Back to the Docks

Nightingale moved silently through the docks, boots whispering over the damp pavement. This was the same spot she’d investigated only a week ago, when things with The Supplier had gone sideways. According to Thatcher, Whisper had been poking around places connected to the Supplier’s network. Nightingale didn’t know what Whisper was, vigilante, assassin, maybe just a ghost with unfinished business, but she knew this woman was dangerous.

She kept her senses sharp, eyes scanning for any clue that might draw Whisper out. But there was nothing. Just shadows and silence. Until there wasn’t. The faintest crunch of gravel behind her. Nightingale spun instantly, stun batons flaring to life in her hands, electricity crackling at the ends.

A woman stood in the open, as if she'd always been there, tall and lean, dressed in sleek matte-black armour that blended into the shadows around her. A metallic domino mask obscured her eyes, while a scarf covered the lower half of her face. She carried a holstered sidearm and a katana strapped across her back. Everything about her screamed trained and deadly.

“Impressive,” the woman said softly, her voice low and smooth. Nightingale kept her batons ready.

“Who the hell are you?” She demanded

“Whisper,” She replied, smiling under her scarf, taking a slow step forward. “You must be Nightingale.”

Nightingale kept her eyes locked on her. “What do you want?”

“I just want to help.” Whisper stopped just a few paces away. “I’ve been cleaning up the messes you and your other super hero friends can’t seem to handle.”

“You mean killing. I don’t need your kind of help.”

“You need something,” Whisper murmured, her voice dancing just on the edge of teasing. “Judging by the bruise under your mask, maybe backup. Or maybe you’re just stubborn enough to keep getting hurt.”

“You think this is a joke?” Nightingale snapped. “The people you’re going after are dangerous.”

Whisper tilted her head slightly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And what, you're going to kill him, The Supplier?”

“I’ll do what you can’t,” she said calmly. “Or won’t.”

Nightingale tensed. “You **** people and then call it justice?”

Whisper chuckled softly. “I remove threats. The city sleeps easier when people like him disappear. But if it helps you sleep better, let’s call it poetic.”

The next second, she moved, fast, a blur of motion. Nightingale barely managed to block the first strike, their limbs colliding with a flash of pain and precision. Whisper’s style was cold and efficient, every strike designed to disable or destroy. They fought hard, batons crackling with electric arcs as Rikki pushed back. She struck Whisper in the side, earning a grunt, but Whisper responded with a brutal spinning elbow to her jaw. Nightingale staggered.

They clashed again, blows sharp and intimate. Whisper caught her arm, twisted, and swept her legs. Nightingale slammed down onto the dock with a breathless thud, and Whisper pinned her with one knee.

“You’re pretty good,” Whisper murmured, her breath warm against Nightingale’s cheek. “But you could be better, if you just stopped holding back.”

“Get. Off,” Nightingale hissed.

With a playful glint in her eye, Whisper replied, “Maybe next time we can do this without the weapons.”

Before Rikki could react, Whisper yanked her up and tossed her over the edge of the dock.

The freezing water swallowed Nightingale. She hit the surface hard, pain crackling through her limbs as she plunged beneath. Cold stabbed every inch of her body as she kicked and gasped to the surface. By the time she dragged herself to the edge, Whisper was gone.