Heroes of Angel City 1 - Venus in Furs

Weston Rice checked his watch. Almost midnight. 'Dammit, Benj, where the hell are y-urk!' Rice was dragged backward as a whip wrapped around his throat.

'Mr Araullo is not coming.' A voice, feminine, deep, and silken came from the alley behind him. 'In fact, he never was.' The voice's owner followed, her skin, pale as alabaster, seemed to glow in the darkness, set off against deep black leather and silk. Corset and tanga, thigh-high boots and elbow-length gloves, mask and cape lining – all faded into the shadows. 'You were tricked.' A slow, steady click of stiletto heels on pavement accompanied the length of whip between the two growing more and more slack...though the grip it had on his throat remained unchanged until she stood before him, and the whip slipped free.

The woman reached up, and brushed the left side of her cape down, so that it fell forward, covering her from throat to ankle in ghostly ermine. Her right side left uncovered, the whip free to move, and, Rice found, quite visible in the pale light of a nearby street-lamp.

'Weston Rice. Drug dealer. Petty thief. Convicted of multiple assaults. In short, scum.' The woman smiled a smile that was far from friendly. 'And not very bright, either, to have fallen for such a transparent ploy.'

'Bite me, b--' The kiss of the whip cut him off.

'Silence.' The woman's smile disappeared abruptly.

'What the he--' Another lash of the whip against his cheek.

'I said silence. You will not speak again until I give you leave, or I will hurt you.'

Rice opened his mouth, then, with a glance at the whip, closed it again. The cruel smile returned to the woman's face. 'I do not like scum like you, Weston Rice.' She raised the whip slightly as Rice's jaw worked, but lowered it after a few moments. 'However, there are people I like less.' Her hand came from under her cape, and tilted his face up slightly to look her in the eyes. 'Can you guess who they are?' He made no answer. 'You have leave to speak.' Still no answer. Her smile faded again. 'In fact, I demand it.'

Rice looked at her, gritting his teeth. 'No, I can't.'

The woman sighed, and released Rice's face. 'My assessment of your intelligence drops every time you open your mouth.' She stretched the whip between her two hands. 'However, you haven't attempted to run, and that certainly improves the impression.' Her left hand dropped the end of the whip and disappeared beneath her cape again. 'The people I like less than you are the ones you work for, the ones who provide you with the drugs you peddle.'

'So, what does that have to do with me, then?'

The woman, paused, blinking, for a moment, before Rice felt the lash of the whip again. 'A slow learner, are we?' She smiled at Rice's lack of an answer. 'What it has to do with you, Weston Rice, is that, you tell me where I can find your supplier, and when I turn you over to the police, you will not be much the worse for wear. Do you understand me?' A short beat. 'You may answer.'

'Right. I understand.' Weston noticed he'd been backed against a brick wall.

The woman stepped forward and pressed a knee into his stomach, then leaned in, bringing her mouth close to his ear. 'And? Will I have to hurt you?'

Rice remained quiet for several moments. The knee slipped lower and pressed harder. 'Titanfall Park. Tomorrow, two AM.' He took a deep breath as the knee removed itself from his anatomy. 'It's a drop-off. There'll be, like, a hundred guys with guns there. You'll just be getting yourself k--' He wasn't sure how she'd flicked the whip that hard with so little motion, but his eyes were watering.

'Do not editorialize.' She produced two zipcuffs from beneath her cape, and backed away from Rice. 'Sit.'

Rice blinked at her, until the whip raised another welt on his cheek.

'I said sit.'

Rice sat, and the woman knelt before him, binding his wrists the the opposite ankles. Then she began looking through his pockets.

'Hey, wait, what are you--' It was a simple backhand that shut him up this time.

The woman stood, holding his phone. She looked through the stored information, idly. 'Mmm. 7G compatible Blaze. I was unaware these were available, yet.' Without another word, she dropped it to the ground, and Rice watched, wide-eyed but silent, as it was crushed beneath her heel. She coiled her whip. 'We cannot have you warning them, after all.' Pulling the right side of her cape over herself, she retreated into the alley again, leaving Rice alone, to await the police.

***

'Severin!' She unfastened her cape, as she ducked through the hidden door sliding closed behind her. 'Draw me a bath.'

'Yes, Mistress.' A quiet and oddly inflected masculine voice sounded from an unseen source.

She hung the cape in a hidden closet that slid open as she approached, and pulled her gloves off, folding them on a shelf next to the cape. Reaching up, she slid a thumbnail under her mask, releasing its grip on her skin. 'A hot one. The night has a chill.' She chuckled as she set her mask next to her gloves. 'I was certainly glad to be the "Venus in Furs" tonight.' She sat and began unlacing her boots.

'Perhaps, Mistress, a more substantial costume?'

Venus laughed – a light, pleasant sound, much at odds with her earlier air. 'Why, Severin. I never expected this from you!'

'Mistress?'

'Concern for my modesty.' She placed the boots in the closet and turned away from the closet as it slid closed.

'Nothing of the kind, Mistress. Simply a suggestion to avoid the cold.'

She laughed again. 'I'm sorry, Severin. It was a joke. I should know better by now.' Severin was a top of the line AI, but his programmers had never worked out giving him a sense of humour. She stepped out of the room, unlacing her corset as she went.

***

Soon, she was lounging in the bath – a large tub of marble, dominating a similarly elegantly appointed room – holding a glass of wine that Severin had provided without being asked. Humour, he may lack, but his ability to predict her needs was unparallelled. She glanced up at a large screen on the opposite wall.

'Severin, bring up a map of Titanfall Park.'

'Yes Mistress.' A brief pause. 'I am afraid I do not have a tactical map of Titanfall Park, Mistress.'

Venus sighed. 'Bring up a satellite photograph, then, and build a tactical map from that.'

'Yes, Mistress.' An image of Titanfall park came up on the screen.

Venus leaned back, and sipped her wine as she examined the screen. The bowl shape of the park was only a vague suggestion of the crater that had been formed when the hero-turned-madman Coeus (now called the Mad Titan) had been brought down by the Guardians and Pelops almost 30 years earlier. She frowned. Unlike Kirby Park, or the streets she usually patrolled, Titanfall Park provided few possibilities to hide. There were few landmarks – large lampposts at the perimeter, and several scattered throughout the park (out as hiding spots for obvious reasons), low stone benches strewn in an almost random-looking fashion (as a child, she had spent some time trying to determine a rhyme or reason to the arrangement, but never could), and, central to the park, the statue. Venus had to admit the statue was impressive – twice life size (and Coeus was, by no means, a small man), the faceless figure was formed, seamlessly, of three alloys, giving it Coeus' red jacket and blue pants, and was bound in chains of yellow glass, white marble, wrought iron, and steel, to represent Foton, Pelops, Paragon, and Amazon, who had brought him down in that very spot.

'Well, I suppose I will have to work something out. Severin, do you have the--'

'My apologies, Mistress. You appear to have a visitor.'

Venus raised an eyebrow. 'Who?'

'Unknown, Mistress. He does not appear to be in my database.'

'Put the gate camera on screen.'

'Understood, Mistress.' The picture of the park was replaced with video of a man in a shabby suit (strange cut, too, she thought), with a shaggy haircut and stubble of a variety that suggested a lot of effort went into looking so shabby, and a complexion that told her he didn't see the sun much more often than she did. The man stood by the gate, and checked his watch idly.

'Probably a reporter.' Venus stretched, and sipped her wine. 'Lord knows what Amanda Donahue thinks of things is utterly important.' She sighed. 'Give him the standard boilerplate and send him away.'

'I attempted to, Mistress. He would not leave.'

Venus sighed and climbed out of the tub. 'Fine. Set some clothes out for me. ... Pyjamas. I think I should emphasize that he has come at a bad time.'

'Very well, Mistress.'

***

Amanda Donahue stood, arms crossed, wearing pink striped pyjamas, and waited for the man to state his business.

The man smiled at her, and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Evenin', Venus.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, sir. I am not going to be a goddess of love for you.'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it.' The man grinned. 'But, fine, you wanna play it that way, we'll pretend I don't know.'

'You're beginning to try my patience. Please, state your business, and leave my home at once.'

The man shrugged, and shook his head. 'OK, sure, Ms Donahue, whatever you say.' He glanced at his watch. 'I don't have long to be here, anyway. The people you're pursuing--'

'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'... Sure. Anyway. This isn't a regular drug deal. They're not just dealing in pot, or speed, or whatever any more. They're moving into Jet, and they've been sampling the goods. So, you know, watch out, right?'

Donahue looked at him, an eyebrow raised. 'Is that all?'

'Yep. See you around, Ms Donahue.'

'Not if you don't wish to be arrested.'

The man grinned. 'As you say.' He waved and wandered off, as Donahue returned to the house.

***

'Severin!' Venus dropped onto her bed, and waved a hand at the screen on the opposite wall as it came to life.

'Yes, Mistress?'

'Look up jet.'

'Understood, Mistress.' Severin fell silent for a few moments. 'Jet. A type of propulsion. An aircraft that uses said propulsion. A form of lignite used in jewelry. One of several heroes operating out of Toronto, Ontario; New York, New York; Dallas, Texas; and Whitby, England. One of several villains, operating out of York, England; Paris, France; and Tokyo, Japan. A single by the band Wings. A--'

'It's a drug, Severin.'

'Understood, Mistress.' Severin paused, and Venus briefly considered whether she should reassess his sense of humour, or lack thereof. 'Jet. One of a class of drugs officially classed as "metadrugs", but commonly known as "kickstarters", or "kicks" for short.'

'And the effects?'

'Yes, Mistress. The primary effect of Jet is enhanced strength. Less common effects are enhanced speed (10% of users), durability (15% of users), and low-grade regeneration (.2% of users). Generally users attain an Alpha-1 rating on the Grant scale. Side effects include increased blood pressure (noted in 100% of users), leading to tinnitus. In approximately 25% of users, this is enough to severely impede hearing. Approximately 20% of non-regenerating users experience increased bleeding. Long term effects include--'

'That's enough. I just needed the short term.'

'Understood, Mistress.'

'Do you have the tactical map of Titanfall Park done, Severin?'

'Of course, Mistress.' The screen was filled with a detailed, annotated map of the park.

Venus relaxed as she looked over the map.

***

The number of gunmen was rather less than Rice had estimated – in fact, there were only a half dozen people present at all. Certainly within Venus's usual threshold. On the other hand, if her visitor had been telling the truth – whether he was or not, Venus would have to find out who he was – most of the thugs present were flying on Jet, and would demolish her if she went in directly.

Of course, she had no intention of doing that. She watched them gather around the statue of Coeus – and thanked heaven she'd been right about that, and mentally counted down to two o'clock.

The statue lit up like Christmas, as dozens of fireworks secreted about it flared to life, whistling, popping, and otherwise creating a distracting cacophony. Bullets ricocheted off the statue as the guards opened fire, and it rang like a bell when one barrelled into it – not too bright, but clearly on Jet.

All this noise hid the crack as Venus' whip lashed out, wrapping around one of the guards' throats, choking him to unconsciousness before he could raise an alarm. She let the whip drop as the man dropped to the ground, and dashed for cover as he fell to the ground with a heavy thud, audible in the sudden silence as the crooks realized what had happened.

'Dammit, somebody's here! Find him!' One of the leaders pulled his own gun. Predictable. And sexist. Venus moved, close to the ground, slowly creeping out from behind the bench she'd ducked behind and tossed a fist sized stone behind him to clatter off the cobblestones of the path opposite her, to draw his attention. A short dash, a leap, and her whole weight collided with his back, knocking him flat. A gloved hand closed over his mouth, the other around his wrist, twisting it until the gun fell free. A quick blow to the back of his head and his lights went out.

She clambered up the statue, pulling herself along by the chains, and crouched low on Coeus' shoulder, looking for the other four. The other three guards were spreading out, to search the park systematically. She couldn't find the other leader. She glanced down. The drugs were still there, so if he fled, she'd at least stopped the drop. A bullet rang off the statue near her head, and she lost her footing, barely catching the chain to keep from dashing her brains on the stone below, though she knew she'd be bruised later.

... If the gunman didn't get another bead on her. She made a rapid descent and drew her whip, looking for him. Another bullet buzzed her ear. His aim, at least, sucked. She spun, whip lashing out in the direction the shot had come from. She pulled on the whip, yanking the gun free, and unbalancing the man who'd been holding it, so he stumbled into a rapidly rising stilettoed foot. She spun as he dropped, looking for the other three as she scrambled for cover.

Only one of the three men approached the statue, and she raised an eyebrow. Then grinned, and thanked the gods of probability – if their tinnitus was so bad they couldn't hear a gunshot, she'd have a significant advantage. Once she dealt with the one who could. She thought for a moment, then removed her cape, looping the end of her whip around it, and setting it on the ground as she crept around the base of the statue.

She grinned, watching the goon walk past her, then snapped her whip, flipping the cape into the air.

One, two, three bullets ripped through the empty cape as Venus pounced, silently, her fist connecting with his jaw before he noticed her. She lowered him to the ground and went to pick up her cape.

Muddy, with three obvious bullet holes in it. Time for a replacement, apparently. She sighed, and draped it around her shoulders again, dark lining out. Two left.

She crept through the park, keeping as far away from the lamp-posts as she could, and began looking for the first of the remaining thugs.

Her quarry sniffed, a trickle of blood trailing from his nose, as she peered at him, crouching outside the lamp's circle, a small mass of shadow in the darkness. She grinned and fingered her whip. Just. A. Bit. Closer.

She sprang up and lashed out with the whip, hitting him above the eyes, opening a long gash, and diving back into the darkness before he could figure where she was and open fire. She admonished herself for playing with him, but still couldn't help but dash in front of him as he tried to brush blood out of his eyes. Grabbing his gun arm as she ran past, she torqued it behind him, wincing a little as she heard a bone snap – no doubt stressed by his Jet-strength.

Kicking the gun away, she put her shoulder to his back, pulling his arm again. He let out a cry of pain as he went down, cut short as hitting the pavement put his lights out.

'One left...' She began stalking the last of her prey.

Unfortunately, it was he who found her. She felt a bullet tear into the meat of her right arm, and hissed, dropping to the ground as another bullet sped through where her heart had been. She clutched her arm, and scrambled, on two feet and an unsteady hand, to a bench, and peered out around it. The goon was looking around. Luck was with her again. Mostly. She removed her glove and tied it tightly around the wound. Pity to ruin it, but it was better than bleeding out.

She took her whip in her left hand, and slowly moved out from behind the bench. The goon still didn't notice her. Good. She lashed out with the whip.

She was clumsy with her left hand, and the whip barely brushed the back of the goon's neck.

Enough to get his attention. With a roar, he leapt at her, his gun mercifully forgotten in his rage. She was bowled over by the charge, the wind knocked out of her as he plowed into her, and the two of them went to the ground. Her pulse rang in her ears and she thought she was done for. Until the man went limp above her just as the two of them landed. Pushing him off of her – no easy feat one-handed, she looked at his unconscious form, then her eyes travelled to where his head must have been a few moments before, and she couldn't hold back a laugh.

He'd plowed headlong into the bench she'd been hiding behind, and knocked himself senseless.

She shook her head at her luck, and bound the crooks for the police, before hobbling home to let Severin treat her wounds.

***

The scruffy man dropped a newspaper in front of his companion, a young woman with a far tidier look about her, though no less pale than he was. She picked it up and read the indicated headline. 'Venus in Furs Stops Jet Smugglers.' She shrugged and tossed the paper back on the table.

Her companion grinned, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 'Mmm. I told you she'd listen.'

'I still think you should have approached her differently.'

'Well, she listened, and she's alive. That's all that matters, right?'

The woman shook her head. 'Still, I'll be approaching the next ones, yes?'