Chapter Text
The night at the Red Ring headquarters is business as usual: poker tables, fist fights aplenty, and clouds of tobacco smoke dancing in the air.
At the bar, I alternate between puffs of my cigarette and swigs of whiskey: the smoke and liquor coalescing into a bitter sensation in my throat.
A few of the goons shoot me some lidded-eyed looks or winks from across the room. I grit my teeth in anger as I drill the cigarette deeper into the ashtray.
Guess The Red Ring attracts some of the lowest scum in human history.
Sounds like home.
I flip off the sick fucks, barely containing my desire to beat the shit out of ‘em as they laugh.
But even I’m not stupid enough to fuck up my reputation around here.
It might be a den of perverts and degenerates, but there’s almost a certain beauty to the chaos of it all.
Almost.
Suddenly, a piercing, shrill voice on the loudspeaker cuts through the irreverent energy of the room:
“Invisibitch, in my office. Now.”
My chest tightens as my body goes still. Shit.
Maybe this time, the boss’s idea of a ‘job’ isn’t one I walk out of alive.
Big heist, carjacking, spying–damn it, what now?
‘Just breathe’, I tell myself.
It’s hard to believe it’s already been six months since I joined The Red Ring.
My lungs were done with me–’Fuck surviving alone’, I thought.
Memories of that constant scream in my chest hit me all at once.
All the nights I spent gasping for air like a fish out of water. Laying on the bathroom floor convulsing in pain…
Christ, I couldn’t take it anymore.
Guess the years of smoking with asthma finally caught up with me. Or maybe it’s just God’s fucked up sense of humor: punishing me for everything I’ve done to survive.
Everyone and their mother knows about Shroud and his augments, and The Red Ring seemed like my best chance for a fresh start.
Crews may not be my thing, but I know when not to pass on a gig like this.
Besides, I don’t actually have to like working with any of the fuckers anyway.
Since getting my lung augment, I can finally breathe again.
But freedom always costs something.
-
With a distinct click, I snap my facemask over my mouth as I enter Shroud’s quarters.
My fingers tremble just a little, and the voice in my head tells me: ‘don’t fuck this up, Invisibitch, don’t fuck this up’.
He stands with his back turned, hands clasped behind him. He expectantly turns his head to the side as he hears me approach.
Shroud: “Good, you’re here. I've got another assignment for you, Invisibitch.”
The mechanical hum from his modulated voice shakes me to my core, and his crimson mask pierces me with its gaze as he rotates towards me.
The cold, unblinking eyes seem to stare right through me as I stand there, barely maintaining my composure.
Shroud: “As you know, you’ve still got years of service owed to pay for that lung augment. But something urgent has come up, and I think you could be a useful pawn indeed.”
Pawn? Did he just call me a fuckin’ pawn?!
Nobody owns me, motherfucker, not even you.
My fists itch to clench in anger, but my mind screams against the thought. I can’t afford to lose my cool here…
Shroud: “I’ve planned an ambush for weeks to get my Astral Pulse back, and tonight is the night we act. I’ve laid a trap for the hero Mecha Man, and used Toxic as bait. I predicted that Mecha Man would abduct the fool earlier this evening, and instructed him to provide the location of our base here at the steel mill.”
Using Toxic as bait, huh? Clever boss, very clever.
Plus, it’s nice knowing that annoying prick likely got the shit beat out of him.
Shroud: “Your associates are going to neutralize his suit together and suspend it in the air with a hook. The bastard is going to try to fly out of here, so I need a contingency to take him out of commission. That is where you come in, Invisibitch."
Typical. Shroud can’t just do anything the easy way—no, he’s got plans within plans, and I’m the one carrying the load.
Shroud: “I need you to climb onto the suit and place a bomb on the back. Your invisibility is well-suited for this task, as the suit’s sensors rely on sight. Do this for me successfully, and consider your debt fully cleared.”
His final words give me pause.
Clear my debt…or clear my grave. One of the two.
-
Fuck.
Climbing onto a flying death machine.
Yeah, sure. Not insane at all.
And after I’m done, maybe I’ll stop a meteor too.
I force a laugh that doesn’t reach my eyes.
“Right. No problem, boss. Totally casual job. Just climb onto a giant metal suit and attach explosives. Easy.”
Shroud stares past me in intense silence, no humor in his mannerisms.
The glow of his mask flickers around the room like a predator searching for prey.
He doesn’t laugh, of course he doesn’t.
Humor’s for the living, and I’m not convinced he’s fully human anyway.
I swallow hard, tasting the smoke and whiskey still lingering in my throat.
My heart hammers, but I can’t let it show—he feeds on that shit.
Shroud steps closer and the room shrinks, the air thick like water. My lungs scream for mercy.
I catch myself leaning back on instinct, my lips quivering behind my mask.
I’m fucking terrified. And he knows it.
He always knows.
Shroud: “Tonight, you do this right, and it’s over. Your debt is gone.”
My mind surges with potential futures: no more leash. No more debt. No more bastards to order me around.
When I take a breath, it’ll truly be my own again.
I slowly nod to him and turn to leave. Then the impact of his low and mechanical voice hits me like a truck, stopping me dead in my tracks.
Shroud: “And Invisibitch…don’t fuck this up. I don’t tolerate failure in The Red Ring.”
After those words fill my ears, the weight of the situation hits me: that bomb could kill this guy.
Permanently.
Images flash in my mind: shattered metal covered in blood, news headlines on every screen, and the deafening silence after the explosion.
And it would all be because of me.
I’ve stolen all kinds of stuff, gotten into my fair share of fist fights.
But murder? That’s the one line I’d never cross.
Haven’t yet.
Can’t have that shit on my conscience.
But…no.
He’s a veteran superhero encased in a tough metal shell.
It’s part of the job: he knew what he was signing up for.
So did I.
Focus, Courtney. Just get in, place the bomb, get out. And then I can finally move on with my life.
He’ll survive, he has to.
I glance down at my gloves, slick with sweat, and mutter under my breath:
“Just breathe, Invisibitch. Breathe. Disappearing always costs air.”