The Rising Dawn, # 27— “Needle in a Haystack”

With the low-grade, addictive Drive drug a hot commodity on the streets, the jobs of the Dawn Society were getting harder, and certainly for the police. The cut and reformulated mass-produced Drive ‘alternative’ was called ‘Adrenal’, and typically made gangsters a lot harder to kill: a bullet to a non-lethal area was now likened to a scraped knee, and Adrenal often affected people differently depending on who they were. A woman in the Celtic District fried the brains of a clerk at a drug store without any weapons, and the city was at a loss as to how she would be prosecuted: there were no laws against killing someone with ethereal abilities. Riot police were no match for a group of thugs on Adrenal, and some had the ability to climb walls, read minds, run like wild animals, scream like banshees, or even explode like a grenade, of which there were two cases in the last three months. These, however, had been on very high doses.

The Magister had not considered the danger of Adrenal making its way to the Celtic District. The Irish mafia was numerous, much more so in comparison to the Fraternity, and when the quantity of the Irish was combined with the powers granted by Adrenal, their grip on Rook City became harder still. The Magister, however, still controlled the formula, though ‘Danny Boy’ McGrills was hotly pursuing his own version. 

In the end, whether Adrenal or the Drive itself, it could not be made without the blood of Outliers, and therein lay the problem. The Dawn Society had resolved to liberate, protect, and advance the interests of the Gifted, and their strongest members were more than a match than the average thug, even when hopped up on Adrenal.

Diego Cardoso was a real Gifted, not a drug addict. He was a Tier Four, pushing a Tier Five, of which there were no known examples other than Gallant. When enough ‘Brawl’ was built up in his fists and legs, he could strike with the destructive power of a grenade, and to a limited extent, deflect bullets. However, he was more keen to wear a bulletproof vest, and Doctor Thrift was developing headware that would produce a minor force-field made of ether. Mech already had one, but Thrift was working on upscaling production so people like Diego, Nightshift, Pointer, and Citizen Snow (when she was finished training) could use it without being… well, shot in the head.

Diego was in the company of Parse and the Philosopher. They were the mouthpieces, he was the muscle. They were approaching a potential recruit in a town in the outlying territory of Rook City, called Cavesville. It notably was built in the presence of a certain hill, with naturally-occuring tunnels with interesting rock formations, which was at least a little better than a tourist trap.

This recruit was a potential Sentinel, which was distinct from the rest of the Dawn Society because they actually could serve as elite fighters. Gamer, Yahtzee, Parse, Philos, Gimmick, and even Grego weren’t Sentinels, because their abilities weren’t enough for serving in combat. Moreover, even Nightshift and Brawler weren’t bullet-proof, and they didn’t go around fighting the Magister’s hoplites for just any reason.

However, Cavesville was a low-grade suburb, and was generally unafflicted with either McGrills’ thugs or the Magister’s Fraternity. Drugs there were, but as of now they weren’t forced to pay protection money, and Adrenal had not yet made its way here.

Needle was an acupuncturist that had developed her own peculiar martial art, involving, well, acupuncture. Her skeletal structure, muscular and bone density were ‘Abnormal’ among humans, and reportedly the way she spoke also felt like acupuncture. Her movement, reflexes and precision at short range surpassed ordinary humans, and she (in)famously had an instinctive understanding of human anatomy— which points on the human body would activate what responses.

Brawler was a kick-boxer mixed with tae-kwan-do, his left and right hands, as he called them. He was interested in what this feisty little lady could do. But most likely, this would mostly be a job for Philos, with Parse co-piloting.

Her domicile was a flat that was stunningly neat and roomy, as Divitra Florens, or Divi, was an enthusiastic minimalist. The decor consisted of small bonzais, incense, a few scrolls written with hiragana letters, and a statuette of Confucius. The furniture was a mat and a mook, a wooden human torso designed for training in martial arts.

“Your woman loves sushi and ginger snaps,” said Divi, “the old man hasn’t washed his hair in exactly three days, and is a fan of sweet onions. That stain on his outfit is from a V8.”

Parse and Philos were speechless.

Divi was a hot potato. He could feel himself nearly blushing, but Diego had control of his instincts.

“Hola,” said Diego.

She gave him a smirk, and moved in a way that was as though she could not separate grace and unbearably nuanced seduction.

Philos said cautiously, “I see you’ve, ehrm, acupunctured our dialogue, Mz, ehr—”

“Her name is Florens,” said Parse.

“I didn’t acupuncture you,” said Divi, “I acupunctured him,” her eyes signaled towards Diego.

After a pause, Philos said, “Well, you’re the one who knows. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Let me fight the half-hispanic, half-Portuguese one, and I’ll go with you,” she said.

There was a stunned silence. No one else knew he was part Portuguese just by looking at him.

“Sure,” said Parse.

“Now wait a sec—” said Diego.

“—He’s had three pumpkin spice beverages within the past four days,” said Needle.

Diego gaped, then shouted, “—So what!?”

“You wash your privates and armpits with shampoo, because you don’t see the difference.”

“—Is this how you fight?” said Diego.

“I bet I could make you beg for mercy.”

Diego approached the living area she kept as a wide open space. He raised his fists, before his face, fore-arms facing outward kick-boxing style.

“If you can land even one hit, then I’ll beg for mercy.”

“Deal,” said Divi.

Parse and Philosopher watched with interest.

Diego had no intent on punching or kicking the young lady. His fists could kill, and had done so before.

Needle circled Brawler in a driving-mantis stance.

“Your friends used to say you like white-boy tacos. No spice.”

She made no move to attack. Brawler blushed. “Maybe,” he said.

She circled some more. “You were confused when you were attracted to your aunt.”

“Shut up!” said Brawler. As she circled, he said, “I thought this was martial arts!”

She circled some more. “You only brush your teeth before bed, never in the morning.”

Was she doing what he thought she was?

“You read at a sixth-grade reading level,” she said.

“Eighth grade!” said Brawler.

“That’s what you tell people. What’s ‘pragmatic’ mean?”

“—No one uses that word!”

“You worried you were queer because you couldn’t stand any of your girlfriends.”

“SHUT UP!!!”

“You’re unbearably horny.”

Brawler went as still as a wooden board.

“Mercy,” he said.

“Beg for it.”

“I’d rather you just finish what you started.”

“Maybe some other time, handsome.”

“Goddamnit.”

Parse and Philos looked at each other.

“Is this you joining?” said Solomon Gillis, the Philosopher.

“Good brawl. Brawler. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Brawler adjusted himself and said, “I’mma count this as a win, even though she’s probably a psycho.”

“She’s… quite terrifying,” said Solomon.

“You might say deadly accurate,” said Parse.

The three of them agreed she was at least a Tier Three.