[REND] B2. 4.1 - Rise of the Queenpin

I jumped down the building behind the group hunting Teflon. I fixed my hoodie, tightened my gloves, and made sure that my black face mask was secured before walking towards the trucks. There was an online store selling face masks with designs, and one of them had this cool monster mouth full of fangs. Very tempting to buy it, but also very easy to uncover my identity by tracing the purchase.

Maybe I could order Overdrive to buy it for me? He had lots of money. I’d turn these gangsters into my personal assistants. This was a good reason to be a crime boss.

The Truck Bandits didn’t hear me approach while they shouted and fired at the bar to bolster their threats to Teflon. Was this some sort of gang war? This must be what Dario had mentioned about the city’s criminal underground in disarray after the 2Ms had left.

“Dammit, Teflon! You’re really gonna choose the hard way?” The burly guy standing on the back of a pickup truck and waving a sawed-off shotgun must be the leader of the Truck Bandits. “This is dumb as hell! You know you can trust—eh?” He looked over his shoulder.

I was about five feet away from the truck when he heard my footsteps. I was almost stomping just so they’d notice me.

“Who the fuck are you?” demanded Truck Leader.

His men turned around, muttering in surprise at my sudden appearance. Some of them shone flashlights on me. It was super random for someone to casually walk up to a gunfight, especially if they were seemingly unarmed and alone. There was something wrong with me, and the Truck Bandits didn’t know if that wrongness was dangerous.

“Answer me, kid!” Truck Leader jumped off the truck and pointed his gun at me. “Who are you? What business you got here, eh?”

“Shooting won’t kill me,” I said, even though a shotgun shot at point-blank range would blow off the front of my brain. It was Blanchette’s skull that could survive bullets, but these idiots didn’t need to know about that. Confidence was a powerful deterrence.

“Wha-what are you talking about?” Truck Leader took a step back. This guy wasn’t a random, knucklehead side character. He was using his brain to realize that I wasn’t normal if a gun to my face didn’t faze me.

Face faze! I knew those words didn’t rhyme, but they just sounded fun together.

“But if you do shoot,” I said, advancing a step, “you’ll ruin this hoodie. And I’ll be very angry.” A lot of clothes have been trashed one way or another since I turned into an Adumbrae. If this newly bought hoodie were to get bullet holes, I’d tear apart the person responsible.

“Your hoodie?” Truck Leader lowered his shotgun, frowning in confusion.

“Red!” shouted a Truck Bandit to our right. “She’s wearing a red hoodie!”

“You reckon she’s Red Hood?” someone else said.

“She might be…”

“Holy shit!”

“Is this some kind of prank?”

Murmurings increased. I was right that my legend had taken root in Marsh Row. The Truck Bandits started to back away, distancing themselves from Truck Leader and me. It seemed that these random guys were aware of my awesome feats at the docks. Of course, they weren’t really sure that I was Red Hood, but they didn’t seem dumb enough to gamble with their lives.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Truck Leader forcefully laughed as he gestured at his men. “This is some fucking trick. Teflon called someone to pretend to be Red Hood and scare—woah!”

I grabbed the gun from his hands. That made him retreat until his back hit the side of the pickup truck. He must’ve felt my strength, which definitely wasn’t that of a small woman. He was starting to think that his men were right about my identity.

To confirm the Truck Bandit’s worst fears, because I was nice that way, I bent the sawed-off shotgun’s short barrel. The creaking sound of metal was insanely satisfying. Super thank you that the gun didn’t explode and ruin the scene when I bent it.

Several gasps. A couple of screams—one of them was really high-pitched for a guy. I heard the sound of feet running away. The dudes furthest from me had made the best decision of their puny lives.

“Sorry for ruining this thing.” I tossed the boomerang-shaped gun at the frozen Truck Leader. He didn’t catch it, and it fell to the ground. “I don’t have money to repay it,” I added, nodding down at the gun, “but I think letting you all live should be enough payment.”

“Are you… Are you really Red Hood?”

“Yeah. Just strolling around here.”

“I, uh, we don’t mean to… to offend you in any way.” Truck Leader bowed low so that he was shorter than me. “If there’s anything that we can—"

“I have some business with Teflon, so all of you scram.” I walked past him and circled the back of the pickup truck. I looked at the other Truck Bandits. They stopped moving when they noticed my stare.

“Shoo!” I gestured at them to go away.

And so, they did in a huge hurry.

The driver inside the pickup truck reversed his vehicle. Several clambered to get on, but one of them fell. A Truck Bandit helped his fellow on the ground to get up as the rest fled on foot. Camaraderie in the face of a monster? How nice. Most people paid no mind to the henchmen in movies, but they had their own stories, too.

Part of me had wanted the Truck Bandits to attack. After my bombastic and budget-heavy fight at the docks—it cost the special effects department a lot of money to pull off—it was time for trashing small fries, just regular extras with whatever props we could give them. A violent but low-stakes scene.

However, that meant ruined clothes for me. Even if I could avoid getting shot, I’d still have the blood of the people I’d kill on my hoodie. I preferred this outcome, strutting along while being feared by everyone.

My short stature actually made me feel more badass. A weak-looking person who was actually super strong was a popular trope.

Now, how should I enter the bar? It was kind of awkward to meet Teflon because I killed his—  

“Ms. Red Hood!” It was Truck Leader gingerly following me with raised hands. He also half-crouched to appear small. Why was he still here? All his goons had abandoned him.

“What?” I snapped. I couldn’t manage to sound menacing. So much for practicing in front of a mirror. Probably better to give this up and go for the innocent-but-deadly vibe.

“Powerful Adumbrae, uh, please don’t be angry at me.” Truck Leader bowed his head so we wouldn’t have eye contact. It made me feel like a powerful royalty in ancient times, ready to execute anyone who’d slightly offend me. He continued, “We were looking… looking for you.”

I frowned. “You’re looking for me?”

“Not actually me, Ms. Red Hood.” Truck Bandit shook his head while still staring at the ground. “My boss is looking for you. Me and my boys, we got hired to find Teflon because he might know where you are.”

“Well, he doesn’t,” I said. Was Truck Bandit talking about the 2Ms looking for me? I figured they’d be interested in the Adumbrae who trashed their operations.

“We didn’t mean to harm Teflon,” Truck Bandit hastily clarified. “They got guns, so we had to bring guns. But this is just to persuade them. You understand human affairs, don’t you? It-it’s just all business.”

“I don’t really care about human affairs,” I said, guessing that this was something a monster would say.

“Ah, I get you. I get you.” He slowly straightened up. “But since you’re here now… Can we set up a meeting with our boss?”

This cheeky minor side character—he wanted to get paid big for finding me. He probably charged a lot to gather this team just to find Teflon. His employer would shell out so much more for an actual meeting with the awesome Red Hood. On that point…

“Who’s your employer?” I asked. “Many are looking for me. He’d need to fall in line.”

“The number two man of the PCM. Goes by the name Dreyfuss. Probably not his real one.”

“The Protectors of the City Movement?” I kept my face impassive. What new nonsense was this now?

“They want to meet you, Ms. Red Hood,” said Truck Leader. “Dreyfuss and their leader, that Auron guy who shows up a lot on TV. I don’t know what they want, but it’ll be—”

“Ah, they’re still on with that? You’re not the first guy inviting me to a meeting with the PCM. I already made it clear that I don’t want to.” It was all lies, of course. I had no idea what was going on.

But I, a badass Adumbrae, didn’t want to appear clueless. This would also confuse those PCM guys. When Truck Leader would report to them, they’d wonder who among them had contacted me first. This was the only thing I could do for now to take initiative while I figured out what they wanted with me.

A lot of people were looking for me. The 2Ms, Tower Cop, and Myra. Maybe Dario, too. Add in the PCM.

The Protectors of the City Movement was a sort of radical group of whack jobs, bordering on a cult in some aspects. They claimed that our government leaders—the president, senators, generals, and all that—were compromised by Adumbrae. They even accused our city mayor of being one. I thought they were just paranoid morons who’d cause heavy traffic with their protests, but it seemed that there was more to them.

I vaguely recalled seeing people wearing PCM symbols during Overdrive’s party. Combine that with what Truck Leader had told me, and it turned out that it was the PCM that had connections with Adumbrae all along! At the least, they must’ve known about the 2Ms’ operations relating to Adumbrae.

I very much doubted that the PCMs were looking for me so that they’d report me to the police. They probably wanted to work with me or some shit. Talk about projecting to hide their true nature.

“I-I didn’t know someone had contacted you before, Ms. Red Hood.” Truck Leader furrowed his brows, probably weighing how much he could convince me, given that others had failed. He took out his phone. “I hope you’re not annoyed with this. If you can just talk to Boss Dreyfuss and—”

I snatched his phone and hurled it at the pickup truck with so much force that its door was crumpled. The sound of the impact was like an explosion. The pickup truck teetered on its left side tires for a couple of seconds before settling down again.

“I-I apologize,” Truck Leader stammered, leaning away as if ready to bolt.

“Tell your boss that I’ll eventually visit them,” I said. Hopefully, that’d put them on the defensive instead of continuing to look for me. “Go away now.”

He nodded once, immediately turned tail, and ran.

I had thought of killing him, but I should’ve done it when he pointed his gun at me for maximum badass points. And there was the optics of it. Tattoo Sleeves and his buddies were probably looking at me. They’d be scared shitless if I killed Truck Leader after he no longer posed a threat. Maybe they’d think I was an Adumbrae who’d lost control and was just out for human blood.

“I wonder what the PCM wants with me,” I muttered while walking to the bar.

Truck Leader mentioned a meeting. Did it mean they weren’t enemies? If the PCM intended to capture or kill me, Truck Leader’s actions would’ve been different.

Maybe Tattoo Sleeves or Overdrive could shed some light on this. I might need a bigger corkboard and a hiding place for it, too.

Instead of jumping over the wrecked sports car in front of the bar, I kicked it out of my way. It screeched across the pavement with its flattened tires. How was that for an impactful entrance?

I could barely see the inside of the bar through the broken windows. Was that someone moving? It was all darkness. I stood in front of the bullet-ridden door that was barely clinging to its hinges.

“Teflon, it’s me,” I called out. But I supposed he already knew that.

The broken door swung open and finally fell off its hinges. A man obscured by shadows moved the detached door aside. He stepped out and was illuminated by the light from the remaining pickup truck. The man with a gaunt face and sunken eyes was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, hiding his arms that were covered with tattoos. This was Tattoo Sleeves, and he was looking awful.

“Hello… Clarice…” Tattoo Sleeves held a pistol, but kept it by his side. He shiftily looked at me as if I were a rabid beast who’d suddenly attack him. An understandable reaction to an Adumbrae.

“Uh, what happened to you?” I asked, not bothering to correct him that ‘Clarice’ was just a fake name. “I mean, besides the obvious.” I jabbed my thumb back at the pickup truck with a wrecked door. “You look like you’ve had an awful week.”

“A lot… A lot happened. Thanks for savin’ our asses. For the record, we weren’t gonna say nothin’ to them. I swear.”

“I appreciate it and all, but you should’ve just gone with them. Just say anything instead of, you know, dying. You don’t know much about me anyway.”

I got irked that it was somehow my fault that Teflon and his friends were attacked. Well, a lot of things were my fault. I just didn’t want to know about it. This situation, specifically, wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask them to offer their lives for me.

Appreciated it, though. But I was still annoyed.

“It’s not just that. I’m not workin’ with those PCM freaks.” Tattoo Sleeves looked over his shoulder. “We got someone injured back there. Need to get him some help. We can talk along the way, yeah?”

“Uh, sure. I just wanted to ask where I can find Overdrive.”

“Overdrive moved out of his place.” Teflon motioned at the people inside the bar to come out. “I know the way, but we have some problems travelin’ with our cars wrecked. Gettin’ to the hospital, too.”

“There’s the pickup,” I said. “I just destroyed the door. It’ll probably drive fine.”

(Author's Notes: This scene was supposed to be just a regular gang fight that Erind will break up. And I already had a rough plan for Overdrive's storyline. But at the last minute, I thought of mixing in the PCM here. For those who haven't read the Prior Cycle, the PCM was an important part of Arc 4, probably the Arc that really pushed the popularity of REND. I thought of developing the PCM early now, entwining them with the plot of Book 2. I'm really going to need a corkboard for this, lol. As always, thank you for your support! I can't believe it's October soon. Time flies by quickly when I'm focused on writing.)