RED ON WHITE
DAGGER, THE NEW TRAINEE. Just looking at his stupid mask kind of makes Fox’s blood boil— though that’s not really his fault. It’s more about what he represents than anything.
Fox has been working for MEDUSA for years now. She’s cycled through every department, and she has more blood on her hands directly than most people will ever even see in their lifetimes. Well, not literally— she always wears gloves to keep the blood off her actual hands.
Now, not only do they bring Dagger in to leash her, but they make her train him, too?
God she hates this job.
“Alright,” she sighs, leaning back into her chair. “We’ll start with the basics. What’s the most valuable trait to have in this business?”
“Strength,” he fires back at once. She rolls her eyes, but he can’t tell from behind her mask.
“Wrong,” she snaps. “Being strong is nice, but it’ll only get you so far. Try again.” He stalls for a second.
“…loyalty,” he guesses. She scoffs audibly, getting up from her chair and walking over to him. He stands a little straighter, and she can tell that he’s nervous.
“Wrong again. You need to be smart,” she snaps, circling him like a vulture. “Loyalty isn’t smart— not here. Loyalty is stupid, and the stupid die. Focus on staying alive. Tell me, what are the three steps to staying alive?”
“Um,” he falters. “…don’t get shot?” Fox sighs harshly.
“First step, don’t ask questions. They will kill you for prying— or more specifically, spilling your guts all over the concrete will be my job. Don’t make my job harder,” she replies, her tone cold and unsympathetic. “Step two: do your job. They don’t care what’s going on out there. If you can’t come back with results, you’re useless. Useless people die. And step three, yes. Don’t get shot.”
“You’re chipper,” he mutters under his breath. Fox stops in her tracks, and he realizes what he said. “I— um—!”
“New fourth step,” she decides, her tone lower suddenly. “Learn how to shut the fuck up.”
“…yes ma’am,” he replies, nodding once. She sighs.
“Alright, rookie,” she decides. “Let’s see if we can’t keep you alive, huh?”
***
Bruce has no idea what to expect when he approaches the conference room that Tony has temporarily lended to his sister. All he knows is that she texted him an hour ago, and now he brought two coffees— curiously, both for her. He knocks on the door, and a long moment passes.
Only silence greets him.
He hesitates, but ultimately pushes it open anyways. The sight that greets him would be a little funny if the implications weren’t so concerning.
Olivia is sitting, cross-legged, on the center of the wooden table. She’s surrounded by empty coffee cups— both paper and plastic— not unlike the one in his hand now. The overhead light is off, and the only other source in the room are the holographic crime scene photos she’s flicking through on the holotable.
On the opposite wall, there’s a whiteboard, filled with incomprehensible scribbles and arrows. She’s stuck a couple of the crime scene photos up on there with magnets. It feels very much like a conspiracy board, except that she didn’t have a cork board or red string.
He clears his throat awkwardly, his brows furrowing.
Olivia glances back, and he catches a glimpse of her exhausted face. Her shoulders slump with relief, even as she turns back to the gruesome images.
“Hey Bruce, thanks for grabbing me some coffee,” she says. “Just leave it on the table behind me, please.” He turns to do that, and while he’s over there, he examines her whiteboard.
“What does… uh,” he squints, “…’wolt’… mean? Is that the name of a… suspect, or something?” Olivia pauses, glancing back in confusion.
“Wolf,” she corrects. “That says Wolf. One of the few ex-coworkers whose work I can match a name to.” She turns back to her work, frowning. “Well— a codename, anyway.”
“What— what even is all this?” Bruce wonders, glancing around at all the pictures of blood and viscera she’s been swiping through.
“I’m working on taking down MEDUSA,” she replies coolly. “Or at least sending a message, getting them to back off a little.” His brows furrow.
“Right— okay— and how does this help?” he asks, confused. She sighs.
“MEDUSA is cleaning house right now,” she replies. “I’m not the only loose end they’ve been trying to tie up. So I’m looking through crime scene photos from the last week, trying to find a pattern in someone’s work that I can exploit for an in.”
“An… in?” Bruce wonders, confused. “What, are you going to… find someone who works for MEDUSA and shake them down for information?”
“Something to that effect,” she agrees, though she tilts her head to the side with a small grimace. “I wasn’t the only Enforcer, y’know? I don’t just need information, I need to send a message that the headhunt isn’t gonna fly. So… it’s probably gonna end up a little less pretty than a shakedown,” she admits.
To her credit, she looks like it’s the last thing she wants to do.
But then again, she’s doing it anyways.
“Oh,” is all Bruce can think to say for a second, his head staticky. “Is that… I mean, isn’t there another way? You have to—?” he cuts himself off. She shakes her head.
“Wish there was,” she sighs. “But MEDUSA only sees correspondence when it’s written in blood. Specifically, the blood of someone valuable to them.” Bruce grimaces, looking back at the pictures.
“That’s…” he trails off, not sure how to word it.
“If it helps,” she proposes, “Wolf— my best lead— was known for loving her job; particularly when she got to help out in Interrogations. They said she wouldn’t even ask questions until she’d gotten the third finger off. And if I don’t do this, they might go after mom next, so…” she sighs heavily.
Bruce’s shoulders sag a little under the weight of it all.
“…do you need anything?” he finally asks, hoping to take a little off her shoulders. She shakes her head.
“Just the coffee’s fine,” she replies. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” He nods.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “please do.” He hovers for a second longer, concerned but unsure how to explain why without falling back into old habits. He swallows the words down instead, making way for the door.
He pauses just as he’s about to pull it shut behind him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, not even looking at her— at what he did to his only sister. The door clicks shut behind him, and in the darkness, Olivia frowns.
“I know.”