The day went to absolute shit from the very beginning.
Egrer hadn't felt this profound, sickening mixture of despair and rage since his early days with his new family. But even those dark times were broken up by periods of just regular bad moods. Eventually, he had gotten used to them and even grew to love them.
Beaten and bruised, he sat on the floor, clutching his head and rocking back and forth on his heels. Around him lay the completely ruined club: DJ Joe was crying over his smashed, ultra-expensive equipment; streams of alcohol trickled from the obliterated bar; and the dance floor was buried under a thick layer of shattered glass and ceiling tiles. There were gaping holes in the walls the size of a car. Just looking at the surrounding devastation made Egrer physically sick. The previous brawl was a literal child's play compared to this clusterfuck.
Police officers were wandering around the hall, assessing the damage and taking statements. Junior's club was fully legitimate, and since nobody had actually pulled the fire alarm, he hadn't hesitated to call the cops.
"Repairs are gonna take about a month," Hei stated in a dead, hollow voice, rocking back and forth right next to Egrer. In his hands, he held a jagged piece of a bottle with a soaked, obscenely high price tag of twenty thousand Lien attached to it. To buy just that one bottle, the pack would have to perform here for almost two months—and that's assuming they didn't spend a single cent on food. "Which means, obviously, I won't have any work for you during that time."
Someone threw a blanket over Egrer's shoulders.
"Thanks, officer," he mumbled.
"I am Senior Lieutenant Gray Diamond. If you don't mind, I would like to take your statement. I must inform you that under Article 55 of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Vale, you are not obligated to testify against yourself, your spouse, or close relatives, and you also have the right to—"
"I know my rights," Junior cut him off sharply. Egrer nodded vigorously in agreement, even though police in Mistral rarely cared about his rights.
"Let's just get this over with."
"I need to ensure that you fully understand them. Procedure." The lieutenant tapped a small camera mounted on his bulletproof vest. "I must inform you that audio and video recording is in progress. Now, please do not interrupt..."
While the cop droned on about rights, duties, liabilities, and the protocol for verifying statements, Egrer thought about earthly matters—like where the hell they were going to get money for rent. Was he seriously going to have to go work on a construction site? Would he get any compensation for losing his job? That last one was a pipe dream; he hadn't signed any official employment contracts with Junior, only a verbal agreement. Maybe he could sue for emotional distress and assault?
"Now that everything is perfectly clear, we can begin. Mr. Peleni, go ahead."
Egrer tried to pick his words carefully and avoid outright lying, though he was already sporting his signature idiotic smile. Right now, he had to navigate a very awkward episode.
***
It all started when Egrer's entire pack was quietly sleeping on their four-tier monstrosity of a bed. Well, trying to sleep. They worked nights now, and not all of them had managed to reset their biological clocks to the new schedule. They hadn't yet become true "creatures of the night" like Junior or the Malachites, and their bodies were suffering from the drastic shift. You'd think a whole week would be enough to adjust, but nope.
Yort was having the hardest time with it, while Illmond, on the contrary, was thrilled to sleep during the day—but even he couldn't get any rest, because three bodies above him were constantly tossing, turning, grumbling, and sighing. By late afternoon, right before they had to leave for the club, the hikikomori artist snapped at Yort, complaining that he was breathing too loudly. The retired Vacuo killer didn't take kindly to that and decided to retaliate—by breathing even louder.
Egrer just stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the fuss below him. He was trying to catch at least a little sleep, breathing evenly and deeply, but the smell of stale paint that suddenly invaded his nose made everything worse. Egrer had thought taking the top bunk would give him the best spot... what a terrible, terrible mistake.
He dozed off briefly, only to be rudely awakened by the ferocious roars of a feral Yort trying to break down the bathroom door. Jumping up in a panic, Egrer smashed his head hard against the ceiling, leaving a noticeable dent and getting concrete dust all over his hair. He really should have realized then that the rest of the day was going to be an absolute disaster.
You might think Magenta was occupying the bathroom, but she was far too unpredictable to fall into typical female stereotypes—this morning, she had decided to bake cookies. She was also too unpredictable for typical "absent-minded" stereotypes, which is why her cookies actually turned out incredibly delicious.
The bathroom door, which Yort had been successfully laying siege to, was now shattered into a pile of splinters and small chunks of wood—which, inexplicably, remained hovering perfectly in place. Apparently, the restless Vacuo thug had decided to pick a fight with Illmond again (they really couldn't stand each other), and the artist had retreated to the bathroom and busted out his weapon.
Illmond was a master at using his Spider Weaver; not every Huntsman could adapt their weapon for everyday domestic use. He had likely just sewn the door shut using Gravity Dust threads, forcing the splinters to attract to the exact spots he needed, and was now sleeping peacefully inside with a sense of malicious satisfaction.
"Ill, I gotta take a piss too," Egrer said, knocking on the door. Well, "knocking"—his fist amusingly pushed into the floating splinters, but the deeper he tried to shove his hand, the stronger the resistance became. A very weird sensation.
"Fuck this shit!..." Yort bolted for the balcony, unzipping his fly on the run. Egrer really didn't want to be pushed to that same level of desperation.
"Ill! Open up! Madge, say something to him."
"I'm scared to leave the oven. What if they burn?"
"Where did you even get the money for cookie ingredients?"
"From your wallet." Egrer loudly slapped a hand to his face. "Was I not supposed to?"
"No. If you need money, ask, and we'll share." The leader quickly added in a quieter voice, "Maybe."
Magenta nodded with absolute seriousness and went back to staring into the oven. Judging by the timer, she was going to sit there for another twenty minutes. And then, Egrer had a brilliant idea on how to lure Illmond out.
"Ill, you should see Madge right now. She's wearing nothing but an apron!"
The door cracked open slightly. Illmond didn't entirely trust his leader, but that tiny gap was all Egrer needed to jam his fingers in. A second later, the perv was violently yanked out of the bathroom, and Egrer took his place.
Shared bathrooms are pure evil.
***
"Very interesting, but could we get to the point?" the lieutenant asked, clearly wondering if he should even bother writing this down in the report.
"Sorry, got sidetracked. The worst part happened at the club. We were packing up our musical instruments and getting ready to leave when a panicked guard ran up to Junior." Yes, Egrer referred to these heavily armed gangsters as 'guards'. "He screamed, 'It's Torchwick! Torchwick is coming!'"
"Is he connected to the damage?" The lieutenant swept his gaze across the ruined club.
"No," Junior answered. He and Egrer had already agreed on what to say before the cops arrived.
"Why didn't you call the police right then?"
"You do realize that if I pulled a stunt like that, my little business would be destroyed. As long as Torchwick doesn't harm my club, I don't care what he does."
"Right, well, that's a topic for another conversation." The cop scribbled something on his tablet. "Continue, Mr. Peleni."
Egrer tried to choose his words carefully to avoid blatantly lying; he was already smiling like an idiot. This was a very awkward part of the story.
***
"Heads up, boys! Torchwick is coming! Torchwick!" The panicked gangster immediately caught a slap to the back of the head so he wouldn't scream and scare off the customers.
"Holy shit!" Egrer tossed his Baby to Illmond and dove behind the bar.
"Eg?" The pack stared in confusion at the spot where he had been a second ago.
"Don't tell him I'm here!"
In the distorted reflection of the liquor bottles, he saw a red-haired dandy in a white suit swaggering toward them. At first glance—a gentleman and a fashion icon; at second glance—a world-famous criminal mastermind; and at third glance—just a massive pain in the ass.
Hei adjusted his tie, took off his cool red sunglasses, and straightened his back. His boys were on high alert, taking up positions by the walls, right next to the fire axes.
"Cover me," Junior spoke into his radio, and a backup bartender stepped out from a door leading to either a storage room or a back office. Hei hurried out to greet his guest, completely ignoring Egrer cowering at his feet. "What do you want, Torchwick?"
"What is that thing on your face, buddy? Shave that beard, it totally clashes with your suit. I've known you for years, and you still have absolutely zero taste." The reflection twirled his cane and pulled out a cigar. "Mind if I?"
Without waiting for an answer, Roman lit up. From this angle, Egrer couldn't see Junior's face well, but he could tell how tense the man was. He didn't move a single muscle.
"What do you want?" Junior repeated. "You always bring trouble to me and my club."
"How rude. And inhospitable." Roman ostentatiously looked around, noting the gangsters ready for a fight. "Fortunately, I'm willing to overlook that. I have an offer that any thinking man would jump at."
"Let's walk." The reflections moved away toward the VIP booths.
***
"So Torchwick walked off with some asshole over there." Egrer pointed toward the ruined VIP booth. And he hadn't lied once—Roman had walked over there with some asshole. Junior looked slightly annoyed by the phrasing but was mostly just glad Egrer was covering for him.
"And you... hid behind the bar... right? Why?"
"Because it's Torchwick! What if he decided to rob the place?"
"I thought he aimed a bit higher than this, but fine, panic is understandable in that situation. Continue."
***
When the new bartender took over his post, he immediately noticed an extra person taking up space.
"Eg?" he asked, surprised. "The hell are you doing down here?"
"Hey, Ahmar, how's it going?"
"I'm alright, I guess." The Vacuo native scratched his tanned cheek. "Why are you hiding like a rat? Get out of here before the boss sees you. And take your buddies with you."
"Buddies?" Egrer asked in confusion, looking to his left.
Magenta had pulled a newspaper over her head, hiding from his disappointed glare, while Illmond was hugging his knees in a fetal position. Yort had been forced to lie flat on the floor, otherwise his head and shoulders would have stuck up over the bar. Clearly, he hadn't laid down voluntarily—Magenta had a tight grip on the scruff of his neck, pinning him to the floor.
"What are you guys doing?!"
"Shhhh!" the butterfly hissed.
"Ill?" the leader turned to his old friend.
"SHHHHHHH!!!"
"Madge got scared and decided to hide. Yort is watching over her. And I..." He started shivering. "It's so scary out there, Eg. Too many strangers, I'm not staying out there alone!"
"SHHHHHH!!!" Magenta practically screamed, pulling the newspaper down harder over her head.
"Heard you guys are heading to Beacon," Ahmar stared at them with his mouth hanging open. "They'll welcome weirdos like you with open arms. Anyway, you guys done? Scram."
"Junior said we could hide here!"
"Oh." The bartender shrugged indifferently. "Why didn't you just say so? Cool by me."
"I feel like I'm the only one missing something here." Yort craned his neck to look Egrer straight in the eye. "I fucking hate not understanding things. Why are you hiding from Torchwick?"
"Long story."
"Well, we ain't in a rush."
"It's really nothing interesting." The exiled Vacuo prince immediately narrowed his eyes. Smelling a buried landmine, Yort wasn't going to miss the chance to dig it up.
"Sounds very interesting to me."
"You wouldn't get it, you need to know the terminology."
"I ain't stupid. I'll get it. Spill."
Well, what should I do? Tell him? It's not the worst idea, actually. Maybe Yort will appreciate the gesture of trust and decide not to ditch us at Beacon. But not in front of everyone!
"Fine, but only when we get home."
"I want to know too!" Magenta almost stood up, but was caught by several hands just in time.
"So your buddies don't even know?" Melanie's voice echoed from his right. She and her sister had also crouched down behind the bar.
"No, and you're not going to tell them. And what are you two doing here?"
"This is our club, Eg. What are you doing here?" Miltia shot back, signaling the bartender to mix her a cocktail.
Since he had no comeback for that, he just helplessly slumped his shoulders. If they only knew how tired he was today. But noooo, they just had to badger him with stupid questions and mock him! As if they had nothing better to do. Though, knowing the Malachites, that was probably exactly the case; with their personalities, they likely didn't have many friends. Only Egrer could tolerate them, and Junior, but he was their boss, so they rarely pushed him too far. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, as the ancient wisdom goes.
"I get it..." Yort muttered. "Torchwick is your adoptive dad."
After a couple of seconds of dead silence, Melanie started laughing obnoxiously loud, and the usually composed Miltia almost joined her. Egrer turned away and massaged his temples.
"Tell me, are you planning to shove every random criminal we meet into my family tree? Even if you guess right, I'm not going to admit it."
"I'm definitely right. It explains a lot."
"What does it explain?!"
"Hey, kid, if you're gonna hide, at least stop yelling. You're gonna blow your cover," Ahmar warned, carefully stepping around them as he gathered ingredients for the cocktail. When you have this much extra foot traffic under your workspace, it's easy to trip.
"Oh, please, nobody can hear anything over this loud music!" That was another reason to hate today—the moment their set ended, a massive crowd had swarmed the club. And that smirk on DJ Joe's face... sure, he was wearing a plush bear head, but Egrer just knew he was grinning like a bastard! "Now spill it, Yort. What exactly does this explain?"
"You love wearing suits and you use hairspray." Egrer looked down at himself—yes, he was wearing a suit jacket, and yes, he had slicked back his hair with hairspray. Just like always.
"And?"
"Torchwick does too."
"That's just a coincidence."
"I don't think so." Yort stated with deadly seriousness, triggering a fresh fit of laughter from the Malachite sisters. "I don't believe in coincidences."
"I... I..." Egrer didn't know how to counter that kind of logic. A nervous smile started creeping onto his face. "I don't wear eyeliner! How do you explain that?"
"You managed to resist some of Torchwick's creepy fruity vibes. But his influence on your fragile childhood psyche was still way too strong."
"Oh yeah, totally!" Melanie giggled. "Did Roman ever try to make you touch him in weird places?"
"Oh, come on! You guys are just bullying me now!" Suddenly, Magenta placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She looked like she was about to cry. "No, not you too..."
"You poor thing, sniff, I had no idea what you went through." Egrer was practically ready to cry too, but out of sheer humiliation. "If you ever feel sad, just tell me everything. I promise, we will get through this together. Everything is going to be okay." She gave him a tight hug.
"Oh, Twin Gods, what did I do to deserve this?"
***
"Like I said, we weren't talking about anything interesting. Just usual teenage stuff. Deadly boring for a grown adult like you."
"Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something here? Whatever, it's not relevant to the case. Can you finally start talking about the intruder? We've wasted a lot of time, and I haven't heard anything useful yet."
"Well, this is the exact moment she showed up."
***
Someone slammed their hand hard onto the bar counter. Judging by the signature growl, it was Junior—a very pissed-off, post-negotiation Junior. Torchwick rarely left his conversation partners in a good mood, but to piss him off this much...
The club owner leaned over the bar and glared down at Egrer. Egrer simply tilted his head up and met his gaze with the apathetic, dead-eyed stare of an overworked coal miner. The sisters, combined with Yort and Magenta, had drained all of his life force.
"Hei, did Torchwick do this to you?"
"I don't want to look at your face. Get out."
"You're not kicking me out forever, right?" Egrer perked up slightly. "We have a contract, remember?"
"You've got a paid day off tomorrow. Now beat it."
Egrer carefully peeked over the bar and didn't spot a single red-haired man with a cane. Sweet freedom—he could finally escape this nest of chimeras.
Meanwhile, Junior slumped onto a barstool and signaled for a drink. Whatever happened, it must have been seriously bad. Egrer wasn't a psychologist, and he didn't know Hei all that well, so the best thing he could do was quietly leave. Besides, a stunning blonde had just walked up to Junior, so he was definitely going to be fine.
That was exactly when everything went to absolute shit.
"Malachites." A bruiser holding a fire axe nodded toward Hei, who was currently... having his balls crushed in the grip of the aforementioned blonde.
Looks like they got off on the wrong foot. Junior was hardly a gentleman, but starting a fight one second after meeting someone?
The sisters instantly got serious. Miltia twisted something on her gloves, and claws popped out, while Melanie clicked her heels against the floor, deploying hidden blades from the toes of her boots. Nobody rushed into the fight just yet, though the gangsters had already begun circling the failed couple.
"Looks like a brawl is brewing," Yort said, perking up and staring intently at the blonde. Though, he probably wasn't admiring her figure, but rather analyzing her abs and biceps. Sizing up her strength.
"Only on my signal." The sisters spoke in unison.
"Need a hand?" Egrer asked.
"Wouldn't hurt. She's either a Huntress or a highly experienced Aura user."
"But she looks so harmless!"
"Madge, she's literally grabbing him by the balls," the leader explained, fiddling with an inconspicuous hilt on his belt. "You'll never understand the pain and fear he's feeling right now, but she's clearly threatening him. Yort, what are our chances of kicking this bitch's ass?"
The former Vacuo gangster calculated something in his head, tapping into his Semblance. It allowed him to determine the exact probabilities of anything: a fight, a lottery, a hand of cards, and so on. But he had no idea what variables influenced those chances, or where the numbers came from.
Yort's eyes widened, but only for a second. As he always said, it was just a side effect of using his power; he could never quite get used to the sudden feeling of an epiphany.
"Seventy-five percent."
"Maybe we shouldn't?" Illmond pleaded, hunching over tiredly. "I'm exhausted and I want to go home."
"Oh, come on, there are seven of us plus the backup dancers. She doesn't stand a chance! Did you hear what Yort said?"
A split second after those words, Junior went flying across the entire club, shattered a glass column, and landed in an unconscious heap on the floor. The blonde froze in a badass pose, extending a smoking fist that had just fired a shotgun blast.
"Ahem, there are six of us plus the backup dancers. Does that count as the signal?"
"What a hit! Time to wreck her shit!" The Vacuo bandit was already surging forward, but the sisters stopped him.
"Hold it, big guy!"
"We have to let the civilians clear out first!"
"The boys will keep her entertained for a minute." When it came to combat, the Malachites operated in perfect tandem, even finishing each other's sentences. "In the meantime, we can see what she's capable of."
"I doubt she's the type to hide her trump cards. Dressed way too flashy for that." Miltia winced. The blonde knew she was gorgeous, and she knew exactly how to highlight and weaponize that beauty.
"It's a shame I left my flamethrower at home." Magenta drooped, while everyone else around her breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The gangsters tried to approach the bitch from all angles, but she was mowing them down faster than they could swing their axes. If an enemy got close, they were toast; if they stayed back, she fired her shotgun-gauntlets backward and closed the gap in a split second. For the most part, the blonde was just brawling hand-to-hand, but she didn't hesitate to unload a few rounds into the toughest-looking guys.
"Alright, time to teach this girl some manners."
"Right you are, sis. Let's wipe the floor with her." Melanie agreed, watching a mobster slowly crawl away, having heroically ignored DJ Joe nearly falling on his head.
The DJ hadn't even had a chance to properly use his turret before the blonde leaped up to his booth and disabled him and his tech with a few swift strikes. The holographic rose petals glitched and vanished, and the ear-shattering heavy-metal-dubstep-punk-rock didn't even play for a full minute. At least there was one upside to this mess.
"Here we gooooo!" Yort slotted a vial of Wind Dust into his brass knuckles and charged in a reckless, head-on attack. The blonde, not expecting a worthy opponent, took a few painful blows—Yort's fists hit like a freight train!
Following right behind him, the sisters lunged into the fray, and Egrer started barking orders at Magenta and Illmond. He was the leader, after all; managing tactics for his pack was his job. Yort didn't count—he was always going to do the exact opposite of what he was told anyway.
"Alright, listen up! Madge, you might be strong, but without your boomstick, you're not doing much fighting here! Hit her with a guilt trip and distract her! Go!"
"Sir, yes sir!" The butterfly saluted and ran toward the hot zone.
"Ill, get up on the wall and wait until we corner her. There are a lot of us; she'll definitely try to cover her back."
"I'm going home." He pulled his hood over his head.
"The fuck you are?!" Egrer was nearly left speechless by the sudden betrayal. "You're the only one of us who can actually fight her one-on-one! You graduated from Sanctum with honors!"
"You guys can handle it. Zerg rushing is always a viable tactic." Egrer took a second to process the situation and come up with proper motivation.
"You know this is gonna be a tough fight, right? We've got a whole crowd against just her, and the chance of success is only seventy-five percent!"
Zero reaction. Egrer belatedly remembered that fighting hadn't interested Illmond since prep school. He needed a different approach.
"When we beat her, we're going to have to neutralize her somehow. Tie her up, for example." Illmond instantly slipped his Spider Weaver gloves onto his hands and leapt onto the wall. "Perv," Egrer muttered under his breath, before rushing to join the fray.
He unclipped a simple-looking handle from his belt and hit the red button. Instantly, folding needles popped out from both ends, each extending to a meter in length. It was the perfect weapon against Aura users; Aura really didn't like narrow, sharp objects.
The fight was intense. Miltia was already out cold on the floor, her red dress soaked in alcohol, which meant her sister couldn't fight at full capacity. Their fighting style relied far too heavily on supporting each other. Yort, however, was having zero issues; he was just swinging his fists, the Wind Dust in his knuckles generating massive shockwaves that shattered furniture and caused more collateral damage than the intruder herself. It was a good thing Junior was knocked out—they could easily blame all of this on her.
Ducking under one such shockwave and slipping through a shower of debris, Egrer popped up beside the blonde and nearly landed a solid strike.
"How many of you are there?!" She dodged, but stepped right into Melanie's bladed heel, catching a nasty slash across her smug face. Not that she seemed to care—just how much Aura did this girl have?!
"Good never fights the forces of evil alone!" Magenta dramatically declared, following her leader's instructions to a T.
"Wait, I'm the evil one here?!" The blonde jumped back, her gauntlets ejecting spent shell casings as fresh rounds instantly cycled into the chambers.
"You bet your ass you are!" Egrer chimed in. "You barged into a club and started trashing the place."
"You're a monster! You ruined a kind man's beloved business!"
"Kind man? You mean Junior? He's a literal gangster!"
Egrer began flanking the blonde from the left, while Yort held the center and Melanie pushed from the right. They spotted Illmond on the wall, already weaving sturdy ropes out of Dust. The enemy kept backing up. She knew she couldn't take on a crowd this big just by swinging her fists, and she was starting to think tactically. To buy herself some time, she slowly retreated toward the wall.
"So you follow the 'stealing from a thief isn't stealing' philosophy, huh?" Egrer asked snidely. "Gangster or not, you're the one who started wrecking shit."
"Didn't mommy ever teach you it's wrong to touch other people's things?" Melanie decided to add her own taunt, but she clearly picked the wrong topic.
The blonde's eyes instantly shifted to a burning crimson, and her hair caught fire—literally, fucking caught fire! She fired a blast behind her and in the blink of an eye, she smashed Melanie right in her smiling face. The mobster's Aura flashed white, and her body collapsed into a puddle next to her sister.
"Talk shit, get hit..." Egrer watched her fly through the air with mixed feelings. He knew it was their turn next, but he couldn't completely shake off a tiny droplet of schadenfreude.
Meanwhile, the intruder was already laying into Yort, delivering a merciless and chaotic flurry of blows. The giant didn't even have time to counterattack, forced entirely onto the defensive. Egrer signaled Illmond to get ready and rushed in to help, grabbing a glass off a table and crushing it in his hand on the run.
"Hey, baby!" The blonde turned at the shout, and Egrer threw the shards—not at her, but at Yort.
The bruiser didn't miss a beat. He swung his arm, activating his brass knuckles. A cloud of sharp glass fragments, caught in a violent gust of wind, forced the intruder to shield her face with her arms and step back. In that exact moment, Illmond tossed a garrote around her neck.
"Tie her up!" Yort lunged at the blonde, trying to hip-toss her, but caught a boot to the face and failed to finish the move.
Egrer flanked her from behind again and jabbed her in the back. The intruder's Aura flickered dangerously yellow, but a "guard break" was still a long way off. Magenta decided to pitch in too, hurling a bottle of random booze at the disoriented blonde. Amber cognac splashed over her hair, but it instantly vaporized in the heat of another fit of rage.
Egrer barely managed to duck under a haymaker, but her knee found its mark. He went flying into the bar, taking out dozens of highly expensive liquor bottles.
"The more we hit her, the stronger she gets!"
"Are you kidding me?! You want us to stop hitting her?" Yort yelled back sarcastically, blocking blow after blow.
He was acting as a human shield for Illmond, who had swapped a Dust vial in one of his gloves for Lightning Dust and was weaving complex geometric patterns in the air. As a Dust Mage, he could unleash what amounted to localized natural disasters, which he was about to demonstrate.
A glowing purple hybrid of a bow and a pentagram fired a projectile straight at the blonde, directed by Illmond's will. The arrow dragged the rest of the Dust construct along with it, transforming into one massive lightning bolt. If the intruder hadn't dodged, the fight would have been over. The wall behind her was obliterated, the edges of the blast hole melting as superheated slag dripped onto the floor.
Twisting like a snake on a hot skillet, she barely managed to evade Illmond's spells. And he wasn't worrying about ammo conservation, weaving new shapes in the air non-stop, combining Lightning and Gravity Dust. A relentless barrage of thunder and flashes filled the room, while localized gravity fluctuations slowly reduced the club to rubble.
A couple of times, the blonde tried to leap at Illmond, but Yort stayed vigilant, refusing to let her close the distance. The lasso was still dangling around her neck; she simply didn't have a spare second to pull it off. So Egrer decided it was time for take two.
"Madge, help me out! Yort, blow!" The giant swung his arm, and a gust of wind forced the blonde back a step. At the same time, someone yanked the garrote, finally sweeping her off her feet. "Dogpile her!"
The whole pack jumped on the girl to tie her down—Yort pinned her arms, Madge grabbed her legs, while Egrer worked on stripping off her gauntlets.
"Get the fuck off me! They're raping me!!!" She thrashed wildly but was too exhausted to break free again.
"You really shouldn't have brought up rape," Egrer chuckled.
"What do you mean?" Illmond was already approaching, crackling Dust threads extending from his fingertips. He was weaving them into ropes as he walked, a creepy, anticipatory smile on his face. "Hold up! You guys can't be serious!?"
"If you don't squirm, the ropes won't shock you. Well, not as much," caring Illmond helpfully explained.
"Hey, rainbow-hair! Show some sisterly solidarity, help me out!"
"You are a bad person." Magenta pouted, maintaining her iron grip on the girl's legs. "You need to be punished."
The blonde screamed at the top of her lungs, but naturally, nothing horrific actually happened to her.
The club, on the other hand...
***
"Well, you know the rest."
"I didn't ask you to recount your entire day, but fine. Every little detail helps for the record."
"Lieutenant? Can I demand compensation from her?" Egrer nodded toward the police paddy wagon where the tied-up blonde had recently been hauled off. "For assault, inflicting irreparable psychological trauma, and destroying my place of employment."
"Live music at a nightclub, right?" The cop reread that part of the report.
"Correct. Why has no one but me come up with such a brilliant idea?"
"Because your idea is complete dogshit," Junior grumbled.
"You can file a complaint, but you'll have to take it up with Beacon. They're responsible for her." Poor Headmaster, Egrer thought. Just a week ago he was paying Junior off for that brawling Huntsman, and now he has to cover for a student.
"Wait, I'm gonna have to go to school with her?" Egrer suddenly realized. "Creepy."
"But she has to be the one to file the complaint." The cop turned off his bodycam, signaling the end of the interrogation. "Which one of you is the shibari expert?"
Egrer glanced over at a misunderstood artist. He had been interrogated too, but had just given half-assed answers, completely consumed by inspiration for his new hentai manga. Illmond was sketching it out right now, his nose buried in his scroll. There were traces of blood under his nose—not from getting hit (he hadn't taken a single bruise during the fight), but from sheer over-arousal.
"Almost forgot. I should have done this at the beginning, but..." The lieutenant turned the camera back on. "Your ID, please. I understand Mr. Xiong might settle for financial compensation, but if this goes to court..."
"Sure." Egrer and Junior handed over their identification cards. The cop studied them carefully and jotted down some information in his report.
"A Faunus, huh? I have to inform you that the third amendment to the fifteenth article of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Vale allows a court to dismiss any testimony from a Faunus if they are on a watchlist and/or suspected of criminal activity. Furthermore, if a human defendant's testimony contradicts a Faunus accuser's, the court has the right to dismiss the Faunus accuser's testimony, provided there isn't a human corroborating it, or the number of Faunus accusers does not equal ten or more."
"Thanks for reminding me of my place, sir."
"You're welcome." Egrer glared at the cop's retreating back. His mood was completely ruined.
"Want a smoke?" Junior offered.
"Yeah, hit me."
They sat in silence for a bit, smoking. Egrer rarely smoked and tried not to make it a habit; his voice already sounded like he had tuberculosis. Thanks, Faunus heritage.
"Heard your buddy figured out who your old man is."
"Nothing gets past you." Egrer chuckled. "He took a wild stab in the dark and finally hit the mark on the hundredth try. But without proof, he's just gonna mock me until another mobster catches his eye."
Because Yort's Semblance doesn't work when the answer can only be a straight "yes" or "no." He can't just ask himself, "What are the odds that Roman Torchwick is Egrer's adoptive father?" because the answer would either be one hundred percent or zero. It can't be twenty or ninety-nine, right? He's not a genie from a fairytale; he can't just answer direct questions.
"Thanks to the twins, they laughed at him so convincingly it threw him off. But it takes more than that to faze Yort."
In the club, only Junior and the Malachites knew the truth about Egrer's parents. Within his pack, only Illmond was in the loop, and that wasn't out of deep trust, but pure coincidence.
Egrer had saved him from a suicidal jump off a bridge right as he was running away from his dad. Not intentionally, it was also a coincidence—at that moment, he didn't care much about bystanders, only his own skin. He had simply blown up a Dust truck (also an accident, by the way), and his future best friend ended up flying slightly past his intended target. Instead of plummeting into a bottomless ravine, he crashed onto a nearby rocky ledge. Painful, sure, but not fatal. Then, finding himself without a ride, Egrer hastily stole the concussed Illmond's scooter.
But since he had quit the criminal life, his conscience began eating at the aspiring musician. He tracked down where Illmond lived and returned the stolen scooter. It seemed the guy decided, screw jumping off a bridge, and figured he'd stick around a little longer. And then things just sort of snowballed from there.
"You got a raw deal with your family." It was hard to tell whether there was more pity or malicious glee in Junior's voice.
"Roman is... a difficult person." Egrer exhaled a plume of smoke. "But he mostly keeps himself in check around his own people."
"Torchwick is a racist."
"He's a misanthrope. He hates everyone equally," Egrer corrected. "It's just that insulting a Faunus takes zero effort—call them a flea-bitten mutt and laugh at the reaction. You get used to it quickly. And Mom was never dangerous to me. I honestly don't know what she sees in me, but she always took good care of me."
"Neopolitan wasn't with him. That's a good sign."
"Maybe she was. You know her, she's the master of stealth." With her illusion Semblance, she could get in anywhere, which was basically how she made a living. With her help, their family easily spent their dirty money just by pretending to be other people and going on shopping sprees.
In their small family, Torchwick was the only media personality; barely anyone knew about the rest of them. He got news segments dedicated to him, brilliant criminologists analyzed his schemes, and once, he even made it into a women's magazine as Vale's Most Desirable Man. But the authorities quickly shut that down—romanticizing criminals is a bad look.
"Hold on, stop!" Egrer suddenly snapped to attention. "Are you interrogating me?!"
"You gotta seize every opportunity. Call it a reflex." Junior didn't look the least bit guilty, merely shrugging.
"And this is why nobody trusts people."
"Friendly advice—don't trust anyone, you'll live longer."
"First of all—your advice is garbage. Second of all—since when are we friends?"
"See? Why would anyone offer friendship after that." Junior smirked.
"Let me give you some almost friendly advice—stop being an asshole first."
They sat, smoked, and stayed quiet for a while longer.
"You know, I gotta confess something," Hei started. "I actually do get a lot of people in here at eleven. I just told the bouncers to tell everyone we're closed for maintenance until midnight."
Wow, turns out this day had one more trick up its sleeve to make things worse. But Egrer didn't even have the energy to be angry anymore. He had absolutely zero energy left. He just flopped onto his back, ignoring the shards of glass poking into him. His Aura would protect him.
"Well, now you're closed for maintenance for real."
"Karma." Junior sighed.
"Karma," Egrer confirmed. "Give me another cigarette."