Chapter Text
-- digitalDigitalis [DD] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA] --
DD: d i s a l l o w e d
TA: try me, biitch.
DD: i t i s c u t e t h a t y o u s t i l l h o p e
DD: b u t s o o n y o u w i l l k n o w t h e f e a r o f g o d s
-- twinArmageddons [TA] laptop Exploded! --
TA: H4H4H4H4H4 17H 7H47S 8357 Y0U H4V3 MU773RL1KK3R
TA: W3 F0X1FUXX3R5 G0NN4 PU55 Y0U 84CK WH3R3 Y0U CUMM3D FR0M
DD: i w e l c o m e t h e c h a l l e n g e , b r o t h e r
-- digitalDigitalis [DD] has been Blocked! --
You wake up, out of habit, a little after sunrise. You wander toward the kitchen for food or at least caffeine, but are greeted by the burnt-out shells of Roxy’s computers and the lingering scent of fire extinguisher chemicals, so you keep walking out the door and follow the stairs up to the roof, hoping to clear your head or at least your lungs. Luckily, Dirk’s been too distracted to actually program the numerical lock yet.
Waiting on the roof is Becquerel.
He smile-pants at you and thumps his tail a couple times in greeting. You just stare at him. “The fuck are you doin' here?” you ask.
Becquerel stretches out his front paws and lifts his ass into the air in a particular doggy yoga pose that Jade had once informed you was called a play bow and was, in Becquerel’s case, usually an invitation to Jake for wrestling. It takes you a second for your sleepy mind to realize what he wants, and when you do, you kind of want to punch something.
“The Harleys sent you to spar with me because they’re busy being stuck in jail.”
Becquerel playfully yips and repeats the play bow.
“Yeah, well, tell them they can shove it up their asses,” you snarl. You turn and start back down the stairs, your skin already burning. Great, losing control of your werewolf side is exactly what you need right now.
Becquerel barks after you and then runs down the stairs and past you, nearly tripping you in the process. Your angry swearing does nothing to keep him from stopping in front of you and yapping his head off, trying to herd you back to the roof.
His position makes it way too easy to kick him in the chest to get him out of the way, and that pained and betrayed yip kind of makes you instantly regret it, but you are also still super fucking pissed. “You think what I want to do right now is spar?” you demand, and Becquerel backs up a step, tail tucked between his legs and head bowed. “You think I give a flying shit what the Harleys think is best for me right now?”
Becquerel keeps backing away, tripping a little each time because dogs aren’t really built to go down stairs backwards. You advance on him angrily. “Here’s an idea! While you’re getting all this input from them from fucking jail apparently, how ’bout you ask them why they insist on being liars that ruin everything?!”
Becquerel stares at you with the paragon example of sad puppy eyes and vicious, cold heat flares between your lungs. You pretend you’re going to kick him again, and he runs the rest of the way down the stairs and out of sight, leaving you with only a sad yip as though you really had kicked him again.
And then you sit down on the stairs and cry because why the fuck not.
When you finally get back to the apartment, you’re surprised to find Roxy sitting on the kitchen floor, carefully pulling apart one of her CPU cases with gloves and a mask on. “Oh, uh, hi,” you tell her. You close the door behind you. “I didn’t expect you up so early.”
“Was awakened by the sound of someone shouting at and then kicking a dog on the stairs right outside the apartment,” she grumbles.
You look away, ashamed. Which you should be because, person or no, you just kicked a fucking dog.
When she spares you a glance, she pauses work for a second to tell you, “You’ve, uh, got a little…” She gesture to her own face. “... everything.”
“Huh? Oh right.” You close your eyes and concentrate. You may not have control yet, but at the very least, you’ve learned how to shift normal again by only imagining your comfort item sword. The itching only lasts about a second, and then you’re back to normal. “So what are you doin'?”
“Tryin' to figure out if anything’s salvageable and if there’s any signs of－ Oh hey.” She pokes at something inside the case, then pulls it around to look at the back. “DIIIIIIIRK!”
About half a second later, Dirk is stumbling toward the kitchen, and you move out of the way to accommodate the oncoming nerd storm. “Sup?” he asks.
She glances over her shoulder, then waves him off. “No, not you. Dirk Prime.” She’s eying the ports at the back with extreme suspicion.
Dirk makes a noise of annoyance but moves back into the hallway. A moment later, you hear him kick Bro’s door and shout for Bro to get the fuck up because Roxy asked. There’s a short argument, then Bro finally follows him out, pulling on a well-worn t-shirt so he’s not standing around in just his boxers. Can’t be showing his precious man-titties to company. He looks like hell. “Wassit?” he mumbles.
She points at a thumb drive plugged into the back of the CPU. “That’s not mine.”
Dirk is immediately at her side, looking over her shoulder, but she shoves him back, telling him not to touch evidence. The lights on his shades are swirling at rapid speed. Bro just blinks slowly at them. “Sorry, what?” he says at last.
“Remember how we swore up and down that we always disconnected from the web before sleep?” Dirk tells him. He points to the drive. “That is how Digitalis cooked the computers while we weren’t around and weren't connected.”
“How did someone get in here?!” Roxy demands. “Who the fuck plugged this into my computer?! Oh shit, they're on the others, too.” She's pointing at the other cases under the table, but when you look around, you see that, yes, every single CPU has at least one thumbdrive plugged into the back, where it's less likely to be noticed.
Bro snarls a string of swears and storms back to his room. The swirling colors on Dirk’s shades slow down. “Dave, Bro, and I were out. You were asleep. It could’ve been anyone. But it’s possible that it was plugged in before that, and Digitalis just waited until you maxed out your machinery before destroying it. In which case…” He drops off as Bro reenters the room motioning for him to be quiet.
Bro’s on the phone. “Yeah, I don’t have an evidence room right now, and I need to spread all our new shit out as much as possible to prevent the same attack,” he tells whoever. He looks over the mess. “About a couple dozen overheated CPUs. … Yeah, I’ve got a couple nanny cams to prove my word to our caseworker, so I’ll check them for intrusion, but it looks like…” He runs a hand through his thinning hair. “Yeah, IA’s already elbow deep in my ass, so I might as well go ahead and tell them. … Jesus, I don’t even know. I’m this close to fucking done, man. I don’t suppose you want it?” Bro laughs at something the other person says, but it’s not a good laugh. It’s only now occurring to you that you have the ability to snoop with your werewolf hearing, but oh well. “Okay, yeah, thanks, man.”
Bro hangs up and turns to the three of you. “Stilinski’s gonna be here in about an hour to bag and tag all this shit. I’m gonna see if I caught our culprit on camera,” he tells you. “I only need Roxy to stick around. It’s best if you two get out of the way. Go play outside or something.” He makes a shooing motion at you as he migrates back to his bedroom.
Dirk turns to you with a completely stone-faced stoicism and says, “What the fuck is an outside?”
“I dunno,” you answer. “Some kind of disease maybe?”
“GET OUT!” Bro shouts at you both.
Dirk snickers and heads back to his room to get dressed. “You wanna spar until they’re done?” he asks.
The memory of kicking a fucking dog because you can’t keep your shit together flashes in your mind. “Uh, nah,” you mumble. “I think I’m gonna go find John.”
Dirk pauses in the doorway to the hall.
“What?” you ask.
“Dave, you can’t talk to John,” says Roxy. “That whole family is under suspicion, and your bro’s hand-picked right-hand man, who is also of that family, just got jailed for arson, contributing to the delinquency of a juvenile, destruction of evidence, destruction of state property, and, oh yeah!, murder. Three counts of murder. So if we so much as glance at anyone remotely related to the Crocker clan, it’s just going to cast more suspicion on Bro.”
You sort of see the point, but it’s a hazy point. “Okay, but they’re always suspicious of Bro,” you tell her.
Dirk groans and turns back to you. “No, man, they’re always suspicious that he’s incompetent,” he tells you. “Which, fair, because he rarely tries to be anything else. We’re talking suspicion that he’s had an active hand in this bullshit. We’re talking about more than being fired, but being actually imprisoned. That’s what’s being risked if we don’t play this very carefully.”
“But he’s the one that’s fought the hardest to solve this!” you exclaim. “And the Harleys are lying anyway! So what does it matter if he trusted Jake, when we know Jake didn’t do it?”
Roxy looks away. Dirk scowls at the floor.
“You do know he’s lying, right?”
“Yes,” Dirk says with a sigh. “But why would he do this if he didn’t know anything?”
Roxy tears open the case of another CPU more out of spite than an actual need to. “Maybe he’s not a murderer,” she admits. “But he still let us down.”
You can’t deal with this anymore. You can’t listen to your family turn against the very friends that have been your rock since this all happened.
You go to your room, grab your jacket and your sword, and head outside.
You end up in the park, watching crows fly overhead. They’ve come into town from the forest to check out the fires for any potential dead animals to abscond with. You lean back on the bench and start fiddling with you iPod trying to find anything that fits your mood right now. (Hint: You have 5783 songs loaded and, no, none of them do.)
“You know there are open carry laws regarding edged weapons, right?” a harsh voice rasps next to your ear, and you jump about a foot in the air.
The speaker cackles and leans on her cane. It’s nearly identical to the one Terezi carries in length and weird dragon decorations, but it doesn’t come in “warning: this is a blind person” color. Well… you don’t think it does anyway? It seems to be silver. Then again, blindness might explain the ugly ass suit she’s wearing.
She comes around the side of the bench as you scramble to your feet. You don’t wait to hear her out. You turn and make a run for it.
Oof. Wow, she is fast with that cane.
“Are you, perhaps, also unaware that running makes you look guilty?” Pyrope Senior squawks, and the tip of her cane jabs down directly in front of your face. Eep.
“Why do I care if I look guilty if you people have already decided that I am?” you snarl because you have no goddamn sense.
“Oh, wow, a werewolf and a telepathic!” she cheers. “We certainly got the package deal with you, didn’t we?” She taps your shoulder with her cane. “Come on, walk with me.”
“To a secluded alley where you can knife me to death and leave my corpse to bleed out?” you ask, but you get to feet anyway.
She rolls her eyes behind transparent candy red shades, identical to Terezi’s aside from the lack of scarring and the fact that you can actually see her eyes focusing on you. “Please, that is a terribly inefficient way to kill a werewolf,” she says. She swings her cane again to point behind you. “I was thinking more like the short distance to the seat you just vacated.”
You watch her, face carefully blank to keep from giving away any more than she already knows. She watches you back, eyes sharp, head tilted patiently and curiously to the side, and smile wide as an alligator’s. Chomp chomp. “Why?” you finally ask.
“Because I want to talk to you, cutie!” And, god help you, she actually reaches out and pinches your cheek like a grandma on TV or Mom when she’s particularly hammered.
You pull away and bat her hand aside. “Is it necessary for you to bore me to death with your monologue of evil before you kill me?”
“Hmm?” she asks, leaning in. “And who said I was going to kill you?”
You just keep watching her, trying to figure this nutbag out. “You’re a werewolf hunter,” you say. “... Aren’t you?”
She shrugs and stands straight again. “Vigilante would be more correct, though I would never admit such on record,” she says. “We’re not Serkets, Dave. They want to kill you because they can and because they believe they have the natural right to cull you from existence. Us? We’ve seen plenty of bad, and people do fine making bad happen without supernatural abilities.”
You shift uneasily. That does kind of fit with what Jade had said. And with last night. “So that’s why Terezi saved me? Because she doesn’t think I’m a monster?”
“Oh, you’re definitely a monster,” Pyrope laughs. “The question is what kind of monster you are. But we live in a culture of innocent until proven guilty.” She hums again thoughtfully. “Well, no, actually we don’t, if we’re talking about the actual practices of the culture instead of its ideologies, but that’s basically my point.” Her sharp gaze returns to you and sends a shiver down your spine. “We Pyropes are idealists. We believe in holding ourselves and others to a really fucking high standard with rules like ‘don’t murder people just for kicks’.”
That rings a bit scary as fuck to you. “Uh… so… does that mean, like, there are people who are not me who you are totally okay with murdering?” you ask. You might maybe back up a step.
Her gaze flicks to your feet for only the briefest microsecond. “Hm, I suppose,” she says. She leans on her cane again. “True justice is preferential, of course, but the law isn’t always capable of acting on supernatural evidence. In that case, if we believe the public is under threat from such a force, it becomes our duty to act upon it in such a way that the threat ceases.”
“That is a lot of words for ‘we like killing bad guys,’” you say, and she grins so broadly that you’re kind of afraid the top of her head will fall off.
She turns and stalks off back to the bench you abandoned. You hesitate but, well, she’s got you by the curiosity now. You follow at a safe-ish distance and ask, “So, uh, what does that mean for the Harleys?”
She plops her ass down in the middle of the bench, showing that she has no intention of actually sharing. Which is good because that would be awkward as hell. “What do you think it means for the Harleys?” she asks.
“What are you, a lawyer or a therapist?” you ask, and she laughs loudly (It sounds like a rockslide.), throwing her head back, and that’s when you see a scarred ring around her neck peek out a little from the tightly buttoned collar of her dress shirt.
“I really want to know!” she insists when she's done cackling at you. “What do you think about the Harley thing? They’re close to you, aren’t they? Friends? Now that you know what they are, do you think they could do this?”
“No fucking way!” you insist. “Jake Harley wouldn’t jaywalk with no one watchin', and we’re supposed to believe he’s a murderer? And that Jade would destroy evidence to cover for his ass despite his plan to admit to it anyway?” You shake your head. “I know you don’t know them, that no one running this show knows them, but－”
“Then why would he lie?” she asks, jabbing your chest with her cane for emphasis.
You blink at her. “Why the hell do you expect me to know?” you ask.
She shrugs. “Maybe you do know nothing,” she says. “Or maybe you don’t know what you know.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to figure out what I don’t know that I know, Mr. Miyagi?” you demand. Then, “WILL YOU STOP POKING ME WITH THAT THING?”
She cackles at you. “That’s what she said,” she teases with a wink.
“Oh my gog.” You bury your face in your hands. “Can I just meet one responsible adult for once in my life?”
She shrugs again. “Maybe if you live long enough,” she suggests. “My point is, are you absolutely sure that you’ve examined this from all the angles?”
“Jake and Jade would never commit murder!”
“Just like they’d never burn all the evidence?”
That gives you pause. You look away. That portion of the charges wasn’t up for debate. They’d both been seen, left fingerprints everywhere, were caught on camera, and had waited patiently to be apprehended.
“So, given what you know, you are certain they’d never voluntarily do these things,” says Pyrope. “Which raises the question: What motivating factor might cause them to involuntarily do these things?”
“What?”
“Were they manipulated? Were they mind controlled? Were they replaced by evil robot clones from Mars?” She spreads her hands with fake innocence. “Just throwing stuff out there. Let me know if anything sounds plausible to you. You’re the Harley expert. Tell me to investigate robotic Martians, and I will totes do that thing.”
Your mind is whirring. “You… you think their alpha coulda demanded it?”
She leans forward and perches her chin her cane. “Hmm… Could have! Who's their alpha?”
“I－ I don’t know.” Would you tell her if you did? Can you really trust this crazy monster-hunting lawyer and her manic grin?
“But I’m right that they’re the only wolves you know?” she presses, and ha, you are definitely not telling her about McCall. “Which means they’re the only ones telling you anything about how this works and are probably the main reason you aren’t dead yet, correct?”
“Maybe.”
She nods. “Alright. So, why would they maybe tell you everything except who their alpha is?” She doesn’t actually wait for an answer, instead shoving herself to her feet and heading toward the path. “But then again, I’m probably barking up the wrong tree. After all, last I heard, the evidence was pointing to a bear attack! Back when there even was still evidence, of course.”
“Right,” you mumble, staying right the fuck where you are.
She pauses on the pathway and turns back to you. “Strider, do you actually know why wolves howl?”
You find yourself blinking at her in confusion for the fiftieth time in this conversation. “Uh, to be scary as fuck?” you guess.
She laughs. “Correct! But also not the particular howl I was referring too. I’m talking about that long, high one that you can hear for miles!” she tells you. “That one, my dear, is a pack howl. It’s a lost, lonely wolf looking for their friends and family.” She tilts her head at you. “You’re not meant to be alone, Dave. You’re going to need to find your pack if you want to live through whatever’s coming.”
And then she leaves.