It was mid noon, people filled the streets and overall, wouldn’t seem to be a time for crime to prosper. However, that wasn’t true in any sense. Crimes were everywhere from schools to even workplaces during the day, contrary to popular belief. It wasn’t a fancy place for the rich, but was the best the middle-class could afford. The garage served as a platform that lifted up the complex up above ground level, and atop the platform plants filled the sidewalks, trees and flowers of many kinds. Children played around, some riding scooters and some riding bikes, all oblivious to the fact that two duct-taped people were held captive below them. Not in the garage, but below that, in the basement floor.

The apartments were built by Smith Co., serving as a hiding place for the Smithy, a crime syndicate that had the entire city atop its palms and ready to squash it with one little thought. That wasn’t true, turned out to be false, when they took the Red Comets into account. It had started about three months ago, their agents and members being found comatose at their homes and suspecting gifts at play, they turned on the defensive. In fact, most of their businesses had started failing.

The boss was angry to say the least. He’d pent up his anger on any of his subordinates that happened to be near him on a bad day. That was one of the reasons Carlito signed up for the job. Keeping an eye on, and most importantly keeping the Red Comets away, as they named themselves. He couldn’t argue with that. That girl was a real comet. She’d come crashing down the walls to the hideouts and destroy them one by one. All the bodyguards and hired guns couldn’t keep up, or at least that’s what would happen if they didn’t have a Tinker-tech straight from the Dynasty theater.

Being one of the senior and most loyal members, not to mention strongest and most amazing, Carlito had the ‘right’ to be at the boss’s side at all times. Across the room, his friend and partner Timothy sat. Carlito didn’t quite understand why exactly did the Smithy members wore suits even when not obliged to. There were, of course, a few who broke the norm and wore casual clothes like Carlito, but Tim wasn’t one of them.

Carlito could control any sufficiently advanced machinery in a fifty yard radius around him – cars happened not to be that advanced. In fact, only robots were advanced enough, except military grade cars and the like. It was for that very reason that he brought a military Acronym wherever he went. It had to be put in a truck to transport, for the lack of anything else that could fit it. The model Carlito had was named CCHK, Close Combat Humanoid Knight.

It was twice the size of a grown man, and as thick as three. There was a large sword worthy of the robot’s size at its waist, and a shield rested on its other hand. Carbon steel alloy was used for the main body and it had one of the most modern power generators: Carbondiator, which absorbed CO2 and turned it into usable energy, meaning infinite energy though its fossil fuel tank had to be touched for it to function at maximum capability.

“Someone’s coming. One of those costume children.” Said Tim, twirling a dagger made of what could only be described as smoke.

“Didn’t we threaten to kill those guys?” Hissed Carlito, and turned to glare at the two duct taped people. They were both in their late forties, husband and wife.

“We did. The meteor girl is at the boss’s place, about to be frozen.” Tim said emotionlessly. He had little to no emotion. Even after six years, Carlito still hadn’t seen him smile or get angry. As if he had a poker face on at all times.

“Then who the hell is that brat?!” Shouted Carlito, rubbing his forehead and letting out a sigh.

“Must be unrelated. Who goes?” Tim asked, twirling his dagger around his fingers.

“I’ll do it. Don’t let me fall again.” Carlito said, and closed his eyes. The next thing he knew was he was in a completely dark place and his body felt a little more heavy. Nothing more than that, and he was in the CCHK.

It almost felt natural after piloting it so many times. The first time he had gotten nauseous and the feedback was too much for him. That meant he’d be taken back to his body with a headache. If he quit of his own accord, he’d save himself from the pain and Carlito had learned to do that a month after he started piloting the CCHK.

Carlito tapped on the truck’s wall a few times, and the back was opened by two goons. The light didn’t blind his eyes, an advantage of being in a robotic body. He walked out the truck, and he instantly noticed the running brat, except there were two. One of them wore black and the other a dark blue. Carlito smiled, at least mentally, a con of having a robotic body, drawing the blade.

The body was sluggish, but one hit with the sword and anyone was torn into two. The blue ran straight into Carlito, only resulting in a mechanic chuckle escaping the CCHK’s microphone. The sword fell on the boy, but it stopped. The sword couldn’t move further – it was stuck.

“What the hell.” The microphone sounded out in monotone, then Carlito felt a stinging pain in his gut. The feedback was painful, yes, but not too strong. Through the pain, he grabbed the boy by the shoulder. Then he noticed it, those eyes. They were crimson, much like the Comet girl, but it was crimson. It burned dimmer than hers, but it was all the more sinister.

Then the boy smashed through his hand, and Carlito blacked out, appearing back at the room. A migraine hit him. He was no stranger to it, but this time it was during a job. It never happened before. Tim stood there, rather surprised that his partner came to clutching his head and throwing up.

“Your turn. That boy. He’s a monster.” Said Carlito, and shakily grabbed a glass of water from the table. Drinking always helped ease this kind of migraine. The gift-induced kind. Except that glass wasn’t water but alcohol – vodka from the Federation. It was one of the luxuries that black market offered, which the Smithy took.

“He broke your toy?” Tim asked, still twirling his knife around. It was a karambit now, changed from the combat knife it was before.

“That’s goddamn obvious! Get working. I’ll be watching out for the hostages till boss sends the okay.” Carlito said. His vision was still shaky, but he managed to grab the crossbow and ready it. It was an ancient technology, really, but still better than a bow. Of course it couldn’t compare to pre-Dawn, but the past couldn’t be changed.

“Sure. Will do.” Said Tim, turning into that black mist and phasing through the walls. It was scary to think a knife was hidden in there, and he could slash the necks of just about anyone he passed through. Truly dangerous, and effective.

They were currently in the basement floor, built as a shelter for disasters, but later transformed into one of the Smithy’s bases of operations. There were eight armed men waiting at the door, all with crossbows in hand, ready to shoot in the slim chance Timothy happened to fail his job. He was a professional when it came to assassination and rumors were he served as a hitman before joining the Smithy as a sort of pension job.

Carlito took a seat next to the two struggling hostages with fearful eyes. It was obvious they’d be startled if some people abducted them from their workplace’s doorsteps, which was the Smithy in this case. A television hung before the sofa they lay, showing a live feed of what was happening at the boss’s place. There were far more people in there than here, as the Comet would be coming soon, peacefully this time around.

“Hello.” He said, “First of all, sorry. This had to be done. Your daughter was a troublesome brat. She was breaking up into our hideouts, you see. We had to take drastic measures. No one picks a fight with the Smithy and walks out of it safely. No one.”

Carlito’s expression turned sour as he caught Tim sinking back onto the room, in his mist form. Something ought to have happened if he was retreating.

“There were two. That ninja-wannabe is fucking hunting me down!” Tim shouted, and in his frustration kicked the wall. “He had a goddamn sword out in the public, for god’s sake, and was throwing around knives like they were darts.”

“Then what the hell do we do?!” Carlito shouted back, looking around.

“We run. Pack them up. I’ll try to distract them for a while.” Tim said, and phased through the ceiling again. In panic, Carlito shouted to the goons to pick them up and throw them in the car.

Carlito entered the car, and started the engine. It was a mini-bus, enough for everyone to fit in. He started the engine, and took out his phone to make a call. The boss was rather strict about being reported of these things. It dialed for ten or so seconds, far longer than it should be, and the boss picked up. His voice was less angry as he said “What is it?”

“Costume brats. They’re coming in on us.” Said Carlito, looking behind his shoulder several times. The garage door opened and the boys threw in the hostages.

“Then kill the hostages, it’s obvious. Threaten them with it. They’ll stop coming if you do, you moron!” Shouted the boss from the other side.

“Will do, boss. Where’s our next location if it fails?” Carlito asked, still looking through his shoulder. Timothy fell through the ceiling again and started sprinting toward the car. The goons got in one by one, and Tim crashed headfirst into the minibus in mist form.

“Go to 19th, quarter of our force is there.” The boss said. “She’s here. I’ll be counting on you.”

The call cut off, and Carlito looked behind to see Timothy with an injury, holding his right shoulder with one hand.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Throwing stars happened. He ran around and waited for me to turn back and threw those things. He’s damn good with it. I downed the other one, a stab below the ribs.” Said Tim, walking to the front and taking the other front seat. “Are we going to 19th?”

“Yes. Boss told us to.” Carlito said with a sigh of relief. Having them on their tail wasn’t his idea of enjoyment and was sure no one else would enjoy it.

“Well, bloody hell.” Said Tim, wincing as he tried to move his shoulders.

The drive was calm, everything had ended and the costumed brats were left to their own devices. Then again, everything was safe and sound only three months ago, before those brats came out dressed outrageously, coming after them. The local government was easy to get along to. The lord was poor and needed a large amount of money to better the city. The Smith Co. offered help and before the lord knew it, he was indebted to them. The police was out of the question with that. The only trouble was the queen’s guard finding out about this, so they hushed the authorities and the higher-ranked people with money from below them.

The base at the 19th street was above a supermarket. Carlito left first, leaving Timothy to command the goons and bring the hostages. He’d have to go and talk to them, or they might be mistaken for others. There were two factions in the Smithy. One followed the boss’s orders to the word and the other were slightly ajar and were in for the fun. These guys at 19th were the fun faction, oblivious to some higher-ranked members. In other words, they were simply thugs.

He walked into the shop, and noticed there was no one in. The shop owner was rather responsible and it was quite strange for her to not be here, at least without leaving one of the boys here. The stairs were next to where the drinks were, so Carlito grabbed a cold one, and popped it. His throat was parched. It was always like this when he had to take command. Carlito wasn’t the most confident of people.

“1119S” Said Carlito. It was more where they were coming from than a code, actually. The first two digits meant where they were coming from, and the last two digits meant where they were coming to, the letter meaning what gang. It was some greeting method that was created some twenty years ago.

There was no reply. Carlito knew it. They were slacking again, though he couldn’t complain since he’d take shelter here. There was some sort of moan coming from within. Those morons, they’re having fun in the hideout?!

Carlito almost shouted out in anger. They soiled one of the hideouts with sex?

His pace turned up a notch, anger fueling it. He’d report it to the boss and have them punished, or at least try to, or Carlito could even complain to the big boss. Mr. Erick wasn’t really a crime leader-type and had one of his brothers take over it. He pulled the strings, and the boss turned the puppets by force. The only things he did with the Smithy was sponsor it, if you didn’t count the black market deals he did. Carlito wasn’t an expert in that field. He did the dirty jobs like kidnapping and silencing folks. But being one of the top dogs in the Smithy, he could potentially kick these savages out.

“Some brats took out our base in 11th. We’re here to stay for a little while, under boss’s orders.” Said Carlito, putting a cigar in mouth. If they were planning to be rude, there was no reason for him not to be. As he breathed out a lungful of smoke, he felt the remains of the headache disappear fully. The feedback was the one bad thing about his gift.

The foul stench of iron was in the air, and just as he saw the silhouette of a girl in costume, an impossibly loud sound rattled his brain. Just as the headache had left, it came back several times stronger, more intense and most importantly without cause. The last thing he felt before he lost consciousness was his hands being cuffed behind his back.

≈

It was bright. Those were Carlito’s first thoughts as he came to his senses. The stench of iron was still thick in the air and he could feel that his body was tied. He had seen this, and did this more than a few times himself. Carlito had been tied to a chair. This was a famous interrogation method, with lights blocking the eyesight of the interrogated person, blinding them to the where he was. This didn’t work as well as expected since Carlito recognized this place as the 19th district base, and he had most likely been tied to the chair as a precaution than anything else.

He felt around with his mind, tugging. There was an Acronym at the police station a hundred or so yards away, just beyond his reach but still within his sensing area. It was moving around, patrolling, most likely. Ais were built in them along with scanners to ensure they could recognize criminals and neutralize them. There wasn’t anything advanced in their hands, just some crossbows with neutralizer rounds for arrows.

Wet footsteps fell on blood, intentional, most likely. They were slow, steady and rhythmic, as if it was a method of mental torture. The footsteps grew louder with every passing second. …10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 It stopped at sixteen, then it started again, gradually growing quieter until it faded behind the noise of the city. …6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, *SPLAT*

“Are you wondering what happened to your friends?” Asked a woman’s voice, not defined enough to be a woman’s. Carlito concluded it as the costumed girl.

“My partner’s coming for you.” Is what Carlito wanted to say, but he noticed his mouth had been duct taped – a cheap trick. There was something large in his mouth and it tasted disgusting.

“Tim, was it? The guy that turns to mist? Don’t worry about him. He isn’t dead, or worse depending on what angle you look from.” The girl said. It was a mocking voice, Carlito recognized it.

“Now you’re probably wondering how I understood you from behind those tapes? Well, it’s just that I can read your mind like an open book, or a messenger. Only surface thoughts, not the depths and secrets. That’s why I want you to cooperate, you following me?” She asked. A gloved hand came to the light, and it pulled off the duct tape rather painfully. She then forced Carlito’s mouth open, and pulled out something. It was yellow, and square – a dirty towel.

“What do you want?” Asked Carlito, trying to hide his fear.

“I just want you to tell me who your boss is. Not the big boss. The small one, is that what you call him? Anyways, the one that directs the crimes. Tell it to me.” She said. It wasn’t a question, more of an order.

“No way.” Said Carlito with a smile. He was familiar with torture techniques, though he didn’t know what would happen if he was the one being tortured.

“You see, my friend, Comet, has taken care of the look-alike dissing her. Who’s the real boss? She’s looking for him, and she’s veeeery angry.” Said the girl.

Carlito paled.

“I want to know which one he is. Point him out.” Said the girl, pulling out a smartphone from her pocket and showing it to him. There were about thirty men dressed in suits kneeling on the ground. From what could be seen, their hands had twisted in wrong ways.

“No.” Carlito growled. “I’m a proud member of the Smithy and shall spill nothing.”

“Oh. The Smithy doesn’t exist now. You’ve seen what they’ve been reduced to. Tell which one he is, or you can say goodbye to your manhood. In a painful way. I can just smash those balls, or I can burn them, or what would you say about electrocution? Heard it feels horrible. Oh, that’s right. I’ve watched that TV show about Dynasty torture methods. Cutting off pieces of your flesh, little by little, while you’re alive. I’ve been dying to try them out on scum like you. So how about you tell me now, or I’ll have some fun and you tell me.” Said the girl. The light turned off. His eyes were blinded for a while until it adjusted.

He could see the girl now. She was young, 16 at most. She wore a black skin-tight bodysuit and had long hair reaching her middle back tied into a ponytail. Unlike Comet, she didn’t wear a mask and had a cheek-to-cheek grin on her face as she swung around her knife madly in the air. Corpses littered the ground around her, and some were still alive, squirming.

“Who are you?” Carlito asked with a scowl.

“I’m with the Comet. You can call me Tina, or Psycho. Anyways, are you telling me or not? I’ll give you ten seconds to decide. 10, 1, 0. Ok, torture it is.” The girl beamed, and put the towel back into Carlito’s mouth, then the tape. “I’ll do it like this. I’ll break all of your fingers first. So brace yourself.”

*Crack*

“Wait, I’ll tell.” Thought Carlito. It hurt far worse than the thought.

“Can’t hear ya.” The girl said, and after giving him a vulpine smile, proceeded.

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack*

“I’LL TELL!!!” Thought Carlito, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Wait just a second, okay? Let me finish with your fingers, then your fingernails. And I’ll start breaking your limbs one by one after that. You can say it after I’m done.” She said.

“The boss’s name is Theodore Maximus, the one with a blind eye.” Thought Carlito, as strongly as possible if such a thing could be done.

*Crack*

*Crack*

“Isn’t there something else you should tell me? Like your other branches?” The girl said, and *Crack*

“There are bases in every district. I’ll point them all out for you, please stop this.” Carlito begged. “I’ll tell where all the black markets are, just please don’t do the fingernails.”

“Like this?” The girl asked, putting the knife into the space between Carlito’s right index finger and the nail. “Don’t know, I kinda like it. Oh, look at those tears. You’re literally bawling your eyes out now. Should I stop, or is there something else you want to tell me?”

“I’ll give all the information you want. Please, no more. Everything from street gangs to syndicates. I’ll spill everything you want me to.” Thought Carlito.

“Nah. I asked one of your friends over there. I’m just doing this for the fun.” She said, her grin widening.