Great Sage Above Brockton Sakadagami 2.09

The bright white moon shines from the window upon the south corner of my room. 

The crisp autumn wind hails the season’s arrival; the hot wet summer ends. 

The cold wind rises, only then do I realize the thinness of my summer clothes. 

It is not that I have no thick blankets — only that there is no one by my side to endure the cold together. 

In this cold season there is no one by my side, and yet the moon still hangs in the sky, bright and blurry. 

Awaking from my restless sleep I gaze at the pillow, the blankets, the emptiness of the mattress. 

On the empty bed there is only dust; in the vacant room there are only sorrowful winds. 

Would that I had the power to bring back her spirit, to even get a fleeting glimpse of her again. 

I sigh and smooth my collar, my clothes wet with silent tears. 

How can the tears stop? Unrestrained grief wells up from within me. 

On the bed I still see her shape, in my ears I still hear her voice. 

I shame the memory of Dongmen Wu and Zhuangzi, they who could see peace in death. 

I write my anguish into words, and yet nothing I write can express it enough. 

Against the implacable will of fate, I am left to grieve as a common man.

• Three Poems Lamenting her Death, 2nd poem, Pan Yue, Jin dynasty. Translated from Chinese by TrajectoryAgreement

-x-

Danny Hebert knew he had a temper. It was a sad inheritance from his bastard of a father, and he’d done his best to rein it in once Annette helped him truly start his life. That restraint had proven itself when he became the Dockworkers’ Union representative for one of the roughest cities on the East Coast. When your union’s main source of income was on the verge of dying, you needed a frankly unhealthy amount of patience to deal with the vultures who tried to snatch what little your friends had left. 

On the flip side, there were times when he was glad to have it. The more cutthroat businessmen and criminal elements of Brockton Bay rarely took ‘no’ for an answer, and when they came knocking with veiled threats and knives in their pockets, he wasn’t ashamed to say his rage had left them scurrying away.

“I’m telling you, I don’t care if they’re in a meeting!” he slammed his hands on the desk and leaned into the secretary’s face, who did her best to pull back while clawing at her desk. “I’ve cooperated and helped however I could, but this has gone far enough! I won’t be jerked around like this anymore!”

The secretary swallowed and adjusted her collar. “Mr. Hebert, we understand your frustration, and the PRT’s using every resource at their disposal-”

“‘Every resource at their disposal’? Don’t make me laugh!” he almost snarled. “If these are the results all those ‘resources’ can produce, I’m surprised the gangs haven’t taken over the city years ago!” His nails dug into the polished wood, and he felt the blood rush up and down his neck. “I’ll give you one chance to open that door, or I’ll kick it down myself.”

She paled and he tried hard to ignore the flush of shame in his cheeks. He knew she was just doing her job and equally helpless before the powers above her. She didn’t have the same feel as the greasy reps who tried to drag the DWU down; she looked like any old office secretary, but with an extra dollar attached to her suit.

But he couldn’t help it. His daughter’s well-being was on the line, and this was dragging on for too long.

Thankfully for both of them, the intercom crackled to life. 

“Would you kindly step away from Ms. Waller’s desk, Mr. Hebert? We were just about to ask for you.”

Danny’s shoulders slumped in relief as the doors clicked open. Pulling away from the desk, he muttered a quick apology to the secretary and entered the room. Waiting for him were a set of faces he’d become uncomfortably familiar with during his stay under PRT custody, and he was torn between begging and tearing into their utterly neutral facades.

“Care to take a seat?” Director Piggot said, gesturing to the empty chair. Part of him wanted to say ‘no’ out of spite, but he relented and slowly sat himself down. 

But he wouldn’t let them lead. Not this time.

“I came to ask if there was any progress regarding Taylor,” he said. “The liaison you put me up with didn’t have much to say other than the usual.”

“We promised you would be the first to know if there was an update regarding your daughter’s whereabouts, Mr. Hebert.” The director replied. “But so far there haven’t been any-”

“Three weeks. Three whole weeks since my daughter dropped off the face of the earth,” he interjected, every word hitting him in the gut. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’ve told you everything about her. Every place she might go to, anyone she might know.” Both of those, to his dismay, weren’t extensive lists, and the few items he did know were half-formed at best. “So I have to ask…what the hell have you been doing?”

He was sure that his voice rattled the windows, but Piggot didn’t even twitch.

“Mr. Hebert, we’re just as frustrated as you are,” Deputy Director Renick said, his voice unchanging in timbre, though Danny didn’t miss how he stepped back a moment ago. “And believe us when we say that we’ve been searching for your daughter nonstop. We’ve asked citizens to keep an eye out for us, and we’re tracking every camera in the city in coordination with the BBPD. All we can tell you with certainty so far is that she hasn’t fallen into the hands of any of the gangs or left town.”

“Small mercies,” Danny shot back darkly. “But all I’m hearing is where she isn’t, not where she is.”

“We’re exhausting every effort we have to track her, Mr. Hebert. A clue should have come up by now, yet we have nothing.” Armsmaster said, standing next to Piggot with arms behind his back. “It’s almost as if she’s hiding from us on purpose.”

If Danny’s own thoughts were punches, then Armsmaster’s were 12-gauge slugs at point-blank range.

It must’ve shown on his face, because the hero quickly dipped his head. “Apologies. I’m just as anxious to find her as you are, Mr. Hebert, and you aren’t the only one who feels we’re chasing ghosts. All I can give you, for now, are the facts.”

“...apology accepted.”

Piggot then cleared her throat. “Yes, facts are crucial at this stage, Mr. Hebert. Running purely on speculation won’t help anyone in this room.” She steepled her thick fingers and stared him in the eye. “Have you been able to deduce anything else from the letter we found at your home?”

The letter. God, that letter. Right after Christmas Day, no less. When the PRT gave him the scraggly piece of paper, inscribed in shaky ink, he’d held it so tightly he almost tore it in two. Hours upon hours he stared at her words, replaying them over and over. Her handwriting was shaky, and many letters had pressed-down ink points as though she was forcing herself to write them. Most of it was rambling; how she couldn’t take it anymore, how horrible her school life was, and repeated apologies for worrying him and how she couldn’t be with him. But it was that last line that drained the blood from his body.

I’m not going to let that happen to me anymore. I can actually do something now. I can’t come back until I do.

Love, Taylor.

She sounded so…angry. In so much pain. Annette used to write little poems whenever she felt constrained, and Taylor wrote just like she did. And he couldn’t help her.

“No,” he muttered with a drooped head. 

The worst part was…from her words, she truly didn’t want to come back. 

Armsmaster then continued. “We’re currently performing a new pattern of search routes to try and determine her location. The Protectorate and the PRT are working in tandem around the clock to map down possible locations and paths. Once our request for additional surveillance comes through, we’ll have the entire city under watch. We’ll return your daughter to you, we swear it.”

God, how he wanted to be reassured by the hero’s words. 

“But there’s a problem, isn’t there?” he asked wearily, addressing the director. “Please don’t drag my tail, ma’am. I’ve worked in this city for almost my entire life; I know the figures and charts that the news anchors love rattling off on TV and in the papers. Better yet, I know what people whisper in bars, the stories left unsaid in the news. I’ve attended enough Union meetings and realized what some empty chairs at the table meant.” It used to be far worse when both the E88 and the ABB came en masse and unimpeded, before the authorities could devise proper responses. His friends often bunked in the DWU headquarters, too afraid of going out after dark unless they wanted to end up as fish food or nailed to a wall with lead. “We couldn’t even hold funerals for them because the police rarely found the bodies. The city was half-convinced we’d end up like an African territory with a cape warlord at the top, chewing us up and spitting out the bones.”

He bowed his head low and his voice trembled. “Please, don’t let my Taylor end up as one of those chairs.”

He glanced upwards to meet Piggot’s stony visage, though he didn’t miss the ever-so-slight pursing of her lips.

“Mr. Hebert,” she began, chewing on every word with the grace of an experienced politician who was searching for the right words to bullshit with. “I understand this has been a trying time for you, and I don’t wish to, as you say, ‘drag you by the tail’ any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, there is very little we can say for certain regarding your daughter’s situation and possible location. However, we have managed to narrow down points of interest where she may be staying. Our objective right now is to formulate an extraction plan that won’t get your daughter and other innocents harmed in any potential crossfire. Like Renick said, the BBPD are helping us narrow down locations where we can both find your daughter and retrieve her.”

Crossfire. Right, because Taylor was apparently a prime target for the gangs. ‘A ripe parahuman up for grabs,’ they said. It almost made him puke; less so because of how they said the words, but more on the implication that other gangs viewed his daughter like a commodity. 

“It’s not just the gangs, isn’t it?” he asked. “It’s that…other cape who actually saved her.”

Renick frowned while the others remained impassive, but the sharp moodfall of the room was obvious. 

“...our efforts in researching Sun Wukong are parallel to finding your daughter,” Armsmaster said with arms crossed behind his back. “It’s more than likely that wherever he is hiding, so is she.”

Danny had grown jaded by the city’s capes, though he respected the Protectorate’s efforts in keeping the more insidious villains and psychos at bay. They could stand to make a great deal of improvement and deserved their fair share of criticism, he wouldn’t deny that. Unlike what most of his colleagues thought, he knew that for all their faults, they were trying. It was… sisyphean, as Annette would say, but if it wasn’t for them - the other hero capes came after, so he didn’t really count them - Brockton Bay would’ve become the American equivalent of an African warlord’s territory. That didn’t stop him from resenting some of the absolute bastards out there, like Hookwolf or Lung. The less said about them, the better.

When the monkey cape came along, he didn’t pay him much attention, even when he trounced Lung. Sure, he was happy, but it was a happiness marred by years of cynicism. But when he heard that the same cape had kidnapped his daughter, he nearly collapsed in despair and almost bled his knuckles raw. The chances of the PRT getting her back…he didn’t dare speculate at the time. But he still dared to hold onto hope; Annette would never forgive him otherwise.

And then came the letter. What was she thinking!? It was unlikely she escaped. She was staying with the cape. She wanted to stay with the cape.

Why? Why didn’t she want to come back?

“...is there anything else?” he asked, all the fight gone from his voice.

Piggot hummed for a moment. “When we do find her, will you help us convince her to come in peacefully? The last thing we wish to do is cause further discord between us.”

“I…yeah, I can do that.” Anything for her safety.

“Thank you, Mr. Hebert. You may go.”

He slowly trudged out of the office until the doors closed behind him with a harrowing thud. With sluggish steps and a sheepish wave to the secretary, Danny slowly meandered through the halls of the PRT headquarters. The staff, familiar with his face after three weeks, gave him a wide berth, though a few sent him looks of concern. He couldn’t even muster up the strength to smile back. It would’ve been so fake his face would’ve felt like melting off.

Finally, he reached an open door that led to an empty room, furnished with a small table, a phone, and some chairs. A small meeting room that the staff barely used, so he’d made the most of it. Whatever work he could do over the phone, he did it here. Otherwise, he would’ve stayed glued to the bed days after Taylor’s disappearance.

Taylor. His girl. His little Owl. Gone. Somewhere out on the streets, when the whole city was going to hell.

He pulled out the letter from his shirt pocket and unfolded it, eyes watering at her scribbled words.

I’m sorry.

And she didn’t want to come back.

It had to be that cape, right? There’s no way she wouldn’t want to come back to him otherwise. All he had to do was sit tight, wait until the heroes found her, and then…

…she’d come back. She had to. Right?

Danny covered his mouth and a tremble shook his bony frame. He knew he wasn’t Parent of the Year. After Annette’s death, the world turned gray and joyless. Life seemed more like a chore than something to enjoy. Work took the edge off, but it was a muzak that kept him distracted from the bleakness. But in the process, he’d left her behind. The only thing left of his beautiful wife, nearly abandoned in his grief. If it wasn’t for Alan, Zoe, and Emma…

Emma. Her name came up in their reports, but it had to be a mistake! If she were really…involved in this clusterfuck, Taylor would’ve told him!

Wouldn’t she?

Paper wrinkled as his hands clenched it tight. By the time his friends pulled him out of his funk, Taylor was barely there. She’d have this…empty look in her eye he’d seen in the mirror once too often to ignore. Dinner conversations were awkward, and questions were answered monosyllabically. And every time he wanted to reach out, to take her by the shoulders and ask her about her day…he stopped.

A coward, that’s what he was—one who feared upsetting his daughter so much that he blinded himself to her pain. Give her time, he thought. She’ll open up soon. Then everything will be back to normal.

It never was. 

It’ll never be.

And now she was gone. Out in the dark, searching for something that he was never able to give her.

He knew he shouldn’t stay like that for too long. He had work to do, and the Dockworkers still needed him.

But he needed this moment. If only to never let himself forget the anguish inside of him.

Thus, between linoleum-covered walls and varnished doors, Danny Hebert wept. 

Wept for a past so bright that the world was dark without it.

For the one remaining spark that he’d failed to nourish.

-x-

“So the speckled band was a snake all along?” Wukong barked in laughter. “Oh, how obvious! This Old Sun should’ve guessed it the moment the lord spoke of a menagerie!”

Missy raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to pretend you weren’t stumped, you know. It’s a point in the story’s favor that you didn’t catch on until the end.”

“But I have encountered many serpents, especially down in India!” Wukong crossed his arms and pouted. “Had I deigned to properly meditate on the mystery, it would’ve come as no surprise!”

“You visited India?” she asked, lowering the book in her hands. “When was that?”

“Oh, a long while ago. A fascinating land with equally fascinating mortals and beasts. They were quite fond of snakes, and many dwelled in the jungles and temples alike. A speckled snake would be rather commonplace. So commonplace there it wouldn’t have stuck out, I admit.” He leaned into the couch and stared with admiration at the open book he held. “Nevertheless, the tension, the buildup…I never thought it possible for a murder to be written with such intrigue. This is no detached poem; nay, this is a proper story worthy of any shuōshū rén! You have a keen eye for literature, dear girl!”

She smiled and ducked her head, hiding her flush in vain. “It’s Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “Of course he’s the best. I don’t think anyone wrote better than Doyle, other than Christie. I’ve read a few of the newer mystery books, and they could learn a thing or two from the old masters. And don’t get me started on capelit.”

Wukong tilted his head. “Capelit?”

“Oh, cape literature, if you can call it that. Since capes first appeared, every other book has the main character or someone close to them be a cape with a hidden power that solves the story. It’s cheap, stupid, boring, and makes me wanna break a wall every time I read one.” She scoffed, her cheeks slightly puffed out. It was rather adorable. “Honestly, can’t people try and be a little creative?”

“True creativity requires effort and is oft unrecognized,” Wukong replied sagely, nodding his head. “I had the…partial misfortune of spending time in higher echelons, and they sneer at even the slightest form of originality. All parties and giggling maids, and woe be unto the one who suggests anything different!” He scoffed. “Rather glad I was kicked out, to be honest.”

The girl looked him up and down with incredulity. “You? In high society?”

Instead of being insulted as a lesser being would, Wukong merely chuckled. “Yes, many had the same reaction. It wasn’t my preferred circle either, but there were some good grains in that rotten bowl of rice.”

“...whatever you say,” she uttered, then cleared her throat. “So, onto the next one, I’m guessing?”

“Naturally! As if I would drop a chance to read another thrilling tale like this one!” He turned the page and rolled the name of the next story on his tongue. “The Blue Carbuncle…ah, gems! The downfall of many a maiden! What intrigue will you stumble upon this time, keen-eyed Holmes?”

Missy rolled her eyes and returned to her reading, her amused smile glowing brightly. Wukong’s eyes landed on the first sentence, and he began whispering it under his breath to help etch the memory of the story into his mind. 

“I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown…”

The creaking of wood broke his focus and he gazed upon the old storekeeper trudging up the stairs. His weathered face flashed with uncertain ponderousness as their gazes met, but then he turned to Missy and the ghost of a smile flickered.

“You doing okay up here? Last I checked, there wasn’t a sports channel on.”

“We were just discussing the books, sorry,” Missy apologized. “It kinda got heated.” 

“Just make sure to keep your voices down, okay? The walls aren’t exactly soundproof.” The shopkeeper turned to Wukong and his smile wavered. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I most certainly am, good sir! This shop of yours holds many treasures, and this Old Sun is honored by yourself and dear Missy for showing him such wondrous stories!” Wukong replied. “To think that this great trove is available to any mortal who pays a pittance, and in such quantity and quality…a marvel reaches the peak only for another to take its place!”

The shopkeeper raised a questioning brow and glanced at Missy, who chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, he talks like that all the time. You’ll get used to it.”

He huffed and rubbed his forehead. “I wouldn’t bet on it. It’s not every day a cape walks into a bookstore, much less this hole in the wall.” He then sent a stern glare at Wukong and jabbed his finger. “But the moment you start anything, you’re out. I let you two use this room to keep you from scaring away customers, so don’t.”

“I would never dream of it, good sir! It would be the highest of insults!”

“Hmph. We’ll see about that.”

Wukong took another moment to observe the shopkeeper. Jethro Dumont, as he introduced himself, was a man of many winters, evidenced by his ashen hair, yet he was well-groomed, with his scraggly beard cut to a sharpened point. A velvet robe was draped over his shoulders and held by a sash, appearing quite heavy, yet he didn’t slouch in the slightest. His great nose, which Wukong previously thought red, was flushed with the winter cherry rather than the telltale deep-red of drunkenness. Heavy calluses were etched on his palms, signifying years of toil beyond a mere bookshop. 

“Were there any customers today, Mr. Dumont?” Missy asked. 

“A few. Bookstores ain’t exactly big sellers in these parts, especially used shops like mine. These days, people would rather buy online than drag their lazy asses away from the desk.” A scowl flashed over his face. “But there are enough who do, and that’s what’s important.”

Wukong still couldn’t fathom how people could simply request items of their choice from anywhere in the world and have them delivered with ease. Peizhi and Taylor had explained the concept to him several times, and while he understood the mechanisms behind it, comprehension withal eluded him. Again, all with mortal means. It boggled the mind.

Will wonders never cease?

“Although, I’ve been seeing a good number of new faces lately. Turns out when you aren’t so afraid of getting mugged on the street, you get the urge to explore.” His glare was brief but pointed, yet any accusation it held was false. “I’m in no danger of selling out, but it’s nice to hear the register ring in the double-digits.”

The Monkey King smiled and dipped his head. “This Old Sun is pleased that your fellow mortals appreciate the treasures of your store.” Such changes wrought from swatting a carp…how amusing, yet fulfilling!

Mr. Dumont’s beard twitched at the remark, but Wukong didn’t miss the ephemeral twitch of amusement on his lips. “Spreading the extra-greasy butter, ain’t you?” He then shrugged. “Whatever, you won’t hear me complaining. If it helps me repair that crumbling hole in the basement, then I can handle a larger crowd any day.” His eyes then drifted to the stack of books resting on the stool to Wukong’s left. It was a modest pile, barely surpassing Wukong in height. “You gonna read all that today? The store closes at seven.”

“I admit that was my plan at the start, but I fear that my riveting conversations with young Missy here shall draw my attention away.” His furry tail reached out to the pile and, with surprising dexterity, opened the Empire of the Eye: Landscape Representation in the 19th century. It was a tad trickier to open books with his tail than scrolls; more than once, Missy’s disapproving stare scolded him for dropping the tomes and risking their integrity. “I shall have to double my efforts!”

“Well, I ain’t gonna save those for you, if that’s what you’re hoping for; this isn’t a library or one of those newer bookstores downtown.” The graybeard crossed his arms. “If someone buys them, then that’s that.” 

Wukong shrugged in response. A shame, but who was he to deny a merchant his income? He still possessed ‘bills’ he liberated from the clutches of the lowlife ruffians, so buying these books was definitely an option… but he enjoyed the shop’s feng shui, and it provided a discreet location to chat. He’d introduce Missy to his disciple in due time, but it was best not to overwhelm the poor lass.

As he began admiring the landscape artworks and the luck of Peterson for finding such a valuable gem, however, Mr. Dumont’s voice drew him away from the literary world. “History of the Han dynasty? Funny choice.”

“Hm?” Wukong glanced at the pile until he spotted a title tucked in the middle. “Oh yes, I couldn’t resist. I admit, I’m curious as to how you mortals perceive these events, especially across such vast seas. I never bothered with the Han, but tales of the mayhem that rocked the lands during their fall reached my mountain, with every side damning the other. A few of my sworn-brothers sent leal soldiers to scout and report back, but yaoguai always have a habit of embellishing tales. Amusing at banquets and around fires, but inadequate for historical record-keeping.”

Not to mention that whole mess with the Three Kingdoms when he was trapped. ‘Quite the epic saga, if Yuchang’s tales held their merit. A nice god, as far as they went, and a renowned warrior, but had a flair for embellishment which rivaled yaoguai at times.’

“...okay, I’m gonna assume every other word that comes out of your mouth is cape bullshit, ‘cause I don’t think my liver's gonna handle all the hooch logging it up.” The old man deadpanned, then sighed in remembrance. “Heh, takes me back, though, to when I last visited the place.”

Missy tilted her head. “You’ve been to China, Mr. Dumont?”

He smiled and slightly leaned against one of the shelves. “Twice, and both of them felt like a lifetime ago. The first time, I barely had a hair on my chin and was stuck in some hole doing guard duty in Pearl when I was shipped out to Hebei to help clean up the mess the Japs left behind. Missed out on most of the war, but apparently there was plenty left to do. Spent two years there and in Shandong swatting PLOs before General Howard pulled us back home. The idiot younger me hated missing out on the action, but I’m glad I did. Saw how different the world they don’t show in the papers could be.”

Wukong, books in hand and tail, rubbed his chin as his curiosity welled. Had Meiguo invaded China? A great number of years ago, from the greybeard’s reckoning. Now he knew why Dumont’s bearing remained strong at his age. A warrior never forgets his training.

“Second time was in ’81, I think. The country opened up for tourists a couple years back. One of my old platoon buddies landed himself a cushy job in Pan Am and sent me and Rita free tickets for my birthday. I always had the notion of going back, but never had the time or money.” Dumont chuckled as nostalgia filled his voice, hearkening to times of joy and sadness. “One of the best months of my life. The country went through some serious issues, but it was like the government splashed a coat of the shiniest Home Depot paint over the country when we landed. We barely understood what anyone was saying, but I picked up a couple of words from the locals during my tour. Amazing food, great scenery…god, those were the days.” His countenance then darkened and his hands gripped his wrinkled biceps. “A crying shame what it’s become now.”

Wukong couldn’t help but smile knowingly. The expression the greybeard sported was unmistakable: a journey away from home can truly shine the brightest light on the bleakest of circumstances. Sometimes one needed a different view of the world to appreciate it better.

But what did he mean by ‘what it has become?’ Had misfortune fallen upon the Tang and they lost the Mandate of Heaven? He had been absent for many decades after Master Tang returned to Emperor Taizong, and had paid little attention to matters beyond the Court and his mountain. If so, then he hoped Taizong’s dynasty lasted a few more generations before his descendants failed in their duties. The man deserved that much for his friendship with Tang Sanzang. 

‘Nevertheless, I sense a deeper meaning in the elder’s words…even Peizhi-xiansheng danced on butterfly’s wings whenever I asked about our homeland.’

Dumont then snorted and lightly slapped his face. “Bah, enough trips down memory lane for today. Don’t forget to pick up the books after you’re done. Leave ‘em on the stool if you don’t know where they're supposed to go, as long as they’re not lyin’ on the floor.”

He shot a quick smile at Missy and began to head out of the room. Before he stepped beyond the threshold, however, Wukong cleared his throat. There was one thing he needed to ask, and the elder’s ‘trip down memory lane’ - a poignant idiom, indeed! - sparked a niggling reminder in his brain.

“Yes?” the greybeard asked with a smidge of annoyance. 

“Forgive this Old Sun’s impertinence, honored Dumont, but I was wondering if a certain book remains in your possession. I laid eyes upon it during my first foray into your humble establishment right before my urgent leave of absence.” He reached into his robe, fiddling around in its inner pockets before pulling out Missy’s folded note and opening it. “Xi You Ji is its title…and I believe the translation is Journey to the West in your tongue?”

‘Thrice more do I ask, why does that name make my fur stand on end?’

Dumont held out his arm and Wukong passed him the note. He read through it and hummed in thought, careful not to wrinkle the paper too much. “Journey to the West, you say?” His eyes widened in recognition. “Right, I remember that one. Had it tucked away here after an old Asian couple moved out of the city half a year ago and sold everything they couldn’t fit in their trunk. Didn’t think much of it at the time, just another couple hightailing it out of this dump of a city. Sorry, but that one sold not long after your first time here.” He stroked his beard and furrowed his brows. “Funny you asked, ‘cause I’ve had a few Asian visitors asking for that book these past few days.”

Wukong’s shoulders dropped. “A shame. I shall have to try my luck elsewhere. Will this library hold a copy?”

“No reason to think they won’t, but it’ll probably be in English.”

“Maybe you should finish going through that pile first?” Missy suggested with a small wave of her palm. “A backlog’s nice and all, but I wouldn’t recommend building up a big one.”

“One must never eschew knowledge, dear girl,” Wukong swiftly replied. “Thank you nonetheless, honored Dumont.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he turned and left the room, leaving the monkey and the girl in peaceful silence.

“An interesting man,” Wukong remarked as he stroked his chin. “I take it he is more than a familiar face?”

“Mmm, kinda,” Missy replied. “He lets me stay around as long as I keep quiet. The place helps me relax.”

A kind soldier indeed. “Understandable. Now, where were we?”

She opened her mouth to respond when faint shouting tingled in Wukong’s sensitive ears. Right outside, as a matter of fact. 

“One moment,” he said, returning the books to his pile in the blink of an eye. Turning into his ethereal state, ignoring Missy’s startled yelp, he phased through the shop’s walls and outside, where a van of the PRT was parked on the curb across from him. Three men holding thunder-weapons and dressed in armor had cornered another shopkeeper, who shouted at them with a reddening face. 

“I’m telling you, I don’t know shit! Now go harass someone else!”

“Sir, please calm down,” the leader of the men said, unbothered by the shopkeeper’s rage. “We understand your frustration, but this is an emergency. If there’s anything, no matter how small, that could help, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

“After you lot tore through my shop? Hah, fat chance!” The man raised a fist, which held a piece of paper. “The hell kind of a warrant is this anyway? This shit even legal?”

“Yes, the warrant is legal and signed by a federal judge. We have reports that the villain was sighted nearby, even on this very street. Given his track record, the PRT has been given the authority to search locations of interest. Please, sir, his presence is putting your friends and neighbors at risk.”

“Risk?” The shopkeeper let out a humorless bark of laughter. “Like you’re the paragons of safety yourself, eh? Where was all this ruckus a few months ago when every other block was burned to cinders? All you people did was stand by and let that kusoyaro play patty-cake with your heroes with our homes as the dance floor? And now, when everything’s starting to calm down, you suddenly start paying attention?”

“Sir, regardless of the side effects of his actions, Sun Wukong remains a high-priority villain.” The leading soldier continued, though Wukong detected frustration seeping into his voice. “He unmasked and attacked a Ward in broad daylight, endangering dozens of civilian lives in the process, as well as causing reckless property damage. There’s no telling the kind of damage he can do if he’s allowed to roam free.”

“Well, let me tell you something, fed! You and the rest of your hit squad don’t mean shit here!” The shopkeeper leaned in close until he was nose-to-helmet with the soldier. “So, for the ten-thousandth time, I know shit. I never saw any monkey-man come past here and I never talked to one. So unless you’ve got better proof hiding in that vest, I suggest you skedaddle.”

Wukong smirked at the shopkeeper’s spunk. Even when confronted by force of arms, his will matched his girth!

Naturally, such an inspiring moment was destined for ruin.

“You know,” one of the soldiers, a young’un, drawled. “Something tells me you and the rest of the folks here aren’t being 100% cooperative. Considering the shit we face every time a cape decides to have a field day, that really grinds my rails. So here’s my offer: unless you start coughing up some real information and not blustering threats in the next ten seconds, we’ll book you for aiding and abetting a known criminal. What’s it gonna be?”

The chubby trader suddenly paled, and his knobbish little knees began to quake. No doubt filled with dread at what an arrest could mean for him and his business.

‘That won’t do at all.’

In the blink of an eye, the soldier was sent flying and struck the wall before collapsing in a pained heap. The other two immediately turned with their weapons raised, only for their eyes to widen at the magnificent presence of the Monkey King.

“Good afternoon, ignoble fellows!” he greeted them, arms crossed behind his back and ebony robe swaying in the wind. “This Old Sun was taking a pleasant hop and stroll when he heard you threaten this poor, upstanding gentleman with his livelihood over mere speculation.” He tilted his head with a playful smile. “Quite rude of the supposed vanguards of the city, no?”

The soldier’s friends snarled and snapped his weapon upward. “Sun Wukong! You’re under arrest -”

Alas, he never finished his sentence, for he crumpled down thanks to a well-placed chop to his neck. The leader barely had time to blink before he was foisted upwards by his collar and staring into Wukong’s red eyes. 

“As much as I would love showing you and your compatriots the error of your ways in intimate and lengthy detail, my experience concludes that disciplining fodder like yourself is meaningless in the long run. If you would kindly direct me to your commander or whatever misguided soul is in charge of your operations, we can clear up this egregious misunderstanding in no time. What do you say?”

The silence stretched for a few seconds. Wukong never broke his stare into the soldier’s tinted visor, and his grip was solid stone. ‘Hmph, a tough one? Hmm, no matter. I have special tongue-loosening techniques that would surely -’

“...he’s on Markinson and Rudger’s, northwest from here.”

Wukong blinked, startled by the soldier’s quick, yet resigned, admission, then scoffed. “So much for loyalty. Truly, the epitome of a protector’s spirit. I thank you for your insight, but I cannot have you harass these people further, so…”

Another chop to the neck, and he went down. Before he even touched the ground though, Wukong gathered up all three bodies and tossed them inside the van, then locked them inside with a metal bar he transformed from his hair. The Monkey King then turned to the shopkeeper and lightly bowed. “Apologies for bringing such unpleasantness upon your domicile, shopkeeper. You have my word these men shall trouble you no longer.”

The man in question gaped at him, his jaw twitching and eyes dumbfounded. “Uh…thanks?”

“Wonderful!” Wukong pulled the collar of his robes and leapt high. He bounded from roof to roof, idly noting the other vans rolling along the district as bystanders eyed them with suspicion.

‘So the mortals have upped their game to find me, eh? Well, this Old Sun shall not disappoint them!’

His eyes soon landed on the intersection the soldier referenced, where not one, but three vans were waiting. With a graceful somersault, he landed right before them, cracking the road under his feet.

“Rejoice!” he yelled, outstretching his arms. “This Old Sun has heard you desired an audience! Why don’t you come out before I decide to inspect your vehicles myself? I’d hate to ruin such pristine creations.”

Silence was his answer. Not even a flicker of movement or a whisper from behind the tinted windows. Wukong’s lips twitched, and he activated his Golden Eyes, piercing through metal to reveal…nothing?

When something clanked to his left, the Buddha’s wisdom shone again.

Ah, an ambush. I was wondering how long before they’d resort to such measures.

Smoke erupted from the canister, filling the air around him. Men all around him barked orders and sprays of liquid flew at him from behind the smoke. Sidestepping two such jets, his eyebrows rose as they expanded into giant globs of foam, sturdier than any seafoam or bathfoam he’d seen.

Interesting capture measure.

But useless in the end.

Even if it was meant as a distraction.

Wukong twirled on his leg as a halberd ran through where he stood, crackling with light- no, electricity. The armored figure who’d charged into the smoke immediately turned in his direction and attacked, unbothered by the loss of vision.

“Exemplary tactic,” he commended the man. “Would have blindsided lesser guai. But if we are to properly fight, then we should at least address each other properly, no?”

He took a deep breath and blew. A gale erupted from his mouth, scattering the smoke to the four corners, and allowing the afternoon sun to shine upon them again. Before him stood the bearded hero he’d encountered at that filthy school, clad in his shiny blue armor. His stance and spear were poised at the ready, showing no signs of faltering despite the sudden change in the battlefield’s environment. Surrounding them were more of those armored soldiers with weapons pointed right at the monkey.

“Infinitely better, would you not agree, oh armored one?” he asked. 

“We have you surrounded, Sun Wukong,” Armsmaster replied, his tenor as rigid as Wukong remembered. “You’ve caused enough damage, no matter how well-intentioned your actions are. The city has enough to deal with without your antics. Surrender now and we can resolve this without further violence.”

“Hah! Bold claims, Armsmaster,” he drawled and smirked at the soldiers, who tensed up every time he moved. “But surely you do not expect this paltry force to stop me?” 

“If you’re referring to your powers, I’ve taken precautions. This entire area is cordoned off and we have snipers everywhere with orders to use maximum force. You’ve shown too much of your hand when you showboated in front of the whole city. One wrong move and you’ll end up in a wheelchair for the rest of your prison days.”

‘Sniper…another new term. Sharpshooters?’ His Golden Eyes revealed more soldiers crouched on the rooftops above. ‘Irrelevant.’

“Forgive this Old Sun’s skepticism, but promises have yielded little from you and your cohorts. The people refer to you as heroes, but I hardly find harassing innocent mortals for my whereabouts heroic. Was that a momentary lapse of haste, or another notch in the stick of failures?”

“It got you here, didn’t it?” Armsmaster shot back, confirming one of Wukong’s earlier suspicions. “Last chance. Surrender and divulge the location of Taylor Hebert, and we can work out a deal.”

“Oh, now you remember the poor lass? How convenient when she is involved with one of your charges.” Wukong tutted and rubbed his chin fur in mock contemplation. “No, I don’t think I shall. As I have stated before, I have no reason to trust you with her well-being, and she is rather flourishing under my tutelage. If she wants to talk with you, that is her choice alone, but until then…” he shooed at him. “Spare what thimbleful of dignity you have left and retreat. Or is that not ‘heroic’ enough? There is no shame in withdrawing, as I’m sure you’ve experienced many times.”

That one comment made Armsmaster’s teeth grind, and without another word, he charged with blazing speed, more than enough to overwhelm a common criminal. He thrust his halberd and Wukong caught it with his bare hands, admiring its sleek design for a second before pushing him away.

“Remarkable craftsmanship. A shame such a weapon is used by such a misguided warrior.” He stared at Armsmaster, and for a brief instant, the shade of a tall, resplendent man overshadowed the hero.

Heh, of all times… 

“I once knew a warrior who wielded a halberd; an unrivalled master in his art, and one of a privileged few whom I deemed equal.” He reached for his ear and in a flash of golden light, the Ruyi Jingu Bang appeared in his palm. Grabbing and slamming the staff on the ground, he bared his fangs and motioned with his hand, as though his opponent was an arrogant senior who’d crossed a line.

“Let’s see how well you can hope to match him!”