The Yin Exposition

Roxanne gently brought her head to rest in her head as she stared at the computer screen, an empty word document silently tormenting her. She had wanted to have a sound, fluid copy all the things that had occurred during her encounter with Umbra, but getting them down would be the hard part. Whether it was the look of him, his behavior, or simply what had transpired that night, she could not put her finger on what made it stick out so clearly in her mind.

Though the pair were on the ( relatively ) same side as far as crime goes, a certain je ne sais quoi kept this particular figure sticking out into her thoughts like a troublesome splinter. Her maid had suggested she simply get it out of her head and on paper, much like the diaries she kept as a child. This idea seemed valid enough, and with a soft grumble, she set her fingers down on the keys and typed the title: The Yin Exposition.

- - -

For the past few days, she had been eagerly following the story of the sabotaged chemical plan, nerves as fragile as glass when she sent out a scouting party to search for the dark, blurry figure that had been captured by secutiry cameras. The only identifiable mark they had to go on was a series of yellowish smudged that dotted the assailants outfit, and it was on these smudges that Roxanne was betting a substantial amount of her resources. She had been presented with two options; find them and turn them in for money, or find them and keep silent. On one hand, a sizable check was being held for whomever could capture this elusive figure, rumors eating up the underground like wildfire. On the other, she might be able to make a friend or even a partner out of this person. Man, machine, and money had been working restlessly to find the intruder, and as the young Kochenkov slept soundly in her bed, she had no idea that her goal would soon be achieved.


The keening ring of the old telephone shook her from sleep more violently than an earthquake, her hand snatching the receiver and pressing it close to her head. ''привет?'' Her heart pounded a violent beat against her ribs, her hair a tangled mess as she threw off the covers and crawled out of bed. On the other end of the line, a series of coordinates and a timetable was relayed to her, ones she jotted down on a pad of paper that rested beside the phone cradle on her nightstand. A crooked, almost frightening smile pulled apart her beautiful face, contorting it into a mask of violent excitement.

The mysterious figure had been seen, and some sparse knowledge gathered. After well over a week of searching and questioning, it was discovered that it was in fact a male, a hero who went by the name of Umbra, and as Roxanne tore off the silk slip of fabric that served as a scant nightgown and grabbed for her black corset, she couldn't suppress the excitement that bubbled within her.

The phone lay forgotten on her Egyptian cotton sheets, the dial tone drowned out by the click of The Black Dove's heels against impeccable marble floors.

- - -

Just as planned, a newsflash depicted a condemned apartment complex, windows boarded and door rotting from its hinges, full to the brim with civilians and three gunmen. A ''hostage situation'' had been carefully planned by the young Russian, a sort of decoy to draw out Umbra from wherever he might be hiding. Once he had defeated the men and saved the innocents, a limo would conveniently be there to pick him up and commend him for his efforts. Why wouldn't a local super congratulate a fellow hero on a job well done? If he didn't show up, Roxanne could simply step in and ''resolve the conflict'', and only further cement her position as a hero on the west coast. While clever on both accounts, she desperately hoped that she wouldn't have to clean up the mess herself.

''He is a hero, yes?'' she inquired nervously of the hired gentleman at her side. He nodded, the pair standing on the lip of a large office building that overlooked a particularly busy city block. ''Out of curiosity, mistress, why do you want him so badly?'' the man asked, gruff but soft out of respect for the spoiled, yet volatile young girl. ''He isn't a criminal.'' Roxanne sighed, folding her arms against the breeze that pulled at her hair and the thin lace of her clothes. ''No, but he is... new.'' she grinned, a bead of ferrofluid slowly sinking around to knee-level, the femme's fingers dancing like a puppet masters. ''...and perhaps malleable.'' She stepped off the edge and began striding to the fire escape, throwing up her hand lazily to the gentleman. He pulled out a small communicator from his jacket and brought it close to his mouth. ''Red One, this is Dove One. You may begin.''

A single gunshot echoed through the streets like thunder.

Tendons and sinew stretched, toes extended, and a small grunt escaped lungs. Rubber hit the sun-baked rooftop. “Damn hair.” Umbra muttered underneath his breath as he maintained a crouched position. His heels were centimeters apart with his toes balancing him on the edge of a rooftop. He brushed his hair out from in-front of his eyes. The blonde mess was an irritation that he had tried to keep varied, in case one of his father's loyalists were still after him. Umbra said, “Time for a hair cut.” as he motioned two fingers in a scissor-like fashion across his bangs. 'Oh shit!' He thought to himself as he threw himself off balance with the latest movements. He pushed off as much as he could; barely making it to the bottom fire escape on the next building.

As far as vigilantes went right now Umbra didn't think very highly of himself as his steps echoed of the rusted metal steps. At the end of his ascension, he checked himself. 'No bruises, rips, tears, cuts, or any real injuries.” he thought. Rolling up his black sleeves feeling for holes or cuts he came across a tender spot. The anomaly on his skin was a small burn from metal contact on his last big job. It was ugly and he was disgusted by the disfigurement. 'That's dad talking get a hold of yourself you big oaf!' He was starting to wonder if all these mental self discoveries were effects of a worn psyche, but then shrugged, tightened his sleeves around his wrist, pulled his gloves down tighter making a magnificent leather stretch sound, and made sure his hood was on right before he started gaining speed to launch himself to the next building.

There was a method now. Mentally Umbra measured each building in footfalls before he needed to jump. Footfall, footfall, footfall. Then he would tighten all his muscles and launch himself across the next chasm. There would be four more footfalls and another jump. Two jumps in Umbra smiled to himself. 4 jumps later he started chuckling. By his 10th jump he could be heard laughing by the top floor residents, if any. The laughing got out of hand and Umbra had to stop to catch a breath. He happened to stop on a building a story shorter than the next. An apartment window was in-front of him.

There was a small television on the counter. Other than it being a small screen, all other conditions were ideal. Up to date news, open window, and turned up too loud, all perfect for informing the hero on the go. 'An abandoned building..' He listened, 'guns?'. Someone mentioned hostages and it put Umbra into high alert. With quick leap from his building and running up the wall of the next, he gained the ground to search for the building. 'Is that?... No... Damn, why does this neighborhood have to look like crap.'

Investigating nearby crap houses gave him no clues as to the whereabouts of his next big save. Then the echo came. 'That was definitely a gunshot.' He mounted the nearest ledge and approached the building. When he got close he thought to himself, 'Next time remember to look for a place with some hubbub.' He was two rooftops away looking at the building. Something in his heart sank. This was real now. There would be no more shadow. This was going to be a public event.

The gentleman followed close behind Roxanne as she excitedly jogged down the alley in her heels, arms far out at her sides, giggling at the flouncing lace, silk, and feathers that made up her outfit. This entire event promised to be exciting. The black limo, with its tinted windows, silently rolled up to the curb, and without so much as a pause the heiress opened the door and climbed inside, the gentleman close behind.

The limo made its way through the crowd slowly, people parting all around the front of the vehicle as it slunk forward and finally settled around the center of the crowd. From within, the gentle notes of Tchaikovsky laid a soft background of music that helped ease the anxious knots in her back. A man poured her a glass of red wine, and with a gloved hand, she took it and sampled the bouquet. She gave a satisfied nod as a few civilians began peering into the tinted glass of the car, which the girl simply shrugged off. These people would disappear as soon as the danger did, which would hopefully be soon if Umbra managed to make an appearance.

Roxanne cast a nervous glance outside, craning her head to see past the voyeurs. Even though her little event had just begun, she was more than eager to see its guest of honor. A worried sound escaped her, but she quelled it with another sip of wine. ''Don't fret, mistress.'' a man said softly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. ''I am sure that he will be here shortly.'' She gave a simple nod in response, but rudely shoved her hand into the pocket of his suit jacket. Satisfied, she pulled out his communicator and turned it on, then to its respective frequency.

''Red One, this is The Queen. Move faster, he isn't coming.'' A crackly, garbled ''Affirmative.'' spilled from the communicator. Another chatter of gunfire, the crowd scattered and screamed as everyone ducked in unison. The Black Dove waited more tensely now, another sip of wine passing through her lips.

'More gunfire?' Umbra thought, pulling himself down slowly onto the next building. He leaped for the building adjacent to the scene and barely caught the edge. A pain arose in his first knuckles as he was holding on with his finger tips. He was seriously rethinking the costume now. The synthetic weave that covered his fingertips wasn't made for grip. He slowly started slipping a little further down. Just as he was about to loose his grip he pushed off the wall. Mid back-flip he caught himself on the opposing wall with his palms. He quickly pushed off from that wall launching himself feet first to the desired rooftop. If it had been a movie scene he would have landed on his feet. Instead, Umbra skid along the gravel-lined rooftop on his back.

After dusting off his clothes and checking to see if he had skinned the back of his shins, He took in the building ahead. He spotted his destination. There was a window that was poorly boarded and without panes. 'Here goes.' The hooded hero backed up to the side of the roof opposite the apartment. He then found what he thought to be a sturdy place for a weight bearing rope. He took off his belt and unraveled it until it formed a carbon fiber-like rope. Umbra tied it around the air shaft with a special knot. Then, after unsheathing his sword, he tied the rope around the hilt and around the cross-guard. He held his finger up after licking it. After judging wind direction, he threw the sword, like a spear, into the apartment building just above the window. Taking his gold 'U' shaped belt buckle, he Zip-lined to the window kicking in the boards.

Just as he got to the window sill, he heard the ratcheting of metal. He got out, "Oh shit!" before he lost the weight bearer. He enjoyed his gloves at this moment because otherwise his hands probably would have been ashen otherwise. He stopped about half way down the building and quickly gave a tug that untied the knot on the air duct causing it to fall instead of crash into the building. This granted him priceless milliseconds as he ascended quickly up the side of the building. Once over the sill, Umbra retrieved his sword, belt and belt buckle. He would now try and disappear into the shadows and sneak up on the gunmen.