Lights Out: The City, Ready for the Taking (Intermission)

LONDON. 1860s.

The reckoning was coming. Everyone knew it.

Nobody spoke it out loud, of course. Nobody wanted to be the one to light the fuse. But it had been a year since the last great war between the captains of the London Underworld, where the Malvado twins had claimed supremacy. The city had choked under the greedy rule of Vaughn and his cabal, and though Knox’s gang had briefly triumphed, and his financial backers were in shambles, Vaughn had managed to reclaim his grip. And once again, in the shadows, the captains and their crews had been spilling blood.

This year, though, the Malvado twins had fallen early, with the Montouri gang - many whispered, financed by Mayor Vaughn himself - crushing them under their heel. And in their turn, the Montouris fell too, along with many others - ambitious young upstarts, or temporary alliances of storied veterans.

And now there were four.

In the West, Rogues’ Gallery, proclaimed themselves the greatest of the gangs, ruling the roost of the wealthy neighbourhoods. Towards the old city centre, Never//More, Knox and Amber, veterans, one-time winners of the great war themselves, claimed dominion across the river from Lambeth and Westminster. In the East, Junko and Hanako, the Flowers of Carnage, had staked out their claims to the docks - old Montouri territory, bringing in money and supplies, but still hanging in the balance in their long war against the Italians.

And in the north, Camden, Islington, the women from Birmingham. Arriving a year ago in the ashes of the last great war, down the Grand Union Canal, Ava and Alessia had set up slowly. Making their name, expanding, winning major fights. They’d even briefly spread to the West, and called themselves queens, before Jeremy and Duncan knocked them off and sent them back. Now everyone said they were done, beaten, a flash in the pan settling back to where they belonged.

But on the dockside, in a low, dark warehouse, Ava and Alessia recruited, and planned, and built. Won skirmishes, then battles. And this time, when they won the war, no-one would question their skill.





FIVE DAYS BEFORE.

Knox’s brief time in charge of the city hadn’t been bad. Though they were rivals, now, Ava and Alessia had at least some respect for the man they called the Raven, and his law had - generally - been fair. But now he was back amongst the rest of them, and with his partner Amber, a force to be wary of. Or at least, they would have been, to anyone but Ava and Alessia.

This one had to be audacious. They’d fought alongside Knox before, several times, both lending a hand to his attempt to dethrone the city’s corrupt Cabal masters, before fending off an out-of-city invasion (alongside, indeed, Junko’s crew, and the hulking force of Larry Tact. The cowardice of the Montouri gang… didn’t bear mentioning.) Amber was an unknown quantity, but her story spoke for itself. And together they’d won the first great war like this, before the women from Birmingham arrived. Ava and Alessia suspected with their power, they’d be quite able to absorb the damage, let the other three destroy each other, and then feast on the remaining bones. So instead, it was time to draw them out.

They’d split up. Ava stood outside a pub in Lambeth, teetering over the edge of the riverside. Warm orange light inside, through thick glass panes, and she scanned the hard, ruddy faces of the occupants. A selection of Knox and Amber’s best lieutenants - two fences, three pit-fighters, even a sharpshooter with his pistol on his hip. They alternated between laughing and cursing over cards, on a table pulled straight to the middle. No other occupants but a nervous barman pulling the pints. They were cocky - hired the whole place out, in plain view. Thinking no-one could touch them.

Inside her long coat, she felt for the handle of the hammer, took a breath, and kicked in the door.

On the other side of the river, Alessia crouched beneath a towering stone wall. One of Knox’s more vain touches, in his brief time in power, was to rent himself and Amber an office at the very end of the Waterloo Barracks, in the Tower of London - the famous home of London’s ravens. A little on the nose, but he did love his branding. It was pretty much ceremonial, by now, but soldiers still patrolled the walls, guarding the Queen’s treasures - London loves its traditions, she knew. The first one had been easy, unprotected, mainly for show. The inner wall was the real challenge

So it was hold her breath, keep dead quiet, and with luck she just about heard the footsteps move away, as she reached up for a loose stone and began to climb.

The door of the pub splintered inwards, slamming into the wall as Ava burst through, whipping the hammer out of her pocket. The sharpshooter was first to react, his hand going down to the grip, almost on instinct, moving to pull it up… until Ava swung, and it crumpled into a bloody, white and red mess. He opened his mouth, Ava’s swing continued, turning up, wild, and separating jaw from skull, cutting off the scream in his throat, and before he hit the ground she had the gun from his belt. She raised it as, almost in slow-motion, the others tried to scramble to their feet…

Alessia moved slowly. Deep breaths. Being spotted by a passer-by wouldn’t be great, but she could evade the alarm. Moving fast, making a mistake and falling, and she’d be lying legs broken in a ditch right outside her enemy’s stronghold. So it was an agonising two minutes of watching, planning, testing, and praying that a face didn’t peer over the edge, praying that she’d got her timings right…

The gun was a revolver, much like Ava’s own, and the familiarity helped. Three shots squeezed off, and the three pit-fighters’ foreheads burst open with a red shower. She was just drawing up her sight on the first fence when his desperate lunge with a pocketknife she hadn’t seen dug into her wrist, and the white-hot pain made her drop the gun. With a yell of frustration, as he stood frozen, seeming almost to not believe his own strike, she stepped forward and clocked his jaw. He slumped to the floor.

Alessia had it perfect. Nothing but the sound of the ravens cawing as she slipped over the top onto the narrow walkway. She took a moment to memorise the escape route she planned - back out the window, down, quickly into the building next door, and out down the manhole her bribed soldier had helpfully left open. No time like the present, then. She wrapped her coat over her face to protect it, aimed for the glass of Knox’s window, stepped back… and then jumped.

The last fence backed up towards the windows, eyes full of fear. He was no fighter. So he barely put up a fight when Ava’s hand closed around his neck and smashed his head backwards through the rear window, holding him over the sheer drop to the river below.

Glass shattered, too, as Alessia dropped and rolled onto the floor of Knox’s study. A shout came from the walls. Footsteps. Just enough time to whip out the note she’d prepared earlier.

Ava stared daggers at the man, as his hands scrabbled at hers… before at last she pulled him back in, and delivered her message.

Ava spoke, commanding him to tell his bosses. Alessia left the note, signed, on his desk with a knife through it. They both said the same thing.

Come and get us.





THREE DAYS BEFORE.

The river stank. It always did - the further East you went, the worse it got, more and more of the debris and refuse and waste of the city dumped in. The water was murky, black under the night sky. But they were lucky, too - it was still, and the barge, loaded down with cargo and covered with a thick oilcloth, was almost silent as it made its way past Limehouse and down towards the docks.

They’d picked this time - three in the morning - for the last run, because their scout (a local longshoreman in their pay) told them it was when the least traffic came through. Still enough that another cargo barge didn’t look out of place, though. After all, London’s waterways never truly slept. But still, even with their sharpest pair of eyes at the helm, Ava and Alessia didn’t want to risk any collisions. Not with the thirty-two barrels of gunpowder on board, destined for a chamber directly under the Millwall Docks.

Ava took a few hands to run the last few checks, making sure none of the cloth had slipped and no-one had left an oil lamp burning, while Alessia scanned the brick wall of the riverside for their entry. This was the last of many runs; their people had been sending cargo down for almost three weeks now, one every few days. Just enough to stay unnoticed, but not long enough for them to risk discovery. But this was the only one that the two captains had decided to take care of, personally. Alessia had the last instructions on a scrap of paper in her pocket, plus a watch, carefully set. And there - there was the tunnel entrance, the old river now buried underneath buildings as a sewer outflow…

PSST-

A hiss from the man beside her, their lookout. She followed his eyes up to the south bank of the river. Two figures sitting on the railing, legs dangling, sharing a bottle. The distinctive white wraps around their upper arms unmistakeable, even in the low light of the gas-lamps. Scouts for Junko and Hanako. They hadn’t been there before, on any of the runs, her sailors would have told her. But it made sense - the day was approaching, security was being tightened. They were clever - she knew that, from the stories Ava told of fighting alongside her.

Ava heard the call too, and gestured to Alessia what they both already knew. They couldn’t enter now, it’d be obvious. The scouts would discover their whole supply, and then… well, they’d spent a few thousand pounds and several weeks gifting their enemies a massive pile of ammunition. Sail on and come back? Too suspicious. Drop anchor and wait? Who knows how long they’d be there for, and when daylight came the silhouette of the barrels under the tarp would be clear. And they certainly didn’t look like wine merchants.

Alessia waved to the rest of the crew to let themselves drift for now, as Ava picked her way around the outside to join her at the front, sliding a pair of Beaumont-Adams revolvers out from her belt.

Kill them? It’s not that difficult a shot, Ava whispered.

Alessia just cocked an eyebrow.

What? I’m good.

And let Junko and Hanako know someone was here? They’d start a search right away.

Ava had to concede that point. Reluctantly, she went to put her pistols away… until Alessia put a hand on hers, grinned, and pointed upwards.

Shoot those instead.

Ava followed her finger, and nodded. Cover the noise.

Alessia scooped up a heavy metal weight, holding down a corner of the cloth, and lifted it over the edge as Ava drew a bead. Three, two, one…

The splash echoed off the walls, muffling the two cracks of Ava’s shots - and the sound of shattering glass as the lamps above the riverside winked out. She smirked as Alessia hissed to the crew.

Quickly!

The barge helmed hard right, lining itself up. Even from across the river she could hear the scouts swearing and cursing the poor maintenance of the lamps, but it was enough. Under the darkness, the barge and its deadly cargo slipped quietly up the sewer tunnel, and through to the storeroom where another two hundred barrels waited - plus a trusted lieutenant with a few days’ rations, a key to the heavy iron door, and a match.

It wouldn’t destroy their operations - they still had plenty of soldiers in the pubs and alleys around the docks. But the months of repairs needed would stymie the flow of new weapons, supplies, ammunition from their overseas contacts, crippling their ability to respond in the upcoming war. Junko and Hanako’s forces were going to find out how they fared all alone.





ONE DAY BEFORE.

Jeremy and Duncan’s territory had been theirs, once. The West - Kensington, Chelsea, the rich pickings - traditional home of those who claimed to be the strongest. The kind of place where even a lowly mugging would bring in a king’s ransom in pearls off a society lady’s neck. But Ava and Alessia’s all-too brief grip on it had been forced open by these upstart newcomers.

Word spread quickly, too, of the stories they told. As one of the newest powers in the city, they had set straight to myth-making - rumours of incredible powers, strength, speed, agility displayed in a hundred skirmishes and schemes. Like the two-a-penny stage magicians of the West End, they claimed their power came from some mighty forces - things from other times, from beyond the stars, and a mystical Shadow.

Although the bright-eyed scholars at the Royal Institution would have dismissed the whole thing as nonsense, the workers and street-hawkers and drinkers were a far more superstitious lot. When this new pair managed to not just survive, but carve their way to the top… people had started believing. So regardless of the truth of things, Ava and Alessia knew where they had to strike.

A few months before Jeremy and Duncan had begun their climb to power, an archaeological expedition had returned, bearing all manner of treasures. Their success had been widely celebrated in the press, and the newly-built Victoria and Albert museum quickly acquired the lot for display - including, chief among them, a small idol carved from deep blue lapis lazuli, with blood-red rubies as eyes. It depicted a fearsome creature, claws raised, jaw wide. Assyrian, supposedly, but its vicious look - and mythical nature - had it quickly linked to the legends around Jeremy and Duncan. The two had never acknowledged the rumours, but Ava and Alessia knew a sizeable percentage of their force believed in it, enough to station their own guards around the museum at night.

But much like at the Tower - and unlike the Docks - they wanted the evidence to be found. So while Alessia stayed back to draw up the final plans for tomorrow’s assaults, at midnight Ava had gathered fifteen of her best - and most vicious - men and women, and loaded them into three carriages bound directly for the front steps.

Stepping out in their long black coats, in front of the grand iron gates and marble steps leading up to the heavy wooden door, they could almost have been mistaken for a funeral procession. The five guards inside the gate shifted, perhaps a little nervous, but confident in the thick metal bars.

Confident right up until the moment Ava took off her cap, shook her blonde hair loose, and grabbed the explosive stick from inside her jacket.

Their eyes widened, scrambling back as her crew took practiced cover behind postboxes, railings, carriages, anything thick enough. Believing as they did they were untouchable, the guards had failed to bring any firearms, and could only watch as she lit the fuse, smirked, dove sideways and the gates blew in.

A cacophony erupted - police whistles from far off in the foggy night, shouts from her soldiers, clubs crunching into bone and screams of pain as they charged forwards. One guard went to call for reinforcements, before a razor opened his throat and he fell, clutching for breath.

Ava pushed forwards, through the carnage, dropping a shoulder and slamming the doors open. A few soldiers stayed behind to finish the guards at the door, the rest followed her through the halls, the night-watch candles flickering around statues and ornaments from the ancient worlds. Greece, Egypt, through the hall, down and on the left. Guards charged them, and just as soon were flipped, backs shattering onto cold stone, knives plunged into their heads. Older now, past the towering stone monuments of the winged lions, flanking the entrance to the room… and there, in a glass case, the idol.

It might have scared her, once, Ava thought. When they had first lost, and retreated, licking their wounds, as Jeremy and Duncan proclaimed themselves the new kings. But as she stepped forward now, recalling their defeats to the outside forces of Marshall and Space Lord, their hollow boasts…

Well, as she fastened the second explosive to the case, she looked it in those ruby-red eyes, and all she saw was empty threats. She lit the fuse, retreated round the corner, and smiled as an explosion ripped through the hall. Let’s see who feared them now.





THE DAY OF THE WAR.

Their forces surged forth into the streets at dawn, just as the news of the idol’s breaking was spreading, as Knox and Amber were leaving their strongholds looking for a fight, as the explosion ripped through the docks. Just behind them, Ava and Alessia prepared their final message for printing all across the city.

Flowers of Carnage. Never//More. Rogues’ Gallery.

Everyone says the same thing now. That Lights Out are good, but not great. Luck, as much as talent, carried them this far. They’re likeable, popular, got a month or two with the belts, pretty much what they deserved.

So we put ourselves into the hardest team tournament in all of wrestling. We demolished a promising pair of newcomers on a hot streak, and we ripped apart two of the company’s greatest, and came out hungry for more.

We are tired of being questioned. Doubted. Tired of being considered flukes. Of our triumphs being set aside as less than, unearned.

We burned through the tournament, right to the finals. And now, in a four-way match against some of the toughest this roster has to offer, we’re going to put them all on their backs. Shut every mouth that ever said we weren’t good enough. Our trainers, our rivals, our doubters. Down for the count.

Junko. Hanako. You know the respect I have for you both.

And me. Ever since we trained together for Uncivil War, I’ve been looking forward to testing myself against you.

But you also know that you are a house divided, fighting a war on two fronts. Junko, as good as you are, can you trust your body to hold up through two brutal fights? Hanako, can you trust your partner to keep her focus? Or when it comes down to it, will she give in to save herself for the fight she has fought for so many long months?

Like us, you’re childhood friends. We know your bond. And we know how to break it.

Rogues’ Gallery. You have beaten me twice, singles and doubles. You, above all else, are the fuel for the doubts. The reason why our faces are bloodied.

Bloodied, but not beaten. We won’t make the same mistake twice. This time, we’re coming for you.

After all, at Uncivil War… you lost.

You’re supposed to be the TPW champs, and you let us all down. I won my fight. Why don’t you give the belts back to someone who actually wins for this company?

In the end, you will be remembered not as champions in your own right, but just a brief interruption in our reign. We’ll beat you in a four way, then one on one, and send you back down where you belong.

Speaking of short reigns… hey, Matthew. Couldn’t hang in there, huh, buddy? Shame, I was really hoping for more. We’ve tagged a few times, and I’ve seen how strong you are. I thought you could be the one to lead TPW back into the good times. But you choked in your second defence.

Did you dust yourself down and try again, like a real fighter would? You know the answer. You hung your head, called up Amber, and now you’re trying to muscle in on a division that’s moved past you long ago. Never//More were champions once, but now… there’s younger, hungrier, faster, stronger.

Just plain better.

We’ll always admire the Knoxes, that fought through fire and flames to bring down Vaughn. The Flowers of Carnage, who beat two teams at once to reach the final.

Reluctantly, we’ll even acknowledge Rogues Gallery are decent.

But this is our time.

And now, in the orange light of the rising sun, they look at each other. Nod. Swing open the doors of the warehouse and step out into the bloody streets. Time to fight.