Chapter 77: Cry for the Moon – Part 3

Upper district, High Town — skyscraper.

The moment we stepped into the room, the Power Broker spat a curse at us.

"You're late."

"It couldn’t be helped. The target was a mutant."

"...What?"

Power Broker leaned forward with interest at Taskmaster’s reply.
…Quietly, I slipped over to the corner of the room and pulled out the attaché case.

When I opened it, rows of small components were neatly stored inside.

…Tinkerer had been thorough enough to prepare spares for the mask and other key parts, just in case.
I didn’t expect I’d be using them this soon, though.

The spare suit contained neither adamantium nor vibranium.
It was made from a special alloy, inferior to the real one.

…The damaged sections of the mask were in the synthetic metal.
The adamantium and vibranium parts don’t break unless something truly extreme happens.
So instead of replacing the whole thing, it’d be better to swap out just the broken pieces.
It would take a little work, though.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Power Broker pressing Taskmaster for details.

"A mutant… what kind?"

"Hmm… she called herself Laura Kinney."

I undid the fasteners on the headpiece and removed the mask.
…The dried blood stuck to my skin peeled away, making my face sting.
Looks like some skin came off.
Not that it matters—my healing factor will have it fixed in no time.

The dirt wouldn’t come off, though.
…I should probably wash my face first.

"Laura, you say?"

Right behind me, a man in a kimono—Kenichiro—reacted and stood up.

Could he not do that so suddenly?
I nearly dropped the broken part out of surprise.

…And wow, he’s tall.
Close to two meters, by the look of it.

Generally speaking, the bigger a person is, the stronger they are.
Weight and reach directly translate to strength.

Taskmaster glanced over at Kenichiro.

"You know her?"

"Indeed. That girl is my foster daughter."

"...And who's that supposed to be?"

The sound of metal scraping rang out—chakiri.
He must have tightened his grip on the sword in his hand.
The scabbard, the hilt… every part of it was a strange, silver sheen.

Kenichiro gave a fearless grin.

"Wolverine. Laura is his clone… and also his foster daughter."

"Wolverine…? Who’s that?"

Taskmaster clearly had no idea.
…Well, he tends to lose his memories, so it’s not surprising.

Power Broker turned back to Taskmaster.

"So? What happened to this Laura?"

"I restrained her and left her in the care of someone I know."

"...I thought I told you to kill her."

"She’s unlikely to be working alone… she should be interrogated for information."

"...Hmph."

Power Broker looked doubtful, but soon lost interest and averted his eyes.
…It would be a bit of a problem if he knew that suggestion had been mine.
It’s a relief that Taskmaster kept his mouth shut.

I picked up the mask from the attaché case—

"Redcap, you too. Come here. We’re going to talk business now."

…Power Broker said it like an order.

Swapping the mask parts would take time.
And right now, the broken one was still disassembled.

…So I set the mask down on the case and walked over.
I’d rather not show my bare face if I could help it.

…Kenichiro glanced my way.
For just a moment, his eyes showed interest—maybe because I’m a woman.

Taskmaster, on the other hand, stood with arms folded, looking at Power Broker.
Not interested at all.
Which, somehow, irritated me.

Power Broker’s voice turned upbeat.

"It’s the first time I’ve seen your face… well now, could it be that my ‘super-soldier serum’ also has beauty-enhancing effects?"

"…………"

Annoying.

There are people who like being complimented on their looks, and people who don’t.
I’m the latter.

"With a face like that, you could be put to use for more than just killing—"

"Power Broker. Let’s stick to the point."

Taskmaster cut him off mid-sentence.

…That wasn’t his way of being considerate—
No, this was just him getting irritated that the conversation had gone off track.

"The facility we were going to trade with was attacked."

"Details?"

Taskmaster shot the question back without missing a beat.
Power Broker glared at him, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

"I’m getting to that. Don’t rush me."

He fiddled with the device strapped to his arm, and a set of files appeared on a monitor embedded in the wall.

…Security camera footage.

"This is a bar I use often. Tonight, I was supposed to make a deal there, but—"

On screen was a woman who looked to be the owner, surrounded by suited bodyguards.

A Black man in a suit and sunglasses.
And… a man with a cybernetic left arm.

"…Winter Soldier?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Power Broker gave me a brief glance.

"Yes. The Winter Soldier."

The footage played on.

The owner shouted something and pointed at the Black man.
Moments later, her guards raised their weapons—

And then, the Winter Soldier charged forward, mowing down the guards.
The Black man snatched a weapon from one of them and joined the fight.

…This guy’s no ordinary civilian.
Who is he?

"That’s Sam Wilson… better known as ‘Falcon.’"

I rested my chin on my hand.

…Falcon, huh.
Like the Winter Soldier, he’s an Avenger.
Equipped with a jet pack and mechanical wings, he specializes in aerial combat.
Not a superhuman himself—just a highly trained soldier—but one with exceptional mobility.

An enemy who supports from the air.
A hit-and-run fighter.
And one who uses a high-tech drone called ‘Redwing’ for relentless attacks.

…A troublesome opponent.

Could I win? Hard to say.
If he takes to the air, I can’t even give chase.

As for the Winter Soldier… I’ve already suffered a crushing defeat at his hands.
Even with my new suit, that gap isn’t one I can close.

…This will be tough.

But I can’t say that out loud—not when Power Broker is taking such an aggressive stance.

And there’s also the thought that Taskmaster might be able to handle it…
That Kenichiro guy too—though I’ve never actually seen him fight. I’m judging entirely by appearance.

We have the numbers on our side.

Me, Taskmaster, Kenichiro.
Winter Soldier, Falcon.

Three versus two. We could gang up on one of them, take them down, then corner the last one together.

…Of course, that plan assumes there aren’t any other heroes in Madripoor right now.

"They’ve been sniffing around after me… but backing down now would hurt my pride."

Power Broker continued.

"The location’s been changed, but the deal will go ahead as planned."

…I almost frowned, but without my mask on, I can’t risk showing that expression.
I keep my best poker face.

"Get ready. We leave in three hours."

"Understood."

"Got it."

…Taskmaster didn’t bother to answer.
What a laid-back guy.

I returned to the attaché case and began dismantling the broken parts.

…Tinkerer once said that truly good equipment also excels in maintainability.

If you can swap components just by reading through the manual, then I suppose this suit really is “truly good equipment.”

Behind me, Taskmaster was talking to Power Broker.
…I turned part of my attention toward their conversation.

"I still haven’t heard what you’re trading. Weapons?"

"There’s no need for me to answer… but yes, you could call it a weapon."

I kept working, ears tuned to them.

"That’s not very clear."

"…On its own, it’s not a weapon. But used correctly, it can create the ultimate weapon."

…My hands froze for a moment.
I resisted the urge to turn around.

"It can make any human into a superhuman… Don’t you think that’s a wonderful dream?"

"…No one becomes strong without pain."

"You have quite the old-fashioned mindset."

I caught my breath.

"Super-Soldier Serum, Taskmaster."

I bit my lower lip.

"Serum, huh."

"It can turn anyone into a superhuman… There are hits and misses, of course, but you can just use it on orphans or people no one needs. That’s the kind of ‘pain’ you like, isn’t it?"

The part I’d been holding slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

"…That’s not ‘pain.’ That’s ‘sacrifice.’"

"Close enough. The gifted push the burden onto fools—that’s how society works."

…Will there be more children like those?
Cut off from the outside world, twisted in both body and mind… and in the end, dying in agony.

Innocent children, with no happiness in their lives, living through a hell on earth.

It’s inhuman.

The worst kind of evil.

And me… am I helping make it happen?

Killing people, committing crimes… just to create more children like that?

I don’t want to think about it.
But I can’t stop thinking about it.

I can hear them.
The voices of resentment, desperate for life.

I can see them.
The small hands of a child, smeared in their own blood and vomit.

The hands of the dead, reaching for me.

It’s only hallucinations—auditory and visual.
But even so… I could feel their weight.

---

The sound of rattling metal came as the lock clicked open. The one who stepped inside… was Mercedes. In her hands was a cup of soup. Inside, shrimp floated in the broth.

“Lola, I’ve prepared you a meal,” she called out as she approached the sofa.

“Hey, at least give me a—” She stepped around it… and noticed something was off. No one was there.

Her gaze immediately went to the window. It had no lock, but it was a fixed pane—there was no way to open it. The only exit was the metal door with a key lock.

“…Oh, honestly! You’re such a handful!” She set the soup down on the table and opened the closet. Naturally, no one was inside. Her eyes swept the room, looking for anywhere a person might hide.

I was watching her from above.

Retracting the claws embedded in the ceiling, I dropped down. The wooden floor creaked faintly under my landing… and Mercedes instantly spun around. …As expected of an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Sharp senses. But still, she was a beat too slow.

“Lo—”

“Sorry! I’ve got somewhere to be!”

Before she could finish saying my name, I bolted for the door.

“Hey, wait!” Her voice chased after me from behind. But I didn’t stop. I had things to do. No time to stand around.

“The soup’s going to get cold, you know!”

…My hand brushed over my empty stomach. The last time I’d eaten was before sneaking into the container yard, and after losing so much blood, I was starving… Even so, I didn’t slow down.

I slipped through the gaps between passersby.

Lowtown, the underbelly of Madripoor, was a chaotic mess. A jumble of countless races living elbow-to-elbow, pure disorder. Cheap Chinese joints, shady drug dens, arms dealers, bars glowing with suspicious neon—shops of every sort colored the streets. It was like someone had splashed buckets of paint across the crumbling walls of the ruins.

I slipped between two buildings and walked down a dim back alley. I glanced back. No sign of anyone. …Looks like I’d shaken Mercedes off my trail. Relieved, I let out a breath… and looked around.

“…Uh, so… where am I?”

Somehow, I’d lost my sense of direction. This was my first time in Madripoor to begin with. Apparently my dad “ran” a bar here…? But I didn’t know the details. Actually, the fact that even a wild beast like my dad could become a “business owner” probably said everything you needed to know about how messed up this city was.

…My ears picked up voices. Two grown men, arguing.

I really didn’t want to backtrack and risk running into Mercedes again, so I headed deeper in—toward the voices.

“Turn off your damn phone notifications, will you?”

“Yeah, my bad—but the whole plan was garbage to begin with!”

“You agreed to it too, didn’t you?”

“That was a momentary lapse in judgment! And seriously, who even is this ‘Smiling Tiger’ guy?!”

The argument was getting heated.

“He’s someone who looks like you. Want to see a picture?”

“Yeah, show me! Where exactly does he—does he… huh. Yeah, he does kinda look like me.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah, well…”

It seemed the fight had fizzled out. Turning the corner, I finally saw the two men who’d been arguing.

One was white, the other Black.

The white guy, despite Madripoor’s sweltering heat, was wearing a jacket that covered his arms completely—and leather gloves on top of that. Just looking at him made me feel hot.

The Black man was in a suit, but it was in tatters—frayed and scuffed like he’d just walked away from a gang war.

…Neither of them looked like ordinary people. I kept my presence hidden and watched.

“This is gonna get us chewed out by Nick Fury.”

“Yeah, probably.”

…Nick Fury?

Without thinking, I stepped forward a little.

Right then, the white guy reached up to the zipper on the shoulder of his jacket and pulled it loose. The sleeve came off—revealing a metal prosthetic arm.

“…Who’s there?”

The easygoing expression from moments ago vanished, replaced by a sharp, dangerous glare aimed right where I was hiding.

…He’d spotted me.

Accepting that I’d been made, I stepped out into view.

“Uh… nice to meet you? Winter Soldier.”

I knew this man’s name—he was pretty famous.

Maybe because I’d said it out loud, he kept his guard up, eyes locked on me. …The Black guy, on the other hand, seemed surprised to see me at all. Guess his detection skills weren’t as sharp.

“…The name’s Bucky.”

“Oh, yeah? Then nice to meet you, Bucky. And you are?”

“Me? Sam Wilson.”

Sam… Sam? That name rang a bell.

“Falcon?”

“Ah—yeah, that’s what they call me.”

Sam scratched his cheek with an awkward nod.

Well, that explained it. Avengers. Which meant they were on Nick Fury’s side. Guess all that caution was for nothing.

“My name’s Laura. I’m not your ene—”

“Fury, I’ve found Laura Kinney. She’s on the move.”

Bucky spoke while pressing a hand to his ear. Looking closer, I saw the small earpiece hooked there.

“Ugh.”

Figures. The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. were allied—a hero team and an intelligence agency working together. And Bucky, from what I’d heard, was an actual S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Sam glanced at me with an apologetic look.

“Sorry, kid.”

“You’re coming with us.”

Bucky extended his metal arm toward me—and I took a quick step back to avoid it. He swung at empty air and let out a sigh.

“…We don’t have time to deal with a teenager’s tantrum.”

“I know that.”

“So if you could just come quietly… I’d appreciate it if you let us take you into protective custody.”

“Protective custody? No thanks.”

I took another step back and crossed my arms. Adamantium claws slid out with a sharp sound.

“There’s someone I absolutely have to meet.”

“Someone you have to meet? Who?” Sam asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Redcap.”

Bucky frowned at the answer.

“…Forget it.”

“No. I won’t.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, and Sam gave a wry smile. His suit split down the middle, two wings unfolding from his back. Looks like he’d been hiding a red costume underneath.

He slipped a pair of goggles over his eyes—and there it was, the exact Falcon look I’d seen countless times in magazines.

So, combat mode.

Sam opened his mouth.

“For us single guys, dealing with a teenager can be a real handful.”

“Watch your mouth, Sam.”

The way the two of them bickered made me smile too, though the situation was bad. There was no way I could win against both of them alone—

Brrr-ring.

…A ridiculously out-of-place ringtone went off. It was coming from Sam.

Bucky glanced at him. Sam looked at me.

…Sounded like a phone call. Judging by that earlier argument, this was probably the same thing that had gotten them sidetracked in the first place—and he still hadn’t turned off his notifications.

“…Well? Go ahead.” I jerked my chin toward him.

Sam pulled a device from his chest harness and held it to his ear.

“Hey, Sarah… I told you I was at work, didn’t I? …So, about that loan—”

Both Bucky and I relaxed our stances, though his expression stayed just as severe.

“Laura, what exactly are you planning to do when you meet Redcap?”

“I don’t know.”

“…You don’t know?”

He gave me a truly baffled look.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Before I came here, I wanted to kill her… but now I’m not sure. So I want to meet her and find out.”

“…What are you even talking about?”

“I don’t know either… Huh? Am I saying something really weird right now?”

“…Haa.” Bucky exhaled in exasperation.

“Sarah, I said hold on. No, I’m not neglecting family, I just—” Sam’s voice carried through the alley.

“…He’s still on the phone.”

“You’re hopelessly lacking in tension.”

Bucky replied without looking directly at Sam, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. His expression had softened a little… though with a face that stern to begin with, he still looked intimidating.

“…Getting you to a safe place from here is going to be a pain. And we don’t have much time. So, if you’re coming along, just keep up on your own.”

“Oh? Glad to see you can be reasonable.”

“I’m not agreeing. I’m just making the logical choice… And another thing—you’re not killing her.”

“Got it.”

I nodded.

“Sarah, yeah, yeah, I get it. Alright, I’ll call you later… Okay! Sorry to keep you waiting!”

Just then, Sam finally ended his call—and promptly dropped into a fighting stance.

Bucky and I exchanged a look.

“…We’re done here.”

“Huh? You serious?”

“Dead serious. Let’s go.”

I followed behind Bucky. Sam, still not quite following what was going on, tilted his head and hurried after us.

---

In the dimness, I close my eyes.

I steady my breathing inside the mask.

No more hallucinations linger behind my eyelids.
All I hear is the sound of tires striking the ground.

I’m in the back of a truck, in the cargo bay.
Sitting in a chair… focusing.

It’s fine now.

When I open my eyes, there’s a pitch-black monitor in front of me.
The fluorescent light on the ceiling casts a faint glow.

Right now, the Power Broker… and we, their escorts, are on the move.
We’re headed to our client, driving along the highway that connects the Upper High-Town and Lower Low-Town.

Each of us is riding in a separate vehicle.
I’m in the cargo bed of this truck.

Why am I sitting here, in the back?
That’s—

The monitor lights up.
The words Sound Only appear.

If there’s no video, then why even bother with a monitor? I feel like making that jab.

The Power Broker’s voice comes through the speakers.

" We’re being tailed. We’ve lost contact with the last vehicle. Go."

" Understood."

The rear door of the cargo bay swings open.
The city’s clamor and the sound of traffic rush into my ears.

The chair I’m sitting in slides backward—
and drops right out into the open.

The tires—no, the motorcycle wheels—spin to life.

I accelerate until I match the truck’s speed.

This is a large bike crafted by Tinkerer.
A jet-black frame accented with red parts, a perfect match for me in my suit.

Its armor is made from a special alloy tougher than a tank’s.
Weight: over five hundred kilos.
Top speed: 350 kilometers per hour.

A true monster machine.

…And to think she made this just for me.
She claims it’s "a hobby, a romantic ideal."

In any case, it’s because I’ve got this dangerous machine that I’m moving separately from Taskmaster and Kenichiro.

I ease off the throttle, closing in on whoever’s chasing us.
A glance behind reveals… a flying figure.

A red suit, silver wings.

"Falcon, huh…"

I smack the side of the bike, deploying a hidden compartment.
From it, I draw out a custom-made submachine gun.

I drop my speed even more, closing in on Falcon.

…Looks like he’s noticed me.

That special flight rig of his—
Wakandan high-tech, state-of-the-art gear.
It can hit speeds of 400 km/h.

If he gets ahead of me, I won’t catch up.
So… what’s the move?
Don’t let him get ahead in the first place.

I twist my body and raise the submachine gun.

I pull the trigger, bullets spitting from the muzzle.
The empty shells clatter to the road.

Falcon hastily folds his wings around himself like a shield.
The rounds don’t pierce them—just glance right off.

…Those feathers—are they made of vibranium?
Not a single bullet ricocheted. It’s like they absorbed the shock entirely.

He drops from the air, losing lift.

Sparks fly as he skids along the road with his wings pinned beneath him.
The distance between us widens.

"Tch!"

I click my tongue sharply.

It might look like a solid hit to an outsider—
but in reality, it’s a complete failure.

Missing the chance to deal damage on that first strike is bad.
That was the most opportune moment.

Once you put him on alert—

The wind whistles in my ears.
Jet exhaust, too.

Above me—wings.

"Falcon…!"

"Coming up from above, if you don’t mind."

Cracking a joke, he tries to accelerate again.

It’s easy for a human to look down.
But attacking something above your head—that’s hard.

People watch the ground as they walk, but they don’t walk while watching the sky.

I once again open fire on Falcon above me with the submachine gun.

"Oh—close one."

Sharp turns, barrel rolls—he dodges the bullets with all sorts of maneuvers.
Anything he can’t avoid, he swats aside with his wings.

An incredible level of aerial skill… practically acrobatics.

…Firearms aren’t going to land a decisive blow.

I tap at the touch panel in the center of the handlebars, switching to autopilot mode.

Then I rise to my feet, plant a boot on the bike’s frame—

—and kick off, leaping upward.

"Whoa, seriously?!"

I ignore the startled voice and close in on Falcon.
He tries to veer away, but I reach out and grab hold of his leg.

"You’re not getting past me."

"This isn’t a horror movie, you know…!"

Our altitude steadily drops until we land atop the truck’s cargo bay.

I roll with the impact, catching myself by gripping the rear edge.
When I lift my head, Falcon is kneeling near the front in the same way.

If he takes off, he’ll definitely escape.
But the instant he tries to launch into the air, he’ll leave an opening.
That one instant—that’s my chance.

Maybe he’s reading my thoughts, because Falcon stays on guard and makes no move.

"Sam!"

The voice comes from the side.

At the same time, something slams into me.
Not enough to put me down, but it’s a solid hit.

Looking toward the source of the voice, I see a man riding a massive bike.

…A silver arm.
A vibranium cybernetic arm.

"Winter Soldier, huh."

He’s holding an assault rifle—that must have been what hit me just now.

My attention shifts to him for only a moment.

A moment… but it’s enough.

Falcon releases the edge of the truck and fires his jets.

He’s getting away.
That’s what I thought.

But I was wrong.

He fires his jets forward—
and comes at me with a dropkick.

"Tch!"

"A little foul-mouthed for a young lady, aren’t you?!"

A young lady?
…Wait a second.

Why do they know my gender?

How much? How much do they know!?

A sudden wave of unease scrambles my thoughts—
and before I know it, I’m thrown into the air.

I quickly twist my legs around Falcon’s, locking us together.

"Hey—what are you doing?!"

He protests, but I have no intention of letting go.
I cling to the side of the moving truck.

Forming my hand into a spear-hand, I drive it into the cargo bay’s wall.
With my arm braced, I kick and fling Falcon away.

"Whoa—!?"

Just like before, he uses his wings to absorb the shock of the fall,
but it buys me some time.

I start climbing up onto the cargo bed—

—and the sound of a bike engine roars in my ears.

Winter Soldier.
His assault rifle is trained on me.

Not good.

At that moment, the truck’s roof explodes upward—
blown out from the inside.

…Of course. I hadn’t realized it before.
This vehicle… is one of the Power Broker’s escort units, same as mine—
Kenichiro’s vehicle.

I don’t know what abilities he has, but he should be at least somewhat useful.

Then, something humanoid lands on the roof of the cargo bay.

It’s armor.

An armored suit modeled after traditional Japanese samurai armor.
A crimson rising sun motif blazes across the chest plate,
its lines radiating from the center like sunlight.

And the armor… is silver.

A silver samurai.

"…Heh. Hahaha."

I can’t help but laugh.

Is it because he looks so out of place here?
No, that’s not it.

Because he’s a disappointment?
No, not that either.

I laughed… because I had doubted his skill.

I recognize that silver samurai.

Yes. That’s right—Kenichiro.
Harada Kenichiro.
Oh, I know him well.

A notorious villain who appears often in the comics—
a mutant samurai clad in silver armor.

Yes—

The Silver Samurai was standing right there.