Broken Arrow

[Westbrook Academy]

Boomtown had been crawling with vermin but hadn't it always? Outcast and Trolls fought openly in the streets while the cops merely stood near the War Walls, hoping to keep the chaos contained. Yes, politicians had always planned on returning and reclaiming Boomtown - rebuilding it into its former glory. Yet, it was always 'next year' and 'cost-saving analysis'. In truth, Boomtown was forgotten.

Or it had been.

Derrick Cork was born into this world in Boston, Massachusetts. He grew up there, found his way to Paragon City, and eventually died in Boomtown. Yet, his face haunted the papers and the whispers of the city for weeks afterwards. Instead of the wise cracking ass, he had become a symbol. The boy who tried to be a hero. A hero that tried to be an adult. A teenager that would never reach being an adult.

So Boomtown had been crowded. Police had done something they hadn't done often and launched into an investigation. They pushed out the Trolls and Outcast from the spot where Derrick died. Cameras followed. Some Politicians showed up. Speeches were made, promises given, and by the second week since his death.... the spot was finally empty.

Which was why he was there.

Derrick's appearance -- hell, his death -- hadn't been in the plan. Money had been. A simple grab. A simple snatch. A simple 'In and Out'. Use the others as a distraction while he moved off to do his thing. And yet... simple was something Boomtown didn’t know. Simple turned complicated and by the end of the night, Cork had died. People were near. He had to act and act quickly.

So, he ditched the money. Five-thousand dollars in cash. He didn't want to but before he could stop them, the people had already called the cops. Five-thousand dollars felt like a five-thousand pound weight around his crotch. He took a chance and while the others were crying, he slid the rolls of cash into the tail pipe of the destroyed car on its side.

And there it sat. Or he had hoped.

Through all the media circus. Through all the cops crawling around. Through it all. And with no one holding onto his coat tails this time, he returned.

The night was cold. The War Walls kept the wind down but the air had that surprising numbness to it. He had already soaked himself in the sewers getting into the area, and now his body was begging for him to find a nice trash-can fire and try to act like one of the locals. It was tempting.

But he had five-thousand reasons to just continue moving.

He got to the spot of Derrick’s death and felt a chill run up his spine. If he was younger, maybe he would have believed Cork's spirit was there. Watching him. Judging him.

"Screw you,” he mumbled. Cork would have understand. Simple business.

And so he went to the car, pulled out the bandanna he had shoved into the tailpipe , and reached in to claim his prize. He reached deep, fingers wiggling as he tried to feel the edges of the bills. And yet...

Something jabbed his finger sharply. He let out a hiss, snatching his hand free before looking into the tailpipe. He saw a hint of metal an that was. He reached in once more, snaking the object out more carefully.

He stared down at his hand, blood already starting to flow from the knick on his finger. The blood didn't matter... the object he ended up holding did.

An arrow rested in his palm, a note skewered by it. Another chill. Another fleeting thought that Cork was watching.

He pulled the note from the arrow and unrolled it.

I Saw You

He let out a curse, crumbling the note in his hand before looking around. Someone had seen it. Someone had seen him. Someone had witnessed it all and was fucking with him.

He wasn't going to go to jail.

He wasn't going to get screwed.

He wanted his god damn money.