Chapter Text
“Come on, guys, just think about it,” says Mike Chilton. “It's not even the craziest plan we've ever had--It could work, right?”
“No.”
“Probably not.”
“Don’t even try.”
“Uh...yeah, no.”
Mike frowns at his friends, then cranes his neck over his shoulder and shouts, “Jacob, back me up here! It could work, right?”
“No!” echoes a voice from the back of the garage. The rest of the Burners give Mike identical “I told you so” looks.
Mike groans, running a square hand through his hair. For a second the tense frown-line between his brows is visible, before his hair falls back again. "Listen," he says stubbornly. "When Kane sent the Genesis Pod, you guys all stood together. They had to work together, so they did! We can use that!"
Chuck shifts uneasily next to him, skinny, freckled hands folding and unfolding uncomfortably. "I mean yeah," he says reluctantly, "--but that’s a pretty extreme example, Mikey...I mean, you weren't here, so we had to do something, so--”
“What, so the only time all the gangs in Motorcity can work together is when I’m not here?” says Mike, spreading his hands in exasperation. “I don’t believe that! Kane couldn’t beat them all together--heck, it’s probably why he hasn’t tried anything big like the Genesis Pod since we took it down!”
“Sure, maybe,” says Dutch. He looks uncomfortable too, but that seems to be more because of the unfinished painting in the garage below than because of Mike's crazy plans. His filtration mask is still hanging from one long-fingered brown hand and he's rolling a can of spray pant back and forth on the table absently.
“‘Sure maybe’ -- Dutch, back me up,” says Mike, mock-injured. “Julie, Tex?”
Julie has been doing her best not to weigh in too hard on either side of this one; she gives a brief grimace, but before she can answer Texas jumps in, like he usually does, clapping his hands brisk and loud. "Alright, Mike," he says, and slaps a hand against the chest of his flame-patterned racing suit. "--Texas knows you've only been down here for like a week--”
“A year and a half,” Chuck interjects.
“--Yeah, whatever--so I'm gonna give you the low-down on this thing. These guys are all in, like, the same business! I’ve been watchin’ ‘em double-cross each other and smash up buildings since before you were born, Tiny.”
“Texas,” says Mike, “we’re the same age, man…”
“Uh-huh," says Texas, who's transparently not listening. "--Point is: no.”
“I haven't seen them double-cross each other that much,” says Mike.
“We kind of have,” Julie points out, and resists the urge to laugh a little, even as tense as she feels, at the betrayed look Mike gives her. She finds a strand of her hair, deep glossy red, and picks at it methodically as she lists off, “Rayon...the Duke...the Duke again…”
“Hey, the Duke owes me,” Mike protests. “He won’t be any trouble for a while!”
Chuck and Dutch share a look. Texas gives a short, unconvinced, “Uh-huh.”
Julie sighs. “Look, Mike, it’s a good idea in theory, but when it comes down to it, they don’t trust each other. There’s too much history.”
“Well, things down here are gonna get worse if Kane gets his way,” says Mike stubbornly. He frowns for a second, then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stare around at them all. “Look-- I mean, I know it all seems pretty calm right now, but Kane’ll try again. And next time, a last-minute alliance might not be enough!”
“...So, even if we're gonna act like they'll all be willing to play nice,” says Dutch, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “what are you even thinkin' we'll do about it? You wanna get them all together for peace talks?”
Mike beams, apparently bolstered by even tentative acceptance. "Yeah!" he says. “Sure!”
“Too many conflicting interests,” Chuck mumbles, sinking back in his chair. The others make noises of resigned agreement, not looking at Mike. There’s a pause, and then Mike puts a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. To Chuck’s visible surprise and concern, he’s still grinning.
“One shared interest, Chuckles,” he says. “Motorcity.”
The others share a look. Nobody has mentioned to Mike that the actual cheer on the day of reckoning was “For Mike and Motorcity” , and this seems like an awkward moment to bring it up. But maybe if it is Mike who tries to bring them all together...it might work? Either way, the look says, it’s easier to go along with it than it is to argue with Mike Chilton.
“How do we do this, then?” asks Julie, resigned. “Send out a memo? Peace-meet Friday at five, we’ll bring snacks? ”
“Did someone say snacks?” says Jacob, appearing around the doorway with a tray in his oven-mitted hands. There's flour all over his leather vest, on his skinny arms and, mysteriously, in his iron-grey mutton-chops. “How about my yam-and-chard potato pockets?”
The smell wafts over them.
“Y’know,” says Mike quickly, “we were just about to go for a drive. Maybe later, Jacob!”
“One for the road?” Jacob waves one of the strange orange objects under Texas’s nose.
“Huh. Don’t mind if I do.”
“Oh, dude ,” says Chuck, watching in horror as Texas shoves a potato pocket in his mouth.
"Muscle-food, skinny," says Texas, tapping another potato pocket sagely against one of his sturdy biceps. “Alright, let’s go! Texas!!”
“Sounds good,” says Mike, looking around as he stands up. “Jules, you coming?”
“Actually, I have a meeting to be at,” says Julie ruefully. “I’ll probably get fired if I’m not there, so…”
Mike frowns slightly. For a second Julie thinks he's going to say something, and her stomach ties itself in a nervous, familiar knot. But then Mike shakes off whatever he was thinking about and just smiles at her instead. "Sure," he says. “Be careful, alright?”
“You too,” says Julie, and heads for her car at the fastest pace she can without looking suspicious. Nine Lives is reassuringly quiet and private when she swings inside and closes the door behind her, all pink plush seats where there used to be old-fashioned police cruiser tech, and Julie takes a second to just settle in and breathe, taking longer than strictly necessary to turn her key in the ignition. She knows Mike must have watched her walk away, and she just doesn’t want to meet his eyes again. She’s pretty sure she knows what he wanted to say. He's said it before, in a little bubble of quiet during the celebration after the Genesis Pod fell.
“It’s nothing, just...don’t get too close, you know? It’ll only make it harder in the end.”
“...Little late for that,” says Julie under her breath, and hits the gas.
--
Julie wonders, sometimes, what the other Burners would say if they could see her in Deluxe. Settled into an ergonomic Kane Co. hoverchair, with Detroit Deluxe's artificial afternoon sunlight pouring through the glass wall across from her. It probably wouldn't make a difference to them, that Julie didn't technically lie; she did have a meeting to get to. It's just the...circumstances that they might have some trouble with.
Abraham Kane, sole dictator of Detroit Deluxe and founder of Kane Co., sits down across from her and says, “On time today! Good.”
“I told you I’d take it seriously,” says Julie. Privately, she wonders whether she could have gotten out of this if she’d gotten sick eating one of Jacob’s potato pockets. It’s great that she’s getting more Kane Co. info out of these lessons, but each one is an unavoidable reminder of the pressure she’s under on both sides of her double life.
Some day, Julie thinks, it’s going to crush her.
“Have you been sleeping better, sweetie?”
“Huh?” Julie looks up, torn abruptly from the stressful thoughts churning in the back of her mind. “Oh--yeah, I’m doing a lot better, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”
“I have to worry,” says Kane obstinately. “After what Chilton almost did…”
Julie blinks away the sudden, stark, adrenaline-filled memory of dangling thousands of feet above Deluxe, Mike’s hands wrapped painfully tight around hers, and manages a shrug. “Well, he didn’t. Things...worked out fine!”
“No, they didn’t!” her father shouts, sudden and earsplitting, and then reins himself in with a deep breath, the way he does every time he startles her with a sudden burst of intensity. “...No. I’m...glad I didn’t lose you, but this proves what I’ve been saying all along: Chilton is trying to destroy everything I love! And I can’t stop him unless I destroy his precious Motorcity .”
Julie bites the inside of her cheek, wanting to say--but unable to say-- You know how for two nights in a row I asked you to stay in Kane Co. tower while I was sleeping because I was scared? It wasn’t just that I was having nightmares where Mike didn’t catch me, or that I saw your pod smash into the streets of Deluxe and explode and I really thought you’d died, or because I was worried you’d get hurt again doing something crazy. It was because I’d seen what you tried to do to my friends, my other home, and I kept imagining that if I let you go I’d wake up and they’d all be gone in the morning.
She says, “...Can we start the lesson now?”
He watches her face for a moment, then smiles a little under his ginger mustache (now starting to gray like his beard). “That’s my girl. Alright, where did we leave off?”
“Employees,” says Julie, trying to force a little enthusiasm into her voice, and watches as he switches from father mode to business mode.
“Good memory! When speaking to an employee, Julie, you maintain eye contact. You have to let them know who’s in charge. They have to believe in you. They won’t believe in you if you don’t stand your ground.”
But Dad, I thought you made people believe in you by having Tooley beat them up, offers Julie’s hindbrain. She shuts it down. Any other day she would be ready to argue, but with her father offering her more insight into his private business affairs every day, she can’t take the chance.
He’s still talking, animated by his passion for his ideals. “--You can’t give them an inch, do you understand? Not to your employees and never to the gutter trash in Motorcity. Not an inch, Julie!”
Julie thinks of Red, his dangerous instability and hatred of Mike turned to Kane Co.'s cause. Of the Duke, his volatile temper and underhanded deals with Deluxe. “But...don’t you sometimes have to work with your enemy?" she says carefully. "Like...a business merger?”
Kane bursts out laughing, his usual rough, unrestrained peals. When he eventually regains his composure enough to answer, there’s still an indulgent laugh in his voice. Julie’s temper, close to the surface since the most recent battle for Motorcity, the betrayals and terror and nightmares, rises sharply in a hot rush behind her eyes. She keeps her face blank. “Julie, that’s an old idea from when there was more than one company. Kane Co. provides everything people need! Our enemies can’t give the people anything.”
“But they can give... Kane Co. things,” Julie hazards.
Her father pauses, then leans forward on the table and looks at her evenly.
“Just because somebody is your opponent,” Julie goes on, encouraged by the spark of interest in his eyes, “--that doesn’t mean they have nothing to offer. And--and if they think you’re working with them, they might…” betray themselves, her brain supplies, in a tone alarmingly similar to her father’s. “...give up valuable information.”
Kane looks at her for a few long moments, silent, unreadable. Julie is seconds from waving the whole thing off, trying to gloss over everything she said, when he sits back and smiles to himself.
“I think that’s enough for today’s lesson,” he says, and the sharp twist in Julie’s stomach when he smiles fondly at her vanishes before she can tell if it’s pride or sick anxiety. “Do you have dinner plans?”
“Uh, yeah,” says Julie, a little taken aback. “I’m eating with Claire tonight.”
He frowns, then shrugs. “Oh. Maybe tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, maybe!” says Julie, smiling. And then, quickly, before he can say anything else, “Well, bye!”
Kane watches her go in impassive silence. When the door closes behind her, he sighs through his nose, runs a hand over his slicked-back hair, and adjusts the ponytail at the base of his skull. Then he takes a deep breath, chest swelling like an angry god’s, and bellows, “TOOLEY!”
There’s the sound of a distant crash as his second-in-command breaks whatever he was messing around with in the other room. Then Tooley comes flailing through the door, stumbling in his hurry, all joints and enthusiasm.
“Yessir Mister Kane Sir!” He salutes, grinning a grin full of crooked teeth. Kane regards him with the same vaguely appreciative disgust he always does, and then sighs his constant disappointment and settles down in his chair.
“Send in my next appointment.”
As Tooley thumps off, Kane pulls up a citizenship profile on one of his screens and studies it. He doesn't look up when Tooley returns, with another figure in Kane Co. blue and white striding behind him. He waits for both of them to draw level with the desk, and then lets the silence stand for another few seconds before closing the holographic screen with a flick of one hand.
“Cadet Alex Harley.”
When he looks up, Alex Harley looks back at him, half-smiling. He’s tall, at least six feet, with a thin-bladed nose, black close-cropped hair, and sleepy but startlingly blue eyes. He looks like a cocky brat. Kane leans back in his chair and folds his arms, making no attempt to hide how unimpressed he already is.
“Mister Kane, Sir,” says Harley, “Since your recent attempt with the Genesis Pod didn’t work and I haven’t heard anything around the building about any new major plans, I’m guessing things aren’t going so well on the destroy Motorcity front. Plus, about half your leading scientists have black eyes or fractures--”
“Are you going somewhere with this, Cadet?” Kane growls, narrowing his eyes.
“Sir, I have a passion for biotechnology--I majored in it, actually--and I spend a lot of my free time in the R&D department, where I found an old project that might be useful--”
Kane sneers. Disappointing. “You’re a soldier, Harley, not a scientist. Don’t waste my time. Tooley, take Cadet Harley to...readjust his priorities.”
Tooley guffaws and cracks his knuckles, striding forward to put a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “Re-a-just your pry-or-teas. That means I get to--”
“Excuse me, Sir,” says Harley, with a bright little grin. Tooley is still halfway through raising a fist, ponderously winding up for a punch, when Harley twists past his hand, drives a fist up into Tooley's jaw and then lands two more sharp jabs in his gut. Then, flashing Kane a quick, half-apologetic glance, he clocks Tooley across the temple with a hammerfist and shoves him toward Kane's desk. Tooley hits the ground in front of the desk in a groaning heap.
“If you’d let me finish, Sir,” says Harley, still perfectly polite and even, and shakes his shoulders out, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet as the energy of the fight drains back out of him. “--I would have told you how my discovery can significantly contribute to the war effort.”
There’s a long, frozen moment as they stare at each other, and then Kane throws back his head and lets out a harsh bark of laughter and the moment breaks. “Very impressive!” He says, and falls back into his chair. “Alright, you can finish. But if you don’t get to the point, Cadet, I’ll finish Tooley’s job myself.”
Harley falters at that for a split second, then his smile returns. “Well, long story short, Sir, I’ve found a way to finish one of your old partner’s projects.”
Kane pauses, eyes fixed for a brief moment on a point in the distance. Jacob. What was even left of Jacob’s research?
“Which...project?”
“This one, Sir.” Harley waves up a screen, on which appear scans and photos from Jacob’s original research. Many of Jacob’s notes have been crossed out and scribbled over with new handwriting. Kane feels some faint, residual offense at this for a moment, but shakes it off. He remembers this idea, and he remembers why Jacob scrapped it.
“The only problem, Sir,” says Harley, “is that the tech is outdated. I thought you might like to consider it as a possibility, though. With our new nanotechnology and energy options, it would be easy enough for me to renovate it.”
Kane stares at the screen for a long moment, and then slowly turns his gaze up to meet Harley’s electric blue eyes. “Cadet Harley,” he says slowly, “how would you like to be remembered as the man who led to Deluxe’s triumph over Motorcity?”
Harley raises his eyebrows, then shrugs and salutes. “It would be a genuine honor, Sir. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
--
Two days later, Julie dashes into the hideout at a run around noon, almost slipping and falling as she cuts through the empty Mutt Dog kitchen.
“Ooh, sorry!” calls Chuck, appearing in the corner of her eye as she steadies herself on a counter. “R.O.T.H. just mopped that floor!”
“I’m fine,” says Julie, picking her way towards the corner table where Chuck, Texas, and Dutch are sitting. Dutch and Chuck have just started another Co-Op level of Laser Swords III, and Texas is eating orange, powdery popcorn. He scoots aside as Julie hops over the back of the seat to perch next to him, and offers her the bowl. Julie, who’s famished, grabs a generous handful and shoves it into her mouth. They taste like cheesy cardboard.
“I thought you guys would be gone,” she says, swallowing. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re still here, but...why are you still here?”
“Mikey’s doing a thing,” says Chuck vaguely, thumbs toggling his controller furiously. Then, to Dutch, “Dude, you need a Health Potion?”
“I got this I got this,” Dutch mumbles, his attention fixed on the screen with an intensity he usually reserves for auto customizations or art. “I--yeah!”
“Hey, not cool!” says Chuck, still mashing buttons, “that one was mine!”
“I was helpin’ you out!”
“It’s called kill-stealing and it’s--”
Julie, realizing she’s not going to get anything out of these two, turns reluctantly to Texas instead. It’s not that she doesn’t like him--well, she likes him more than she did when they first met, anyway--but asking him for information is usually a bit of a coin toss.
“Where is Mike?” she asks, watching in mild fascination as another handful of orange puffs vanishes down his throat.
“Oh, what? Tiny? He’s writin’ a poem or somethin’,” says Texas, shrugging. “Texas can respect that but it’s takin’ him about a year. Hey, maybe you could help ‘im out, you’re a girl.”
“Thanks, Texas,” says Julie, and goes back to watching Chuck and Dutch put aside their argument so they can focus on slaying a giant skeleton in a purple robe. This proves entertaining for another five minutes, after which Julie’s stomach makes a noise like her car’s engine starting up.
“Alright,” she says, standing up decisively, “I’m going to find Mike and if he’s not ready to go we’re leaving for Antonio’s without him.”
Texas whoops his approval and Dutch mutters something like, “Yeah, serve him right.” Even Chuck, who would have to ride with someone else if Mike stayed behind, can’t summon more than a half-hearted, “Well, I mean, Mike’s probably hungry too…”
It doesn’t take long for Julie to find him; it’s a small building and he’s talking aloud, his voice echoing up from down below. She can’t catch individual words, but she immediately recognizes the tone of almost painful sincerity.
“Mike?”
A muffled click, a sound of quick footsteps, and Mike’s face appears from one of the lower garage doors.
“What’s up, Jules?”
“We’re all starving?” she says, shrugging. “Everyone’s ready to go to Antonio’s! I mean, we’ve been ready for a while now.”
“Oh! Sorry,” he says, propping himself against Mutt’s hood to look up at her. “I was busy with something. Tell ‘em I’m ready to go!”
“You got it, Cowboy.” She heads back through the kitchen, a little slower this time, raising one hand to signal the rest of the Burners…
Who are...not looking at her. Texas has put aside his snacks. Dutch and Chuck aren’t gaming anymore.
“Mike!” Julie calls over her shoulder, eyes on everyone else’s concerned faces. “I think you might wanna come up here instead!”
A moment’s silence, and then a pair of brown hands latch onto the edge of the pavement and a second later Mike clambers up, concern tightening his thin lips.
“What’s up?”
“I dunno,” Julie mutters, leading the way over to the table. “Guys, what’s up?”
“It’s a message,” says Dutch, nodding to the screen hovering in front of Chuck.
“An audio message,” Chuck adds, frowning. “Why not a video or a hologram?”
Dutch scratches his chin, watching as Chuck runs his personal virus scans. “That’s how Hudson reached us...maybe Kane Co.’s been crackin’ down on stuff like that. What do the stats say?”
“It is from the R&D department again,” says Julie, and Chuck bobs his head in agreement as he presses the Play button. At first, there’s only silence and everyone leans in to listen more closely. Then--
“Kane is working on something huge, ” says the message, staticky and soft, and the panic in the voice is clear even through the bad quality and low volume. “I tried to tell myself he was going to use our work for our people, but he’s--he’s a madman . Please, I need your help. I’ll bring whatever tech I can get out.”
“What’s your name?” asks Mike, and there’s a faint, sharp inhale from the other end of the line. The Burners have hacked Kane’s announcement screens on no less than three different occasions, meaning that most migrating Deluxians are familiar with Mike’s voice and consequently seem slightly stunned to hear him up close and personal.
“D-David,” says the voice. “David Chopper.”
“Alright, Dave,” says Mike, “stay put, we’re coming to get you.”
“I have a route down into Motorcity,” says David quickly. “I can give you the coordinates and I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Mike frowns. “Just tell us where you are now, it’ll be safer--”
“I have to go!”
And with a click and a buzz of static, the conversation terminates--though not before a new window springs up with a series of numbers unfolding across it.
“Coordinates?” asks Mike, standing up.
“Well, yeah,” Chuck mumbles, one eye peering apprehensively up at his best friend through a gap in his bangs. “But I haven’t checked where they are yet and we don’t know if all that stuff he was saying was legit or not!”
“We don’t have to,” says Mike forcefully, then softens as Chuck continues to fidget and chew on his lower lip. “...Alright. Jules, does any of it check out with what you know?”
“There... are more and more people leaving Deluxe,” Julie says cautiously, and frowns as Mike’s face goes grim and purposeful. “...Mike…”
“We have to get this kid out,” says Mike. “Burners, you with me?”
Chuck groans. Texas grins. Dutch and Julie share a long-suffering look. Of course they are. Everyone grabs a snack from somewhere around Mutt Dog and climbs hurriedly into their respective cars with grease on their fingers. The coordinates flare on every dashboard, quickly converting into a red pinpoint on a map.
“That’s pretty far from our turf,” says Chuck uneasily as Mike presses the gas. “Seems kinda suspicious…”
“You worry too much,” says Mike, flashing him a cool grin. “He doesn’t know his way around down here, of course he’d wanna meet closer to Deluxe. We just gotta get there before it turns into a problem!”
“A problem!” Chuck repeats, a touch of nervous laughter making his voice wobble. “Right! A problem! You’re the boss, Mikey, whatever you say!”
“Then hold on tight!” Mike says, his grin widening into something more wild. And they’re off for real, two hundred miles per hour, Chuck’s screams trailing behind them in the echoing neon-lit darkness of Motorcity.
At their usual speeds, it doesn’t take more than five minutes to reach the coordinates: one of the newer overpasses, closer to the underside of Deluxe than the old city below, narrow enough that the Burners can only drive two abreast. Mike leads, of course, slowing to a tame sixty miles an hour as they near their destination.
He signals a halt maybe a hundred yards from David Chopper’s position. It’s hard to see any details from this distance, but he looks young, around the same age as the Burners. He’s wearing the same white and blue as every other Deluxe refugee they’ve taken in; in the dim light, his coat and pale skin stand out, swimming patches of white in the dark.
As Mutt brakes, cruising to a halt, he looks up sharply. His eyes widen at the sight of all four cars and he backs up a step, clutching his side; the Kane Co. white is stained bright red. ” Get back!” He shouts across the space between them. His voice shakes. “I-I’ll break it! I will! I only want to talk to Mike Chilton!”
Everybody’s eyes turn to Mike. Mike looks confused, but worried; he taps his fingers on Mutt’s wheel for a second, thinking, and then sighs and cuts her engine.
“Mikey ,” Chuck hisses as he climbs out.
“I’ll be fine,” Mike says casually, and waves a hand. “How about you go hang back there with the others, buddy. Might make this guy feel better. Okay?”
Chuck makes a noise that indicates it’s pretty much not okay, but Mike is already walking forward, hands raised comforting and empty. Chuck groans and then backs away to where the other cars are parked, one hand fidgeting on the opposite forearm where his slingshot is stored.
“‘Break it’? Break what ?” Julie’s voice hisses over the comms. No one answers; all eyes are fixed on Mike’s retreating back.
Mike Chilton has seen refugees from Deluxe before, and this kid seems to fit the bill. They’re always afraid, unsure of what’s waiting for them below Kane’s false paradise. Mike remembers that feeling, and as he draws closer to the newcomer he has to resist the urge to make the first move. The guy's hunched over, but he stares up at Mike with bright blue eyes. There’s blood spattered on his face too, around his nose and across his cheek--no bruises, though. No cuts or scrapes.
“Dave Chopper?” Mike asks, holding his arms wide to show his empty hands.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting in what might be half a relieved smile. Mike returns it encouragingly, looking the kid up and down.
“You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” he says. “Come back with us and we’ll get you cleaned up, find you a good place to stay. We’re gonna have to check your pockets first, though...no big deal, just standard procedure. Need to make sure you didn’t bring anything bad with you from Deluxe.”
“Actually,” says the boy, glancing over his shoulder at a curve in the road, “like I said, I did bring something I brought that you should see. I left it back that way a bit...didn’t want you guys to think I was carrying a weapon…”
“A weapon?” asks Mike, eyes widening with sudden interest. “You got something out of Kane Co.’s R&D? Pretty impressive, dude.”
The guy pauses, apparently caught off-guard for a moment, then says, “...Yeah, kinda. You think you could use an edge against the stuff we’re turning out?”
“Only all the time, Davey,” says Mike, grinning. “Lead the way.”
“What’s he doing ?” Chuck whimpers, edging forward, the scope of his slingshot fixed on Mike and the newcomer as they become slowly more distant.
“Just trust Mike,” says Dutch. “The guy doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Then why is he leading Mike away from us?” Julie asks. “Chuck’s right, I don’t like this. We should go after them.”
It’s at this point that Texas, apparently tired of these deliberations, sticks his head out of Stronghorn’s window and shouts, “Hey Tiny, we’re comin’ your way! Tell your new pal to get over it!”
Mike sighs and glances at David. “Sorry about him. I’ll tell them to--”
“It’s okay,” says the kid, and suddenly Mike thinks he doesn’t look as scared and shaken as he did before. “We’re far enough away now.”
“...Is there really a weapon?” asks Mike, one hand slowly moving towards his jacket pocket.
Chuck’s icon appears in his peripheral vision. “Mikey!”
“Kind of,” says David, and too late Mike sees the little device in his hand, a tiny red light flashing as he presses a button on top of it.
“Mikey, it’s a signal beac--”
And bots flood the air, hundreds of glowing red eyes and primed guns pointing straight at Mike, and dropping from the swarm of metal, another red and black figure limned in crackling red light, fists pulled back as energy gathers in its hands--
“Go!” Mike bellows, and they wouldn’t have, they wouldn’t have run, never , but then Red lands with a snarling BOOM that makes the air shake, and the asphalt between them and Mike starts to crumble. Someone screams “Reverse!” --
The cars shoot backwards, away from the smoke and falling rocks, but something blurs between them--a figure running the other way--and Dutch hits the brakes to scramble out the door of Whiptail and dash after Chuck, shouting “Get back here man, it’s dangerous!”
But Chuck doesn’t stop, and he’s a step from the edge before Dutch seizes the back of his shirt and hauls him back, sending them both skidding across the pavement. Dutch stays down, nursing a skinned elbow, but Chuck gets back up again, panting, staring wildly into the distance for any sign of the capture bots. “Mikey! Mikey!! Guys, come on, we gotta follow them!”
“Where’d they go?” barks Texas, sticking his head out Stronghorn’s window.
“Back to Deluxe,” says Julie, as calmly as she can when on some level her mind is repeating not again not again not again and her insides feel numb. “They’re long gone, there’s no knowing--”
Texas ducks back inside his car, and the engine drones as he revs her up. “Then let’s get up there!”
“No!” reply Dutch and Julie at the same time, while Chuck paces and grips the front of his shirt and heaves breaths like he just finished a marathon.
“Listen, ladies, the sooner we get goin’ the better, am I right?”
“Yeah,” says Dutch, “because our trips to Deluxe always end so well, right?”
“We’ll get him back,” says Julie, as firmly as she can ( not again not again not again) . “Or--or he’ll get himself back! I’ll look into it when I go back up, I swear! But they’ll be expecting us now, and if we go up there--”
Texas kicks his door open and leaps out, landing a foot or two from Julie with arms folded and biceps bulging judgmentally. “Texas ain’t afraid of no Kane Co. trap!”
“Well you should be!” says Julie, panic and outrage raising the pitch of her voice. “Because that’s how Mike got captured-- both times! So why don’t we all just...calm...down.”
In the pause that follows, Julie realizes both Dutch and Texas are staring at her. Look them in the eye --well, there are two of them, and even Texas is taller than her, so she doesn’t feel especially charismatic or leaderly, but-- Stand your ground .
She stands her ground, suddenly acutely aware of the sound of clattering rock and faintly creaking metal. Dutch and Texas share a look and Julie hopes it’s a ‘She’s right, Mike will be fine’ look, because at least that would mean they feel more confident than she does right now.
“Oh,” says Chuck into the silence. “Oh, no, no, nonono, Mutt.”
“What?” says Dutch weakly, turning to look at him. “What are you talking--”
“Mutt was on that section of road!” Chuck squeaks, inching closer to the smoking chasm. “She--she must be down there somewhere. We gotta get her back!”
“Chuck,” says Julie quietly.
“We gotta get her back--”
“Oh, we’re gonna,” says Texas, stepping forward and clapping Chuck on the back so hard that he wobbles and screams, stumbling back away from the drop.
“Dude!”
Texas shrugs. “Just sayin’.”
“Well don’t !” Chuck yelps, clutching his chest again. Texas grimaces and shrugs, then turns his attention back to Julie.
“So,” he says, looking her dubiously up and down, “you wanna do this all alone, huh? I still think it’d be easier with all of us.”
“Trust me,” says Julie, glancing up at the underside of Deluxe, “it definitely wouldn’t be.”
“When we find Mike, though…” says Dutch, and looking at him, Julie sees something hard in his gentle eyes. She nods.
“When we find Mike,” she repeats, and heads towards Nine Lives. “I’ll let you guys know right away if I find anything, okay? Keep your ears on.”
Chuck nods miserably. Dutch manages a crooked smile of encouragement. Texas huffs through his nose but ruffles her hair as she walks past him, and the gesture is weirdly grounding. Julie takes a deep breath as she climbs into her ride, settling into the familiar pink plush and wrapping her fingers around the still-warm control column. Less than an hour ago, the inside of her car was comfort itself, a safe space where she knew every button and lever. Now--
Now it’s like it was last time, when nothing felt quite right, nothing felt as safe as it did before Mike…went missing.
It’s not just because their leader is gone and everyone is still raw from what happened last time, Julie thinks as she presses the gas. It’s because it’s nearly impossible to relax or feel safe when your friend is missing, headed for some unknown, possibly terrible fate.
And it’s even worse when the architect of that fate is your own father.
Julie barely notices the drive up, the streets passing by. She remembers to do her usual checks, but it’s mechanical by now, muscle memory, a checklist she automatically runs down. Activate Nine Lives’ cloaking, activate Deluxe bodysuit, apply makeup to scratches, scrub off oil, have a backstory ready…
Her feet carry her numbly to her pod, and after setting a course for the tower she spends the trip pacing ceaselessly back and forth over the bare, matte metallic floor.
“Pod docked, requesting authorization,” says her in-home computer system. Julie says her own name aloud, very clearly, and slips through the door before it’s even halfway open, finding herself alone in one of Kane Co. Tower’s many clean white hallways. Where would Kane be right now? Think.
She finds him on one of the lowest levels, possibly returning from the cadet barracks (or from some other secret project he’s been lying to her about , Julie thinks bitterly).
“Dad, hey!” she says, summoning a genuine smile somehow. “How was work today?”
“Business as usual,” he says, popping open a Kane Co. brand water bottle. Immediately, warning bells go off in Julie’s head. The last time Mike was a prisoner in Deluxe, it was all over the news. There were posters, announcements, massive plans for the final overhaul of Motorcity...Kane was even considering making it a holiday. But this time it’s ‘business as usual?’
“Uh...that’s pretty vague,” she says, trying to keep it light. “If I’m going to be running Kane Co., it should be...no detail too small, right? You said you were going to start telling me more now.”
He eyes her, and not for the first time Julie has the sudden unfounded fear that somehow, just by looking at her, he’s going to figure it out.
And then he snorts and says, “It was slow enough even Tooley could explain it to you, Honey. Want a water?”
“No thanks...not thirsty,” says Julie, her chest tightening again--because Mike is gone, because her father is keeping secrets, because...he’s right to, even if he doesn’t know it.
She does a little more digging after that--listening in on the conversations of passing Kane Co. elites, checking the trajectories of Kane Co. bots across the city--but nothing she gathers can tell her anything about where her father has decided to keep his greatest enemy.
Or tell her why he’s so set on keeping it a secret.
