Page 39 of Remnants: Disruption
“Was,” the Angel corrects. “You, Umbral, Harlot and Tyrant are here because clearly someone’s out killing high ranking Remnants and we need to know who and why. First Fyre, now Titan. Of course neither were members of the Guild of Defenders, but we can’t have someone that powerful crusading around without cause.”
“Without cause?” I ask incredulously. “Titan was a psychopath. The guy thought he was the manifestation of an ancient god for Christ’s sake.”
“And the Guild has rules about when those Remnants are brought to justice,” the Angel grits out. “DAEMON guidelines dictate that—”
“Oh, fuck off with the guidelines,” I groan, standing. “I killed Titan. I killed the other four, too. Hell, I even told Triggerman to leave it alone, but he didn’t.”
The room falls back into the exceptionally tense silence.
“You killed Titan?” the Angel asks, his voice somewhat hollow. Previous bravado now replaced with trepidation. “How?”
I stand still, staring back at him. None of the Remnants in this room know each other’s identities. Even amongst monsters, no one here is really a friend.
“Easily,” I say, then manifest the shadow around me. “You can tell Damien Roberts that if he has an issue with my form of justice, he’ll have to take it up with me himself.”
I give Harlot a small wave before disappearing back into the shadows.
New Chicago’s overcast sky makes traversing through shadows incredibly easy. But these very same shadows hold relentless whispers. They hold the damned. And even standing here on the rooftop of one of the largest skyscrapers in the city, I can see them. They’re like this perverse mind game where if you stare long enough, you can see their faces. But if you give the shade a quick glance, you might be convinced the window just had a face-shaped smudge on it.
Like pareidolia on steroids.
But it’s never just a face-shaped smudge. It’s never just a mind game.
They’re there. And God, are they louder than ever.
“You sure do like to make an entrance,” a feminine voice cuts through the quiet morning.
I turn to see Harlot making her way across the rooftop. Her sheer dress shows the dark patterning of her bra and underwear. Her auburn hair hangs loose down her shoulders and her heavily lidded brown eyes watch me imperiously. She quirks an eyebrow as she approaches.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, rather than acknowledging her jab.
“This isn’t my real skin,” she shrugs.
“That’s such a disconcerting thing to say, you know,” I snort, looking down into the city. Out of my periphery, I can see her watching me.
She grins, but the smile fades into something that I might believe is “softness” if I didn’t know any better.
“Are you seeing anyone?” she asks suddenly, her eyes still staring into the side of my head.
I finally turn to her and realize she can’t see the incredulous look on my face.
“You don’t know my name, the full extent of my powers, what I look like, or what my gender even is.”
“The same goes for me,” she says with a crooked smile. “I just think that anyone who could kill Titan is probably hotter than the sun.”
This time I do laugh out loud. I laugh so hard that I have to rest my hands on my knees to wheeze out.
“Oh,” she snorts, too, “knock it off. Can’t blame me for wondering.”
After a few short seconds I straighten and let out another chuckle.
“I am not,” I say, looking down into her brown eyes. “And I appreciate the compliment. But I don’t know that you want anything to do with me.”
“Why’s that?” she asks, her full lips quirking again. “You have some dark secret?”
“Don’t we all?” I ask before pointing down into the shadows gathering near the entrance to the lower floors. “You see that shadow?”
She nods, following my finger.
