8:03 AM, Sunday, October 31st, 2021: Undisclosed Location
"Jess, we need to talk."
Jessica stood in front of her ragtag crew, the morning sun lighting up the dingy hideout room. Christopher and Ryan stood off to one side. The former was leaning against the wall and glumly staring at the rest of them, the sound of his respirator acting as the only ambience. The latter was standing by the window, facing away from the rest of them, staring out of it as if he was at an awkward family gathering. In front of her, Derek and Juan were seated on two rusty, worn stools, neither of them able to bring themselves to look at her. Amanda, her best friend, stood in front of them in turn, her presence bearing an unusual kind of weight that was almost suffocating.
"About what, Am?" Jessica asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I've spent a lot of time these last couple days talking to Derek and Juan and," Amanda choked on her own words, "this isn't easy for me, Jess, but we want out."
Jessica grimaced, then glared at them.
"Bullshit you want out.
You're only out when-"
The confrontation was interrupted by the sounds of police sirens from the streets below, and the flashing of red-and-blue lights. The lot of them all froze in place, their attention drawn to the window as Ryan stepped out of view, discretely leaning over to take a look.
"Uh, boss," he growled, "we've got a problem... wait, hold-"
He abruptly recoiled like a wounded animal just before a bullet shattered what was left of the window, crashing into the brick wall behind them and leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Juan and Derek jumped back, their stools hitting the ground in unison, as Amanda's face was overtaken by shock, and she took a weary step back, shivering, her breathing speeding up.
Jessica remained in place, now glaring at the flashing lights, the gears in her head beginning to twist and turn as her own heart rate began to pick up.
"Nevermind, I was wrong," Ryan interjected, back pressed against the wall, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. "We've got a BIG fucking problem."
"Oh my god," Amanda stammered. "Oh my god. This is it. They found us. This is how we finally get caught."
She started to hyperventilate, slowly backing away from the window as Jessica took a step forward, wrapping her hand around Amanda's own and giving it a comforting squeeze.
"Okay, okay, Am. Deep breaths," Jessica soothed, the serenity of her voice disguising her own nervousness. "How many are there, Ryan?"
"A lot more than we've ever dealt with before, by my count," he replied, pulling his pistol out from his pocket. "We kicked the hornet's nest on this one."
Jessica nodded to him, and turned her attention back to Amanda.
"We're gonna be okay, alright? We're all gonna be okay. We're gonna get out of this. I've got an idea," she looked over to the rest of her crew, "but we're all gonna need to work together, alright?"
"Juan," she ordered, "get me your strongest venom. Derek, get the ball bearings..."
8:05 AM, Sunday, October 31st, 2021: Portland, Oregon
The Bloodhound stepped out of his cruiser, lit cigarette and notebook in hand, eyeing the old, condemned factory building that they had traced the perpetrators to, and more specifically the window one of the snipers' bullets just went through. The Portland police chief stepped towards him, amongst the chaos of a legion of SWAT officers dressed head-to-toe in tactical gear swarming all around them, orders being barked from their superiors.
"You the guy?" the chief asked.
"Yep," Bloodhound replied, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "You're looking for Jessica Johnson, Amanda Harris, Ryan Smith, Juan Martinez, Christopher Lewis, and Derek Jones."
Bloodhound tucked the journal away in his coat pocket. It had served its purpose, and may the man who wrote it rest in peace. He didn't know how the boys in the NSA managed to narrow the search down to one district in Portland, but they did. The technical details made his eyes glaze over -- some gobbledygook about "not purging metadata" and "compromised Tor nodes" and a bunch of other nonsense. Frankly, seeing the depth of surveillance everyone in the country was subjected to made him uncomfortable, and he tried his best not to think about it.
Besides, he understood what came
after all of that. He was no stranger to traditional investigation, and it hadn't taken them any time at all. There were already dozens of reports from the locals about "suspicious characters" leaving and entering the building that he was now standing in front of. One stakeout later, and they successfully identified one of the people listed in the journal entering the building. One morning later, and they were all ready to rumble.
The agent that had accompanied the Bloodhound on their journey to the old compound stepped out of the vehicle behind them. Without missing a beat, the lanky man started imposing his will on the officers around them, barking commands to them, telling them to "shoot on sight". Bloodhound couldn't help but cringe, hearing it. These scumbags deserved a trial as much as anyone else, but despite his misgivings, he didn't speak up. Instead, he took another long drag of his cigarette.
His mind wandered to the quote, "the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing". He replied to himself, outwardly standing as calm and collected as ever, that he never claimed to be a good man. He
cared, but he was ultimately just like everyone else, trying to get by, and sometimes doing the right thing. Standing up for the rights of mass murderers, when he had seen their handiwork firsthand, wouldn't do him any favors with his fellows.
Instead, he stood by and watched as the first wave of armed-to-the-teeth officers breached the building.
8:14 AM, Sunday, October 31st, 2021: Portland, Oregon
Eric Davidson shined his flashlight beam down the dark maintenance hallway, towards the stairs leading up to the second floor of the complex. He kept his riot shield held aloft, doing his best to keep his beam steady even as his nerves were starting to get the better of him. It was too quiet. He knew someone was in here, he had heard the shot go through the window, and yet it was silent.
He gingerly stepped forward, his partner and other fellow officers just behind him, creeping towards the stairwell at the end of the hall. One moment, all was calm, and in the next, his beam started to catch some kind of mist in the air, and he heard a few thumps of bodies hitting the ground behind him.
"It's coming through the vents," someone called out.
He covered his mouth and nose, and before he could comprehend what was happening, his partner pointed, and a gust of wind almost sucked the air out of his lungs. A moment later, the mist had been cleared out, and he listened radio chatter of officers calling out the attack behind him. He craned his neck back towards them, barely keeping himself together, only to then hear the gentle
pip-pip of something rolling down the stairs. He spun, readying his riot shield for incoming fire, only to see that it was a bunch of ball bearings rolling down the stairs. Fear quickly turned into confusion, and as he opened his mouth to call back to the rest of them, he heard a grinding of metal and ducked behind his shield.
"WATCH OUT-"
Then, all at the same time, the ball bearings popped like overfilled balloons, dust filling the air as shrapnel hit the walls and ceiling all around them. He gingerly lowered his shield, spotting the flecks of metal embedded in it, and realized he had come out the other side unscathed, but his fellows were less lucky. He shined his flashlight back towards them, and saw that nearly all of them bore the marks of small wounds on their unarmored legs and arms.
"I'm hit!" one of them called out. "It burns, it-"
Then, one by one, the others all started collapsing and convulsing on the ground, foaming at the mouth. Then, almost as soon as it started, the convulsions abruptly stopped, the injured officers' exposed skin beginning to turn blue. Only three of them were left: Eric himself, his partner who had also been protected by the riot shield, and the one member of the force with ceramic skin, who was now checking the others one by one for a pulse. He stood there in abject horror at the sheer number of bodies of his fellow officers that had so suddenly piled up, the terror nearly overwhelming him and telling him to run out of here before the carnage got even worse, but his partner's hand came to rest on his shoulder, and steadied him.
"It's alright," he said. "We're gonna retreat, and then-"
Before his partner could finish his sentence, Eric felt a rush of air behind him, and saw a bullet go straight through his partner's face. He spun around, face to face with a man in a bizarre rubber shark mask, with a woman in a rubber bear mask just behind him, clutching his arm like a child would a teddy bear. He started to raise his shield in front of him, but the man in the Shark mask leveled his pistol at Eric's face, and a moment later, Eric Davidson was no more.
Only one officer still stood in the aftermath, his ceramic skin saving him from the shots that followed. He attempted to return fire, only for the man and woman to disappear just as suddenly as they had appeared. Heaving and panicked, the man started to turn to retreat, turning around only to come face to face with a short woman with dyed purple hair. His eyes met hers, and before he could pull the trigger to blow her away, she said-
"
Stop."
And he stopped.
"
Drop it."
And he dropped his gun.
"
Stand still."
And so he stood still, and she leaned up to give him a kiss on his cold, hard cheek, before forcing a pistol into his mouth and pulling the trigger.
8:35 AM, Sunday, October 31st, 2021: Portland, Oregon
"Status report!" the chief yelled into his radio. "Hello?!"
The Bloodhound stood off to one side, his eyes still stuck on the same window, trying to make out if there was any more movement coming from behind it. He was doing his best to ignore the chief's shouting, because he knew what had happened to the officers that went in. He'd seen enough raids on organized, empowered criminal organizations to know that there were a lot of ways for things to go wrong, and even the best intel on their Gifts and armaments couldn't save everyone.
"Goddammit," the chief yelled. "Send another team in! This is a rescue operation now!"
So Bloodhound watched as another stream of officers breached the building, the rest of them remaining camped out where they were, civilians gathering from beyond the established perimeter, gawking at the show in front of them. He let out a sigh, and lit another cigarette, letting it rest on his lips as they waited. Seconds turned into minutes, and the police chief's radio finally got a response.
"Chief, everyone in team A is dead. There's nobody else in here."
"What the fuck do you mean there's nobody in there?" the chief snarled.
"There's equipment, but no perps, chief," the radio crackled. "They're gone."
The chief bit his bottom lip, and then motioned to the officers around him.
"They've been cut loose!" he shouted, "Get me officers all across the city. We've got ourselves a manhunt!"
