging and chased off the perpetrator. Other times it was tragic, like the young man shot to death while foolishly trying to take on an entire crew of gun-running bangers. No matter what the case, one thing was certain: everything had changed in the few months that passed since Vigil's first appearance. And especially since the execution of the Denizens. It was like static crackling in the air: a palpable sensation that was either excitement or dread. He couldn't call it.
He remembered the days when he was Chief of the Enforcement Division, and the first Vigil appeared. The years he spent chasing the crime fighter before forming an uneasy alliance and taking down the city's most dangerous threats together. That was before Mortis. Before it all came crashing down.
Only for Vigil to rise from the ashes and begin the cycle again.
He was surprised by how good the new guy was. Wayne took a long time developing into a successful Vigil, but the current version apparently hit the ground running. It was uncanny. Abe wondered who he was. Had to be ex-military. Maybe even a rogue Elite. Or maybe he wasn't even human. Arthur definitely had time to develop an intuitive android over the years.
But Abe had a hunch that Vigil was human. Arthur had too much of an inferiority complex to try to fill those shoes, even via an automaton. No, Abe figured that either Wayne had a secret apprentice in the wings or Arthur had finally found the perfect candidate. Either way, whoever assumed the mantle was doing a helluva job of stirring things up. And it wasn't going to go away anytime soon. The way things were going, Vigil was the spark that lit the fuse. All that remained was the explosion, and how much damage it caused. It was a recipe for disaster, and more than likely, a lot of dead people. Good people. But maybe something else could happen. Maybe there was a way to guide the chaos into some semblance of change.
He sighed through his thick white mustache. Yeah, and maybe you're dreaming, old man. Stop tempting fate and get back home before someone knocks some sense into you.
Flashing blue and red lights pulsed from the adjacent alley. Guided by nostalgia and stubborn defiance of reason, Abe followed the flickers to the next street over, where a pair of beat cops scratched their heads at the sight of a pile of bangers piled on top of each other, shackled together by brightly-colored zip ties. They were bloodied and bruised, groaning as they unsuccessfully tried to stand, resulting in a display of uncoordinated comedy.
Abe waved his arms in a non-threatening manner, making sure the badges saw him approach. One held out a warning hand.
"Sorry, Pops. Crime scene here."
"So I see. Had nothing better to do, thought I'd catch a closer look. Been a while."
The cop wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting. "What—you used to be a shield?"
His partner swatted his arm. "Hey, remember the hallway photos at the Academy? That's the old Commish. Abraham uh..."
"Clark," Abe said.
The cop nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Commishioner Clark. We heard a lot about the takedowns you supervised, sir."
His partner's eyes widened. "Yeah, I studied your tactics in school. The Double Pincher maneuver is legendary. Chief Moore still uses it in Tactical."
A smile creased Abe's face. "Is that right? Well, Moore's a good man. Make sure you pay attention and learn something from him."
"Yes, sir."
Abe gestured to the bangers struggling to stand. "What's this about?"
"Small fries slinging bloom. GRP property. Not much a deal, except for whoever decided to shut the party down."
"Vigilant?"
"Gotta be. You know how it is—we show up, and suddenly everyone loses the ability to speak. A couple of them admitted it wasn't Vigil, though. It was a girl, can you imagine?"
Abe nodded, remembering the past, the black-and-red colors of the most dangerous woman he'd ever had the honor of knowing. "Yeah. I can imagine."
"Whoever she is, she's new on the block. Don't have a name for her yet."
"Sure you do." Abe pointed to the wall of the dope house, which was tagged with more graffiti than paint. "Looks like the latest tag is still fresh."
One of the cops stepped closer. "I'll be damned. You're right, sir."
The loud, bold yellow letters spelled out a single word: SPITFIRE.
Abe gestured. "Now you know what to call her. You boys be careful out there. Heat like this brings the devil out of people."
"Will do, sir. Say, you need a ride somewhere?"
"No, I'm getting my exercise. Five miles minimum, or the day is wasted." He waved and went back the way he came, head full of memories. Thoughts about legacy, and the tingling buzz of excitement imagining what was to come. He made it home without disturbance. Tilled in the rose garden for a few hours. Fired up the coffee, added a splash of whiskey. Watched the news, put the pieces together. Fired up his system, accessed security feed through back channels he'd had installed long ago. Pulled up the feed from an old camera off the books that shouldn't have been working but somehow still was. The angle was just enough to catch the view of the drug house two blocks away. Magnifying the picture, he rewound the feed until he saw it. The slim, athletic girl taking down the poorly-trained crew in a matter of seconds. The girl was good but not great. She was a work in progress, still training. But the fighting style was instantly familiar. He wasn't surprised. It was all coming together.
Sitting back in his leather office chair, he took a swallow from his mug. Someone had to do it. Someone had to look at the big picture. Decision time, Abe. Either you're in, or you're out.
He rummaged through his desk, found the burner, dialed the number. Qhawa's face flashed on the screen: golden skin, dark eyes, high cheekbones, bold nose, inky hair.
"Abe. This is unexpected."
"We know each other well enough, Qhawa. Enough not to dance around with words. Spitfire: she's yours, isn't she? Which means she's with this new Vigil that's causing all the ruckus. Which means you're with him too."
"You should be enjoying retirement and tending to your roses, Abe. Even if any of what you say is true, why would I talk to you about it?"
"Because if I know Arthur, he's got it in mind to be the hand that directs the sword. He'll want to control Vigil himself, which may not be for the best. Tell me truthfully that you haven't considered the same thing."
"Maybe I don't care what games Arthur plays, or what he does with Vigil."
"And I might believe you if hadn't trained the girl."
She said nothing for a moment, eyes shimmering as she considered his words. "What do you want?"
He took a deep breath, ignoring the voice of practical wisdom that shouted warnings in his head.
"I want in."
Ⓥ
Jett gave the newly-painted interior wall of the Youth
Haven a critical look, fingers tapping his chin. "Well … it's creative."
The group of paint-spattered children looked up at him with wide grins plastered on their faces. "Glad you like it," one of them said, leaving streaks of yellow on her face after wiping it with her fingers.
He gave her a thumb's up, still staring at the multicolored abstract display of color splashes dripping down the wall. It looked like entire buckets had been thrown at it, which probably wasn't too far from the truth.
"I love it. Tell you what—you all have been working hard all morning. Why don't you take a break and get something to eat? I thought I smelled fresh cookies when I passed the cafeteria."
They squealed with excitement, and dropping their brushes, ran in that direction.
"Slow down. And don't forget to wash your hands!" Shaking his head, he turned to Zip, who hovered beside him, rusty shell vibrating. After the tunnel incident, he decided to salvage Zip from the sewer work, paying his former employer double what the robot was worth. Those funds would have taken months to save in the recent past, but Arthur took care of Jett's money problems via a discreet account. Having rich friends certainly made life much easier than just a few months ago.
"Okay, Zipster—can you clean this up a bit? Keep the creativity but lose the messiness? You understand what I mean, don't you?"
The robot buzzed in response. "Zip understand. Zip happy to help." A thin arm snapped out of its housing and picked up a spray gun. Humming a happy tune, the robot went to work.
"Nice. I'll be back to check up on you later."
He walked the hallway, passing the packed recreation room, where children and teens played games, sat in cubicles jacked to the infosphere, or chatted together under the watchful eyes of a caretaker android at its station in the corner. More kids sat at desks in other rooms, engaged in remote education and tutoring programs. Others played outside, learning team-based sports and other activities.
One of the child care specialists smiled as she approached. "Mr. Wolfe—a minute, please."
He shook his head. "Carla, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Jett?"
She blinked behind her thick spectacles. "Well, a certain amount of decorum is to be expected, I should think."
"Not by me. What can I do for you?"
"The same as yesterday. More rooms, more computers, more beds, more—"
He held up a hand. "More everything. I get it. But the folks at City Hall don't move as fast as I want. He glanced around at the brightly lit hallways. "I don't think anyone figured this place to fill up so fast."
The gray-haired woman snorted. "Then they haven't been paying attention. Children have always needed a safe place in this city, and that was before Vigil rescued them from those Denizen perverts."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Well, I'm doing the best I can, Carla. Trying to line up donations and equipment from private sectors too."
Smiling, she patted his arm. "I know you are, Mr. Wolfe. You been taking care of yourself?"
"Trying to. I appreciated the plate from the other night, by the way. Delicious."
"You should come by one of these weekends. I cook up a storm, and my husband would love to meet you."
He tilted his head. "And I'm sure you won't have a pretty young niece or cousin that just happens to be there by chance, right?"
She laughed. "Can't blame me for trying. You need a woman to take care of you, Mr. Wolfe. You're one of the few good men around and can't just spend all your time working. I see you walking around here looking dog-tired some days."
"I'm fine, Carla. Appreciate the concern, though."
"So, you'll come by this Sunday?"
Grinning, he waved her off. "Bye, Carla."
Turning the corner, he began his inspection of the facility's fully automated security protocols that allowed only authorized personnel in and out, along with service androids that tended to the children's needs and kept them secured even when Jett was away. Everything needed to work smoothly and safely, so he took the time to do meticulous examinations of the equipment every day. There could be no mistakes, not after the trauma that most of the children had already endured.
The thought made his blood boil. As Vigil, he'd made it a priority to follow every trace of the Beast's operation and stamp it out. He was careful to bring them in alive, but the fact that every one of them died from the Haven's brain chips didn't keep him from sleeping at night. It was more than they deserved after what they did. And now that they were taken care of, he could move on to the next phase of his operation. The gangs that plagued the streets were almost as—
His thoughts were interrupted when one of the children collided into him. Tall for her age and slender, thirteen-year-old Zoe was the opposite of her sister Mira—blonde-haired, shy, and gifted, prone to daydreaming and nature gazing when not engaged with her holovisor, the reason she walked right into Jett. Whatever program she interacted with had her full attention, transforming her surroundings into a digitally altered landscape. Ignoring him, she turned around in circles, hands outstretched as if reaching for objects he couldn't see. Like most of the children, she wore second-hand clothes made available by donations. She had on too many layers, as if undecided on what to wear and chose to wear them all. The scarf and bulky jacket looked too hot for the environment, even if it was indoors. The YH's air-conditioning wasn't exactly known for working well under pressure, and with the heatwave, it was under pressure every day.
He tapped the front of her goggles. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful, Zoe? Next time you could walk down a flight of stairs."
She pushed one side of the oversized VR helmet, looking up at him with a slightly dazed smile. "Hello, giant."
He sighed. "I'm not a giant, Zoe."
She laughed, rocking back and forth. "I know, Mr. Wolfe. Jay-kay."
"Joking. Yeah, I get it. Look—do the virtual thing when you're sitting down, okay? Don't want you to get hurt."
"Sure, Mr. Wolfe. Seen ya."
"Yeah, see you later."
She giggled. "No, silly. Seen ya. In the war."
"What?"
"The war. You know: Imperials, with crazy powers. You, fighting with ABC."
"ACU. Aberrant Control Unit. Where did you see that—education center?"
"Boring. Seen you in Limbo."
He scratched his head. "Limbo? What's that?"
"Where, not what."
"Okay, where?"
"The Breaks. Haze arcade."
He frowned. "Haze? Don't tell me you've been to one of those joints where you get hooked up to Sensync."
"Immersion. It's so real. Explosion in the sky, all the terrible colors… Her expression saddened. I'm so sorry about your brother."
"My … brother?" He felt a dull throb in his temples as the memory flashed across his mind. The final battle in the Imperial War, the Skygate explosion. The price that Marcus paid for trying to save the world…
His fists clenched. "Where is this Limbo?"
Ⓥ
He caught the airbus to the Breaks District, where he used the GPS on his holoband to locate the Haze parlor Zoe talked about. Walking the city blocks was an exercise in risking heat stroke, but people still packed the sidewalks, grumbling about the heat and dressed in practically nothing to try to stay cool. He wore cargo shorts and a t-shirt but still felt overdressed. Sweat beaded on his shaved head, slid down his face.
He recognized little of the borough that was called the Bronx in his time. It had degenerated along with the rest of New York, reborn as Neo York in the post-Cataclysm era. The Bronx had never been pretty to look at, but things had grown even seedier as the Breaks, particularly the southern area, where he wandered. Brown and gray seemed to be the only colors on the buildings arranged in interconnected clusters—old neighborhoods and tenement buildings, blocks of shipping crate apartments stacked twenty-five stories high.
He studied the area as he walked. Things looked different in the daytime, a little less grim than
at night when he stalked the rooftops as Vigil. The sunlight painted the streets golden, blazed between buildings, and brightened the neighborhood somewhat. There were still parks where old men played chess on holographic boards, and children chased each other around, laughing while holovisors transformed their surroundings. People did their shopping during the day, took care of their business, walked their pets, went on dates.
Lived their lives.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Even people in the worst neighborhoods had what he didn't. They had family, friends, history, held together by the tapestry of shared experiences instead of hibernating through three centuries and waking up long after everyone and everything recognizable was long gone. A couple walked past, eyes full of each other, fingers intertwined. He thought of Tatsu, the private times they shared together. The rare smiles she shared with him like intimate gifts…
No. Think of something else. Anything else.
He turned his attention to the crews of bangers that lounged against buildings, chatting and hanging out, marked by their black and purple outfits and the eight-ball logo on their clothes and tagged on buildings in their turf. The Krazy Eights were known as party boys, avoiding violence when possible. They preferred to benefit from alliances, allowing other syndicates to distribute contraband Sensync and other drugs in their Haze parlors for a cut of the profits. Their turf was neutral, ideal for brokering deals with rivals. Full of bounce and swagger, they threw raves and wild parties throughout the Five Districts.
One of the younger ones approached him with a digital flyer beaming from the thick holoband around his wrist. Chewing a toothpick, he gave Jett a gold-plated smile.
"Purple Haze tomorrow night, OG. Even bigger than last time. Gonna be straight fie."
Jett nodded and tapped wrists, downloading the flyer to his holoband. "Ace, dog." He kept walking, spotting the Limbo building in an old strip mall across the street.
He walked in and glanced around. The room was dark, lit by ultraviolet strips that transformed colors into psychedelic neon. A man with blazing pink hair and face piercings glanced up from his seat behind a counter, holovisor covering his eyes.
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 3