It was a long night.
The Crimson Flash had not gotten out onto the streets until a little later than usual, having been otherwise engaged. In fact, it was after midnight when he left the inn. This, in itself, wouldn?t have been a problem. Most nights, he only runs for a few hours. Around four in the morning, most of the situations he would feel the need to intercede in have moved off the streets and into homes and other places where he either could not enter or could not observe. As such, he usually managed to get to sleep well before five.

He dealt with the usual things that night, of course. There was a pair of men ambushing folks leaving a tavern, robbing them blind. Elsewhere, a woman was breaking into someone?s home, intent on taking either coin or life. A fight broke out near the marketplace between two young men seeking a lady?s attentions. None of these were particularly unusual, and none took much time.

It was soon after three when he heard a scream from an alleyway.
When he shot to the mouth of the alley to peer in, he saw a man closing a steel collar around a young woman?s neck. Slaver, he thought, though the man was obviously an amateur, new to the profession. To take someone like that, in public and with no means to silence shouts, it was sloppy. The collar was plain steel, as well, unlike many slave collars he had seen. A simple lock, with a simple key, and a welded on half-link to attach a chain, which the man was holding. Crim shifted, hiding as best he could, to watch.
The girl was struggling, he saw. No magic on the collar or in the man holding the chain, not even a drug to make her docile. The only reason the man was able to force her along at all was his superior size and stength, and the girl?s obvious lack of pugilistic training. As it was, she was putting up a good enough fight that the man had to work to drag her along. Before they reached the main street, Crim was easily able to dart down the street, to hide in a recessed doorway and watch. He had been told that slavery was legal in Rhy?Din, and though he didn?t approve by any stretch, there was not much he could to to stop it altogether. However, he was sure that kidnapping was not legal, even here, and though he didn?t know the usual way to go about aquiring slaves, he was fairly certain this was not it. Besides, someone would get hurt, badly, with slavers like this around.
So he followed the slaver. They wound through street after street, sometimes crossing over their path again. The slaver was worried about being followed, Crim realized. Either he knew about Crim, or was paranoid. He was sure there was no one else in pursuit. Regardless of his evasive maneuvers, the slaver was unable to lose the scarlet speedster, who had taken to the roofs to stay out of sight. He thought perhaps that the slaver was going to drag the girl into that recently reopenned inn he had heard about, since they passed it multiple times, but that was not their destination.

Instead, eventually, they came to a small run-down house. Cracks ran up the walls, half the windows were boarded up, and the rest were open. Crim dropped soundlessly to the street and crept to one of these, pressing against the wall. By this time, the sun was beginning to rise to the east.
He heard: ??the birthmark on her shoulder? It?s definitely her.? ?Why was she wandering around alone?? ?Who cares? Meeting with a boyfriend, looking for a fix, what does it matter? You want to take off her gag and ask her?? ?Nah, I was just curious. I guess it don?t matter, though. You?re right.? ?I know I?m right. She made our lives easier by making herself available, at least.? ?Heh. Yeah. Would have been a hassle to get into the school.? ?Yeah. Alright. Have a letter drafted to her father, tell him if he wants his precious girl back, he?s going to have to pay through the nose.? Ah. Not slavers. Just in it for ransom. ?Make sure that he knows we?re not going to kill her if he refuses. Just sell her off to the highest bidder.? Or a little of both. ?You got it, boss.?
Crim had expected to have a chance to break up a slavery ring or two, but at least he was able to get back to the one in charge of the kidnapping. He stood, climbed in through the open window, and quickly subdued the two men. After taking the key from the pocket of one, and making sure the other did not have one, he released the girl and used the chain and lock to bind the men together.

After escorting the girl home, he went to the Watch, to give them the address of the house, along with the key to the lock. Then, feet dragging from lack of sleep, he made his way to his room and his bed.

Empaths, telepaths, and mindreaders abound in Rhy?Din. Few of even the most ordinary humans are entirely incapable of mind speech, though it is true that many are only able to manage it with more gifted associates or very close friends.
Mi?Kel Matine was a bit more unusual a case, however. Many could read minds, feel the emotions of others, and send and receive mental messages. Mi?Kel was an empath, sure, able to sense the emotions of others and, often, feeling the stronger emotions near him. But there were times, though few enough, when he found he was able to direcly affect the emotions of others; a sort of reverse-empathy. Usually, this was a reflexive thing. He would feel a strong emotion, perhaps anger, and notice that anyone who came near him would begin acting in an angry manner. More rarely, when with people he cared about, he was able to consciously force it, to nudge their emotional state. He made them happy when they were sad, calmed them when they were upset.
He did not worry about the ethics of his actions. He made no distinction between a happiness achieved through ordinary means and a happiness brought on from nothing. For that matter, he never knew if his attempts would work. Or even if he was having any affect. It was entirely possible that the people he thought he was nudging were really nudging him, after all. So he lived his life, and tried to nudge his friends toward happiness, when he could.

One day, he was attacked. Mi?Kel was not a warrior, so when a large man drew a blade and demanded coin, he shakily reached for his pouch. Once he handed over the coins, he cowered, backing away from the man, and tried hard as he could to push some of his fear onto his assailant. It was the first time he made an attempt to use his abilities in an offensive manner such as that, and he was not unsuccessful. However, Mi?Kel did not take into account the differing reactions people have to fear. Some, such as himself, seek to avoid that which they fear. The mugger, unfortunately, was the sort that attempted to destroy what they fear.
He was prepared to do just that, one hand closing on the front of Mi?Kel?s shirt and lifting him. His blade glinted in the moonlight as he brought it to Mi?Kel?s throat.

The Crimson Flash was not in a good mood. The reason for this is irrelevant, but he was upset and angry when he heard Mi?Kel?s terrified screams. He sped toward them.
When he arrived on the scene, Mi?Kel had stopped shouting. In fact, he barely breathed. As he lay, in a growing pool of his own blood, assailant standing over him, he was broadcasting his fear, his pain, his feelings of futility. These emotions were strong, and the Crimson Flash stumbled under their weight as he approached, gasped.
Mi?Kel?s eyes shifted, and he dimly saw Crim. As he realized who he was looking at, having heard of the scarlet speedster, he felt hope. It was a small thing, really, when held up next to the power of the other emotions he was feeling, but it was there, even in the face of Crim?s obvious distress. As Mi?Kel closed his eyes, he put all of his concentration into two things: staying conscious and broadcasting that hope to the Crimson Flash.
Crim?s shoulders shook and his head bowed as he fought not to drop to his knees. The pain he could handle, but the fear and the futility were driving him down. That is, until that thread of hope came through. He caught it, held tightly to it, and forced himself to lift his head and straighten his shoulders. His breath came in ragged gasps, still, but he shot forward. Mi?Kel?s attacker was laid low with a haymaker, and before he struck the ground Mi?Kel was lifted, and sped off to a healer.
He returned for the mugger, dragging him off to the Watch.

When the Crimson Flash made it back to his room, he was in a different mood than he had been. It was not necessarily a better mood, but it was softened a bit by what small bit of hope he had managed to hold on to.

The Crimson Flash did not make it a point to patrol in the West End of Rhy'Din. It was not that he avoided the neighborhood, but rather that he always felt that the area was under the protection of someone (or, as this is Rhy'Din, something) else. It was a sensation he didn't often feel cause to put into words, and so he didn't.
Which is not to say that he never went into West End. Whether following someone, or just taking a different route, he has passed through and operated within the area. He was simply wandering when he found the closed up shop, a few doors away from the main drag.

It is not well known, but the ear pieces on Crim's mask are not just for show. Certainly, the wing-shaped antennas are not strictly necessary, but the disk-shaped pieces themselves include hardware designed to enhance sound. The primary purpose of this is to counter the Doppler effect while he runs at high speeds, but they can also be used increase the volume of environmental sounds, with controls built into his left sleeve. He normally has them set to boost sounds to a small degree, which allows him to hear calls for help from a greater distance.

There were people talking within the shop. This, in and of itself, was not particularly of note. After all, closed shops tend to be taken over by others and reopened anew. Something told him that this was not something so mundane, however, and he adjusted the settings, to further enhance the sounds coming from within.

"—stereo. Yeah, the good stuff. Runs on electric or magic."
"I get the spell box with it, right?"
"No, man, that's extra. Hey, don't give me that look. I acquired the merch, I set the prices. Savvy?"
"You know you sound like an idiot when you say that, Cane."
"Price just went up. Look, you're getting a deal as it is. This stuff would normally be twice what I'm asking, but it's hot so I gotta move it."
"Hot, like normal 'stolen and the guard are looking for it' hot, or hot like 'magicked so that if I listen to it my eardrums will become pissed off killer bees' hot?"
"You know I got wizard buddies who check for that kind of stuff, Jeke. What, you think I just started this last week?"
"Yeah, yeah. Where'd you get this stuff, anyway?"
"Mansion on the hill. Rich bastard that lives there, he drinks himself silly every Friday night, didn't notice a thing…and he's cheap, so there's no reward. Don't go getting—"

Crim had heard enough, so he switched the sound back to its normal level. He took a quick circuit of the building, and found that there was a cellar entrance in the side alley. Whoever had placed the padlock on it hadn't bothered to close it all the way, so Crim was able to slip inside quietly enough. He crept through the basement, by the faint light filtering down the stairs, and slowly climbed back up inside the shop.
He was behind the counter in what might have once might have been a pawn shop or jewelry store. Now, it was being used to store and move stolen goods. Electronics and enchanted items were laying around in a haphazard manner, strewn carelessly about.
There were three other men in the place. The one with the walking stick leaning against the wall next to him must have been Cane, the short bearded man handing him a bag of coins would be Jeke. Peering at the front door was a beefy individual who dwarfed even the Crimson Flash. He would be first.

Crim snatched the bag from Jeke's fingers just before Cane's hand got to it. The big one heard their startled shouts and turned just in time for the bag to explode against his forehead. His head snapped back, but he didn't even stumble. Crim rained blows upon the behemoth, who simply blinked confusedly until Crim's fists passed the speed of sound, sharp cracks sounding as the big man stumbled back and raised his arms in defense. Hands brought together, he brought his fists down in a hammer blow that felled his opponent.
By this point, Cane and Jeke had made it outside, and were running in opposite directions. Crim jogged after Cane, pouring on speed as he saw his quarry look back. He was barely a blur as he shot past, to stop a few yards ahead of the fleeing felon. A jab just as Cane was turning toward the front once more connected with his jaw, and he fell.
He let Jeke go. The man was a buyer, not a burglar himself, and would provide good word-of-mouth.

As it turned out, Cane and his bouncer had been squatting in the apartment above the shop. When the authorities were notified, they passed word on to the owner of the building. It seemed he was somewhat absent-minded, and had forgotten about the place entirely. Not long after, it was put on the market.

The sky was just starting to get dark, clouds taking on a pinkish hue. I usually go on patrol at night - less craziness going on when it's light out and there are people on the streets - but I do go out in daylight occasionally, at least in winter. Heat can drive people a little crazy, but cabin fever seems to do it worse; that, and there are less people on the streets to discourage the thugs. Usually, there's nothing much. It amounts to a jog around town, maybe helping someone get a carriage unstuck or something else simple.

I heard some people shouting. It didn't sound like anything drastic, certainly not screams of terror, but there was an edge to the shouts that reminded me of angry mobs. I cut through an alley for a shortcut and went to find out what was going on. There was a group, four or five humans and a couple elves, yelling insults at a drow woman who had her back to the wall. She was wearing hard black leather, and had a hand on the hilt of the sword at her belt, but she seemed more confused than anything else, and occasionally yelled something back at them in her own language, which sounds something like a cheese grater dragged over wet stone. The humans looked like teenagers, and I guessed that the elves were about the same age, speaking in terms of maturity - it can be hard to tell with elves, from looking at them alone these could have been anywhere from twenty to two hundred years old. I don't know about the drow - if they age like elves, she'd have been somewhere in the same range.

I didn't know much about drow. In fact, I knew exactly two things about them: they're similar to elves, if not actually being elves with bad PR; and their skin is generally black or close to it. Sure, I've heard that most of them are evil, with the assumed reason ranging to all ends of the nature vs. nurture spectrum, but that doesn't mean much. Heard the same about ogres, but Talk is a good enough guy. So I try not to judge (besides, liking or disliking an elf based on whether or not their skin is black would feel a little too close to the bigotry back home).

Near as I could tell, from what I heard of the insults, these people were harassing her because she was a drow, not because of anything they thought she had done. She was getting pretty tense, and it didn't look like any of the mob had any weapons. For that matter, the way they were holding themselves made me think they might not even know how to fight, which would be bad for them if the drow lashed out, which it's hard to say I'd blame her for. I decided to step in.

The small mob had enough sense at least to keep a sword's-length away from the drow woman, and that was more than enough space for me to slip into. I heard the drow hiss behind me as I appeared facing the humans and elves, crossing my arms over my chest. For their part, they shut up fast and took a few hurried steps back. "What's going on here?"

One of the humans, a boy who was a bit taller than any of his friends, spoke up. "It's a drow," he said, pointing past me. That sealed it - the group didn't have any reason to bother the woman other than what she was. I was about to tell them what I thought of that policy when I heard the rasp of steel behind me, and spun around in time to slap the dark blade of the drow's sword to one side before it connected with me. It took a moment for the signal to reach my brain and I looked down at my hand. Her sword had sliced right through the spectra of my suit, and had taken a millimeter or two of my skin with it.

I don't make it a habit to hit women. Result of how I was raised. But I can get past that conditioning when she's trying to kill me. I yelled something over my shoulder at the teenagers, probably something akin to "go away," since that's what they did. Then, as the drow was bringing her sword up for another swing, I jabbed her in the throat. I pulled my punch, of course, since I didn't want to kill her. It did the trick, and she dropped the sword to concentrate on the suddenly difficult business of breathing, her red eyes bugging wide while she grasped at her own throat.

I picked up the sword, surprised at how light it felt. I swung it through the air once, and felt it seem to gain weight as it went - it was easy to use, but it'd hit hard. And, as my left hand could attest, it was razor sharp. Magic, at a guess. I turned my gaze to the drow, and saw that she was recovering from my little poke. Not quite enough to put up much of a fight, but she was breathing easily enough that I figured it would be safe to toss her over my shoulder and head for the nearest guard post.

--

It took a little time for the guard to find someone who spoke the drow language. Finally, Remus Lycaster came in and sat down for a chat with the drow. I've got no idea what they actually said - I heard her say "usstan inball nowbal uloo telanth uloo biu malai jaluk," or something like that, before he gave up, and I didn't know what it meant.

When he stood up to lock her into her cell again, Lycaster's jaw was twitching with obvious frustration. "She won't talk to a male. So we'll have to let her sit in the cell until we can track down a woman on the force who speaks the language. Not a common enough need for them to keep track of who speaks it." He shook his head. "'course, then we do need it, and we have to find the needle in the stack. Probably take a few days." He glanced back at the drow's cell. "Maybe a little longer. She's got a mouth on 'er. We'll let you know, in case you want to be here for it."

I raised a brow. The guard don't have a spotlight to point at the sky to get my attention. "How do you plan to--"

Lycaster smirked at me. "Oh, please. Most rumors in this town don't mean squat, but that doesn't mean all of us just ignore 'em. At least a couple of us heard about you."

I stared at him for a bit. None of the guard had even mentioned having heard the rumor about who I really was, so it was a bit of a shock to hear that some of them had confirmed it. I nodded to him. "...thanks."

"Not a problem, Crim." He turned to shuffle some paperwork, then looked back over at me. "You sure you don't want a healer looking at that hand?"

Flexing my fingers hurt, but the bandages seemed to be holding, and I wasn't feeling anything to make me think there'd been poison (or silver) on the blade, so I shook my head. "It'll heal fine on it's own." I headed off to change, having decided I'd done enough patrolling for the day.