Crimson Dawn (part 8)

The fourth floor looked every bit as run down and awful as the third, just with the mounds of waste and debris in a different arrangement. There also seemed to be less people active in the hallway, although Crimson had put her hood up just to be sure. It was only minimal protection against someone discovering that she didn't fit in here, but it was better than nothing.

Apartment 417 stood out for several reasons. The first was that the door had numbers on its font still, allowing her to actually identify it. The second was that even in the gloom of the poorly-lit hallway, she could see that it was appreciably cleaner than the others around it; the trash moved back from the entrance, the walls less grimy and so on. Mister Healy, whoever he was, Seemed to be doing pretty well fort himself compared to everyone else, which she suspected was key as to why she'd been directed to him specifically.

She apprehensively knocked on the door, listening carefully for whatever reaction came from within. Several tense seconds later, it opened to revel a battered, worn, middle-aged human on the other side, bleary eyes peering out from behind cracked glasses. "Mister Healy?"she asked

He quickly glanced at her. "Jesus Christ, get inside!" he snapped as he grabbed her and all but dragged her in, slamming the door behind him. No sooner was she in then Crimson was reaching for her katana, ready for the worst. "Wait," he quickly cut in "You're obviously not from here. I grabbed you for your own protection."

"You can tell?"

He nodded, almost sadly. "You're an Elf and you're openly carrying a weapon. Nobody who lives here would do either, lest they give our masters a reason for a beating - or worse."

"The Devil Dogs, you mean."

"Sadly, yes," Healy continued. "I can only assume that the reason why you are here is to do with them. Although I'd ask that since you're not form around here, how you did know my name and where I was?"

"A, uh, woman downstairs pointed me towards you."

"Of course she did," he chuckled a little as he headed towards the kitchenette. "Like everyone else here, she looks out only for herself, but in this case I can see her reasoning. I assume then your business in this hellhole involves the Dogs?"

Crimson glanced around, taking in the apartment before she replied. While still run down, with cracked and flaking walls and mismatched, salvaged furniture, it also was far cleaner and less wretched then those she had seen so far. "It does.," she continued, before deciding on a path of open honesty. "I was hired to disrupt their drug manufacturing."

That seemed to get a response. "If you want to hurt them then that would be the way to do it," he nodded. “Although I assume your employer didn’t mention that they were a gang of violent human supremacists?"

"No," she admitted.

"Which would explain at least some of hwy he sent an Elf in to do his work," Healy continued as he sat, a glass of water in hand. He hadn't offered her one, but a look at it told her that she might be better off without anyway. "When the Dogs took over this building, they started by either driving out or killing any Metahumans that lived here. My partner was one of them, lynched by them to make an example for simply being an Ork." He took a long, slow sip

"I’m sorry."

Healy sighed before continuing. "Before they took over, I helped keep this building running. I took care of the electricals, tried to keep the water flowing, all of that sort of thing. The Dogs kept me around because they knew I could be useful to them. They got me to redirect the power and water so it would suit them and their operations, and make sure that they'd have a good supply for whatever they needed." He looked up at her. "Which means, miss, that I know a few things about what they're doing and how they do it which could no doubt be very helpful to you."

"I'd very much appreciate whatever assistance you can give me," Crimson replied

Healy nodded, looking up at her,. "I didn't fight the Dogs after they took over because i was afraid. Despite what they did, I knew they would retaliate, either against me or those left here. As hellish as this building has become, it is our home. We can't leave, as most of us would have nowhere else to go, and many would not survive out on the streets. That's why, whatever you do, I need you to promise one thing before I tell you what you'll need to know."

"What?' She asked

"Obviously it's best for you and everyone else that you're not seen," He explained. "But at the same time, if you do something that’s loud and obvious, and more to the point, external, then they're going to Look outside to who did this, not within."

"Loud huh?" Crimson considered, a ghost of a smile on her face. "I think that can be arranged."

-----

To say that Healy had been a wealth of information was an understatement. He'd told her more in a few minutes about the building that her hours of recon had told her beforehand. He'd lived in the building for years, and in the process of looking after it had become privy to many of its secrets. Years of neglect and wear had indeed taken their toll on the structure, and parts of it were almost certainly dangerously unsafe. But now, thanks to him, she knew ways to exploit that very same decay

For example, the floor of Apartment 307 had collapsed some years ago, the resulting hole giving access to the floor below for anyone willing to risk dropping down into a rubble-strewn, unlit apartment. The Dogs hadn't done much to secure it, knowing that nobody else in the building had the skill or agility to do such, nor the courage to risk the drop and the uncertain conditions below.

On the other hand, Crimson had no such concerns. And even if Healy hadn't tipped her off to the room, she might have tried it anyway had she discovered it herself. Certainly compared to crawling over a rope to get into the building, this was child's play.

The room was pretty much as described; the door secured only by a sheet of board, and no effort at all made to cover up the yawning hole in the middle. The only illumination that came into the room was from the few dim lights left functioning outside, which should have turned the hole into a yawning pit of blackness with untold horrors lurking below. Instead, her natural Elven eyesight picked it out in the dimness, giving her a good idea of what she was looking at and the perils that it represented.

Another wonderfully well maintained apartment

Easy, she told herself as she crouched by its rim, tugging at the remaining flooring to get some idea of its' strength. Confident that what was left was solid enough, she carefully lowered herself down, each move made with the utmost precision and care as not to dislodge any material that she was using to maintain her grip, wary for the slightest hint of give in the cracked concrete floor. And then came the big risk, dropping so that now her weight was entirely on her hands, her legs hanging down in freefall.

No fear, no hesitation, nothing. Instead she moved with a fluid grace, swinging out before releasing, using her momentum to propel herself across the room towards the far wall. And then she kicked off that, coming to the floor in an awkward but safe crouch, away from the accumulated debris that had fallen from the floor above. Easier then Ms Strakken's gymnastics class, she couldn't help but smirk as she stood. And without the pressure of her shouting at me all the way.

From what Healy had told her, the second floor was the Dogs' barracks, where they lived and slept. The ground floor was largely abandoned with the gang activates there focused on their armories and defenses against anyone getting inside that they didn’t want, including of course shaking down the residents as they came and went. It was the basement where the real action happened, the Dogs having set up their drug manufacturing down there in order to afford both their equipment and materials the best security.

Her plan for the second floor was two part. The first was to, quite literally, let sleeping Dogs lie. She was moving through the floor, slowly and carefully, ducking into doorways or behind debris piles or whatever else in order to provide herself whatever cover she could. Fortunately, due to the late hour, very few people were up and about, affording her the chance to get to her objective without detection. It was something she almost regretted; from all Healy had told her, she was almost itching to have a go at the Dogs more directly.

But that moment would come. For now, she had her objective to consider

Healy had told her of the other interesting feature of the floor, one that she now was approaching. A maintenance closet, the lock on its door was long gone, but the rest of it was more or less intact as expected. What lay inside, on the other hand, was a rats nest of cabling, the legacy of decades of bypasses, jury-rigging and other attempts to ensure the remaining functionality of the building’s power supply. While its source of electricity was a generator in the basement, this last set-up, as much of a mess as it was, also provided the flow of power throughout the building.

Healy had been key to ensuring its operability, which had made him indispensible to the Devil Dogs after their takeover. It also meant that he was able to tell her a few things about how the whole nightmare operated now, so far removed from it's original design. With the information she'd been given and a bit of work, she was able to locate one part of the mess, a single point of failure that, with the slightest bit of effort, could be urged to produce catastrophic results.

And within moments, the entire building was plunged into darkness. Save for what little light made it in from the outside, everything was dark. Within moments she heard the first shouts, which was her signal to move. Daring down the corridor, she ducked back into the half-collapsed apartment as cries of alarm and more then a few footfalls filled the air. And, as she listened from behind the doorway, her hand on her katana just in case, she could also hear the sounds of people tripping or stumbling in the debris-laden hallways, telling her what she needed to know.

One of the advantages of being an Elf was her natural low-light vision. The Devil Dogs, being entirely humans and mostly un-augmented Barrens rats at that, had no such inherent advantage. In the dark, they were reduced to groping around and trying their best not to kill themselves by falling over the wreckage that they lived in. "The fragging thing's blown again!" A woman cried out, the brief flashes of a torch clear from where Crimson was hiding. "Somebody go get the old man already!"

Their reactions told her a lot; they didn't think that this was an attack, rather a natural by-product of living in such a run-down and decrepit structure. Now in addition to being blinded, the Dogs were also distracted by trying to get affairs back in order, keeping them away from their critical operations that she was targeting. The basement, with no natural light to begin with, would be the worst off part of the building, and likely the Dogs would want to back off from their drug lab lest somebody accidentally trip over something vital in the darkness.

All she needed to do now was get her target and get out.

-----

As near as Crimson could tell from what she was seeing and hearing, the reactions to the building going dark fell into two board categories. The first was that of the residents, which amounted to simply sitting tight and doing nothing and acting like this was all perfectly normal, which she strongly suspected it was anyway. Blackouts in here were probably a common occurrence, and at the very least it meant they had a building that could be blacked out to live in which was a small blessing.

The second and more noticeable was that of the Devil Dogs themselves. There was a lot of shouting and a lot of anger, with their members stomping up and down halls and yelling at one another to try and get the problem fixed as quickly as possible. There was also a lot of tripping and cursing, as it was clear that as predicted they were having a lot of trouble picking their way through the debris that clogged the hallways,

In other words, everything was going to plan.

She could still hear those same cries echoing as she shimmied her way down the elevator shaft, following the instructions she had been given as to the best way to go. It went without saying that the lifts themselves had long ago ceased functioning, but that didn’t stop them from providing her with access, even if after a fashion. The shaft itself reeked of refuse, having log ago become a communal midden for whatever waste that they could be bothered to haul off.

She reached the bottom, her feet landing with a sickening, soft squelch that spoke of whatever was underneath them. Trying not to think too hard about it (and glad that her respirator was firmly in place), she climbed out, squeezing her way through the gap in the basement level door and peering out into the murky darkness that lay beyond, taking what few details that her low-light vision was able to pick out.

Of course, "clean" is relative

Down here, Things were a bit cleaner, if only because fewer people ever came here. Most of it was bare concrete walls and stained floors, broken up by the occasional slowly accumulated puddle. The ceilings were crammed with pipes and cabling, no doubt heavily patched and only barely functional. Most importantly, the basement was currently lacking in signs of life. She could hear the spluttering of the generator, currently sending power to nowhere, as well as distant footfalls and echoing shouts of the Dogs as they tried to get the building back under control.

None the less, she was moving carefully and slowly, her pistol at the ready should she be discovered. It didn’t take long to find the drug lab; even with her mask on, she could feel her eyes watering from the chemical residue that hung heavily in the air, tainting all around it. Furtively sliding into the room probed her theory, an elaborate and unstable-looking mass of jury-rigged equipment occupying one side of it, along with several barrels and other materials used in the production and packaging. The only concession to safety was a clearly jury-rigged ventilation system, made from piping and a few old fans. All of it sat inert, cables snaking across the floor and up to the ceiling to draw from power that was currently cut off, but everything suggested it had been running until recently

She had no idea how the whole thing worked, even accounting for the fact that it was currently inert. What she did know was that it would explode, and that the chemicals in the room would probably fuel whatever conflagration resulted from her work. That was enough for her as she activated one of her grenades, setting it to remote detonation and then, carefully, placing it in the middle of the mess of piping that was the drug lab. Once it was in, she called up the grenade on her commlink, confirming that it was active.

Time to get out of here.

Crimson's plan was to be way from the basement floor at least before detonating. She figured that was a minimum safe distance, while also avoiding signal loss due to the building's structure and the utter lack of local grid infrastructure. The last thing she wanted was to have to come back for it, especially given that her window, once closed, would not open again easily.

It almost worked.

She heard a shout form behind her, a rough male voice, filled with anger. Glancing back she could make out the figure; heavy set, rough and clad in tattered street leathers. She could also see that there was the slightest glint to him, even here in the darkness. One arm was out of place, differently shaped to the other, far blockier then it should have been, suggesting that it was artificial. Likewise, there was something to his face, a little gleam in the darkness.

As she ducked around a corner, she quickly figured what it was. Cyber eyes. Which means that he can Probably see in the dark. Which means that he saw me.

As if to confirm her suspicion, a burst of automatic gunfire tore into the wall next to her, sending concrete chips flying, spattering against her skin and clothes. She let out an almost girlish cry of pain and fear as she broke into a run, trying to get away from this man who had made his intent as clear as possible. Her heart raced, the thump almost audible as she surged forwards, desperate to get away from the man and his murderous intent.

For all her training and all she thought she was ready, this was the real thing, She was under fire by a man who intended to kill her. This was life and death, and she had to think fast or die.

She quickly ducked around the corner, squeezing off a round form her pistol before ducking back, the sound of the shot reverberating in her ears as echoed around the confined concrete warren. This produced another burst of fire in reply, the shots hitting a nearby wall, away from where she was.

Okay, he's only got the loosest idea where I am. Gives me time. Her breath was coming in short ragged gasps as she tried to figure what to do. No. Can't sit. Can't wait. Giving him the advantage.

A plan formed in her mind, one that was almost certainly stupid, but the best she could think of at the time. She hit a button on her commlink's screen, breaking into a run as she did. She heard the beginning of a shout from the man, one that caused Crimson to preemptively wince as she knew what was coming next.

Instead, there was an explosion, one that cut off whatever the man had planned. Instead the sound echoed around the basement as her grenade went off on command from where she had nestled it in the middle of their apparatus. Her head rang with the noise, but she kept running forwards, one destination in mind. Reaching the jammed open doors, she leaped into the void, reaching out as-

The second explosion went off as her hands grabbed the ledge on the far side of the shaft, this one a lot louder than the first as something in the pile caught and went up. The force of the blast staggered Crimson, throwing her against the whit, her head ringing as she saw spots before her eyes, her ears filled with nothing but a loud, piercing ringing noise. For a moment, it felt like her grip would falter, sending her stumbling down into the dark debris-filled depths below.

And if whatever she landed on didn’t kill her, then she’d be vulnerable to her attacker. Crimson had no idea if he was still alive or whatever else might have happened, and she didn’t want to find out either.

Sweat pouring off her brow, she managed to hold her ground, even as her fingers were screaming bloody murder at her, every nerve in her body on fire. Slowly, painfully, she pulled herself up, struggling each step of the way to get away from the basement and towards her freedom.

-----

Crimson had no idea how long it took for her to crawl her way up the elevator shaft, and then pick her way through the still dark, refuse-strewn hallways. All she knew was that when she had made it back to her original entrance, finding her line still securely in place, the relief was palpable. She let out a loud sigh, born of a mixture of relief, pain and, of course, the tedium that was still ahead with the last crawl across the rope before she was completely away.

That felt like it took an eternity in and of itself, every muscle in her body aching by the time she'd made the long, painful crawl over. By the time she was over the other side and down, all Crimson wanted to do was crawl off and die. Instead, she carefully made her way back to where she’d stashed her mirage, glad to find the bike intact and apparently untouched.

Clambering on the bike she started it up, ready to get away and return to civilization, safety and her ever so inviting bed. But before she did, she reached for her commlink, calling up the same screen as before. Checking the reception, she pressed the button on the screen.

The sound of her second grenade going off under the Devil Dogs' bikes might have been muffled by it coming from the other side of the building, but it was still clearly audible no less. And then, in spite of all that she had been through, Crimson couldn't help but grin. “Loud enough for you, old man?”