#kipsie lane

[ageeksnerdyworld]

Just a Ghost Story

Characters: Journey, North Holden, Friday Morenn, Kipsie Lane, Coraline Xanadu, Vera Valentine, and Knox Silvera

Word Count: 3,368

Trigger Warning: Violence, Death

Notes: It’s hard writing things without mentioning the characters’ names and yet I keep doing this to myself. Why? I have no freaking clue honestly. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: A mysterious vigilante has appeared in the Mythology District. Whoever they are they seem to be making a name for themselves. Meanwhile a strange newcomer has joined the United Front. And the group’s leader has a small, but important, job for the new recruit. Click that read more if you’d like.

~~~

The streets were busier than usual for the time of day. Whether it was a mere coincidence, or a planned outdoor celebration, was unclear. And yet masses of bodies were making their way around the city. Some were business types rushing back to work after a quick lunch. Others were rebellious school children skipping class for an impromptu day of fun. Groups clumped together and others walked in tandem but spread rather far apart.

But all the same whispering voices floated through the city streets. Adult viruses spoke in hushed tones of rumors and violence. Young sprites talked loudly and rapidly; excited by the possibilities. No one knew if any of it was true, but, deep down inside they all wanted to believe.

Walking through the crowded streets it would be hard to avoid accidentally eavesdropping on all the conversations.

Rumors say they took down that gang of mercenaries from Fallout.

The Deathclaw Bandits? This guy did that? Single-handedly? No way.

That's what I heard.

What if this mysterious "protector" of ours is just saving their own skin? Whoever the hell they might be they're probably hiding out from some real bad people.

Don't say things like that, Peri!

Tch, why? It's not like they're listening.

They could be. If you ever need their help, gods forbid it, they might leave you to the wolves.

Vis, you think he's real? Like really real?

Yeah, man!

Who says it's a guy? Could be a girl. Or neither. You two don't know.

Shut up, Anni! Hey, Sassafras, whaddya think his powers are? He's gotta have something awesome!

As things usually are, with rumors and hearsay, everyone talked about it. The masked vigilante who took the district's troubles to heart was like an itch that just wouldn't stop. Or like spots in your vision from the sunshine on a bright summer day. Whoever they were their good deeds burrowed into the hearts and minds of the people and stuck. Talk of the mysterious virus who walked the shifty back alleys, and brought evils to light, was unavoidable. Everyone would talk about the city's hero whether they wanted to or not.

They all knew that the vigilante had to be living somewhere in the city. It just made sense.

A female virus seamlessly sneaks into the crowd of pedestrians. Her clothes were as conspicuous as possible; a dark brown leather jacket, gray hoodie underneath with the hood up, and black jeans. She walks completely unnoticed in the crowds. Keeping her head down she quietly listens to the singing praises. A small smile curls at the edge of her mouth. This was good. Very good in fact. Having the faith of the people would definitely help in the long run.

Deftly ducking back out of the crowd she dashes into an alleyway.

As she runs a few strands of brown hair fell from under the hood. Her hand quickly shoots up and wipes the hair away. Turning around a corner she slows to a walk. Running in, eyes wide, jacket whipping in the wind, alarm bells ringing wouldn't look good. Even if the news was better than they'd hoped.

Status wouldn't matter if everyone got caught. What they were doing was still illegal.

Sauntering up to a nearby brick wall she stops just a few inches from the wall. Raising a hand, loosely balled in a fist, she knocks on the wall. Once, twice, and a third time. Pausing for a few seconds the hand knocks on the brick twice more.

Stepping back a foot or so she waits patiently.

The section of brick wall slowly begins to quiver and shake. A few clouds of dust and dirt pill out from the top. Even slower it swings open; back into the dimly lit hallway. She steps through doorway without a word. The door closes behind; returning the facade of a normal brick wall.

"How was recon, chief?" a voice calls from the corner.

She lifts the hood off her head; revealing the light brown angled bob underneath. A streak of bright white breaks the monotony of the color. The haircut frames her face nicely. Her eyes are light brown and her skin is tan. A few freckles dot her cheeks; accentuating her high cheekbones. Her frame is so small and skinny she could easily be mistaken for a child. Turning to the tall, pencil thin, man who stands guard she sighs.

"Same shit different day, Fri. Tell Kip, Vera, and Coraline that I'm waiting for them in the war room."

"You got it."

"On second thought..." she says; pausing slightly.

"Something wrong?"

She shakes her head and says; "Tell the newbie too. He should know of his good work."

"Copy that, North."

~~~

High above the city a lone figure sits crouched on top of a building. The figure is dressed from head to toe in all black. Even then their entire form, clothes and all, is covered by a long black leather coat. Edges of dark, chunky, boot heels just barely peek out from under the billowing coat. They sit, knees bent and arms crossed over one another, on the very edge of the roof. Their chin rests firmly on their arm.

Wind blows through the dark gray fur on their ears.

The perching figure's chest barely expands and contracts as they breathe. Such minor movement would go unnoticed to the average eye. As well as the quick hand that reaches into a hidden pocket on the inside of the coat. The hand pulls out a pair of goggles. They put the goggles on their head; the round lens frames resting just above their forehead.

Looking out over the city streets he pulls the goggles down over their eyes.

Flicking the eye loupes down in front of the lenses the street below comes into full view. They could now clearly see the pedestrians milling about. A mother, father, and son, a very young sprite, causally walked hand in hand. The figure watches the small family intently. A somber nostalgic feeling washes over them. Then something in the alley catches the figure's attention; a glint of metal. Light from the street just barely illuminates the form of a virus leaning against the wall.

As they prepare to leave their perch the voice of Friday Morenn floats through their mind.

"The chief wants you all in the war room asap. It seems pretty important if you ask me."

If North is calling a meeting then it had to be something big. Especially if she wanted everyone there. It made sense why she’d call in the others. They had been with her the longest. They were her trusted advisers and closest friends. The urgency in Friday’s voice made it seem like an all hands on deck thing.

Which never boded well in his experience.

It takes him just under half an hour to make his way to the hideout. He does his best to make sure he isn’t followed. Weaving in and out of alleys, climbing fire escapes, and running along rooftops to throw off anyone who might be on his tail. When they make it to the non-descript brick wall they check their perimeter again. Seeing that he hadn’t been followed he knocks on the brick.

After a minute or so the door opens and he steps in. He goes directly to the very back room, the war room, without a word to Friday. Pushing the door open he sees the others are already there; waiting.

Vera Valentine lounges on an old punching bag. Her long arms hang off opposite sides of the partially deflated bag. She wears a navy crop top; showing her midriff and the dangling silver “V” bellybutton piercing. Her tail is long and wide. It wraps around the base of the punching bag before laying on the floor. Her scales are black except for the underside of her tail where the scales are red before fading to a pink. Her eyes are coal black and her skin is tan. She has a delighted smirk on her face.

“Toldja he’d be the last one to show up,” she says in a thick Aussie accent.

Kipsie gives her a nod and says; “Looks like you won the bet there, darlin’.”

He regretfully pulls a handful of credits from the back pocket of his jeans and hands them to the snake virus. She smiles happily and counts her winnings. Kipsie takes the trucker hat off his head and runs a hand through his long auburn hair. Returning the hat to his head he goes back to where he originally stood; leaning against the back wall a foot or so from North’s desk. He puts a boot heel up against the wall behind him. Kipsie Lane shakes his head in disappointment and crosses his arms over his chest.

A myriad of tattoos and scars tear through his muscular arms.

“That’s why you never bet against Vera,” Coraline says.

She sits on a small stack of wooden ammunition crates with her legs spread wide. The Pomeranian virus is surprisingly a lot more battle hardened than one would expect. A large scar runs through her right cheek; ending at her chin. Her right eye is a slighter lighter shade of brown than the other. It doesn’t move when her left eye does. Her hair is shaved down to the scalp. She wears an all black outfit that is clearly made up of random clothes she’s found. But surprisingly it works for her.

North Holden, the leader of The United Front, sits behind a small desk.

“Journey, good to see you’ve made it. Take a seat,” North says calmly.

He nods and hides his suspicions. He grabs the nearest chair, a plastic school desk chair, and turns it around. Sitting in the chair he wraps his legs around the metal legs. Crossing his arms over the curved back of the chair his left ear twitches slightly towards the door.

“You’ve done some good work since coming here,” she says. “I think we can all agree on that.”

The others nod in agreement.

“But what you don’t know is that the people have taken a liking to you. And I think we should use that to our advantage. It would be best to do so as quickly as we can.”

“I want you to take out the district’s biggest threat.”

Journey knows exactly what she means and whom she’s referring to. Despite his short time with the group he knows more than any other newcomer would. North and her compatriots trust him about just as much as they trust each other. And if the people of the district like him, trust him, as much as North is implying then it makes sense for him to be the one.

Before anything else is said Coraline hops off the crates and storms out of the room. She shoots Journey a dirty look on her way out.

“Don’t pay her any mind,” Kipsie says. “She hates it when any of us get an important assignment. It’s nothing personal.”

He accepts the assignment without much hesitation. Kipsie walks over and claps him on the back; wishing him good luck. Much to his surprise Vera slithers over and firmly clasps his hand. She leans in close to him and whispers in his ear. Journey pulls back, shocked by her candor, but Vera just winks and leaves the room.

“Good luck out there, Journey,” North says sincerely.

“I won’t let you down,” he says as he exits.

~~~

Breaking into the house was a lot easier than Journey expected. Whoever normally roamed the grounds was either on the opposite side of the house or on a short break. He rapidly climbs the leaf covered trellis that runs the height of the wall. Dropping onto the grass below; he lands without a sound.

Much to his surprise not a single security camera was posted in the yard.

Guess he thinks he's untouchable and doesn't need any.

Creeping around the various statues and hedges he makes his way to the house. With goggles on he can see everything as clear as it would be during the bright hours of day. A fenced in garden sits just opposite the outdoor patio. The garden itself was a rather odd mix with bushes of flowers and winding tomato vines. A stone fountain, with a small statue of the goddess Bia in the middle, stood in the center of the garden.

That's when he notices a staircase, built into the facade of the house, leading to the top floor.

Creeping as quickly and quietly as possible he makes his way across the yard and to the stairs. Rushing up the staircase he takes two stairs at a time. He steps onto the landing without a sound. The staircase lead him to a balcony which overlooked the rest of the grounds. He turns his attention to the right and the large casement windows that lead into a room. The room was an office or maybe a small library. He rushes to the section of wall that wasn’t part of the windows. He flattens his body against the stone, as flat as he can, and leans to take a look inside.

Peeking inside he sees exactly who he hoped to see.

Knox Silvera.

He was standing in the room with his back to the windows. But he turned around just as Journey saw that it was indeed the mob boss.

Journey bites his bottom lip. Reaching into his jacket he pulls out a lock-pick set. The windows came together at the black frames and the handles sat on the inside. The keyhole was on the inside as well, but, it was possible to jimmy the lock from where he stood. He just had to wait for the right time.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long as his target was walking out of the room.

Journey pulls the goggles off his eyes and set them on his head. Much to his surprise he made quick work of the lock and the windows swung open slightly. He reached in and grabbed the brass handle. Stepping back he opened the window and crept inside the room.

He looked for a place to hide but there was no time.

Almost exactly when he walked in Silvera returned to the room. They make eye contact and Journey pauses.

Knox Silvera was a male satyr virus with dashing good looks and bright ice blue veins. He had a chiseled face and dark blonde hair. His black horns protrude from the top of his head, poking out of his thick hair, and curled around; stopping just below his ears. His eyes were as dark as the sky on a stormy night. But his viciousness and pure evil darkened them even further. He wore a white suit with a black tie.

"Well, if it isn't our city's unsung hero," he says with an icy sweetness.

"You're done," Journey replies; voice muffled by the mask.

"Oh, really? Are you here to stop me?"

Silently nodding the rabbit virus doesn't say a word.

"I think you're sorely mistaken," Silvera replies.

He throws a knife directly at Journey's face. He ducks away from the blade; hoping to avoid the attack. But the knife slices into the side of his mask. A gash running through the left side of the fabric that covered their cheek.

"You--"

Two more knives fly through the air; interrupting his thought process. His eyes go wide and they quickly fall into a crouch. A blade just barely grazes his hair as he hits the ground. He turns around frantically trying to find the knives.

A sensible act which proves to be a mistake.

Silvera steps in front of the vigilante as quickly as possible.

"Let's see who you really are," he says.

Journey scrambles to avoid another knife attack but he’s caught off guard. This time Silvera wields two identical daggers. He slices either side of the rabbit virus's face. Now the left side of the mask flaps open.

The vigilante gets up; breathing heavily. He attempts to send a series of angry punches toward Silvera. But in his anger, and shock, only one blow makes contact. His right hook just barely manages to clip the left side of the satyr’s jaw.

In response Silvera cuts a wide gash, with both blades, in the front of the leather.

The brown leather mask silently falls to the floor. Journey quickly covers his face with both hands and looks at the ruined mask with horror. His ears droop and his bright green eyes go wide. Silvera instantly smiles. Thinking that he's won he kneels down and picks up the mask.

"Seems like I've beaten you," Silvera says as he stands over the vigilante.

In response Journey kicks a leg out, as hard as he can, and knocks Silvera to his knees. The rabbit virus gets up as quickly as he can. His bright eyes are now angry slits and his mouth is pursed in a small circle. Continuing to look down at the shiny tile floor his hands, which remain at his sides, curl into fists. His ears twitch angrily.

As the crime lord staggers to his feet the rabbit virus punches him in the chest. The wind is knocked out of the man and he stumbles back. An ornate knife emerges from somewhere on Silvera's person. He holds the hilt tightly and points it in the direction of where Journey stands.

But the rabbit virus simply smiles at the threat.

A hand shoots out and grabs Silvera's wrist. He bends Silvera’s hand back and at the same time Journey head butts him. His grip on the knife slips and it clatters to the floor. He head butts Silvera again and his hand rushes to pinch his nose. A gush of icy blue soul residue leaks from his nostrils. He tilts his head back to stop the flow. But he's heavily tackled to the floor.

His head hits the tile with a thud.

Journey quickly picks the knife; hiding it behind his back. He steps on Silvera's fingers and harshly grinds his boot heel into them. With his free leg he stomps heavily on Silvera’s stomach and he buckles from the pain. Flipping the knife upside down he clutches the blade and quickly punches the satyr virus in the temple with it. He winces in pain as his vision goes blurry. Just as the rabbit virus steps off his hand Silvera quickly scuttles away.

"Hit me all you want, Mask," Silvera says with a laugh. "I’m going to ruin you."

"That doesn't matter, Silvera," the rabbit virus says; an ominous intent weighing heavy in his words.

"Bu--but I saw your face, you, you have to understand how serious that is. I... I'll tell! I'll tell everyone what you look like. Yo--you're not safe anymore," the man stammers desperately grasping to the thinnest but of hope he has.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"What?"

"That doesn't matter, Silvera," he repeats; even more threatening than the first time.

"You're not telling anyone anything. You understand, me? You're not making it out of here alive."

As the last syllable leaves Journey's lips he jams the blade hilt into Silvera's throat; hard. The force behind the blow breaks his windpipe and he begins to choke. Horrible, loud, gasping breaths fill the open air as he tries to keep himself alive. But quicker than he can figure out what's happening the blade slices deep into his neck. Bright, blue, soul residue splatters all over Journey but it mostly soaks into the black clothes. A small streak colors his face.

Knox Silvera’s body goes limp and he falls backward. He lands on the tile floor with a low thud. Silvera's eyes go dark and his soul continues to pour out of the gash in his neck. As it begins to pool around his stiff body his veins turn black.

Journey drops the knife, picks up the remains of his mask, and speaks to an empty room.

"The Mask is just a ghost story and I'll do whatever I have to to keep it that way."