Someone from the Butchers knew how to ride a motorcycle, not just knew how, but was a real motorcycle fanatic, and these skills came in handy now. I lean into a sharp turn, laying the black Kawasaki on its side and cutting off another faceless white sedan. I'm wearing a set of light "Ronin" assault armor and right now I look very dangerous and very stylish. After all, this is just a show, as Lisa said. Forming an image for a new group of capes under the provocative name "Administration" - that's the most important task in her view. First impressions can only be made once - that's what she says. To my reasonable objections that "Administration" had already sufficiently presented itself by clearing the former ABB territories of underground brothels and stopping the trafficking of sexual slavery, as well as drugs - she only snorted.
"For the residents of those districts - yes," she said, folding her arms across her chest: "but what matters is not what people in the Docks and Boardwalk think. For the overwhelming majority of people across the country, you're still Number Fifteen. And this is your debut as Administrator. First impressions are the most important. You need to make an impression..." and she got back on her favorite hobby horse, giving me a lecture about what exactly I should do and why.
I twist the throttle, gaining speed on a straight stretch of road, I remember everything we talked about. Whether I can do all this is another question. I need to make an effort, after all I'm not here just to "chew gum and kick ass," especially since I don't even have gum. Hmm.
On parallel courses through other city streets drive inconspicuous dark vans carrying professionals, operators of at least fifth tier, former experts from special forces ranks, Delta Force, Navy SEALs, Special Air Service, of course the Special Operations Squad in the Parahuman Response Team, there's even Dmitry from the parahuman elimination unit of COMCON. And I know what they're doing right now, at this very second, because the inconspicuous vans with fifth-tier operators are constantly within range of my abilities, I know what each of them is doing, know where they are, what their pulse is now, and most importantly - I feel my real squad. My personal unit. Almost three hundred thousand "Medici," ten thousand "Stinger" Ultra modification, as well as a couple hundred especially large and hardy Japanese hornets, each carrying a miniature "device" under serial numbers from five to twenty-five. Bakuda's bombs. The insects are distributed evenly among the vans, special compartments that they can open themselves are equipped in the roofs of the inconspicuous vans. Can't put all eggs in one basket, of course Tattletale is also on my side, but he honestly warned that sometimes it happens that shit goes down and no matter what he does - he can't change anything anymore. That's why I don't have one van that would transport my insects. And that's why my assault troops are riding with me. They won't participate in battle, at least that's the plan. But as Tattletale says, when battle begins, all plans go to hell. And this slippery guy is an obvious pro at survival, and a dozen years in PRT special forces behind him is impressive. So I decided not to improvise, but to listen to smart people. Tattletale and Lisa.
My task is simple - meet Hookwolf and kick his ass, since I'm out of gum. But... this is apparent ease. No, I don't expect defeat or even any significant resistance from this Empire representative. But the operation must go cleanly, that's one. And secondary objectives must be fulfilled, that's two.
Clean means fast, precise and without civilian casualties. In turn, this meant you can't attack him just anywhere. Hookwolf had something like his own club where dog fights took place, no-rules fights, cockfights and all that sort of thing, something like a Colosseum. They say in China there's such entertainment when they pit crickets against each other... there's a career prospect, I could be a fighting cricket trainer.
However, starting a battle in his Colosseum is a bad idea. Too many people around, too few exits. The requirements for a duel demand finding a deserted place, preferably away from busy streets, but so as to give "completely accidentally" nearby Leet and Uber the opportunity to film everything from several angles. I need open space. The professionals among the operators aren't just soldiers, many of them conducted covert operations too. So Hookwolf's daily routine was established quite quickly. One of them even joked that Hookwolf is an ideal surveillance target - does everything like clockwork, has his habits and doesn't intend to deviate from them. And that's good. Knowing this I can catch him at the entrance. Because the entrance to Hookwolf's Colosseum is located on something like a wasteland. Dubious characters always hang around this place, lots of bikers, so I won't attract much attention... at first. On the other hand, the wasteland has many exits, open space, so people can run away when the mess starts. Plus there are many buildings around, from whose roofs my operators can work with large-caliber sniper rifles... not that I need it, but Tattletale and Lisa insisted.
"Psst!" crackles the radio built into the armored mask of the "Ronin" combat helmet: "target marker just appeared at the club."
"Copy that," I respond. Hookwolf comes to his club around six-seven in the evening. Almost every day. If I attack the club, there will be many casualties. But if I lure him outside... how to do this? Very simple - play on his vanity and confidence in his strength. Lisa says he'll definitely take the bait. I hope she calculated him correctly, wouldn't want to search for him all over the club later, the operators planted a tracker on him, but it's not my little bug, it's an electronic device, so where he'll be in the club - I won't know. I'll only know approximate location... although in any such premises there are tons of insects, finding him is a matter of five minutes. However, then Leet and Uber won't get their "Epic Shots." Really... definitely some kind of show. If not for this, I would have just strangled him in his sleep... that's not difficult. But no, I'll have to dance to music written by Lisa. I wonder who's running errands for whom here? She calls me a tyrant, but she herself... cunning fox... I saw a fox tail in the sex shop, it would definitely suit her. Need to buy it.
I slow down and turn the corner. And here's the wasteland. In front of the Colosseum entrance young people in leather jackets with shaved heads mill about, a bit to the left - bikers, also all in leather and with tattoos, bright girls in short shorts and skirts hang out with them, with brightly dyed hair, loud music sounds from portable speakers, bursts of laughter and strong language. I drive up to the motorcycles, pull in the clutch and shift to neutral, put the motorcycle on the kickstand and turn off the engine. The entire wasteland and all the buildings around are within range of my power. I feel how the inconspicuous vans stop on neighboring streets, how operators grab containers with insects, how they hurriedly stomp in heavy army boots up the stairs to open containers there, on the roofs, and lie down nearby, taking control of the wasteland. Of course, I could just move my Swarm through the air, or open containers right from the vans, but such a quantity of insects in one place would inevitably attract attention. No, I need to create confusion about my abilities, let them guess, maybe I can summon insects... or just create them on the spot from "thin air." The crowd doesn't need to know what exactly the magician does, and in some cases it's even harmful. Besides, if Hookwolf knows that Administrator herself is heading to his club - he might call for backup. Fighting all Empire capes... I can. However, there definitely won't be no civilian casualties, and I'll finally establish myself before the PRT as Queen Escalation. So... everything is going according to plan so far. On the roofs of neighboring buildings operators plop into the dust, setting up sights and shouldering their rifles, taking control of the surroundings, containers open and my "Medici" and "Stingers" finally stretch their wings and legs, but don't soar into the air, just distribute themselves on the roofs for now, not taking off, not attracting attention.
"Hey! What kind of wonder are you?" calls out to me a huge bearded biker in a leather vest over a black T-shirt. On the T-shirt are two eights. Arms covered in tattoos. The theme of tattoos is clear - skulls and swastikas, flames and naked girls. Never understood people who tattoo naked women on their bodies. Though... the rest is also tasteless. I wonder, would Lisa like it if I tattoo her name on my arm, or will she mock me again?
"Hey, what's wrong with you? Gone deaf or something?" the biker raises his voice: "can you hear? This place is for 'Steel Heads,' get out of here. You can park your junk around the corner, only our people park here, clear?"
"What are you yelling about?" one of the girls turns to us and gives me an appraising look from head to toe: "can't you see, the girl got lost. Go home, sweetie."
"So it's a girl?" the biker frowns: "you'd better get out of here while you can, before the Skinheads notice you. It'll be too late later."
"Sorry, but I have a meeting here," I say: "and thanks for the warning." I swing my leg over, getting off the motorcycle: "I would recommend you proceed to the nearest safe place."
"What?! I..." the biker was about to get angry, but at this moment he's interrupted by a young man in a leather jacket with a shaved head who joined us.
"What kind of chick is this?" he says and without waiting for an answer turns to me: "take off the helmet, show your face. If you're one of the normal ones, you can pass. Maybe I'll even let you suck me off. If you're one of those slant-eyes or some black chick... you can also pass. Just once." He stretches his thin lips to the side, showing yellow teeth.
"Unfortunately I'm forced to decline," I say. This is all Lisa, she said that as Administrator I need to speak very formally. Maintain formal politeness, behave emphatically correctly. Because the word "Administrator" should be associated with exactly this type of behavior, "reception girl." This will look especially good in contrast, she said, imagine, you're like - "Please cease resistance, otherwise I will be forced to apply force." Cold-blooded, not succumbing to provocations or emotions, such an extreme opposite of Butcher, his direct antithesis. And your rule of "second chance" or two warnings - also make it absolute. Then people will stop being afraid of you, you'll be able to take the narrative of this whole Butcher's story under your control, bury it and put a cross on the grave... and build a new legend. Administrator.
"Hey, didn't you understand?" the pushy guy in the leather jacket reaches for my helmet. I catch his arm under the elbow, a light push and short jerk to the side, and he's already grabbing his wrist and sitting on the ground, cursing in a strained voice.
"Attempted assault on an Administration representative is unacceptable. You may consider this the first warning," I say dryly, trying to stay in character as Administrator, a dry bitch in glasses and blue stockings.
"Guys! They broke my arm!" he hisses through pain: "this bitch! She's a cape!" The loud music continues to "give the beat," but everyone turns to us, and I see in these people's hands not only knives and baseball bats, but also firearms.
"Attempted assault on an Administration representative is unacceptable," I say: "if you do not cease hostile actions, I will be forced to apply direct impact methods."
"Listen you! Put your hands up!" one of them raises his hand with a pistol and through special lenses I immediately see a green dot of laser sight bloom on his forehead. Operators on the roofs of neighboring buildings are keeping the situation under control... but here I can handle it myself. Everyone is briefed, and no one will open fire without command.
"I assess your actions as a threat. I assess the threat as direct and real. Forced to..." I spring into action! Strike, jab, turn, sweep, pull toward myself, turn... I straighten up and look around. Behind me on the ground lie writhing all who tried to point weapons at me. I pick up the pistol that remained in my hand, press the button, ejecting the magazine, work the bolt, disconnect it, disassemble it with three quick movements and scatter the parts around.
"Forced to apply direct impact methods," I finish the phrase: "I ask everyone to abandon further intentions of using violence. I recommend evacuating to a safe place."
Out of the corner of my eye I see several people filming everything on phones. I also see some hastily calling someone. Excellent. This was exactly the plan - to lure Hookwolf outside, to the wasteland. And not overdo it with the demonstration of force, but just put a little pressure on his people outside, so he comes out to deal with it himself. Although there's a possibility that first the security of this wonderful establishment will come out to deal with me. Again, nothing terrible, I'll beat up the security. The main thing is not to overdo it, so he doesn't start calling for backup. Although from his psychological profile it follows that he's unlikely to do so. Hookwolf considers himself strong enough, in his combat form he's almost invulnerable, how can some collection of blades, hooks and chains be vulnerable at all? Even if you shoot him with a cannon, no use. Besides, Hookwolf has never lost a cape fight in the past, and he's also very aggressive, testosterone practically flowing from his ears.
"Psst. Target moved to the exit," the radio warns me. One of those lying down tries to get another, spare gun and I break his arm. Second warning.
"What's this mess?" a voice sounds. My insects have long tracked that the club door opened, but I turn my head anyway. Hookwolf. But who's that next to him? Tall and thin, pale skin, undressed to the waist... Alabaster. Well damn... okay, I'll have to improvise. What do I know about Alabaster and his abilities? Regeneration... no, more like just constant restoration...
"I am an Administration representative. I'm forced to ask you to cease attempts at aggressive capture of former ABB and Grue territories. Your actions regarding the residents of this city are unacceptable. The Docks and downtown districts are under my protection," I say: "I strongly ask you to cease actions to capture territories of influence. I remind you that such actions may entail undesirable consequences."
"What?! What, did you eat some crazy berries, bitch?" Hookwolf drawls mockingly: "who the hell are you..."
"I assess this as refusal," I say monotonously: "In that case I will be forced to arrest you as a member of local militia squad for maintaining law and order on the territory of the city district. Please do not resist. I will deliver you to the PRT. You have the right to remain silent, and also have the right to a lawyer. I don't recommend using the public defender."
"This is Administrator," Alabaster says: "we need to call backup."
"Quiet!" Hookwolf cuts him off: "this is her? Well, well, came herself. Good, I won't kill her... since there's Butcher. But I'll make her regret being alive..."
"Among Butcher's abilities is teleportation. You won't hold her," Alabaster says.
"Bullshit," Hookwolf waves him off: "her teleportation is only within line of sight. Gouge out her eyes and that's it. I'll tie her up and rent her out to the guys, since I can't kill her. Hey, chick, counter-offer, take off your clothes and bend over. Then the first time will be with lube."
"I assess your words as a direct and immediate threat," I respond: "I assess the threat as real. I will be forced to apply direct impact measures."