The thirty-story fall was a blur of steel, brick, and mortar before his boot thrusters fired, allowing him down to land without injury. Straightening, he glanced around. A homeless man lay on a pile of trash, staring in shock. Vigil gave the man a polite nod before walking out the alley and turning the corner. The area was filthy even for the Warrens, so poor and rundown that most predators avoided it simply because there was nothing worth taking. Most of the residents were homeless squatters, taking up residence in abandoned buildings. The people he was there to see were of a different sort. Refugees driven from the safety of their former home who found shelter where they could, finding safety in numbers and their faith.
He crossed an empty lot, nearly invisible in his black ensemble and hooded cape. A pair of boys stood by a recently repaired building, posted as lookouts for intruders.
They never saw him coming.
"Hello, Mat."
One of the boys yelped and ran off, entering the building and slamming the door behind him. The other froze, looking up at Vigil with wide eyes.
"It's you."
"I told you I'd come back."
Mat swallowed. "Everyone's talking about you. The news. People on the streets. No one ever sees you, though."
"You did."
"Yeah." Mat forced a shaky smile.
"I need to talk to your leaders, Mat."
"The elders?"
"Yes. Can you take me to them?"
Mat nodded.
Vigil was impressed by the building's interior. The Remnant had cleaned and painted, repaired drywall and fixed leaks in the ceiling, divided sections into neat and tidy rooms and gathering halls. The people inside were clean and orderly, appearing genuinely kind and supportive of each other. Most of the populace had retired to their rooms for the night, but a few still attended to their tasks, giving Vigil wary looks as he passed by with Mat leading the way.
A group of around a dozen men met them in the hallway, apprehension on their faces. They were all ordinary, with no differentiation from anyone else in the building. Their ages ranged from the late twenties to a man who appeared past ninety, wizened but healthy. He stepped forward.
"Please — release the boy and take us in his place. There's no need to punish anyone else here."
Vigil raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. "I'm not here to hurry anyone, least of all the boy."
Confusion flickered across the elder's face. "You're not a Cleric. I can see that now."
"I don't even know what that is. I just came to talk."
The men all exhaled sighs of relief. The older one nodded. "Talk. Very well. Do you want some tea?"
"No, thank you. I won't be here long."
A few minutes later, he sat with the elders in a storage area that had been refurbished as a conference room. The old man sipped tea from a tin mug, steam fogging his spectacles.
"It's not often that we entertain outsiders. Even less so those that come here geared and armed for combat."
"My apologies. It wasn't my intention to offend you."
The elders glanced at one another. The old man leaned forward, taking a long look at Vigil. "What exactly are your intentions? We know who you are, Vigil. If you're looking for criminals, we don't harbor any here."
"I'm not here for that. I just wanted to tell you that the Underbelly is safe now. I took care of the Beasts that were abducting children. You can return there if that's your intention."
The elders conferred among themselves in low voices. The oldest turned to Vigil again. "We are appreciative of your efforts, but we will not be returning to the Deep Hall. There are worse things besides the Beasts that hunt in the tunnels."
"What kinds of things?"
"Predators. Strangers that hide their evil behind civilized masks, smiles on their faces but ravens in their eyes. They dress in silk and satin but can only hold their unholy banquets underground. They wear the skin of men and women, but they are devils, bent on arcane acts and animalistic urges."
"I don't care who or what they are. If they're all that you say, I'll take care of them too."
"I'm curious, Vigil. What you expect to accomplish with this crusade of yours?"
Vigil folded his arms. "Rid the city of predators. Make sure that people like you and yours can go about their business without fear."
"Rid the city?" The elder shook his head. "You believe that you can eradicate wickedness through violence, but it is written that he who lives by the sword will die by the sword. Violence only begets more of the same."
"Maybe so, but what's the alternative — sit still and watch while innocent people suffer?"
"Wait for righteous judgment. Vengeance belongs to God, not imperfect humans."
"Seems like you've been waiting a long time. I think I'll take my chances."
"I know you will. And we can't tell you what to do. But I don't need to be a prophet to know that your noble actions will amount to futility and frustration in the end. Evil is a condition of the heart, an abandonment of spiritual values for bestial appetites and violence. What can your efforts do to change that?"
"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I won't know unless I try. And I made a promise a while back when I saw your people fleeing the violence in the Underbelly. I told myself that I'd do what I could to help. In the end, that's all any of us can do."
The old man nodded. "You have faith, Vigil. That can take you far if placed on the right hope. I pray that you find it. Because I fear that hope is a dying concept, especially in places like this, where reason and intellect are perverted by those who prefer to indulge in heinous acts. But I fear for you."
"No need. I'll be fine."
"Perhaps. But my fear is that in the end, your battle will change you for the worse. I fear the cost will be too great on your soul."
Vigil stood, giving them a respectful nod. "Thanks for your advice. I have to go."
"Of course." The elder smiled sadly. "You have work to do."
Chapter 4: Moneta
Ken Wu strode along the streets of Chinatown in Manhaven, mingling with the thick, sweat-beaded crowds. His long t-shirt was more of a tunic, his loose-fitting trousers secured at the bottoms by cloth wrappings. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, with a modified baseball bag secured through the straps. On his way to work as usual. Alert for any kind of threat as usual.
Shadowy flickers of movement from the nearby alley caught his eyes. Slowing his stride, he paused for a better look. Multiple silhouettes. They looked to be dragging someone deeper into the darkness. His jaw tightened.
Stay Vigilant.
Cutting through the crowd, he entered the alley and slipped a domino mask over the top portion of his face. The three men didn't see him, occupied with pinning a struggling young woman to the concrete. Drunken giggles and threats spilled from their lips. Drunk, even in the early hour. They reeked of cheap liquor and sour sweat.
Ken assumed a fighting stance and took a deep breath. "Let her go."
The men looked up, inebriated realization slowly dawning. "Get the hell out, shorty. Not your business."
"I'm making it my business. So walk, or get your wig split."
"Yeah?" The nearest one pulled a knife from his pocket, barely managing not to cut himself in the process. "The hell you think you is?"
Ken reached over his shoulder, extracted the baseball bat, and twisted the knob on the bottom. It emitted an electric whine as the barrel glowed with blue light. He grinned, feeling the adrenaline surge.
"I'm Batty."
With a roar, he rushed them, swinging with athletic proficiency. The sounds of heads cracking and painful shrieks echoed off the building walls.