RIPLEY

Chapter 3 (It's You!)

RILEY

Her feet, pounding with a bittersweet collision towards the burnished floor. The sound of her footsteps were thrumming in a tantalizing beat, luring the detective closer. She passed through the long galling walls, resembling a spacious maze. For what seems like an eternity it made her appear like worm running from a ruthless sea creature (with an eligible badge).

Riley couldn't remember the last time she felt like a bait. Running from one's captor, with the thrill of fear pulsing to her veins. Fueling her muscles to reach further. Away to reclaim her freewill.

The last one she had dealt with was of the Police dudes named Smee? Smith? She's never sure. But one thing that she definitely wouldn't forget about that day is the fact that his breath smelled awful. She wasn't even in the mood to think about it.

The halls were almost empty, save for a few students. Both didn't even glanced her way. She breathe in relief. She liked running, the feeling of wind fanning her cheeks. A memory of brief liberty, dulling her thoughts, her senses. She wouldn't even have to think about money, food, and deaths. But it is different this time. Running to save her ass as far as possible to a man who could chain her down with other more dangerous inmates around.

She could feel the terror against her chest. The loud thumping and the deafening crack on each of her stolen steps. Plus the sound of loud footsteps and dramatic cries from her captor, drawing nearer and nearer even with her using her full speed.

Hell! This guy could run.

At the corner of her vision, an archway, probably the darkest part she have seen on the entire interior part of Greenhill. She breathes in, keeping her stamina intact as she continued on heading side-wards, disappearing evenly like a flicker to invisibility.

...

CALLAHAN

Callahan almost wanted to laugh. He knew he saw the girl, running her ass off towards the darkest corner of the hall. Of course she'd aim for the easiest escape route. He just thought she would be smarter than that.

He rolled his eyes, steadying himself as he reached the end of the starting area of the archway.

He adjusted Regie's watch, while he allows himself to wander his eyes for a while, checking for booby traps. He listened, as the obvious incarnation of her steps slightly echoed to his standing point like waves.

He counted each echoes. One... Two... Three...

Yes!

Got you, Reileen Hemmingway.

Callahan smirked, allowing his body to embrace the darkness.

...

RILEY

She could feel her forehead and her sweat. Her body swayed as Callahan propelled her harshly side wards. She did not stumble or even collided with a tiny rubble. She searched through her head, a strategy to pull down deception, but with the English cop and his flawless effort to avoid mistakes set her wits aside. Jumbling her logic in an absolutely chaotic mess. She jingled her tightly locked hands, uncomfortable mostly to the thought of being tragically harvested by a damn singular man. She cleared her throat calling partly for his attention, "So, I' m just curious, do you really let your victims starve or your food were just so terrible that they even let themselves die?"

She watched as the detective shrugged off her attempts to gain a conversation. She frowned noticing their arrival in front of what looks like an entrance to a research facility.

Her vision met a metallic door, attached with a sign: Stay Out, Respectively. Atop its steel hinges is an advanced Recognition Tablet blinking LED lights to fill the flimsy darkness. Riley itches to run her fingers to the the tech. Now that it finally unraveled itself in font of her. Her head is wild with wanting, full of heavy curiosity. It took an ounce of her power to restraint herself from inspecting any hidden flaws.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it would only last for a couple of years. Depending on the case you were in." Callahan spoke calmly beside her, his voice protruding to her senses, reminding her of his almost forgotten presence.

Riley turns to raise a brow to the detective, demanding further explanation through her deep-blue eyes.

"The prison, Reileen Hemmingway." He added, "Since you're already an adult, your prison time won't be different from the others. It's not like at sixteen when you could pay your way out from hell."

Riley took her time to ponder everything in her head, when she finally did her face scrunched up like she's about to vomit.

"How did you know?" She asked Callahan, her forehead wrinkling with great worry. It feels like her efforts would only remain unrewarded. All the sacrifices she had done to give her parents an equal sense of peace. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe it was only for the sake of her own solace, for it to find its way back to her again.

"Your first mistake Hemmingway is underestimating my men. You know the gods hold everything in the community. Every bits of information. Your phone number, license, home address, even your deceased parents. Every little thing about you." Callahan cleared his throat, his voice is made of ice, so cold that you'd cease to remember his lack of authority, how little power he had.

"Your first case was, as what I've read, about your conviction from your attempts of theft of an online bank account that you'd managed to break in." He heaves, disbelief is now present to his features, "A couple of thousands for a hologram tech? Seriously?"

"It's the latest edition!" She chided, "And I'm only fourteen. It doesn't count."

Especially when she didn't even think twice about pulling in the rest of the zeroes to her pockets, she thought gravely.

The detective barked a mocking laugh, disgust now replacing the disbelief that once covered the retinas of his mud-colored eyes. "Then there are three cases to the next years. One from another case of theft. And the two others from causing a political scandal during the election?" Now he's leaning too close to her, taunting like a feral predator, "How'd you managed to hack into our database? How did you managed to expose Governor Greene's gambling problems to the press?"

Just Greene now. She wanted to yell back but instead she kept her tone hushed, "I did it because it is the right thing to do."

"Then what if I told you that the Police associates are already handling it in secret before you decided, randomly, without seeking for direct guidance and permission to the local station to post that damn thing to every social sites you could get your hands on?" Coolly he ignored Riley's expression, bringing his body to stand up front to the Recognition Tablet before he added, "It doesn't stop the gambling Reileen Hemmingway, it only costs a life." Then he angles around, pinning Riley with his burning stare. Rage is now prominent on his tanned features, making him look more angry than cold, "The men working for Greene, they thought she's the woman behind those accusations. They killed her without anyone looking."

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't take her eyes off from the detective's blank expression unraveling from his brown features, she couldn't resist the growing pang on her chest, knowing she did all of those things.

"What was her name?" She asked in a whisper, barely audible for the detective to hear, but surprisingly he answered in the same authoritative tone, "Andilyn Menza."

She died before recovering Riley as the real notorious suspect. The Supreme Order refuses to uncover Riley to the media, forcing them to ease away from her case since she's only a minor. Leaving them to focus on the death of Andilyn Menza. Praising her old popular works, her sites and her beloved political vlogs. Her, as opposed to the governor's election team was probably the real reason why they killed her in the first place. She wished she should've take a little look to the headlines that time instead, so she wouldn't have wasted her time thinking her attempts in raising political exposure is the right choice. A choice she wouldn't want to try choosing again. Although she's thankful the court kept her identity in secret, so she wouldn't have to worry about social attacks that could've been sharper than any daggers in the world.

Riley wanted to cry, to shout her way out of her blooming frustration, but she did none of those things. It takes the remaining chunk of her energy to hold back her tears, to swallow the pain that's already worming to her throat.

After a moment of silence, she heard tiny clicks coming from the Recognition Tablet. She looks up, only meeting the purely annoyed gaze of the detective whom is already holding the metallic door ajar, "What are you waiting for Reileen Hemmingway? We haven't got all day!"

Reileen rolled her eyes, pushing herself in only to scold her own conscience for not preparing herself before entering.

It doesn't look like, in any way, a research facility at all. Instead of blank empty walls, her eyes drank the beauty of confining pages of reports peppering a retro-styled walls colored in different shades of faded red and brown. Different trophies and certificates were hanged across the paper-full side of the block. Instead of a serene atmosphere with lesser people, she steels herself from bumping to a number of uniformed men, sweeping their way into different places. She tried to set her wonderment at bay as she catches a glimpse of different sorts of technologies, depicting the models like grenade, unveiling surprise in an overwhelming suddenness.

Then came the television sized holographic monitors, revealing diverse reporters, planted in a row -up to stare over a team of people with heads clamped in headphones, their desk protruding with reports and files. Their mouths were moving intensely as they exchanged words with the people from the monitor.

There are three tunnel-like halls, and situated just on the center of the halls was the biggest glass-like touch pad. To all the latest editions of techs, which are mostly hologram, this one is more than impressive to Riley's eyes than anything in the room. Not because it was more than advanced but because it held the superiority and aura of lost history where it was first invented. It has been more than 10 years since touch pads dissolved from existence, well except to Amalia Santos' finger and eye detection box that could keep great sum of its original parts even through its progressions. It made her feel better that one remaining thing from history couldn't be wiped out completely from this present. She wonder how it feels to just bump her fingers, not to meet the void-ness, the feeling of spacious relief she often felt from hologram screen that was mostly made of invisible radiation designed for portability and convenience, but to meet the steady contact- pressed with heavy compact material like barrier to the other side.

Right on its panes stood the convicted murderers, villains that requires a hero to contain their butts behind unbreakable glass panes, thieves (the easiest bit, except for one boy), mobs and potential terrorists, rapists (confined behind laser-bars to deal with their hormones), and to the very bottom are the hackers no-younger than the mature-age of 18. So far, they only held thirteen of them.

14 of them now. Seems like I'm not going anywhere far from those bitches.

A voice rang out, calling out Callahan for an important matter. Riley studies the guy, narrowing her eyes solely. It astonishes her how "normal" the guy appears especially to a place swarmed with well-dressed people driven for formality. His jet-black hair hanging on the nape of his neck near his hunched up shoulders, moving casually which seems to back out from uniformity unlike Callahan who stood in a reserved poise, wearing his sun-bleached brown hair short- almost looking too close to the concept of "shaven". She have seen lots of Latinos before but the guy seems to appear much taller to tower Riley for 2 inches even though she bear the gene of her 6'1" mother and 6'5" dad. He looks around the age of Caleb whom she surely knew would beam to the looks of the guy's shirt embedded with a print: Nerd Is Not Just A 4 Letter Word, It's A Future 6 Digit Salary.

He seems like the type of guy she would befriend herself, how freely he flaunts himself in front of everyone, wearing confidence in a completely different level like a thicker second skin. She observes as his conversation with Callahan becomes more heated, almost as if they were arguing about something she couldn't care to hear. She could feel his irritation as he ruffled his hair and tugs as his fingertips reaches the ends. She wanders herself around, back to the place where combat techs lay like trophies. When she brings back her attention to Callahan, she almost jump in surprise after seeing both pair of eyes now fixed on her.

The guy grins in a way Riley does whenever she come across something which is cool like space rockets, "So you're the infamous computer nerd."

Lost, she raised a brunette brow, beckoning him to continue.

The guy just chuckled lightly, brushing of her eyebrow as he calls out for a friend from his back, "Hey dude, look who's here!"

Great, now she's stuck with these people whom as she discovered has barely 20% sense of humor.

Callahan just let out a sigh, leaving Riley with her cheeks burning by the sound of her name coming from a guy she barely knows. As if what she'd done before was something to be proud of.

All she could do is listen to the aforementioned friend's voice as it came closer, revealing his face.

His masked face.

Her jaw dropped as she stared at the guy whose name is more than life itself.

"It's you!"

...

ANONYMOUS (an hour before)

He watched up, through the highest peak of a tower-like structure. The Statue of Liberty was two blocks away, peaking from the eminent buildings of the city. His irises were wide with the dizzying brevity over the depths of the red-orange skies, like a cloak draped over the needy atmosphere to keep it stabilized. His head is clad in jumbled thoughts and the slurry voices of regrets as he leaned his back to an existing pole. His tongue is heavy with names of the dead he refuses to spell out. Cisco was about 500 feet down and seems to be far too occupied to leave yet.

He waited for 5 minutes, and then waited for 10 minutes more.

He just watches the penetrating sun, painfully, straight through the light, amusing himself by his ability to not flinch from solid brightness. One of his perks as a mutant- a kid born with a gene attachment for oddity (means superpowers and sonic booms). His gift involves the power to gain control over his own heat- either to moderate or intensify to a temperature not higher than 1,500 degrees Celsius that enables him to melt steel with lower stakes of surviving. He could brand a person's flesh straight through his palms, leaving them with just an ugly scar to remember him until the end of their pathetic lives whenever he's in control. But it takes a whole lot of his energy to shove a good amount of heat from his palms. Rubbing both hands together would do the trick.But it doesn't mean it wouldn't wore him off at the end of the day especially when his limits were only up to 1,500 degrees Celsius for a day.

Occasionally he would find himself, waking up from a sound of incoming footsteps, small rocks digging his back and realizing that he'd spent the entire night outdoors after slaying his opponent. He'd spend too much from his pack of energy, just by killing two or more villain at once, leaving him unconscious to the next day surrounded by a crowd of reporters, pressing him for more information of his killing.

He's just a Super whose powering ability is lesser than average to save enough victims although his heat could sink through the villains' body to death. His soul was not made of lava for him to secrete fire nor breathe one. That is why he still needs to learn the art of defense, to destroy every group of villain who would block his way off from time to time.

The CGI tried countless of research to encourage new tricks from his body, specifically to raise his heat to at least 2,000 degree Celsius- hot enough to outlast a material could Rhenium. Until they found out that he's been using his heat straight from the amount of energy he's getting from his fast-recovering red blood cells, which denoted his powers limited to only less than 400 degrees Celsius for 5 kills for one day. This frustrated CGI more than Anonymous himself that they implicated further research to supply "upgrades" to his blood. The testing were good, they only need a body or two for further experiments. They brought three of the "worthless" crime lords straight from New York inmate cells, and injected the upgrades to their bloodstream.

Every single one of them died.

Their body couldn't revitalize the amount of blood needed for the heightening amount of heat in their bodies.

And it was all good, besides they were all Crime Lords. The society is better off without them anyways. Anonymous thought.

Then the next few weeks came. One of the scientists become more and more obsessed with the research that he started bringing children with immature-developing cells that indicates "super-holic powers" similar to Anonymous, hoping not just to inject upgrades but also to excrete the genes that made up the DNA for superpowers to acquire further experiments.

After a couple of days, faint pungent smell of corpses surrounded the air- causing hunches to the individuals inside the building. The smell becomes too overwhelming the next day that the CGIs finally retrieved a body from their abandoned underground quarters, mutilated and too cold to be alive.

Anonymous took a single glance to the six immature mutants, and then there he finally took his steps to leave, abandoning any of his connection involving the CGI (excluding Cisco), deciding to fight his own crimes himself.

The next day Dr. Benedict Santos Junior, descendant of the great inventor Amalia Santos, had his hands bound with cuffs- following his beheading for the next consecutive years.

Still, by his guilt, the faces of the children won't leave his mind. The products of his ignorance- they could've saved the world someday. If it wasn't for him. If he'd just...

He stilled himself, sealing his thoughts.

He could've... he should've... he would've.

If, if, if, if...

Lame excuses versus the lives of the children that he had plucked out intentionally as if pulling a dagger by its hilt.

"I'm ready mate. Got the permit in exactly 20 minutes as planned." Anonymous' earpiece rang out of Cisco's voice. There's a small sound of fumbling that seems to come from a distance, before Cisco added, "New York station, five blocks from here. It centers around Black's defensive quarters. Ironic door, that looks a hell more like doorway to Narnia-"

"Ironic door? Narnia?"

"What do you call "iron" when it is molded into some type of door?"

His throat mirrored tiny beats, as he laughs that is more hemmed in foreignness than the solemn familiarity he once had when he's still a kid, "Iron. It's iron."

"Wrong! It's Ironic dude. The answer is ironic!" Cisco exclaimed too loudly that Anonymous moved his earpiece away then insert it back when Cisco's done.

"Don't even start with Narnia. I don't wanna hear it anymore."

"Oh that, I'm talking about heaven. You know that facility has too many toys this boring communication s***h office-wise place full of career driven scumbags who doesn't even understand the word 'database' doesn't have?"

Anonymous grins. One thing that CGI could never change is Cisco, his nerdy self and his willingness to just talk and talk and talk like there's no tomorrow.

But instead of living it and give in for more laughing stock that Cisco was granting, Anonymous finally cleared his throat and go back to diverting the topic back to were he is needed, "Cisco, I'm already heading down now." Anonymous informed Cisco, his body already looking downward which showed Cisco and his little figure with his head nodding above, "Be right there in a minute."

"What? So you're what, up there again? Soon ya'll be dead mate, young and miserable and dumb."

Anonymous lets out a thin mocking chuckle in response, "Sure, when you finally sort out your secret evil ingredients for stripping off my floating ability to damn me to the face of the earth."

"Hey!" Anonymous laughs throatily when Cisco again spoke, now suppressing a tone Anonymous never liked "But dude, I'm serious." Cisco's voice becomes dangerously grim as he addded, "For the last time dude, it's not your damn fault. Blame us, the CGI-"

"Cisco!" Anonymous interrupted in disbelief. He was aware that Cisco was a member and still remains loyal to the unworthy bastards all these years. Although he's one of those people who agrees to develop upgrades, he himself haven't even made it through the research itself when he cuts himself from his terms of agreement stating about continuing with further tests after Cisco finds out three bodies are to be used for experiments. Choosing his morality and conscience over what supposed to be a revolutionary context for the sake of humanity and their security.

It only costs him his work and his toys. These days he still works for them. But instead, as violation for the terms he had agreed with and offhandedly declined he's assigned a job opposite to teaming up with the defense team where he's originally really good at. Wasting his engineering talent over communication team who doesn't even contemplate with Cisco's mental IQ.

"What? Wake up man. Why does it surprise you so much?" He resembles the sound of storm, growing more powerful that Anonymous couldn't even cut in, "Yadah Yadah! It's our fault. So what? You don't have to sign yourself in. You already have half the New York's back."

Half the New York's back.

His urge to correct Cisco was so achingly sweet that it becomes more than need over urgency, but he did neither of these things. He tried to pull himself together before replying, changing the topic this time with more barriers to hold it roughly to contain Cisco from breaking through, "Just tell me something about this mission now or Black would have to forget of my participation in this. And please, a little head start for the terms they were setting me in before I change my mind."

He can here Cisco sighing, defenseless "Fine, but I'm not gonna tell yah over this tiny phone or something. Just move down here then I'll fill you with everything necessary. Is that okay?"

"Fine with me."

Then with a simple trod of his boot, he swept himself from the edge, falling seamlessly as the wind catches his body with simple caress. His hair, like waken embers, falling into tangling mess of coal black to red as the skies lit through the locks. He fell flawlessly. His feet as if met with an invisible suspension up from the air, as he continues to march and march down to the ground- riding with unbelievable ignorance to defy gravity as if he'd done it since thousands of years before.

But beneath it all, his skin still prickles with faint sheen of sweat. His fingers still remained gripping on the insides of his palms, trying to resist the pounding of his chest. Though he could hear it all, nice and loud.

As his toes met the ground he masked his face with a grin to the crowd who had turned their heads and clapped.

He bowed, then yanked Cisco to the next block unto the next whom is giving him a piece of mind for putting up a show that will surely reach the headlines for tomorrow's tabloid which Anonymous doubted saying the press would rather be focusing their attention with the increasing number of deaths and the missing Supers. Cisco wasn't buying it and continued battering nonsense with his mouth, Anonymous ignored him until they reached to the fourth block which he is certain has no number of bodies around to overhear.

Anonymous turned to Cisco, and leaned his back to the nearest wall. He made it sure that they were both covered with adequate amount of shadow to not raise any rate of suspicion from possible passerby as Cisco took a brief sigh, glaring at Anonymous then started to the very beginning of his story.

"You remember that detective? From somewhere in Europe?"

Anonymous nodded, how could he not remember Callahan? He used to work for him before until he confirmed to himself that he was indeed a pain in the ass. He's sure the feeling is mutual for the both of them. He gritted his teeth and listened to Cisco as he continues.

"He's been selected as investigator to the crime that happened this day, or suffice to say last night. They were able to say the he's dead yesterday, yes. But what intrigued me is this- they were only about to determine that he was killed that night because of the witnesses supporting the investigation." Cisco narrowed his gaze to Anonymous as if what he's about to say adds to the horror that could haunt Anonymous for the rest of his life, "He suspected it was you, the man behind the killing."

Seeing the reaction across anonymous face, Cisco continued, "But of course, luckily Black wouldn't buy it. But if I hadn't know better, I'll think it was you. That's why I've got myself pictures of the crime scene-"

Anonymous widened his eyes at Cisco in disbelief, "Cisco, don't tell me-"

"I hacked through their decrypted database, yes. But it was their fault they hadn't transferred it instantly to the secured system, knowing anyone could dive in into it anytime. It's not like I would do it if I had better options."

Anonymous was still staring blankly at Cisco.

Cisco raised a brow, trying to appear innocent "What? But anyway dude, my point is I don't think you're the one behind Alvarez's murder." He paused, Anonymous remained silent, waiting for Cisco, "The body is too... alive."

"What do you mean?"

"Alive man, I mean warm body temperature, skin color still intact... just alive alive but scratch the still beating heart part. That one is dead." Cisco answered.

"So, the body's alive? But how? I mean how could Callahan even suspect it was me?" Anonymous has his back, abandoning the wall, as he could not subside the tremble within his skin. He walked forward, then spin to the other side, thinking so furiously that he could not hold his footing down.

Cisco shook his head, seeing his friend's uneasiness, "The first incite, the first thing that I've heard about this investigation before I checked through their data is the scar across Alvarez's chest."

"And?"

"The scar looks branded, just like yours it's the shape of a bird's."