#happy dana heath day here's a mr update after two months

[mirrorballmika]

midnight rain (3/5) ao3

rated teen for violence. 

She’s got them.

Rain falls in steady sheets in front of her, splattering the top of the wall and running off the back of her cloak. It gives her excellent cover, as does the dark blanket of the sky around them. The street lights glow a few feet below her, casting weak yellowish shadows onto the alleyway below. She can see almost everything, but she's practically invisible up here, tiptoed atop the high wall. No one could spot her, not from the ground.

Even so, she sucks in her breath when she hears the voices. She presses her back against the iron fence behind her, her free hand curling around the chainlinks. All the intel she’d gathered directed her here, and it still felt like she was working off a wing and a prayer. She’d waited here until her legs shook from the effort of keeping herself upright and listened out for the news reports. Doubt had crept in, as it so often does, and if she were wrong, she’d have at most two hours to hit up three other hiding spots across the city. 

But now, as three vaguely familiar figures lead a group of stumbling, blindfolded people into the alley, that part of the battle is over.

The civilians are pushed against the wall, and as she peers closer she sees the shackles linking them together. A shudder threatens to run through her body, but she forces herself to be still. The last group she found didn’t have shackles. There had been rumours about the Gulls tightening up their security after she’d freed that last group, and if they’re as smart as their reputation claims, they won’t be ordinary shackles. Reinforced steel, most likely, which means her usual cutting tools won’t hack it, and her lockpicks failed her last time-

Stop a voice inside her commands. Focus. She nods, not sure who to, and redirects her attention. One of the Gulls is bent down and pulling something out of his pocket, while two others survey the area and the last two inspect the prisoners one more time. If she’d followed her train of thought any longer, she could be too late already.

“Game on,” she whispers. It’s freezing out here, the coldest winter night she’s felt thus far. But her breath doesn’t form in front of her. 

Her back straightens, her shoulders roll back. It’s a dance she performs alone, one that puts her in a prime position. She spent months, years even, perfecting this technique, and now it comes naturally as breathing. A slight bend in the knee, pushing (not throwing) her weight forward. And then, she’s falling through the air, curled into a crouch to keep her centre low.

And then she’s landing on the ground, soundless as a single raindrop on the sidewalk.

Her aim could’ve been better. The circle of light made by the streetlight stops just a breath from her hand. Her movements are slow as she straightens up, controlled. Guard number one stands on the other side of the light, his back thankfully turned to her. 

A disc slides from her sleeve to between her fingers. Another appears in her other hand. She gives them both a quick, soundless kiss and with a single jerk of her arms, lets them fly. The figure before her falls as one sinks into his calf. Before he can shout, another buries itself in his back, and he crumples. This time he does shout out, and his friend turns just in time to get one in the chest. 

Dark blood spurts from his mouth then. It oozes down his chin, and it almost makes Mika feel bad about sending a second disc to his stomach.

(Almost, because she looked at the row of prisoners to her right).

“Donnie?” a voice calls from the shadows. Mika stands to attention, prepared to lose the element of surprise. Someone, the other Gull, comes out of the shadows. His hair gleams dark blue under the street light. Mika steps back and skirts the side of the light as he comes closer. His friend coughs and the pavement is speckled with crimson.

Just come a little closer, she thinks, as if she’s willing him to. He obeys her, whether he knows it or not, and a tight-lipped smile spreads across her face. He takes another step into the light as she secures her position; opposite him, just to the left. One more, she urges, one more.

One single scream sends him crashing down the alleyway. Surprise isn’t on her side any more, but she doesn’t need it. She throws herself into a roll and runs towards the first guard. From there, she steps on his stomach and launches herself up. For a few seconds, she sails upward, but then she throws herself down and comes down on the Gull on the other side. A sickening pop fills the air as her boot collides with her shoulder, and she lands with her knees on either side of them and their braid in her hand. The prisoners against the wall have different reactions; some stiffen, some turn their heads helplessly, and some shriek, convinced she’ll be coming for them next.

She shakes her head, and then, pulls hard on the girl’s braid. To her right, she hears the sound of a pistol cocking, and then the last gang member steps into the light. He’s tall and pale, with a sheaf of dark red hair and the Gulls’ tattoo on his neck. He sneers down at her, and then there’s a gleam of recognition in his blue eyes.

“You’re her,” he says. “The Screaming Shadow.”

“What gave it away?” she replies. “Was it the fact that I just knocked your buddy out with nothing but my vocal cords?”

He brandishes the pistol, and she presses down on his friend’s broken shoulder. A strangled cry shakes through the alleyway, and she flashes him a grin. The Gull doesn’t lower his weapon, but he doesn’t fire either.

Mika lets go of the braid and flashes one of her knives at him instead.

“Now that you know who I am,” she says steadily. “Let’s attempt some civility.”

“You ruined our job at Bane Harbour.”

“You mean the job where you tried to take fifteen people out of the city?” she asks. She raises her eyebrow and presses the blade to the Gull’s throat. Her second one sits comfortably in her sleeve. “Taking them out to Conway?”

The girl beneath her stiffens, and Mika grins.

“That’s right. We know about the operation you’re running out of Conway. Smuggling people down there, testing your little science fair projects on them.” She forces herself to stay still, to not baulk at the stories she’s heard from those who escaped. “Tell me, how many lives have you ruined to get your stupid results.”

“So that’s your play?” the boy asks. There’s a condescending edge to his voice that makes Mika almost forget herself and rise to punch him. “Appeal to my better nature?”

Patience the voice tells her again. You can punch him all you like later.

“I’m not dumb enough to assume you have one,” she replies. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“No, but you’re dumb enough to think we’re working out of Conway,” he says. She frowns.

“I know a bluff when I hear one,” she tells him coldly. “Conway’s the only place with enough empty warehouse space to do what you need to do.”

The body beneath her laughs, the sound vibrating against Mika’s leg. She grabs the braid again, the threat evident in her touch. The Gulls are a fearless lot, so she slides her knife beneath the girl’s throat. 

“We can build our own freaking workshops, little songstress,” they tease. “And besides… space isn’t the issue. Power is, and Conway isn’t nearly capable of providing it.”

“Power,” she echoes. She looks up at the other Gull. The gun is still pointed at her, but he won’t shoot as long as she’s got a knife pressed to his friend’s neck. The Gulls are a loyal group too.

Fortunately for her, they’re also prideful, like all gangs in this city. And that makes them really, really stupid.

She flashes a smile, and her fingers work their way into the girl’s hair.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly. “That’s very useful information.”

Then, everything happens at once. The boy’s eyes widen. Then, she takes the thick pin from the girl’s hair and flings it directly into his gun, jamming the barrel. She buries her knife deep in the girl’s right leg and her other knife into her side. 

She rolls off the girl and springs to her feet. Her knives are still in the girl, but she doesn’t need them. The boy is pulling at the pin in his gun, his efforts punctuated by pained grunts. He looks up at her, eyes blazing behind his hair. His hand moves, but before he can anything, she lets out another scream. It’s a little softer than the last one, but still enough to send him down. She stalks over to him, briefly sidestepping his friend, and crouches down. Up close, she can see he’s a little older than her. She can also see the snarl on his face and her fist clenches.

“Gonna hand us over to the cops then?” he asks. She shakes her head, and it’s only then she realises her hood has fallen.

“Not after what happened last time,” she says. She slips out another knife and traces his spine with it. Just the right level of pressure against his skin. “But I’m guessing when you run out of money to bribe them, they’ll be a little less forgiving.” She casts her eye up to the row of quaking prisoners against the wall, and her jaw sets. Twelve people, she counts. They must have been promised a nice sum for all of them. 

“What are you going to do then?” he asks. Slowly, he tries pulling himself to his knees. All he gets is her cold gaze and the knife pressing into his skin, and he sinks back down. “You can’t sit out here all night.”

“No I can’t,” she says. “Fortunately, I don’t have to. We’re in Black Hornet territory. I’ll let them deal with you.” 

He stiffens, and that’s when he lets the mask slip. He shoots to his knees, not caring about the slash her knife makes in his back. Or the pain no doubt shooting through his head. 

“You little-”

“Listen, you’re the idiots who tried to use the enemy territory to smuggle your kidnappees to your base,” she tells him. “If you ask me, you were asking for this.”

“Was I asking you though?” he asks. His lips curl up, and a surge of fury runs through her body. He goes to say something else, but her fist connects with his cheek and he drops. 

She shakes out her hand. These gloves do a lot for her, but the lack of shock absorption is a kink she’s yet to work out.

That can be another day’s problem.

She twirls the ring of keys around her finger. She slipped them from his belt while her knife was pressed to his back. It’s an old but vital rule; keep their attention away from the mark. She marches up to the wall, where the prisoners still stand. They’re all shaking now, and their rain-soaked clothes stick to their skin. She approaches the one at the front of the line, a girl with a dirty blond ponytail, and lowers her voice.

“It’s okay,” she tells her. “You’re safe now. Just give me a minute to figure out which key it is…” She jabs at least six keys into the lock before finding the one that fits. Heat tickles her cheeks, and she’s just glad for the low lights and blindfolds. No one needs to see their hero blush. Certainly not over something as stupid as getting the right key.

The handcuff clicks open, and the girl tugs her blindfold off her face. She can’t be much older than Mika is, blue eyes wide and terrified. Her skin is pale, and either raindrops or tears run down her cheeks. 

“Here.” Mika hands her the key. She blinks, unsure, but then takes it in her trembling hand. “One turn counterclockwise unlocks both wrists. Once you’ve unlocked them, tell them to go down the alley, take a left and keep going until you reach midtown. From there, you should be able to get a bus or a train to get anywhere in the city. Do you understand?”

The girl stiffens. She gapes wordlessly at Mika. Her eyes flit up and down her body as if to make sure she was real.

Mika on the other hand, fights the urge to roll her eyes. She waits until her head is bent over the shackle of the person beside her. Then she repeats the same thing to them, and it seems to stick that time around.

Despite that though, she repeats herself at least three more times, shouting the getaway instructions down the line as she examines the corner where the brick sidewall meets the stone wall at the back. This is where that lead Gull kid had been standing, and from what she saw, he was looking for something here. And if she’s going to keep up her lead against the Gulls, she needs to know what.

It’s easier said than done when she’s glancing up every few minutes to get on the prisoners and repeating the same instructions. She also keeps glancing at the five bodies on the ground, counting every time to make sure. In the first week in Dystopia, two got away. She doesn’t know what they did in the three weeks before she saw them again. All she knows is the way they laughed at her the second time, and how she kicked them with a little more force than necessary.

She’s not making the same mistakes twice. That’s what she’s getting at. 

Fortunately, the most movement these guys make is a slight shift before hitting the ground again. Another one of her discs appears in her hand, just in case, but she never has to throw it. A quick surge of pride runs through her, and she twirls the disc between her fingers. She watches as the line gets smaller, groups of two or three running down the alley and skidding left. There’s less of a need for her to tell them again, they start whispering it among themselves. As they run, they avoid the bodies on the floor at all costs. Some press into the wall to get away from them, and some just run as fast as they possibly can. 

It’s moments like this where she considers breaking her own rules and calling the police. Then she remembers what happened the last time, and why she’s not calling the Dystopian cops again until she knows none of them are being paid off.

(Knowing this city, it’ll be a while)

As the civilians flee the scene, and none of the incapacitated gang members are moving, she turns her attention back to the wall. She grabs the flashlight from her belt and switches it on. The light is intense, and she blinks and squints until she adjusts. 

It seems like there’s nothing; just an ordinary meeting of two ordinary walls. Logic would tell her to leave it at that and go the hell home, but she can’t. There’s an itch in her brain that she can’t ignore. The Gulls wouldn’t lead their victims into a dead-end alley. And the red-headed one had been standing around here just before she ambushed them. There’s something about here, and if she cracks it then at least she can make life a little harder for them.

She looks upward as if the answer could be there. Unlikely, given the height of the wall and the number of prisoners they had. No, scaling a wall with them would be next to impossible. She moves closer and crouches down, shining the light against the wall. The image in her head is fuzzy, obscured by darkness. If only she’d been able to see better. Maybe she should’ve set up on this side, she thinks bitterly. Less coverage, but a better vantage point. Or maybe she should’ve waited-

Wait.

The gravel crunches beneath her as her knees hit the floor. She peers closer to rule out it being a trick of the light. It’s not, and her heart thuds. Slowly, she rises and then creeps toward the wall. There, where the back wall meets the side wall, is a black crack, running from top to bottom. It could be anything, a crack in the plaster, a gap created by an underpaid city builder. But, she thinks as she presses her hand to it, it’s not.

No, it’s definitely not. Warm air tickles her gloved palm, and she breaks into a grin.

She’d first heard about it from Henry; how Dystopia is basically a bunch of concealed tunnels and secret entryways with a city built over them. How she’d bristled with excitement, back when she first heard it. Then she came here and saw it all for herself. Something lurks beneath every street corner and every alleyway. It’s what let all these gangs spring up and all these little wars start. It’s how people disappear, whether they want to or not. 

The wall door groans as she pulls it. She digs her boots into the ground, her teeth clenched to keep the grunt firmly inside of her. Pain spreads across her shoulders like ripples on the water, one pulsing after the next. The length of the past couple of hours comes back to her at once, and her arms begin to shake. She grits her teeth and keeps going. It doesn’t have to be all the way, she tells herself, just another few inches.

A heavy groan rips from her body when she lets go. The spent effort pulses in her arms, and she flexes her fingers in her black gloves. She thinks vaguely that she’ll need a hot shower tonight, then pushes that aside. She can’t think about that now, not when she’s finally gotten the step ahead she needed.

And honestly, it does help her forget about how crap she feels. Stretching out before her is a dank, grey-stone tunnel, lit by dull, flickering blue lights attached to the sides. For months, the two biggest blocks were how the Gulls were getting people out of the city and where they were taking them. Mika had staked out the harbours and the train stations and asked every contact she had. She’d chased her tail for weeks, all while more missing person posters appeared on lamposts.

Well, now she knows. And she’s kicking herself for not knowing. These tunnels, the ones that are still open, can take you right out of the city. Where no Dystopian cop could be bothered to chase you. That’s how the Gulls got away with this for so long.

Until now.

She takes a deep breath in; the air tastes like cold water, tinged with smoke. She might not be able to destroy the Gulls’ entire operation in one go, but breaking this tunnel could put a real dent in their work. If nothing else, it’s one less route they have.

Her scream is short but powerful. She feels it building inside her chest, like a car engine revving, before she sends it down the tunnel. It reverberates off the stone walls, shaking the foundations tunnel’s structure. She still feels it linger, and then she watches with relief and pride as the walls crumble and stone fills the gap. Another scream sends the ceiling tumbling on top of it, and then there’s a pile of rock and brick blocking her path. Even if they manage to clear it, it’ll likely be a while given her intel on the Gulls’ resources. And in that time, their diversions could make them sloppy, as these things often do, and she only needs one of them to slip up for her to catch them.

“Nice work.”

Her smile drops. She whips around, and her knife slides between her fingers. All at once, the warmth drains from her body. She’s as cold as the rain around them, and she feels the body behind her rather than seeing it. 

Ask questions in a minute, she tells herself, over the dozens of scenarios rushing through her brain. Make sure you don’t die first.

Her arm collides with something else. Her knee hits nothing when she brings it up. Her first options are gone, she shifts her weight back, ready to lunge and go for his ankles. But then one of the streetlights flicks back on, and what she sees makes her drop her knife.

Soft brown hair, now slick with rain. A head and a half taller than her. Clear skin, a button nose, and freaking dimples in his cheeks. A hand wraps around her wrist, and it’s the softest thing she’s felt in… well, probably over a year.

“Bose?” she asks.

He laughs, a little awkward, and his smile flashes in the dark.

For a second, she can’t feel anything, but static in her brain. Then it’s like she tunes into reality and it bursts through; Bose freaking O’Brien is in Dystopia, smiling at her, and every nerve in her body stands on edge.

“Hi, Mika,” he says. “You look good.”

#bomika #danger force fanfic #danger force #bomika fanfiction #mika macklin #bose o'brien #happy dana heath day here's a mr update after two months