Trying to condense down how many works I have on the masterlist, but that means longer multiple scene posts. Do y'all prefer more shorter snippet posts, or fewer posts with longer/more scenes?
Masterlist
~~~
“I’ve been out of the game too long.” Myra slumps in the passenger seat of the car, rubbing her head. “I’d forgotten how utterly useless informants are.”
Harriet hums from the backseat. She’s got her laptop open, the soft glow illuminating her face. Milo is sitting on the opposite side in the dark, staring out the window.
Bird has her gaze fixed on the road. Most roads would be empty at this hour of the night, but there was still a good amount of traffic around here. Most of the clubs in this area were owned by the Torchlights, a cell notorious for holding the most egregious parties behind the club curtains at all hours of every day.
“He knows who we’re looking for,” Bird mutters. “He said she wants us to ‘figure it out for ourselves’. The fake-out said something similar at the Blood Jacker’s pit.”
“Yeah, but who is she?” Myra grumbles. She pulls her mask down and frowns at Bird. “After that letter and the dumb informant, it’s obvious-”
Myra’s complaints are interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Bird picks it up and glances at it. It’s not their personal phones, but the encrypted one.
Unknown Number
“Hare, track it?” Bird says as she swipes answer. Only a very few people outside of the team had the encrypted number, and they were all saved in the phone.
The line is silent at first. The car waits in anticipatory silence. Then, just as Bird moves her thumb to the end call button, there’s static.
The sound of a crowd builds like a steady wave.
Cheering, roaring, chanting, voices echoing like a thousand feet marching.
Trial of blood! Trial of blood! Trial of blood!
The sounds grows and grows until it’s almost unbearable. West and Myra have their hands clasped over their ears. Harriet is frantically typing, trying to push through the sound. Bird pulls the car over into a parking lot and stares at the phone in disbelief.
Her hands are tight around the wheel, but her palms are slick with sweat. Trial of Blood. The same trial the informant had mentioned? Something else?
The line goes dead, and the car is left in ear-ringing silence. Only the low growl of the car engine and the occasional passing of traffic.
“Message received,” Milo says dryly. Bird can hear his foot tapping against the mat, contrasting the unbothered expression she sees in the mirror.
Bird drops the phone into the cupholder and leans her head back against the head rest. Harriet is still typing in the back. The sound of the keyboard felt too loud, now.
Harriet’s typing is sharp and fast, but it’s only a moment before she slams the laptop shut with a huff of frustration. “That shouldn’t be possible. No one should be able to cut us off, not like that.”
The leader pushes the phone down and closes the cupholder, like that would cut off the lingering weight of the call.
Myra turns in her seat to look at her. “But someone did. And we don’t know who.” She rubs her forehead harder, like the sound had burrowed itself into her brain.
Bird puts the car back in gear and makes the turn onto the main road. Her chest is tight, the city lights ahead hazy in the windshield. Whoever she was, she knew their number. Their signals. Potentially their names, if she wanted.
This was someone more unpredictable and dangerous than anyone Bird had faced with the team yet.
~~~
“I’m just saying-”
“-You’ve been ‘just saying’ for the past hour,” Myra snaps. “We get it!”
Bird’s eyelid is twitching. The tension in the room is thick, like something lodged deep in the throat. She can hear the eye roll Laura gives Myra.
She rolls her shoulders, before turning to face the room.
“Alright, let’s just start over,” she says, waving her hand. A couple people mutter protests, but no one speaks up to be heard. “We’re getting nowhere with this. Let’s talk about the phone call.”
“Talk?” Jake asks. He leans forward, arms folded tight across his chest. “Bird, that was a direct threat. They know our numbers, how to get past our encryption. Maybe even our location. We should be moving bases tonight.”
“Paranoid much?” Milo drawls, slouched so far down in his chair he looks boneless. “It was noise and theater. Scare tactics. Relax.”
Ridge sets his elbow on the table and leans his head into his hand. “You can never be too paranoid, Milo. I can’t tell you how many paranoid people used to walk into my hospital because they felt the smallest bit of pain, and found out something major was wrong with them.”
Milo shoots a glare across the table, but a few are nodding in silent agreement.
Bird sets both hands on the table and purses her lips. She glances around the room. Maybe it was a smart idea to move bases tonight, but to where? They didn’t have any sort of backups available. And moving would leave them vulnerable, anyways.
Piper, who’s perched on the edge of her chair, raises her hand. “Sorry if I’m like, the only one not following here, but what trial? Like, a pit fight? A test? Are we the trial?”
The room goes still at that. Only Harriet continues without pause. She’s got an earbud in and hasn’t said anything the entire meeting, Bird isn’t sure if she’s even listening or not.
“Good question,” Harriet replies. Her reading glasses reflect a dozen open tabs. “I’ve been running cross-checks since I got the signal un-jammed. There are whispers in older Blood Jacker chatter. Phrases like ‘champions of blood’ and ‘witch trials’. Always tied to Red Ring pit fights.”
Bird doesn’t like the sound of any of it. Piper made a good point. They very well could be the trial. The phone call had seemed like a summons, of sorts. Myra had taken the letter-the invitation, as it was described-and it had only been a day before they got the phone call.
Raya picks up a pen and taps it on the notebook in front of her. “It’s like pouring boiling water down an ant hill,” she says softly. “They’re trying to put pressure on us and flush us out. I think we should stay, for the time being.”
“I agree,” Myra says with a nod. “But we should probably have a backup ready, just in case. Anyone opposed?”
No one speaks up. Even Jake seems somewhat agreeable with the decision. Bird looks over at a map of the city hung on the wall.
Every spot that was a known pit was marked with a red pin. Clubs were marked with blue, gang and cell territories were circled and marked in black pen. There’s still a corner of the map unmarked, the top right. They hadn’t had time to send a recon team out there yet, as it was fenced off and heavily guarded from every angle.
“I just think,” Nate begins, pulling her from her thoughts, “That if we want to find anything, we outta get our hands dirty.”
“He’s got a point,” Laura says over the sighs and groans. “To know how the pits work, we gotta be in the pits.”
Will shakes his head quickly. “Nope. Absolutely not. You want a big red target on your back, that’s how you get one.”
Nate punches his hand into his fist, grinning. “You just have no love for the game, Willy.”
“I want to be on the front lines as much as the rest of you,” Jake growls, “But even I don’t agree with joining the pits. We’d be stooping to their level.”
The room splits in two. Nate leans forward, elbows on his knees, practically vibrating with the idea. Laura mirrors him, that wild light in her eyes. On the other side, Will’s jaw is locked, his arms crossed like stone, while Jake looms in the middle, caught between the fire and the frost.
Bird pulls her chair over and sits down. Sometimes, it was better to let the wick burn a bit before snuffing it out. Something productive usually came out of it, if you knew how to listen.
Ridge speaks up again. “The pits will chew you up. We’ve seen enough bodies to prove it.”
“Yeah, yeah, doom and gloom,” Piper says, propping her feet up on the table. “But admit it—you’re all a little curious. What’re they hiding down there that we haven’t already seen?”
Harriet doesn’t look up from her laptop. “Statistically speaking, you’d have a better chance of surviving a plane crash than lasting in a pit fight. I’m not recommending it.”
“Not recommending?” Nate smirks. “So you’re not saying no.”
Bird’s fingers drum against the armrest of her chair, a steady rhythm. When the bickering reaches its loudest point, she stands once again.
“We’re not stepping into the pits.” Her voice cuts through everything, calm but firm. “Not yet. If this mystery person wants blood, she’s not getting ours. We play smarter than that.”
The silence that follows is thick—half frustrated, half relieved. No one argues, but she knows better by now than to not expect someone to follow up this meeting with a stupid decision.
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There was something different about the vibe in the common room. It wasn’t a very big space, but it always seemed to comfortably hold however many people decided to hang out in there together. The main table and attached whiteboard were always filled edge to edge with papers, note, files, etc. The counter spaces covered in mismatched mugs and various types of coffee and tea always stayed clean and shiny, thank to Will. Plenty of seating, and always something for someone to do.
Now, Piper found herself-post training drills-perched on the back of the ratty rainbow couch, sipping an energy drink. They’d never been allowed anything more than water at the agent bootcamp place, now she loved exploring all the different types of forbidden drinks in the world.
Nate was currently sprawled out on the floor, still reeling from his sparing match with Laura. Deacon was upside on a nearby armchair, eyes closed and arms crossed. Milo had his back turned to the three, focused on deep cleaning his knife and baton at the table.
“I nearly took Grumpy’s eyebrows off with that wall vault, did you see that?” She says, looking over at the upside down carrot.
“Yeah, I did,” Deacon chuckled. “Thought he was gonna glitch, like a video game character. Head twitch and all.”
Nate, without lifting his head from his face plant into the carpet, nodded. “He should glitch, maybe then he’d stop giving me homework during warm-ups.”
“You mean strategy briefs.”
“They’re just sudoku puzzles with anxiety, Milo,” Nate grumbled. “He needs to get a grip.”
Piper pushed herself up and bounced off the couch cushions, careful not to spill her drink. Snowball turned his head to look at her, so did Carrot.
“Alright, let’s focus. I need ideas for my next training stunt. Something death defying, but like, in a cool way.”
She had shocked and awed the crowd with her last stunt, and now something was required to keep heads turning. It was a lot easier, back at bootcamp, to wow people. The teachers there were all stiff rule followers, who’d never seen a day of fun in their lives. Here, the most reaction she’d been able to get in the last month was the before mentioned head twitch from West.
It’s not that the people here were boring. No, these were some of the most fascinating people Piper had ever met. But they were all unfazed by any sort of excitement, mostly because they were all equally as creative and scary as her. Just in their own, special-very special-ways.
“What if you skateboarded off the roof into the obstacle course?” Deacon offered.
Piper shook her head. “I can’t skateboard.”
“She’d die anyways,” Milo chipped in, without looking up.
“No, no more roof stunts,” Nate pleaded. “Last time, you nearly landed on Ridge, and he apologized to you.”
This brought laughter from the four as they recalled the memory.
“I remember that,” Deacon said, speaking for the four. “He was all like, ‘I’m sorry my body broke your fall.’ I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset.”
“That’s why I like him,” Piper shrugged, still smiling. Big Red acted all mean when he was healing people, but it came from concern more than anything.
Silence settled on the room. Only the quiet humming of the fridge, occasional beeping from the monitor wall, and the soft clinking of Milo’s cleaning tools. Piper sat back down onto the couch, correctly this time, and continued to brainstorm what her next stunts could entail.
It wasn’t very long before Milo set his project down, and finally turned to face the three.
“Hey, does anyone know who moved my protein shake from the fridge?”
…
“Define moved.”
It was too innocent. Milo fixes Nate with a cold stare. “You drank my shake.”
Not a question. A statement.
“I thought it was community stock!” Nate exclaimed. “No label, no claim.”
Milo looks more bewildered than anything by now. “It was neon green, Nate! Who else drinks seaweed and powdered mushrooms?”
Piper and Deacon gagged in unison. Piper couldn’t tell what was better, the murder on Milo’s face or the sheer lack of concern on Nate’s part.
“That’s horrifying.”
“Respectfully: ew.”
Deacon sits straight up and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a blue pack of gum and chucks one at both boys. And who could blame him, anyone who willingly drinks a neon green shake should be sentenced for life.
Nate offers Milo an apologetic grin as he pops the gum. Milo’s gum is set on the table and promptly forgotten as he stands up. “I’m going to label the next one with permanent ink, Nate. Inside your mouth.”
“Worth it.”
Piper gasps and claps her hands together. “Group field trip! We can get Broody Broccoli a label maker and Snowball a will, it’s perfect!”
Deacon does his best to contain his laughter, and fails miserably. Milo falls back into his chair and covers his face with his hands, letting out an exasperated groan. Grumbling something about them being far too exhausting.
“Can I sign the headstone?” Deacon asks. “Here lies Nate, protein thief.”
