McSwazey
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Volume 2: Chapter 204 — Reality TV
🕑 Added 2024-01-12 18:12:20 +0000 UTCDan was often confronted by the boundless stupidity of human nature, but this might be a new low. The alley where the D.C. vigilante had been seen was fenced off with orange construction cones, three large bouncer-esque figures barely holding back a small horde of civilians from breaching through. Past the mouth of the alley, a news van was parked with its rear doors spread open. The logo on its side read 'Vigi-Busters' and the rest of the paneling was covered in a sweeping mural of costumed heroes in cuffs. Men in blue jumpsuits moved about the alley, setting up recording equipment, while the hosts of this shit show examined the walls of the alley where the vigilante had slammed her victim.
The two men were tall and well-built, both carrying the eerie perfection that came from extensive appearance mods. They both wore dark suits and ties, obviously evoking the image of stern federal agents, and despite the occluding darkness of the alley walls, they both wore blacked-out sunglasses. They looked like a pair of gaping assholes. Dan was vaguely familiar with the show they ran, and he knew their personalities perfectly matched their appearance.
There was a brief period in the early nineties when reality television was first taking off, where vigilante hunting became a popular fad. Dozens of television shows sprang up and died over the next ten years, as the few remaining active vigilantes in the country were systematically stalked and unmasked using increasingly unhinged methods. It was nothing short of a purge, with all the terrible connotations thereof. Only after the infamous live airing of "The Town Watch' episode 53, where the host performed an unannounced, entirely illegal home invasion and was subsequently shot, that the fad came to an undignified end. At no point in time had any of the participants clued in to the hypocrisy of their actions, and indeed seemed to have learned no lessons at all. The recent re-emergence in vigilantism had prompted a matching surge in vigilante hunting, all in the relentless pursuit of fame and content without a shred of regard for morality or common sense.
The Vigi-Busters—the Buster Brothers, as the hosts called themselves—sat somewhere near the center of the insanity bell curve, being a new operation rather than the re-establishment of an old one. Yet their content disturbed Dan, for they took on the airs of true believers, spouting increasingly extreme rhetoric while chasing down any 'lead', no matter how flimsy or unsubstantiated. The hosts were a pair of fraternal twins who had deliberately exaggerated their features to outline their differences, with one being broad-shouldered and square-jawed, while the other was lanky and horse-faced. Neither had publicly revealed their upgrade, but it was obviously something that aided in their investigations. Enhanced senses of some kind, thousands of which were readily available on the open market.
The pair were insufferable and inflammatory, but they were also decent, albeit amateur, investigators. They were smart enough to hire a crew to fill in for their weaknesses and had occasionally sought expert advice when the conclusion would suit their narrative. Worse still, they were hungry. With no real successes yet to their name, they were eager for a breakthrough. The D.C. vigilante, now proven indisputably real, was like a feast set before starving men.
The production had completely monopolized the small alley like a swarm of tiny dragons jealously guarding a hoard. The gathered crowd outside clamored for attention, a mix of genuine fans hoping to be noticed, and locals heckling for fun. The two brother-hosts ignored them all, focused entirely on the walls and floor where the D.C. vigilante had briefly battled. The leaner of the two ran long fingers across a crack in the concrete wall, nails digging into the furrowed gorge. He paused about halfway down, gently prying at whatever he had discovered. He called his brother over, and they held a brief, frantic conversation. They pulled apart soon after, excitement filling their features.
Dan frowned at the thought of these two finding actual, actionable evidence. He extended his veil past the barriers and the bodyguards, well into the alley's depths. Dan was thankful the brothers had apparently identified precisely where the vigilante had landed. The video's quality was so pixelated and grainy, that Dan had planned on simply searching every inch of the place. Not that he wouldn't do it anyway, but now he had a promising starting point.
His veil crawled up the alley walls and dug into the deep cracks lining its face. It took only seconds to find the very same thing the brothers had: a tiny scrap of fibrous cloth, snagged on the jagged edges of the crack and pulled free from a jacket. This was almost certainly a piece of the unfortunate mugger's clothing, ripped out after his bludgeoning by the vigilante. It was an incredibly lucky find. It was also completely useless to Dan.
The Buster Brothers were in this for the story, and discovering an unexpected piece of evidence made for damn good television. Even better if said evidence leads to the 'victim' of the crime, who might be milked for more air time. Dan could already picture how the pair might spin out a full episode from this single, fairly insignificant discovery. Unfortunately, the identity of the mugger was completely irrelevant. It would not lead to the D.C. vigilante except in the extremely unlikely event that they knew, and had followed said mugger. Or, Dan supposed, his victim. He discounted either scenario.
Frustrating, but hardly unexpected. Dan's veil swept out across the alley as the television crew began filming preparations. It appeared to be a low-traffic area, but it was nonetheless filthy. Dirt, debris, and human particulates were scattered and mixed in such voluminous quantities it became impossible to separate them. This too was not unexpected. Dan's veil was precise enough to distinguish between base elements, but parsing the owner of each individual fleck of dead skin was something well beyond him. He was looking primarily for human hair because the upgrades that allowed for its manipulation often changed its texture and makeup in ways he presumed his veil would feel.
While he searched, the Vigi-Hunters filming finally got underway. The crowd grew even rowdier as they saw cameras coming out, so a member of the crew walked out to the alley entrance and made a hushing motion. The simple action threw out an invisible sound baffle between the alley's entrance and the film crew, and Dan was forced to open a tiny portal underneath the van to hear what was going on. He listened in through a matching door in his hood, paying half attention while he searched the rest of the alley.
The Buster Brothers began their introduction, and every single word they spoke only confirmed the assumptions Dan had made about them. They opened with an explanation of where they were, broadcasting the exact location of the alley for any fool who might be listening. It was practically a gilded invitation for their viewers to get directly involved in the pursuit of a vigilante; something which had historically ended in tears and blood.
The twins gave a brief summary of the D.C. vigilante's portfolio, crediting them with several appearances that Dan had never heard about and wasn't convinced were real. Next, they queued up the cell phone footage, interpolating their own commentary as it played out, mostly focusing on the violence and intimidation the vigilante exuded. When that was over, they acted out a search of the alley, pointing out the places where the vigilante's power might have cracked stone and concrete. Once again, they emphasized the danger of this person while reiterating the civic responsibility of catching them. Finally, they reached the small scrap of clothing wedged in the broken wall.
The taller brother gasped theatrically and called over one of the crew. The man reached up to where the host indicated and ripped a fist-sized chunk clean out of the wall. That drew curses and expletives from Dan's side of the barrier, as the locals witnessed their buildings being defaced. The brute handed over his chunk of wall and the lean twin's narrow fingers reached into the furrow to pinch out his prize. He held up the shredded cloth fiber to the camera lens and called it a victory. The segment ended, and the cameras came down. All the while, Dan fruitlessly searched for real evidence.
The bigger brother stepped away from his crew and approached the crowd. Fans of the show surged forward, only held back by the illusion of authority, a few gorilla-like bodyguards, and some bright orange traffic cones. The show host raised both hands in a calming motion, waited for the noise to settle, and spoke to the assembled civilians.
"We're looking to interview some locals about their feelings on the vigilante," he announced with a scheming smile. "Who wants to be on television!?"
He asked the question as if the answer was self-evident, and indeed the crowd had no shortage of volunteers eagerly shouting to be noticed. The show host basked in the noise his words had created, before gesturing once more for silence.
"Now, now, there are some conditions," he cautioned. "We want honest reactions, of course, but only the most relevant interviews will be broadcast." He smiled again, a rectangle of white bolted onto a square face. "Our current theory is the vigilante is traversing the city by rooftop, using their hair as a sort of grappling hook. The video seems to support this theory, but we need more confirmation." He paused, letting the idea settle into the crowd. He took on a tone of guileless curiosity as he asked, "Who among you has seen such a thing, and is brave enough to speak out on it?"
Dan turned away as the crowd exploded into outlandish hearsay, dozens of eager mouths willing to lie shamelessly for their fifteen minutes of fame. Sad as it was, the Buster Brothers actually had a point. The D.C. vigilante almost certainly traveled by rooftop. Which meant Dan was wasting his time here on the ground. He needed to look higher.
So he did. With a thought, Dan was on the rooftop overlooking the alley. His veil swept out, searching for signs of trespass or evidence left behind. He found neither, but he wasn't discouraged. "Step into the shoes of your quarry," Tawny had taught him. The former private detective was no slouch at finding those who didn't want to be found, and Dan hoped to channel some small fraction of that talent now.
He stood on the roof and imagined himself in the dark. A vigilante on the hunt. Dan still worked under the assumption that the vigilante was not stalking a random mugger. The idea seemed contrary to him. A vigilante did not need to wait for a crime to occur before intervening. That was the whole point and problem. They could just beat the crap out of someone if they suspected foul play, no need to pussy-foot around the issue. No, Dan's gut said this was a patrol, and mere chance brought the vigilante in line with the mugger. Such an inefficient method would also explain the vigilante's relatively sparse number of appearances. Running around in the dark hoping to stumble into a crime-in-progress didn't work so well if you weren't Batman.
He mentally ratcheted down the estimated age of his quarry. Few adults had the time or physical capability to burn the candle at both ends. Dan couldn't do it, and he was young and healthy himself. Late teens, Dan thought, or early twenties at most. Someone in that youthful period of indestructibility. Even then, it wasn't sustainable. The vigilante's current absence might very well be more from exhaustion than the good sense to lay low.
So, on patrol, moving from rooftop to rooftop. Dan looked around, taking in the surprisingly level terrain. He pulled in his veil, relying on his very mundane senses to direct him. He could hear traffic; there was a freeway nearby, and while it would be quieter at night, rush hour never really ended in D.C. He tried to listen to the chatter below, but quickly realized he could barely make out the words. The narrow alley caught the echoes of speech and jumbled them all together, spitting out a messy wad of indecipherable noise. One might not be able to distinguish cries of distress from the general sounds of the city without a specific upgrade. An upgrade that the vigilante should not have unless they were doing something ridiculous like sensing vibrations through their hair.
Dan scowled as he realized it was a genuine possibility. Regardless, he would act as if the vigilante was limited to merely human senses. Not everybody had a toolbox power like his own. That meant the vigilante would have had to spot the mugging as it happened. It was a deep alley, but there were lights outside of it. It wouldn't be impossible for an alert vigilante to notice something going on inside. But the sharp angle of the narrow alley was a limiting factor.
Dan slowly panned his vision across the rooftop horizon. This particular area was filled with buildings of roughly equal height. He could easily picture the vigilante hooking themselves from roof to roof using their own hair as a tether. He could see where the elevation changes might prove too daunting, where the vigilante might alter his route to accommodate the painful consequences of gravity. It was... almost a trail. And Dan could see its end.
He willed himself to another roof, this one across the street from the alley. It stood slightly taller than its neighbors, with short, squat walls. From here, Dan could see directly down the mouth of the alley. It had to be here, Dan's gut insisted. The alley was too tall and narrow for anything else. The other end of the street lacked a street light; an approach from that end would've missed the altercation entirely. It had to be here.
The roof was covered in sunbaked concrete and bits of loose gravel. He spun in a slow circle, letting out his veil in an attempt to grasp his surroundings. Nothing obvious jumped out at him, no glowing strands of hair or scraps of clothing, but the concrete was scuffed in a way that indicated a slide, and the bits of gravel were shoved away in a manner that indicated the same. It wasn't really proof of anything, except perhaps that someone had been up here before, and recently.
Without physical signs, Dan was forced to rely on guesses and feelings. It was easy enough to fall into the mind of an amateur crime fighter. Dan basically was one already, if a little seasoned by now. He thought back to where the vigilante had been reported. The locations were scattered about the city, with no solid territory to speak of. He wasn't circling a neighborhood. He was doing something else.
He imagined himself on patrol, untrained and unaware. Blind luck and instinct guided him as he moved at a runner's pace from rooftop to rooftop. No plan, no route, just a rough destination and the exhilaration of movement. He would travel in a straight line, as best as he could, until terrain or circumstance diverted him. But where was he going, and where from?
Dan looked down into the alley once more, and he walked a slow circle on the roof, keeping it in sight. Blind luck, Dan thought again, as the alley mouth fell out of view. A straight line. He moved forward, marking the earliest he could see the target. He noted the scuffed concrete and gravel, not a foot from where he stood. He lined himself up with the target, then spun directly around. Another roof, another building. Dan tried to picture himself leaping the distance, tendrils of hair carrying him forward. He tried to imagine hitting the roof, bleeding momentum, sliding to a stop as the alley came into view, one man threatening another right there in front of him, right in his path. The image settled into place, and it felt true.
Dan brought out his phone and pulled up a map of the city. He quickly found himself, and then the alley across the way. He drew a mental line between the two points and scrolled along its path. He looked for apartments, homes, businesses, and anything open or accessible in the dead of night. He came upon something else, something that had him scrolling back in the opposite direction, a straight line away from the alley from where they'd come. When he found a matching icon, Dan knew he'd struck pay-dirt.
Stationed almost perfectly in line with the imaginary route Dan had conjured was an always open, easily accessible place of business that would never question its patrons, nor judge them for their appearance. A place with cameras, where he could quickly prove or disprove his theory.
Dan's finger tapped on the icon for the D.C. Metrorail, and he smiled.
A/N: It was a rough winter season, but I'm back now. Hope everyone had happy holidays.
