The spidermen won't venture this far into the maintenance tunnels on their regular patrols. This is a Gray Zone of influence — even the police can go missing here. Contested ground. Your grounds. Your City.
(Desiderii Marginis - Mantrap)
https://youtu.be/NfMpMZuLEU8?si=7Yj7_Hkdl9ClbZpAIt's easy when they're lost, when they're in the dark, when they're alone, when it's a young woman. You've been following her for several lengths of tunnel without her noticing. It's easy.
The giant spider silk of your coat works both ways, dampening both your footsteps and all the sensory input from a normal day in the City. You know every turn and junction around these parts, even if the City shifts, and the darkness holds no secrets to your moth eyes.
But you can see her pretty well already, standing underneath the payphone lamp. She has sleek, tar-black hair, cut short, nice, and neat. Her skirt uniform complements those supple legs of hers real well. She certainly has some wit since her hand keeps hovering over the telltale bump of a gun. And if she wasn't so tense, you can imagine a cute grin spread on that pretty face of hers. She does lose major points for not being a moth, though. And for being Asian.
Enough waiting.
You knock hard on the nearest pipe, then step into the edge of the light. The woman drops the receiver in shock. Your body constantly pushes out pheromones to disguise yourself as a regular human being — to her, it must seem like some huge and smiling Chinese thug had just materialized out of thin air.
You stare each other down. You imagine the smile growing wider. The only sounds in the tunnel are the rush of pipework and the garbled words coming from the other end of the line.
A tender moment of tension. You savor these.
She takes out her gun. You take out yours.
*BLAM*
If this were an old cowboy movie, you'd have shot the gun right out of her hands. You went one better and blew her hand apart in a shower of gore with the Big Iron. Her screams echo beautifully up and down the gray tunnels as she clutches the torn mess of meat, tendon, and bone.
The woman starts running, somewhere, anywhere from here, and the submachine gun is sent clattering to the floor. Bad decision, lady. You give her a headstart, then chase the trail of fear and the blood leaking through the stale air...
