Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

Gamble and Swoop had done a masterful job of keeping the guard from breaking rank or popping off into the crowd, which was no small task. Fortunately the team’s reputation was intact, if a little overblown. At least, no one seemed to be up for testing it. Once they’d regrouped in front of the gate, the steam had gone out of most of the crowd, and they’d dispersed not too long after. A couple of kids got knocked around a bit — those that got all their bravery from the mob and realized soon after that individuals could still feel pain — but luckily everybody got to go home. Situations like that were ugly, no matter what, and they didn’t always turn out as well as that one had.

Still, something nagged at him about the way it had all unfolded. For all the reassurances of the Council, the disturbance hadn’t felt as spontaneous as they seemed to want to believe. Sky had been up high on overwatch and though he couldn’t point to any one detail as evidence, something about the big picture — the way the crowd had moved, or the number of simultaneous presentations of threat… it seemed coordinated. Orchestrated, even.

And they were out here now, instead of maintaining security for the Governor. Connor had been worried about another attack from the Weir, and most of the guard was busy enforcing the curfew. But sticking the team on the wrong side of the wall seemed like overkill. True, they’d ended up clearing one cell tonight already; three Weir had been prowling around close enough to Morningside that Gamble had decided to deal with them, just to be safe. But for the most part, the Weir were scattered and didn’t seem to be making any attempts at the city. And if something flared up on the inside, it was going to be tough to respond. Orders were orders. But things weren’t adding up the way they should’ve been.

“Sky, we’re clear in here,” Swoop said over the shared channel. “How’s topside?”

From his elevated position, Sky scanned the tops of the buildings Swoop and Mouse were moving through. No sign of trouble.

“Looks good,” he replied.

“Alright, check,” Swoop said. “We’re gonna push half a klick due west, then walk it back on the curve. You wanna go check on the boys?”

Sky said, “If you guys are good.”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Alright, Sky’s moving. I’ll be down for two minutes.”

“You can stay put,” Finn said, breaking in. “There’s only two things going on out our way.”

“Jack,” said Wick.

“And squat,” Finn finished.

“Keep the channel clear, gentlemen,” Gamble broke in, stern, serious, always on point. “Sky, move.”

“Yep, got it, Ace,” Sky answered. “Sky moving.”

Sky flicked his weapon to safe and got to his feet. He wasn’t on the roof, exactly, but since the top half of the building he was in had disappeared some time ago, he guessed it was close enough to count. Sky was headed for the stairs when he caught a tiny motion in his peripheral vision. Down there in the street. He instinctively brought his weapon to bear and dropped to a knee, scanning with both eyes open wide to see if he could pick up what had drawn his attention.

“Stand by,” Sky said. “Got some movement in the street.”

“You got eyes on?” Swoop said.

“Negative.”

“You need us to come out?”

“Negative.”

Sky surveyed the area below, slowly sweeping from right to left, and then back again. Nothing was immediately apparent. Maybe he’d imagined it. Tired eyes playing tricks. But patience was critical to his line of work, as was meticulous attention to detail. There was something about the corner of one building that kept drawing his eye. A slight bulge, where the outer wall sagged. Only he didn’t remember seeing it sagging before.

“Got eyes,” he said. “South of your position, two buildings down, south-west corner.”

“Can you ID?”

Sky adjusted the optic on his rifle, dialed the zoom in tighter. Even zoomed in, he couldn’t tell what exactly he was looking at. Maybe he was wrong, and it really was just debris. But his gut told him otherwise. A moment later, his eyes confirmed his instincts. The lump shifted and two pin-pricks of blue light peered around the corner of the building.

“Yep, it’s a Weir.”

As he watched, the Weir slinked along the outer wall of the building, moving towards Swoop and Mouse. It was cautious in its movements, moving only a few feet forward before stopping again. The Weir was so still that whenever it turned its eyes away from Sky’s direction, he had to keep blinking to keep it from melting into the background.

“Heading your way, real careful. Might have a read on you. You want me to take it?” Sky asked.

“How many?”

“Just one, as far as I can tell.”

The Weir shifted forward again, halving the distance to Swoop’s building. Sky tracked it, keeping the aimpoint steady on its center of mass. If they’d all been inside the city, safe behind the wall, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal to take the shot. But it was at range, and if he didn’t kill it instantly on the first shot, it was going to get loud. The team was used to running low profile, and they couldn’t afford to draw any more attention than they absolutely had to. Of course, if the Weir in the street had a line on Swoop and Mouse, others might be on the way already.

“It’s closing,” he warned. It moved again, faster this time. Stopped again. It had to know they were in there. Sky flicked his weapon off safe but kept his finger off the trigger. For now.

“How far?”

“Twenty meters from the door.”

The Weir scanned its surroundings again. It looked up, but not high enough. It didn’t spot Sky. There was something unusual about this one; an uncertainty of purpose, a hesitancy in its movement. But their behavior had been growing stranger and stranger of late. Maybe this was just another malfunctioning stray.

“We’re up a floor,” Swoop said.

“It gets inside, I won’t be able to track it.”

The Weir slipped forward again, and paused at the corner of the building. Even as Sky calculated the distance and the wind, something prickled in a corner of his mind. Was this one of the Weir he’d seen the night of their attack on the gate?

“Three meters,” Sky said. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, take it,” Swoop said. “Don’t miss.”

“Yep.” Sky moved his finger to the trigger, drew in the slack on it so the slightest bit of additional pressure would fire. Just under four hundred meters. Easy. He inhaled smoothly. Exhaled. Held. Waited for the moment between heartbeats.

“Hold that,” Gamble said. “I’m almost to your position.”

Sky allowed himself a breath, let the slack back out of the trigger, but kept his finger in contact and the Weir dead center in his optic. “You sure, Ace? I got the shot.”

“Yeah, I got it, babe. Ten seconds.”

The Weir down below moved to the door, but paused. So strange. Sky dialed in further, magnifying his target. Something about the silhouette. Familiarity out of context.

And then — like lightning from a clear sky — recognition. Gamble flashed into view almost at the same time that Sky called out, “Hold! Hold! It’s the kid! It’s Painter!”

The collision lifted the Weir… Painter — up off the ground, Gamble’s momentum rocketing him skyward and depriving him of any ability to counter her attack. Not a clumsy tackle; this was a relentlessly practiced technique to ensure a sudden and definite kill. Sky’s optic was zoomed in too close to track the outcome, but he didn’t need to see it to know what happened. He went numb. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? And what was the kid doing outside the wall?