6Disclaimer:I do not own Sky High, its setting, premise, or characters -or related characters named and unnamed. All is the property of Walt Disney Pictures, Buena Vista Pictures, Andrew Gunn, and Mark McCorkie.
( A/N: This fic is part of my "One Sky Continuity" (OSC) fic series. The series, in order…
· School of Hard Knocks
· Between Peace and Battle
· …and Along Came Warren
· [coming soon]
· Happiness is a Warm Crossbow
· Cloudy Internships
· Cold Case 10-PHX-00001
· From Out of Town
· Hooded Fox ( YOU ARE HERE )
· Calendar Wheel
Each fic is its own adventure, like episodes in a series but there's also an over-arching plot that builds slowly, like seasons building to a season finale. )
Hooded Fox
Chapter One: Well Met By Street Light
"I take it you still haven't found him." Battle observed, one elbow resting on the narrow counter between them, the other hand holding the phone that allowed them to speak through the bulletproof glass that separated the inmates from their visitors.
Warren just stared at his father from the other side. Looking unamused and exhausted. "I have spent all my time, breaking up a gang-war between two rival Mobs, taking down an international human trafficking ring, convinced a counter fitter to switch careers and accidentally created a new drug lord, and inadvertently crowned a mafia prince. Not being able to find one old man in the woods is the least of my problems."
Battle offered his son a little sympathy. If the prison would allow visitors and inmates to touch, he would have given the younger man an affectionate little hair tousle. "I know the mundane police work multiple cases at once, but that's their job and they have the luxury of being able to devote the majority of their time to it. Supers –especially superheroes, who have to work day jobs to support themselves- should really only work one case at a time. So they don't stretch themselves too thin and burn out like you are now."
And Warren didn't just have a day job. He was also going to school to learn a trade that he could turn into a better day job later. Unlike most superheroes whom only had to divide their attention between two things –work and hero'ing- Warren had to divide his attention between three –work, school, and hero'ing. But that wasn't why so many things went so wrong for him.
"It was all the same case." Warren informed him.
Battle blinked at him. That was a lot going on in just one case.
"Let's just say the Song and the Luen Triads both had their hands in a lot of pies." He informed the older man.
Leaning back in the plastic chair, Battle studied his son. "You didn't try and take on an international Chinese mafia all on your own… did you?"
"No, no, no." Warren was quick to reassure his father. Then immediately confessed to the lie. "Well, yes."
"Warren Battle! I thought I raised you smarter than that!" His father barked with mingled disappointment and concern.
"It's fine! It's fine!" He held up his hands, in an almost defensive gesture, to spite the fact that there was a layer of bulletproof glass between them and Battle hadn't moved. "Only the Luen wanna kill me –well, they wanna kill Phoenix, but Phoenix can't be killed- so that's fine. And the new leader of the Song is my old buddy Sid. You remember my friend from Wātis Academy, Song Sidao, apparently, his grandma was the Boss of the Song Triad here in Maxville all along."
"Song Mei-Lin." Battle nodded. "Mama Mei. She had her goons bring me to her before you could have your first sleepover, ya know. Wanted to know what kind of people her grandson was associating with, maybe intimidate me a little bit. Good times, good times."
Warren just glared at his father. This seemed like something he felt his father should have told him before finding out on his own. Especially since Battle knew Warren chose to become a hero, not a villain, and as a hero would be fighting the mobs –including the Chinese Triad. "Well, Sid's running the Song Triad now."
"Aw, good for him." Battle chuckled to himself.
Warren groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, Dad's view of a situation was so different from his own that it felt like they weren't even speaking the same language.
"Anyway, you're looking a little rundown." Battle changed the subject. Leaning forward, he braced one hand on the glass to get a better look at the younger man. Normally olive skin was looking a bit pale. Hair, stringy and limp. Dark circles under the eyes from exhaustion. "How've you been eating?"
"I'm a culinary student, Dad." He reminded the older man. "I eat more than I should."
Warren was always tasting things. Every class, at every step in the process. Taste, needs more this. Taste, could use some extra that. Taste, should lower the flame and just let the flavors blend. Final presentation, delicious! Could use some extra spice. Not eating was not Warren's problem.
"I meant, have you been… eating?" This time, when Battle asked the question, he placed an extra amount of emphasis on the last word, implying that it carried more meaning than just the literal.
"Oh!" It was a true testament to just how exhausted Warren really was that, that wasn't the first thing he thought of when his father asked that. "Eating! I mean… that artisan butcher you sent me to isn't exactly cheap, Dad, and Mom and I aren't made of money."
Battle frowned, not understanding. "I left you a trust fund."
"And I've been using it." Warren assured him. "School's expensive. School's way more expensive than when Mom was in college. Hell! Schools way more expensive than it was just ten years ago! Education has basically become an extortion racket to rival the Mob by this point."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Battle pouted at the idea of the money he left for his child before being incarcerated wasn't enough. Or, perhaps he was pouting because Warren was not spending it in the way he intended for his son to spend it. Battle certainly never continued any kind of formal schooling after high school. He went straight from Sky High to being an international supervillain-assassin. A very lucrative field. When Barron Battle and Mara Peace married, they agreed that they would raise their children neutral and let them choose a side when they were old enough. That being said, villains did not have nearly as many money problems as heroes did –on average.
But this was not a constructive avenue of conversation and they were only given one hour every two weeks to talk. Battle did not want to spend it arguing. He decided to change the subject instead.
"You need to learn to hunt." He announced. "If buying what you need is too expensive. You remember I used to go hunting pretty regularly when you were a kid."
Warren nodded. Family camping trips every summer when he was off from school. They would head up into the North Hills, Dad would bring his crossbow and a quiver of bolts and walk out of camp. He'd be gone most of the day, but he always came back with a deer, or a bunch of rabbits, or a coyote, or something. Every fall around Thanksgiving, Dad would head out and come home with a wild turkey. Dad hunted a lot, and he was good at it.
Warren was not. Warren didn't even know how.
"How're you gonna teach me to hunt when you're locked up in here?" He asked.
"I know a guy." Battle said matter-of-factly. "He's a little weird, but I trust him enough to teach my son how to hunt."
"Uh-huh." He was imagining some other supervillain. One that played hopscotch with the line between 'villain' and 'neutral' like his father sometimes did. Some quirky old man that would spend half the time he was supposed to be teaching on trying to convince Warren that he didn't actually want to be a hero. "That'll go over real well. 'Hi, I know I'm a hero and seeing as how you're a friend of my Dad's you're probably a villain, but could you teach me this highly dangerous survival skill?' Yeah, that'll go great."
"You won't have to approach him." Battle assured his son. "I'll do the asking and if he agrees, I'll send him to you." A pause. "Not to your home. I'll have him meet you on neutral ground."
"So, what, I'm just supposed to wait around until some mysterious stranger pops up out of nowhere and is all like, 'please to meet ya, ready to learn to kill your own- -meat'?"
"Okay, well, he's not gonna phrase it like that."
…
The sound of tires screeched through the night air, to the accompaniment of a chorus of sirens. Blue and red police lights flashed, streaking past windows at high speeds.
The chase started in South Side and had made it halfway through Downtown Maxville already. What had started as an ironically old-school bank robbery, turned into a high-speed chase. Complete with costumed superheroes getting in on it.
Highlighter turned up his brightness rapidly. So fast, it was more of a flash than a glow. He temporarily blinded the driver.
Liquidator melted onto the street, making the asphalt slick so the van's tires couldn't get any traction.
The Lieutenant picked the van up and lifted it a few feet in the air before it could spin out and injure someone or damage any property.
And Phoenix… was also there.
"This was fun, us teaming up like this." The Lieutenant beamed at his friends, still holding the van full of bank robbers. "We don't do this nearly as much as we said we were going to."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Phoenix felt a little left out. He hadn't done anything. "Could you let them down so we can arrest them?"
"Oh. Sure." Smiled the Lieutenant, like the friendly, cheerful, primary colored boy scout that he was. He set the van back down on the street.
Behind his mask, Phoenix only rolled his eyes. Using his powers, he melted the lock off the back of the van and yanked the doors open.
He was greeted with the barrel of a sawed off shot-gun pointed square in his face!
Moving fast, Phoenix ducked low. Moving out of line of the shotgun, and at an angle the wielder would not be able to compensate for quickly. One hand lancing out, he grabbed the wrist holding the trigger, his other hand, resting on the top of the gun where the shells were loaded.
"Do you know what happens to a person's hand when ammunition goes off while they're holding it?" Phoenix asked, voice soft and calm. Almost gentle.
Outside the van, the Lieutenant winced. He knew what happened to a person's hand when the ammo in the gun they were holding went off. Two years ago, before they were real heroes, back when they were still just heroes-in-training, they all saw exactly what happened to a person's hand when a gun burst in their hand.
It was just after a supervillain caused a big earthquake that nearly leveled the city. They were trying to get to the villain's earthquake machine and some security guys placed themselves between the team and getting to the bad guy. Flamebird, Phoenix's mother (now retired) grabbed one of the guy's guns while he was still holding it, used her pyrokinesis to super-heat the gunpowder in the clip, and the whole thing just burst. All that was left of the guy's hand was a pulpy burned stump with a shard of bone sticking out.
Just the memory of it made the Lieutenant cringe. He did not need to see a repeat of it.
And, apparently, the bank robber in the van didn't want to learn the hard way because the Lieutenant heard Phoenix say soothingly, "You made the right call."
Two men and one woman filed out of the van, their hands on their heads.
A uniformed officer wearing a hijab approached to cuff them and read them their Miranda rights. It was then that one of the robbers decided she didn't want to be arrested after all.
She dove back to the van, grabbing for the discarded shotgun. But before she could even lift the weapon, an arrow came from out of nowhere and shot her in the shoulder.
She collapsed to the pavement. One hand going to the wound. Eyes wide with shock.
The police surrounding them all went down, crouching behind their squad cars. Guns up and eyes searching for the shooter.
The Lieutenant placed himself between the uniformed officer in the hijab and the direction the arrow came from.
"There!" Phoenix just barely caught a glimpse of a hooded tunic darting down a fire escape into an ally.
"I didn't see-" Began the Lieutenant.
But Phoenix was already running after the shooter.
He followed the figure through the dark ally, seeing only a silhouette. Not particularly tall. In fact, they were on the shorter side of average. Wearing hood over their head, a tunic that fell just above the knees, tights, and elf-boots. Yes, elf-boots. Little short boots with curled cuffs, and pointed toes.
As they reached the end of the ally, the light of a passing car illuminated more of them and Phoenix saw that they were dressed in shades of green and brown. A hunter-green tunic and acorn-brown hoes.
Nearing the end of the ally, the shooter jumped up onto the fire escape of the opposite building and climbed up to the roof. Not wanting them to get away, Phoenix also scaled the second building.
They were halfway across the roof by the time Phoenix got up there. Moving quickly. Not so quickly as to imply they might be a speedster. The hooded archer was not running anywhere near as fast as Speed did back in school. No. But they were moving faster than the average mundane without superpowers could run. And when they reached the edge of the roof, they jumped. Sailing clean over the full width of the street, and landed on the roof of the next building on the opposite side. A quick runner and a far jumper. Definitely a super of some variety. Not a speedster, but definitely someone with physical attributes greater than the average 'mundane' human.
Getting a running start to follow him, Phoenix put everything he had into a jump to try and cross the wide street and keep following the shooter. He started to fall about halfway across the distance, and had to use his fire to propel himself the rest of the way. Placing his hands at his sides and aiming behind himself and down, he shot the rest of the way across the street rather like a human rocket.
His body collided with the side of the building and he had to use the façade to climb the rest of the way back up to the roof.
For half a second it looked like his quarry had been waiting for him. Watching to see whether or not he could make the jump, or if he was going to fall into the street and get run over by a couple of cars. But the moment Phoenix had his feet on the solid insulation-sheeting of the roof, the hooded archer took off running again. Laughing as he did so. As if he were having fun. As if this were some kind of absurd and dangerous game to him.
At the edge of this roof was a flagpole and the shooter used it to slide back down to the street.
Phoenix followed them and they were back on the ground again.
The shooter turned a corner.
But when Phoenix turned that very same corner, they were nowhere to be seen.
Even if they were very fast, Phoenix should have at least seen them off in the distance. But they were gone. Like, vanished!
"Well, that was a merry little chase."
Almost jumping at the voice, Phoenix spun around quickly.
There was the shooter. Behind him. Like, right behind him. Standing very close. Too close to have an unknown super at your back.
Dressed in a green tunic with brown stockings. The hood drawn low over his face, obscuring his identity. But, and maybe the dark was playing tricks with his eyes, or maybe the stranger was wearing a very life-like mask under that hood, but it looked like he had the pointed muzzle of a fox under that hood. Red fur, whiskers, pointy canine teeth, even a cute little black nose that looked wet like a dog's nose.
"What are you?" Phoenix asked instead of the more usual 'who are you?'
"How rude!" And the Hooded… Fox sounded genuinely insulted. "I came all this way-" he gestured vaguely "-you Americans are all so ill mannered."
Behind the whited out lenses of his mask, Phoenix's eyes narrowed. The Hooded Fox's accent was foreign, but Maxville was one of the most diverse cities in North America, in the top three right after New York and Los Angeles. They were a city of accents, and Phoenix didn't know where to place this one. He sounded like he could have been an actor in one of the Lord of the Rings films, or in the series adaptation of A Song of Ice and Fire that HBO was teasing, so… some kind of Western European? England, maybe, or one of the associated isles?
That didn't matter at the moment. That information could be figured out when they processed him. This guy shot a suspect in police custody. Phoenix had to bring him in. The rest could be figured out later.
"Bad manners or not, you discharged your weapon into a group of heroes and police." Phoenix informed him, reaching into his utility belt and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm gonna have to ask you to come with me, and come quietly."
The Hooded Fox laughed again. That same laugh as before. One of true humor. As if they were just playing a game and he was having fun. "Well, what you lack in manners you make up for in amusement." The Fox nodded under his hood. "Yes, I think I can teach you."
Phoenix paused, suddenly thrown off balance. He lowered the hand holding the cuffs and took an unconscious step back, suddenly suspicious. "Teach me what…?"
"Why, hunting, of course!" Cried the Hooded Fox as if this should not have needed explaining. "Tracking quarry, looking for trail signs, staying down-wind, how to shoot, what to aim for. As I understand it, this is something that a person of your… circumstance needs to know, and being a 'modern superhero' in this charming little 'concrete jungle' of yours has left you with few opportunities to learn."
Staring at the Hooded Fox, Phoenix just sputtered something incoherent. He cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. "Did my father send you?"
The Fox laughed again. "Don't be absurd. No one 'sends' me. I go where I please. It just so happens that it pleases me to do you a favor, and –maybe- some time in the near future, you'll be so inclined as to do a favor for me in return."
"You're a supervillain." Phoenix concluded. It was not hard to figure out. His father said he would send someone to teach him how to hunt, here was someone offering to teach him how to hunt. His father was a supervillain, so this guy also had to be a supervillain. And he wanted to have a superhero indebted to him so that he could get away with some villainous plot he was planning for the 'near future'.
"I prefer the title 'Noble Outlaw'." Announced the Hooded Fox.
An 'outlaw' was still a criminal, and a criminal with superpowers was a supervillain. But Phoenix had never heard of any supervillain that looked like –or went around dressed like- an anthropomorphic fox in a green tunic. "What's your name?"
"Oh, so many…" Sighed the Hooded Fox.
"It doesn't matter." Phoenix announced. "I'll find out when you're processed. Hooded Fox, I'm placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney-"
"Oh, well that won't do." The Hooded Fox shook his head under his hood.
Phoenix took a step closer to the hooded super.
And the Fox burst into a cascade of oak leaves.
"What the fuh-" Phoenix exclaimed, cutting himself off mid-syllable. The Lieutenant only allowed him one 'fuck' per case. He claimed it was 'not heroic to swear'.
The oak leaves swirled around Phoenix, as if caught in a mini-cyclone. But they were moving against the breeze. Fresh and supple leaves the same shade of green and the Fox's tunic, dry autumn leaves the same shades of red and brown as the Fox's fur and hoes. The cascade of oak leaves spiraled around Phoenix before traveling up into the air.
"Meet me in the medieval exhibit at your Maxville museum if you decide to make a deal." The voice of the Hooded Fox was heard, as if traveling on the wind. "We can discuss terms then."
Phoenix was left standing on an open street, cars passing by, and wondering what the hell just happened.
…
