I didn't think this through.

Five men circled around a sixth like a pack of hyenas. Even though the scene was barely-lit, one could see a certain consistency in the group's choice of apparel. Jeans, work boots, and jackets to stave off the cool November air. That, and the red and black bandanas.

It was the small details that set them apart, made the situation crystal clear. Like how the man in the middle was frozen still while the men around him moved with an excited energy, as if struggling to contain themselves. Or how his black skin contrasted from the pale white of the men around him.

Not ready at all.

Their jeers and insults were loud enough that one could hear them from three floors above. One of the thugs holding a bat was a bit more enthusiastic than the rest. He poked a finger, none-too-gently, at the man's chest repeatedly while the dark-skinned man tried to angle his body away.

The lone man replied, hands up in a placating gesture. His voice too low to be heard from the rooftop, but whatever he said didn't work. They started talking louder, growing more hostile by the second. One thug kicked the dumpster at the mouth of the alley, making the man jump. Three of them kept inching closer while he backed off, pushing himself back to the alley wall.

Fuck.

One of them jumped him from the side, catching the man across the jaw with a bat. He crumpled to the ground, clutching at his face. It set all but two off like fireworks. He yelled as boots began to rain down on him. He, for his part, curled up into a ball, arms raised to his head defensively.

Fuck it.

She stepped off from the roof of the building and let herself drop. The wind whistled as she fell, her dark hair flapping around her. Her stomach knotted up to her throat, and it wasn't just from the fall. She'd practiced this more than a few times before. But this wasn't a test anymore. This was the real thing. Almost instinctively, she reached out to her side but stopped. She forced herself to look down, to plan out on how she was going to do this.

Then, she saw where she was going to land.

Shit, shit, shit!

She tried to activate the magnetic burster in her boots but it was too late. She plowed into the Empire goon at full speed, her efforts only moving her enough to land on his shoulder instead of his back or head.

They collapsed into a heap. The hairs at the back of her neck raised up as she heard the sound of bone crunching beneath her armor and the felled thug's high-pitched scream. She pulled herself away from him as he rolled over. The way his arm flopped unnaturally made her stomach heave.

Then he stopped moving.

Fuck! Oh shit. Oh crap.

There was a stillness in the air as the remaining four and the victim stared at her and the fallen gang member. She felt her hand shake as she kneeled down. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell in short intervals. Her shoulders sagged with relief as tension left her body. Thank go—

"Jesus fuck! He fucking killed him!" one of the thugs yelled. That got the rest out of their stupor. Two started to scramble away from her while one advanced, his arms raised to hit her with a bat—

She flinched as two loud cracks sounded off, and something went whizzing past her face.

"Don't shoot, you fucking idiot!" the thug closest to her screamed as he bent low to the ground.

If I get out of this alive, I'm treating myself to something, Taylor thought as her hand gripped the handle of the gun holstered to her side. Then thought the better of it and let go. It only had one setting, and 'non-lethal' wasn't it.

She flexed her foot. The magnetic burster activated, and she was propelled towards the mouth of the alley where the gunman was. His eyes widened as she closed the distance in a heartbeat.

Taylor's stomach somersaulted as the gun fired with another loud crack. Thankfully, she was already within striking distance when it went off. A burst concentrated on one foot drove her knee into his stomach, and she instinctively shut her eyes closed as something wet hit her in the head and torso.

This is going to smell, Taylor thought sullenly. She could see stray particles of saliva and… something else splattered on her helmet's visor. She had no time to even get the chunks off as one of the gangsters yelled.

There was a dull impact against her back, and she fell forward on all fours. Footsteps.

She rolled over on her side, the bat barely missing her face. Looking up, she could see the thug glaring down at her, the bat raised above his head for another swing. He didn't get the chance: she flexed her feet and another magnetic burst sent her flying forward off the ground. The breath left him in a rush as her head slammed into him full force. She managed to wrap her arms around his waist as they flew, clipping something along the way before hitting the wall. The impact made her teeth rattle though his body cushioned hers. She recovered first, rising to her feet as the goon sunk limply to the ground, groaning in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered as she used another burst to kick him between his legs. His eyes went wide as saucers as he screamed, clutching at his manhood and rolling over.

No, she really was sorry, and she definitely did not feel any kind of sadistic glee from that.

Taylor whipped her head towards the two remaining gangsters. Or one. One guy was unconscious beside the dumpster, bleeding from his head. His tire iron was a few feet away from him. She must have hit him when she'd gone flying into the wall with the other thug.

Two birds with one stone.

The last goon looked between his friends on the ground—particularly at the guy still clutching his groin—and her. She was careful to keep him in her sight as she crouched. Her hand reached forward and grabbed the gangster's bat. The last guy chose that moment to bolt. But she was ready.

With another bend of her feet, she leaped towards him, her heart pounding in anticipation as she gripped the bat with two hands and cocked it behind her back in mid-air.

She swung—and hit nothing. Her back slammed against a wall and she hit the ground with a crack. Then she heard the sound of running footsteps.

Not getting away! She pulled herself up and snapped her head towards the long alleyway… only to see nothing. No one normal is that fast… Other way.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she pulled herself up and ran to the mouth of the alley. She found her quarry immediately. He was fast. Already, he was more than a couple dozen feet away from her. Unfortunately for him, the direction he took off to had no alleys to turn around in, and he hadn't reached the intersection yet.

She sucked in a breath as she raised the bat and activated the burst again. The world blurred around her as the thug's retreating form rapidly approached in her sight. She had to get this right, to swing at just the right time…

Now!

There was a solid crack and she felt the feedback of the swing all the way up to her shoulders. She managed to skid to a halt a few feet ahead, turning back to see the thug hit the ground face-first. However, the sheer force of the blow kept carrying him forward and she couldn't help but wince as he flipped forward along his neck, crashing against and turning over a trash can, sending stray bits of garbage to stream across the sidewalk. She watched the trainwreck continue to unfold with a mix of fascination and horror as he kept rolling a few more times like a tumbleweed caught in the wind. He finally came to a stop against the alley wall and she let loose a sigh of relief when she heard him groan and weakly bring his hands up against the back of his head.

Still alive… she thought with relief. Would've been bad to start my career by killing someone—even if they were Empire mooks.

She looked around, half-expecting to see someone watching or a gangster trying to sneak up on her. But no, she was alone.

That's a relief, she mused.

She sighed, letting out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She felt lightheaded, her heart pounding and her hands trembling. She was still wired to the energy that she felt while fighting—so much so that she feared she'd collapse once it ran out.

Do heroes always feel like this when they get the bad guys? I could get used to this, she thought, then paused. Crap, the victim.

She ran back to the alley. One gangster was sprawled on the sidewalk across the street, the next one was at the dumpster, the other two were still on the ground. All thugs were accounted for, but the victim was nowhere to be seen.

If he could run like that then he's okay, I guess, Taylor thought as she started walking back towards the last gangster she felled. She reached out a hand to her utility belt and took out a burner phone and a few zip-ties with still-shaking hands.

She punched out the hotline for the police.

She didn't slow down until she was well over ten blocks from the area where the police were congregating. She wiped her visor with a gauntleted hand, careful not to scrape its surface.

With the adrenaline gone, she could feel the strain she put her body through. Her muscles were sore, her feet felt heavy, and it was harder to hear from her left ear. That, and she was all too aware of the smell coming off her.

Tissues. I'll bring tissues next time. And deodorant.

People littered the streets and the sidewalk. Drunks, prostitutes, druggies, and the occasional gangbanger, but none bothered her. As banged up as her armor was, it was obvious she wasn't just a random girl on the street at night.

She stared back at a trio of Empire thugs closest to her as if daring them to make the first move. They didn't. Instead, they moved away, with one giving her the bird.

Taylor smiled under her helmet as she moved on.

She crossed the street and jumped. Her stomach shifted as she ascended. She fumbled with the landing, her forward momentum making her fall on the gravel.

"That was embarrassing," she muttered to herself. Hopefully nobody saw that. The armor was long due for a better balancing system, but with the resources she had now, it wasn't possible for a while.

Maybe I'll go rogue for a month or two, she mused, then snorted. She didn't get powers just so she could go rogue, of all things.

She jumped across the rooftops, boosting her jumps and breaking her fall with bursts where needed. Building a floor higher than the one she was on now? It was nothing a burst couldn't handle. Street in between buildings? Magnetically assisted jump to get her across.

She… wasn't very graceful with her landings. Most of them ended with her rear on the ground or on all fours, but she'd find a way to work around that in the future—once she had better tools.

After jumping over a vent, Taylor arrived at her first destination: a 7-Eleven store mixed with a gas station. Like with the rest of this part of the city, it wasn't in pristine condition. The white walls were chipping off, the windows were grimy at the side, and there was litter everywhere. Not to mention, one wall was sprayed over and over with differing gang tags—most notable were the Empire and Merchant tags.

There wasn't anyone loitering outside, probably because of the young man standing guard by the door. He was wearing a rust-red jacket, complete with a red mask that covered his upper face. Taylor almost did a double take after seeing the way the jacket's sleeve tightened around his biceps, then at his broad chest—

"You going to cause trouble?" he asked in an almost casual tone. Behind the mask, he didn't look too bothered by her. As she went closer, she could see some tearing at his jacket—small and thin. Under the tearing was a red shirt.

She shook her head. "No, I only want to buy food."

"Go on ahead. Just know I'll be watching," he said, waving for her to come in.

The scent of coffee and donuts in the conditioned air made her mouth water. Rows upon rows of food dominated the interior, each placed on aisles. A handful of people walked about, checking the aisles. She didn't really need to agonize on what to buy. She put a donut in a paper bag and took it to the cashier.

The middle-aged woman raised a trimmed eyebrow at her costume. Or perhaps it was the muck on her, judging by the slight wrinkling of her nose. Either way, she asked no questions, and Taylor was thankful for it.

When she reemerged from the shop, the boy wasn't alone this time. A skinhead was glaring daggers at him, his shoulders squared and his face just inches away as if trying to make the boy back down. Not much chance of that: the cape in red towered over the skinhead and was at least twice as broad.

"Trouble?" she asked.

The skinhead glared over at her but left without a word. She almost smiled at that. Almost.

"Not anymore," he said, smiling. "Looked like he was begging for a fight with someone inside. Didn't appreciate a 'brownie' getting in the way of things." He didn't seem to be offended, despite the words, but he sounded tired.

He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if they pay me enough to do this."

She shrugged. "Have to pay the bills, somehow."

He looked up to the night sky, saying, "Yeah. Can be tough being a cape sometimes. And being on guard duty doesn't pay much. Anyway, thanks for the assist. I really didn't want to get stabbed again today."

She smiled. "Glad to be of help." She peered inside the store to look at the wall clock. "I have to go."

"Right, be seeing you," he replied, leaning back on the wall.

She walked towards the sidewalk and jumped to the top of the rooftops again.

She started to move south, then stopped. Richard and her mother wouldn't ask anything if she arrived late. Not after what happened the first few times they did. But this was her first night out. And she had bagged not one, but five bad guys.

She turned on her heel and headed north.

As Taylor neared her destination, she jumped off the side of the building and onto the alley below. She looked around at the street. Empty. Assured nobody would see her, she ran towards her base.

The warehouse was abandoned. Hardly unique for a building given that it was located at the Docks. At around two stories tall, it didn't stand out from the other buildings in the area. The water tank beside the building had most of the 'tank' part of it out. She was wearing it now—some of it, at least. More than half of the metal fire escape was also cannibalized, but she had left the chain-link fence alone. It provided some semblance of protection, even though she knew it was all moot if supervillains came knocking.

She jumped over the fence and went in through a window jamb on the ground.

Warehouses as a general rule were spacious; abandoned ones even more so given that people usually took the equipment with them once they left. The air inside was musty, and it mixed weirdly with the smell coming off her armor. She unclipped a flashlight from her belt and carefully made her way through the dark..

Even with the familiarity with her surroundings, she couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from the stillness in the air. That only made the sound coming from her footsteps and armor louder as she walked towards the stairs leading to the basement.

At this point, any sound is welcome, she thought as she reached the stairs. She went down, staying on the steps closer to the wall to not slip down the ramp. She had placed a ramp in order to transport some of the heavier materials down. When she reached the bottom, there was only one way to go: the office.

The rotted door creaked as she pushed it open. It was pitch-black inside, and she had to fumble around to find the switch, flipping it to reveal the interior.

A workbench was to her right, with tools hanging on the wall dominated by shelves. It held smaller tools placed side-by-side on the two highest racks while unfinished tinkertech dominated the rest. Her blowtorch was beside the bench. She had to buy it rather than try to find one at the Trainyards or make it herself. Her makeshift forge was on a corner of the far side of the room, with a heap of metal beside it, as well as an anvil she'd cobbled together out of a cut piece of rail track. Behind the door was one of the first things she made: a small power source, as well as a broom to keep dust from gathering.

Taylor threw the bag with the donut on top of her workbench and took off her helmet. She crinkled her nose as she smelled something sour and fermented. Then she remembered the vomit.

Sighing, she put the helmet down and sat on the stool. Suddenly, she wasn't so hungry anymore.

She glared at the grimy visor as if it was at fault. It was that time her eyes caught something behind the donut bag that made her blood run cold.

I don't remember putting this there.

The card wasn't anything special: it looked like it was made of the same kind of cheap stationery you could get at a dollar mart. It was crinkled at the corner from where the bag had pushed it against the wall. With all that, it could have just been a stray bit of rubbish.

But she knew better. She flipped the paper over.

Be ready for another meeting tonight. We will open a door for you at your workshop. 11:00 PM. –c

She turned the torch on and burned the paper afterwards.