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“She’s right.” JETTE shifted from foot to foot. “I have something to work with. Bedlam Ladies Ack-something. Probability says Association. Time to go places and ask impertinent questions to people who don’t want to answer them.” She drifted back into the alley’s darker shadows. She was fully discharged, even though she could light up again in a moment. “EMT’s are the same everywhere. Woman’ll be fine.” The shadows were good for two things. Avoiding the cops, and not letting anyone see how helpless she had just felt with a woman almost dying in front of her.

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The "Bedlam Ladies' Association" took a fair bit of aerial Googling, but soon, it became apparent. The Association was a historical society in a small, one-story cottage downtown, a relic kept safe from the devouring maw of gentrification and urban renewal by some horrific, eldritch tangle of zoning laws and old money. The Association had a mixed rep. It was one of the "respectable" faces of Bedlam City and a regular target for field traps, likely on the grounds of "Where the hell else are we going to take the brats with our money"? But the Association had a long history of conflict, dating back to an occupation by campus feminists back in the Seventies, devoted to "unearthing the imagery of womanhood" in Bedlam - one that had resulted in members of the group actually getting seats on the board as a result of targeted attention. And, judging by the current reasons for dispute from campus feminists, it had a very fixed, rather biological sense of the "imagery of womanhood." 

 

The Association appeared closed for the day - but then, with its drawn drapes, it usually appeared that way. There was no sign of a disturbance, even as sirens rang through the city below. 

 

 

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Anna knew little and cared less about arguments that college broads and poindexters were having about girl power, but she knew a  den of snooty rich ladies the minute she laid eyes on it. While her sidekick made herself scarce (i.e., found a good sniping position), Lady Horus strode up and threw open the door. "MALEFACTORS!" she called inside, not slowing down as she zipped her way through the building with the divine speed of the Sun itself. Anna was, as it happened, in no mood for subtlety - indeed, she was in _no mood_. "THE FORCES OF DEATH LAY SIEGE TO THE CITY OF BEDLAM! ALL WITH POWER ARE NEEDED! WHERE DO YOU HIDE  - AND WHY?!"

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Arrowhawk sighed and rolled her eyes. Lady Horus did not have any measure of patience or hesitance in simply storming buildings. She let out a deep sigh, shouldering her bow and she strode through the open door confidently, staring straight ahead, eyes taking in the rooms ahead of her without looking quite directly at anything or anyone. She kept her eyes and ears out, alert to anything Lady Horus may have missed in her great haste.

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JETTE trailed behind the other two. Because, sure, let’s charge into a building we’ve never been inside and know nothing about. This is something that can only go well. Eh, maybe it was different for near-deities. She didn’t know, having spent her entire life as a mere mortal. And she had to hand it to Anna, it was a hell of a distraction. Meaning shortly Caroline would have time to look over this place without much of anyone interfering. Catnip to a professional investigator. Well. She was semi-pro, but close enough.

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Lady Horus's grand and terrible fury landed directly on a woman in her mid-40s, wearing a simple red sweater, black slacks, and some chunky jewelry. She knelt down, as if she had never been in a position like this and just assumed that this was just what people did in hostage situations. "Oh, God!" she yelled. "You're that Horus lady, aren't you? I... I don't know what you want! Power? There's nobody with power here. I swear, I just... I got called in because nobody wants to go out today! The world's ending, and I get stuck with watching the till and psychos with powers!"

 

While Lady Horus menaced the middle-aged threat, Arrowhawk II's eyes carried over the exhibits, some of which just seemed like photos thrown together in a rough assembly. One caught her eye, however. It showed row upon row of dour young women in something that approached "prim and proper" but reached "I will cut you." They stood under an arch that read BEDLAM LADIES' ACADEMY. 

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"Got sent here by a witch," commented Wadjet as her mentor resumed a rapid-fire search of the building and its contents, the tech-sniper's voice muffled by her fully-concealing helmet. Listening to the other women talk, Esperanza realized she was perhaps the only native of the city on their team. Well, sort of a native. "Gonna need to take a look around." Esperanza had lived in Bedlam most of her life but knew very little about this part of the city. "You better sit down in your office and play Minesweeper or something until we're done here.

 

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Arrowhawk snatched up the photo of Bedlam's Ladies Academy, lightly tossing it up and down in her hand as she paced over to the kneeling woman. As usual, Lady Horus had just barged in and ignored the photograph with the exact name they were specifically here to look for. She held it up as she crouched down, most of her face shadowed by her cowl. "A woman was magically compelled not to say this name. Bedlam Ladies Academy."

 

She leaned closer, smiling widely. It was like the grin of an alligator, utterly lacking in any form of humour whatsoever. "Who are they really?"

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Kind of amusing how people just assumed people had powers these days. You looked for the special ray gun when JETTE was young. Or the belt. Or the-nevermind. “Academy instead of Association, then?” Her eyes weren’t glowing and her tech was certainly not visible. She was just a woman in a mask. And maybe a wig, if this woman was sharp eyed enough. She was looking over the other exhibits. Sometimes the key clue wasn’t in the obvious place. She’d let Arrowhawk do the interrogating when she did the investigating. “My first guess would be a finishing school for proper young ladies that, this being Bedlam, also had witchcraft on the curriculum. But that’s just a guess, of course.” With that said, sometimes people found the person who was the most normal the scariest. You never could tell.

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"The school..." The woman looked confused, as if not expecting to have to answer this question in front of an Egyptian god. "1919. There was... something happened there, leading to its closure. Ten girls dead in one night. No explanation of the deaths was ever made clear. There have always been rumors in Bedlam, especially among ghost hunters. Some girls died of smoke inhalation, but there was no trace of fire in the building. One girl choked to death on blood despite having no external or internal injuries. The sort of stories we don't deal with here, but the kind everyone likes to bombard us with."

 

She shook her head. "But everyone's talking about the end of the world. Maybe they were right. The school was closed after the tragedy, though the survivors stayed together in the form of a sorority among the higher echelons of Bedlam. The grounds were claimed by Dr. Hartwood Crawley two years later; the Crawley Aslyum stands there to this day." 

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"A ninety-nine year lease," said Lady Horus, speaking with an odd, slow deliberation as if she was driving her voice to particular words. The hyperkinetic goddess had notably slowed down to take in the conversation, joining her sidekick and the other heroes to hear the story. "Bedlam was a different city then; the fires of steel burning and the clouds of ash thick in the sky, blood in the streets as men fought men for bread." Behind the mask, Anna swallowed hard. It was well within her power to go _back_ to 1919 (a year she had visited more than once) - but the consequences of that could be grave. Or I could look back... 

 

"Well any of those girls has to be dead," said Wadjet brusquely. "The one we met said she was one of their daughters, and even they'd have to be about as old as-" Her head turned momentarily in the direction of her mentor, but she seemed to think better of it. "We need your records of what happened - and we need their names. All of them!

 

 

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The woman didn't protest - at least, not yet. It was as if she knew that any objection, practical or otherwise, would end in terrible things. "It was hard to gather these records," she said, handing over the pile of papers. "Pieces seemed to fall between the cracks for years, and some of the documents from the last days of the Ladies' Academy were... indecipherable. To the point that many members of the Society thought they were forgeries, pieced together to spook anyone who went looking for urban legends --"

 

She cleared her throat, as if realizing that now was not the right time to ramble. "This is the list of survivors. Hargrove, Morley, Sanford, Blackmore..." She peered at the list, with only the interest of somebody who regularly read the society papers could muster. "I know some of these. Abigail Morley is over in Stone Ridge, where many of the other influential families of Bedlam went after the incident on Scarlett Hill. And Ramona Blackmore... I believe she's on the board at Crawley..."

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JETTE sighed. “Normally, this is the part where someone says ‘Let’s split up, gang!’ and I just want you both to know that I am so ambivalent about doing that that it’s almost physically painful.” She looked irritated for a moment and then shrugged. “Screw it. We know where two out of four are. I can look into the other two, see which one we left dying in an alley and which one I need to hold a nice long conversation with.” She pulled out her phone and used a notepad app. “Hargrove and Sanford.” She jerked a thumb at Lady Horus. “Her Divine Majesty knows how to get in touch with me.” She started walking out, but a word from the others could easily stop her. As she said, ambivalent.

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"Wadjet, thee and the daughter of the dead take Morley - Crawley is mine.

And with that, Lady Horus was gone. Up close her famous teleportation was rather subtler than the flight she summoned with her glowing ankh; in fact, she seemed to simply take a running step before vanishing with such finality that not even her running feet made a sound. 

 

Left alone with Arrowhawk, Wadjet shrugged and cracked open her paintball gun, sliding what looked like a harpoon and line into the weapon before clacking it shut again. "Your kind of people. You lead.

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Arrowhawk tilted her head as she looked at the other woman's strange weapon, before tutting. Her voice carried a note of exasperation as she turned and began to stride out of the room and the building, not waiting to see if Wadjet was following behind. "Would it not have made sense to have sent one of those who can fly on each team?" She reached up, adjusting her hood, reaching beneath it to ensure it was still clipped to her braids. "We're going to have to make double time. I hope you can keep up." Despite her annoyance at Lady Horus, Arrowhawk had not encountered this newcomer yet, and given what appeared to be a similar modus operandi to hers, didn't harbour any immediate entity to the other half of the Sunhawk's strange double act.

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For JETTE, finding Alexia Hargrove and Margaret Sangford was relatively easy. Both were buried in the Belmont Cemetery, not that far off from what had once been Scarlet Hill. Even with the general economic downturn (and the downturn in general), the area was still somewhat well-maintained, which made the graves a little easier to find. The first thing she noticed was the very obvious fact that the graves had been unearthed. There was security tape all around the open graves, but no groundskeeper to be seen - possibly off dealing with some other crisis. The second thing she noticed was that, although both graves were in family plots, the graves themselves stood out - slightly darker than the other graves and somewhat more pointed, almost like ritual daggers. Both even shared a carved saying: 

 

"MAY THE BURDENS OF OUR PAST BE SHARED"

 

---

 

Lady Horus found herself in the middle of the admissions building at Crawley, where there were swiftly many orderlies and security guards surrounding her, all with tasers drawn. It appeared that they were all on edge - not that she could blame them, given the state of affairs outside. 

 

"You're that lady who thinks she's a god, huh?" cracked one of the orderlies, who seemed to have the bravado of the truly clueless. "Finally decided it was time for an assessment?"

 

---

 

To Wadjet, Stone Hill seemed all too familiar. The tall walls with the broken coke bottle defenses, the pristine and well-manicured order - it was definitely the kind of grandeur cultivated by people who feared poverty and classlessness could spread by touch and needed a strong quarantine. A search in transit had given them the address of Abigail Morley, and they had managed to hop the broken glass in order to sneak past the walls that kept Stone Hill isolated. Better that than drive through the gates in masks, of course.

 

The Morley house was a kind of elegant abomination, as if an old Tudor house had developed grand and shapely tumors. It was somewhere between styles, resembling the efforts of a draftsman who had heard of Gaudi and idly wondered about the possibilities. Right now, the lights seemed dim, as if nobody was home. But as Arrowhawk and Wadjet came around the side, they found the shattered patio windows - as if something the size of a large man had just charged through the plate glass...

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"By Ammit's dung, I am in no mood, fool!" declared Lady Horus as she advanced on the nurse, her ankh blasting with celestial fire and her voice adopting the "mirrored" two-in-one tone that it did when she was suitably wrathful. "Bring me to Ramona Blackmore!" Anna wasn't thinking about Ramona Blackmore though, not really - she was thinking about how Bryant had died in one of these places, too sick and too old to go home, and she was thinking about how one day her powers would be gone and she'd be just another frail, helpless old woman in a place not too different from this, and she was imagining drawing back her fist and punching her interlocutor through the wall with great force. it was a good thing that she was a good guy now. 

 

-

 

Wadjet studied the scene for a moment, having been largely silent on the way in. "Guards here soon," she commented to Arrowhawk before turning and heading for the pre-made opening in the door, her weapon at the ready. 

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Oh, this was great.Tombstones that were stabbed into the earth rather than placed in it. And what did you know, the graves they marked had been dug up. This was a thrill a minute. JETTE was, of course, being sarcastic. There was a kind of primal terror in the dead coming back. Or worse, being brought back against their will. She really, really didn’t want to know. But she needed to. So she walked to the closest grave, and looked inside to check and see if the deceased was still…deceased. Please, God.

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Arrowhawk took a quick glance at the large hole in the glass. Something of formidable size must have made this, and a sick feeling twisted in her stomach as she realised the short list of things that size, and the likelihood of just what had made it. 

 

"Then the guards are in grave danger too. We should have arrived sooner." Osla grasped Orheidr firmly in one hand as she strode into the house. "Stay behind me." She let her boots clatter on the floor as she drew in a deep breath. "SHOW YOURSELF!" she suddenly yelled, voice booming through the house. "AND PERHAPS I WILL GO EASIER ON YOU IF YOU DO!"

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To JETTE's immense relief, the graves looked like all the digging had come from outside. The clean and careful cuts one might associate with shovels, coupled with the damage to the coffins one might associate with a sledgehammer. And the shards of wood were mostly inside the coffin, which suggested this was a break-in, rather than a break-out. That just left a number of other uncomfortable questions... but they were better than the first ones.

 

---

 

"There's no need to shout." The voice came with that specific air that Lady Horus knew so well - aiming for compassionate communication, but fraught with the icy rime of "I have better things to handle than you." "I'm here." The woman emerged, with that tight black bob associated with the most hidebound professionals and skin that suggested either La Mer or the blood of virgins. But the eyes... Anna knew those eyes, and the age behind them. Every girl has a secret... 

 

"I'm Dr. Blackmore. And I would greatly prefer if you keep your voice down - there are patients here trying to get help." She did not seem at all shaken by the presence of a screaming Egyptian goddess. "Now. How can I help?"

 

---

 

The inside of the house looked like it had recently hosed amateur demolition night. Scorch marks on the walls, shattered counters, and a faint smell of ichor. As Arrowhawk and Wadjet crept over the broken glass, there was a slight creak. A cabinet under the kitchen island opened, revealing a young woman in her late teens.

 

"The... thing," she whispered. "The demon. It's here. It's come. It, my mother, she... we're all going to die, aren't we?"

 

From the living room came the whirr of servos and the impact of armor-clad feet...

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Faced with her actual target, Lady Horus changed tactics. "Thy secrets lie bare, woman," she said, advancing slowly towards the doctor. "The girls school. The dread events of ninety-nine years ago." She pointed to the privacy of Blackmore's office. "You may speak or remain silent but the time grows short as does my patience - death itself stalks this city!

 

 

Wadjet said something short in a language Arrowhawk did not speak but that did not sound polite. "Run," she finally said before firing a shot over the girl's shoulder and towards the sound of movement. "Smoke," she commented to Arrowhawk as the pungent stench of burning chemicals filled the air - along with thick clouds of white smoke as ammonia met hydrochloric acid along with a powerful accelerant. The hissing reaction was loud, blocking sound as well as sight from inside the house, and Wadjet took the occasion to fall back and out of the building.

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Arrowhawk nocked an arrow, pointing it in the direction of the living room. She began to slowly edge back out of the building, fluidly moving toe to heel with each foot before raising the other leg to edge backwards. "Come forth, creature!" she called, slightly irritated Wadjet had decided to cut off all visibility inside the building. "Are you a coward? Do you not wish to fight a being that can fight back? COME OUT AND FIGHT ME!!

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  • 2 weeks later...

Arrowhawk got her answer quickly. Through Wadjet's thick cloud of smoke, a dark shape loomed - vague at first, but growing clearer with each thudding step. The black light that shone from the edge of its pike cut through the smoke, however; while it did not illuminate matters for its wielder, it was a clear beacon to observers, warning of doom. The Omegadrone charged through the clouds... 

 

---

 

Blackmore's face wrinkled slightly, the twitch of a woman who knew that showing perturbation in front of certain individuals was an invitation for attack or exploitation. Of course, Lady Horus came from a similar background, which was why she was able to recognize the twitch for what it was. "I accept your offer," she said. "As long as it means that my patients won't get more disturbed." She looked to her orderly. "Stand guard outside. Be ready to call the police the second things sound wrong. I'm sure I'll be fine, but... better safe than sorry."

 

Lady Horus followed her into the office. Blackmore closed the door behind her, walked to the desk... and put both hands to the lip of the desk, as if gripping it for support. She shook slightly, as if trying to keep some pain within. Before it could leak out, she turned cold again, turning to Lady Horus. 

 

"You know about why this place is as screwed as it is. How much do you know about the Sisterhood?"

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CRAW? What was CRAW? JETTE was mildly annoyed by the poor quality of her found clue. Crawford, maybe? Tch. Not nearly enough information to work with. No, wait. Crawley? Wasn’t that where that annoying goddess went? She cursed. In both Spanish and English. Until she ran out of breath. She wasn’t a genius for nothing. She had an idea of what was going on, but the dogs of skepticism were growling for their meal of hard fact. So, off to Crawley. And hopefully she wouldn’t have to fight a zombified version of an Omegadrone. Or a regular zombie, for that matter.

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