"I really hate this idea, Fran," the young Asian woman said.
Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She clutched at a camera around her neck, pressing it against the dull blue tube top she wore. Her dark blue jacket with red and white vertical stripes up the sleeves and shoulders covered her arms, at least, but the warmth in the city justified her warm weather outfit. Denim, cutoff short shorts, held on by an off-white, stretchy belt, dark green shoes and white, knee high socks finished off her outfit.
The young woman she'd called Fran, taller than her, with dark skin, sharp brown eyes, and shoulder length black hair, was dressed in a similar fashion. A tight, black t-shirt, baring her toned, muscular midriff, with words written in white letter that read 'Forever or never...' covered her torso. A short, black jacket just hung loosely off her shoulders, the sleeves not quite reaching her wrists, where she wore fingerless, black gloves on her hands.Tight, dark blue capri pants adorned her powerful legs and she wore light, white running shoes on her feet.
The pair searched around a dark alleyway as day turned to night, scoping out the abandoned building that once housed a restaurant. Fran simply smiled.
"No more news and we'll all be feeling the blues," she said. "And call me Bullfrog when we're working, Raptor."
Raptor, known as Nguyen Tran Bian otherwise, shook her head. "Listen, I'm all for finding that reporter, Intrepid her name is? The one who looks like Amberjack?"
"That's the one," Fran said.
"Well, anyway, I'm all for finding her. But don't you think we should have brought in a bit more in the way of backup?"
Fran scoffed. "You don't think we can take on any trouble? Do you know who you're talking to?"
"Just better to move in groups is all... hey, check this out," Raptor was distracted as they passed the side door to the old building. She snapped a photo. "I'd say this is where she was grabbed. There's a little notepad here."
Fran walked to the door and stooped to pick it up and started thumbing through it.
"Hey, don't disturb the crime scene! We have to preserve it!" Raptor said, indignant.
"Nothing at all needs to last when we have images of the past," she said with a smirk.
"Oh quit it with the rhyming already!"
Fran chuckled. "All I was saying is we don't have to when we have you and your little camera, right?"
"I guess so... so what's it say?"
"Lots of weird symbols in here, something written in some kind of nonsense language... what's F... Fit... gu han...? Kit... hulu? What are these crazy words?"
"Nevermind that. What about the weird steroid dealing cult that works out of here? We know they're the ones who took her."
"That cult of red-haired women, yes... she mentions it here. The Cult of Flame, they call themselves."
"Ominous...." Raptor said.
"Also some notes about this Kit hulu thing, wondering if they're connected to it," Fran said.
"Forget the weird rambling about streaming services! We have to get in there and get Angel Intrepid out of there!"
Fran smirked again and cracked her knuckles. "Let's get going then."
She pried open the door and didn't hear Raptor respond. Fran stopped partway, her back to where Raptor was, and held it open. "Hey, Raptor... you coming?"
She turned around and noticed... Raptor wasn't there.
"Raptor? Where-mmmpphh!!"
Fran started battling back as a hand clamped tight over her mouth but whoever had a hold on her was strong, even for a trained boxer like her, and dragged her inside the building. The door slammed shut and the darkening alleyway went silent once more.
...
The car practically screamed in anger as it rounded the final corner. There was nothing but asphalt between it and the finish line and its driver found herself well ahead of the pack.
Allison Driver was a rookie in the well established Formula Grand Prix (FGP) circuit and found herself making some real noise just past the halfway point of the season, right along with fellow rookie and the only other woman in the circuit, Kiana James.
Her racing Corvette, built specifically for her, is an upgraded, state of the art black racing Corvette, with the number '9' adorning the sides and roof. It was based on the C5-R racing machine, her first race car, and given its model name D4-RS, prompted Allison to give it the nickname 'Doris.'
The car tore up the remaining asphalt and crossed the finish line as the checkered flag waved, securing her victory a fill four seconds ahead of second place. It was her third straight pole position victory, this one by far the most dominant.
After the cheers, and some jeers, of her victory subsided, her crew pounded her helmet in pure elation as she stepped out and celebrated the victory from the pit, and she stood atop the podium for the third straight race, she followed her crew out of the track and helped them check the car over to be packed up and readied for transport.
She gets down to work and helps them out, checking over the brakes and wheel bearings, managing to get grease on her hands as she pockets her black driving gloves.
Allison, a woman of dark hair cut to the base of her neck, pale grey eyes, caramel skin, tall, thin but athletic build, dresses in intimidating reds and blacks to drive her car. Her black jacket has red striping accents and her tight, red pants have similar black striping accents to go along with her black shoes and red laces. Her helmet, too, is black though for now it's stored away.
Someone calls her name and she stands up, one of the pit crew playfully throwing a rag at her face, hitting her, and getting a wide smile from both of them.
Her crew chief, a kindly middle aged man named Charles Holtby, who goes by Charlie or, with Allison, Chuck, smiled at her as she approached, wiping the grease from her hands.She reached out to shake his hand but he refused and they both chuckled.
"Not getting me with that one again, Allison," he said, smiling. "Hell of a race today. Unbeliveable stuff."
"Thanks, Chuck," Allison said. "I think it was those early tire changes that did it."
"New tires, too. Better grip. Worked wonders out there," Chuck said. "Course, tires can only take you so far. The rest is up to the driver."
"Nah, you made a good call. You saw me slipping."
"I'm just glad you listened. Too many don't. Takes a good head and, hey, you know that car. Eats up tires like a cop scarfs donuts."
"True enough. I'm happy you made the call when you did, though. I was going to push it. Likely would have crashed."
"A driver like you? No way. I think you would have just won by two seconds instead of four," he laughed.
"Ah, quit embarrassing me, Chuck..." Allison said, rubbing the back of her neck.
"I mean it. We've never seen a rookie like you. I'm telling you, you're going to be one of the greats. Did you know you're in second place on points after this one? Second! You've got a Cup shot for real. No rookie has ever done that!"
"We'll see, I guess..." Allison said, trying not to think about that possibility.
"I mean it. You're already making yourself out to be a legend. And to think you're only going to get better... it's a scary good thought!"
Allison felt a buzzing in her back pocket, her backup phone almost no one knew about, and tried to ignore it for the time being.
"All right, Chuck, I should go."
"Places to be, Ms. Rockstar?"
Allison chuckled. "Something like that. You guys look after Doris for me."
"Always do," Chuck said. "We'll have her shining for you for the race in your town. Gotta impress those folks, let 'em know how far you've come."
"Thanks, Chuck. See you."
"Take care, Allison."
She walked well out of sight of the crew, still wiping her hands until they were at least somewhat clear of grease, and rounded a corner. She made sure she was alone and checked her phone. Ordinarily, this was the phone for her 'other' job. And she could usually tell who it was that was calling her. Her detective friend, back home, Danielle Tripp. But this time, it was an unknown number...
Allison chose to answer, knowing the number wasn't exactly widely known, and held it up to her ear. She didn't speak.
"This is the Falcon, yes?" It was a woman's voice. One that, somewhere, Allison thought she knew.
"Falcon? Who's asking?"
The voice was smiling when she answered. "The name Trouble ring any bells?"
"That spy merc.... what do you want?"
"Ah, so you've heard of me. Wonderful."
"What do you want?" Allison repeated, slower, more irritated.
"Something's come up. Something too big for me. And it's important. I was hoping to tip you off, maybe point you in the right direction and-"
"I don't do partners," Allison answered.
"I'm well aware. But don't think you can stop me from doing this. It's... it's too important to me. But I need you to track someone down for me. Several someones, actually. But one in particular."
Allison scoffed. "Call that PI then. Zoe Ranger or whatever."
"First of all, her name is Chloe Danger and she is highly skilled at her work," Trouble said. Allison smirked.
Fair enough she thought.
"And second of all," Trouble continued. "I can't. She's one of the people who's missing. She usually is able to call me in and she did but, this time, her signal was cut off before I could track it. I have no idea where she is."
"That is a problem... what was she doing?" Allison asked.
"She got info on this reporter, Angel... Intrepid, I think her name is."
Allison shook her head. They sure do have a lot of on-the-nose names back home she thought to herself.
"This reporter girl, she was looking into this cult activity and went missing. Then these other two girls, more PI types I think, followed up and tried to find the reporter. From some 'Inner Circle' somewhere. They went missing, too. That's when Chloe got the call and looked into this cult and went missing right after that..."
"Cult?" Allison asked, her voice suddenly turning very serious.
"I don't know much about it. They keep themselves very under the radar, even for someone like me. Only thing I heard about them, from the reporter's old notes, is something about a red-haired woman..."
"The Cult of Flame..." Allison said, without even thinking.
"How do you know that?" Trouble asked.
"Long story, not important. But I do know where to look."
"And where's that?"
Allison sighed. "Restaurant. Old downtown area. Long closed up. No sign our front. Right on the corner. Go there. And don't get in my way."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Is that where they're holding her?"
"Could be. Can't say for sure. Just go there and don't go in alone. They're tougher than you think."
"But you'll be going in-"
"Don't argue with me and just stay outside," Allison said. "I'm on my way."
She hung up the phone and ran off to her car. "Never again..." she said to herself, gritting her teeth.
...
Raptor could hear muffled voices as she awoke. She didn't know where they were coming from but they sounded close. Right nearby, in fact. And she counted... three of them? Where was she? And why did it feel like her whole body was being pressed in and tightly held by something?
Coming out of her daze, one of the muffled voices called out. "Rmmptmm!!" That sounded like...
"Frmm?" Wait... why was her own voice muffled?
She tugged on her arms to try and stop her head from swimming... but they seemed to be stuck behind her back. And why was she laying on her stomach?
Raptor figured it out fast, her eyes opening slowly, and she realized then what had happened. She was tied up. Strong rope hold her wrists together, behind her, and yet more wrapped up just above her elbows, holding her arms at the biceps.
More of the rope wrapped her torso, pinning her arms to her back, and another wrapped her waist to keep her tied wrists in place. Further rope tied her ankles together, and even more above and below the knees. Further still, her ankles were pulled back, toward her wrists, and connected with a tight rope to the rope around her upper back to hold her in a tight hogtie position. A tight, white cloth covered her mouth and nose, holding in another cloth, and duct tape wrapped over her mouth, beneath her ponytail rather thoughtfully, and trapping the tight cloth in place.
"Mmmpphh!" she grumbled, beginning to struggle and fight her bonds. But she looked to her left and noticed Fran there, hogtied even tighter than Raptor, the connecting rope forcing her back to arch slightly and she could touch the soles of her shoes with her fingers. She was gagged identically to Raptor.
"Mmmm mmmppphh! Frmmm!!" Raptor said, struggling hard, trying to reach her friend. Fran, for her part, struggled furiously, growling into her gag, cursing at the tight ropes, and not letting a second pass without battling the restraints. Unfortunately for her, she made no progress.
Behind them, they could hear two more voices. Raptor and Fran both turned to look and their were two more young women tied to chairs, sitting side by side.
The first had wavy brown hair, tied back, soft blue eyes, and a slightly brown complexion. Both Inner Circle members noted the striking resemblance she had to one of their own, also named Angel, who they had called Amberjack. They safely assumed she was Angel Intrepid, the missing reporter.
She was still wearing dark running shoes, tight black leggings, a blue, cutoff tanktop baring her midriff and a green camo jacket. Of course, now covering over that outfit, was a hefty quantity of rope.
Her arms were tightly trapped to her sides by a tight, long coil wrapping her elbows to her waist, holding her crossed and bound wrists behind her back. Another tight coil wrapped above her chest, while more ropes wrapped around her upper body and waist to hold her to the back of the chair. More rope lashed her lap down, and also wrapped up her legs at the thighs, calves, and ankles. A final cord of rope was looped between her ankles, pulled back, and tied off to a rung underneath it so only her toes were touching the floor. Her gag was the same mouth stuffing, cloth over mouth and nose, and tape wrap as the two on the floor.
The captive beside her, well, she was no stranger to these situations. And they recognized her immediately, tied and gagged the exact same way as Angel Intrepid.
Though she was still a rookie, really, having only really just established herself around town, there was no mistaking the Damsel PI. So named because she was more often caught than not, left in these exact type of situations and yet still able to solve the case. Her name: Chloe Danger.
Her trademark brown hair, in a distinct ponytail, striking brown eyes, pale complexion, and determined expression made her unmistakable. Chloe dressed as she usually does; blue, collared blouse with long sleeves, slightly short and baring a bit of her midriff, short, pleated skirt, green and checkered, black leggings, and purple running shoes. It was an iconic look for a famous fellow snoop.
So here they all were. Four captive snoops or, as some might decide to call them, girl detectives, all captured, tightly bound, gagged, and struggling to escape. Worse still, no one had any idea where they were. They were just left in an empty, old storeroom near the back of the abandoned restaurant.
That was, until, the door opened, and the four captives all hurled muffled protests at the lone figure who walked in. They could see her face, clearly. She was pale, had red hair, dressed in a dark robe, and striking green eyes. But then, they all looked like that.
"The sacrifices awaken," she said, no emotion in her voice.'
"Fmmph ymm!! Lmm mmphh gmm!!" Fran snarled, thrashing around in her hogtie. She glared at their captor, struggling harder when she realized how much smaller this pretty redhead cultist was then her. Fran realized, one on one, she could have easily overpowered this girl. Now she was kicking herself for letting her guard down... and struggling all the harder, wanting nothing more than to plant her fists into someone!
"Soon the Flame Beast shall have its tribute. And it shall rise again to scorch the Earth, as it has always done."
"Hmmpphh!?" Angel let out a squeal of surprise and tried struggling her way out of her tight ropes but they held. She realized something then, as well. This cult... she had been barking up the wrong tree. They weren't what she was looking for. She was scolding herself for getting caught up in a wild goose chase. How foolish she was, dealing with such a trifling matter as some 'Flame Beast.' This thing was clearly nothing compared to... she dared not think of the lurking horrors her usual fare left in her waking and sleeping mind.
Chloe Danger, meanwhile, gave muted struggles and glared at their captor, trying to get a read on the situation. Cult? Flame Beast? Obviously this was all insane. There was no way they were doing anything like that for real... right?
That left Raptor, sweating and panting from her own tough struggling, now just staring up at the flame-haired cultist. Now she understood part of why they were called the 'Cult of Flame.'
"The ritual shall begin soon. You will have the honour of being the sacrifice to the Flame Beast, to herald its great return. Your interference has deemed you all... worthy. Take heart, prisoners. You are the life force that will restore the Flame Beast. There is no greater honour than that..."
With that, their captor left and the four them began to struggle harder, still unable to break free. All of them quickly began to realize... this situation was looking dire for them.
...
A dark cape fluttered in the night breeze on the rooftop across the street. A red visor scanned the ground from above, checking the thermal readings of the building within. It was just as she suspected.
Her suit was all black, reinforced at the abdomen, the biceps, and the thighs. Dark metallic armour plates covered her upper thighs and wrists. Fingerless, black gloves covered her hands and the tight, black suit covered her well toned body from head to toe. She wore knee high boots, with a sort of sharp 'T' shape of stripes on them, coloured grey. A belt covered in pouches rested around her waist, matching the stylized, dark grey falcon adorning her chest.
With her long, synthetic cape draped down her back, a black cowl with red goggles in a sort of visor shielding her eyes, and bright, pale purple hair flowing down to her shoulders, she looked her part.
A short staff sat tucked under her cape, sheathed at her back, which could be extended at a press of a button and electrified for a short time.
She switched off the thermal vision of her visor and made a mental note.
Four captives, ten cultists. Have to do this carefully.
With a flick of her wrists, her gloves pulsed with electrical energy and she took hold of her cape. The thing went stiff and acted as a hang glider as she jumped from the rooftop to the lower one across the street, landing on top of the old restaurant. With another flick of her wrists, the cape became nprmal fabric again and she reached to her belt where her strange gun device sat holstered. It functioned as a combination grapple and cutting tool, able to be used interchangeably.
She cut open the roof hatch and jumped down to the upper floor. It was almost certain the cultists would have heard her. In two swift movements she grabbed the staff from her back and gently rolled a smoke bomb toward the only staircase from her belt.
It went off and shrouded her arrival as several cultists charged up the stairs toward the sudden noise. She used the smoke to disappear into the old manager's office, ducking down in the doorway. Her thermal vision came back on and, at the press of a button, her metal, grey staff grew to twice the length.
The cultists didn't even know what hit them. The first went down with a solid shot to the head and a quick zap to her neck, taking her to the floor. Three others had come with her and noticed she was missing. They just noticed the figure in the smoke dragging her off.
"There!" one shouted, charging forward into the smoke... but then everything went black. She fell flat on her back as the staff laid her full out and knocked her out cold on the floor, connecting with her forehead.
The other two quickly followed and the smoke was blown aside by the dark blur that rushed out at them, one with legs swept out from under her, and a swift punch taking her out completely. The other stumbled backward, finally getting a good look at their attacker.
"Dark Falcon!" she said.
That was all she managed to say as Dark Falcon took her down with another lightning fast leg sweep, knocking the cultist out with her staff before she even hit the floor.
By then, the rest of the cultists were riled and Dark Falcon knew there was no more hiding. So she rushed down the stairs, leaping at the halfway point, launching herself forward with her staff planted on the floor. Both feet hit the chest of a cultist, sending her tumbling backward and crashing into the others.
In the tangled mess, two more fell to the attacks, taken out cold as the others. The remaining cultists surrounded her, jagged, sacrificial daggers at the ready. Dark Falcon twirled her staff, and held her ground, as they all came at her.
None of them could keep up. The staff found targets again and again, first knocking one dagger to the floor, then catching one cultist square in the jaw, laying her low. Another caught a stomach, with a jolt of electricity, forcing her to double over and open her hands, dropping the dagger.
Another hit found the side of a neck, and another jolt of electricity, to take down another. It continued like this until all of the cultists lay on the floor, unconscious or unwilling to move and risk the wrath of the wrathful shadow looming over them.
Dark Falcon walked to the kitchen where the four captives remained, still bound and gagged, all shooting her confused stares as they stepped inside. She stooped low and removed the gag of Angel Intrepid first.
"Ugh... thanks," she said.
"The cult..." Dark Falcon said. Her voice was distorted, behind some kind of synthesizer built into the neck piece of her armoured suit. It was still a woman's voice, distinctly, but she almost sounded mechanical. "What do you know?"
"Would you mind untying us first? Then I might be able to help you..."
Dark Falcon said nothing and squeezed her left hand. Several blades unfolded from her metal armour around the wrists, and she sliced through the ropes quickly. She moved to Chloe Danger next, taking her gag off.
"You're that new vigilante in town... right?"
Dark Falcon said nothing.
"It's okay, you do good work. I've worked with vigilante types before. We've got no problem, you and me."
Dark Falcon sliced through the ropes binding her, still silent, before finally nodding. "Your girlfriend is waiting for you outside..."
"Oh um... thanks," Chloe said.
Finally, Dark Falcon cut the ropes binding the pair on the floor, Fran and Raptor, helping them to their feet.
"Thanks a lot," Raptor said.
"Yeah, thanks..." Fran said. "Though I wish you'd have untied us before you stole all the action..." She punched her open hand. "I wanted to bust some heads out there..."
"Safer in here," Dark Falcon said. And without another word, turned expectantly to Angel.
"They're not who I was looking for," she sighed. "But they did leave these behind at one of their old headquarters."
Angel fished around in her pockets for the things she had kept hidden from the cult. One was an ID badge, normally on a lanyard, from Starr Security, a large security firm in the city. The name on the front read 'Angela Rush.'
For a moment, Angel thought she saw shock enter Dark Falcon's eyes, but she couldn't be sure.
The second thing was a small item about the size of a tarot card. It was decorated with art depicting golden gears with a holographic pocket watch in the centre, which appeared to tick as the holographic image was moved around. On the back, it simply read, in bright black and gold letters 'The Clockmaker.'
"What are these?" Dark Falcon asked.
"My guess... someone behind the cult. One of the cultists had these on her."
"One of the redheads?" Dark Falcon asked.
"Yes."
"Then she's not here..." Dark Falcon said, trailing off.
"Who's not here?"
She held onto the two items and turned away from Angel.
"It doesn't matter. You're safe. Cops are on their way. Detective Tripp will round them up."
"Great, another excuse for Danielle to make fun of me..." Chloe said.
"So I'm guessing you're out of here then?" Raptor asked.
Dark Falcon remained silent and they could hear the distant sound of sirens outside.The four former captives turned around at the sound, once they heard it. But the second they turned back... Dark Falcon was gone.
...
With the situation in hand, Dark Falcon had retreated to a rooftop to make sure the police arrived and got the four women out safely. As she watched them drag the cultists out in chains, her mind returned to the two things Angel had handed her.
She read the name, over and over, and shook her head. It didn't make sense... and yet it did. It made perfect sense with everything that had happened... back then.
The other item, the tarot card, was even more concerning. And the fact it was together with the ID badge meant they had to be connected... and Dark Falcon, no, Allison knew it. This was a message. Meant for her. She let out a soft breath and stared at the 'Clockmaker' card once more.
"Angela... what have you done?"