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John was intrigued. He had no intention of getting involved, but if the woman was interested, well, it might be bait, but he might get something done if he risked a nibble. He assumed absolutely no one in the Bad Beat could be trusted, not even Amber. Though after getting shot in the back of the head and left for dead, he supposed trust issues made sense.

 

So he got up and walked over towards the woman. "She's quite the talent." He said, motioning towards the stage.

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GM

 

"Who is? Amber or Vanity?"

 

Her arms were folded. She lent back on her chair, with the faintest of smiles that, even if not icy, did not let out much warmth. Her eyes were not aggressive, but penetrating, studios, and so were her words. 

 

She was bold, and knew it. 

 

"Nobody talking about Vanity here, are they? Verboten, or at least unwise if you value your health..." there was the slightest edge of contained fury in her words, as if adrenaline was pumping but the eye would not tear. 

 

She looked away, covering the crack in her facade. "I hear Amber is good. Not as good as Vanity, but good..." she said, stalling for time to recollect her composure. Credit to her, she regained it quickly. 

 

"And what are you doing here? Jazz fan? Or come here for the food?" she asked. "I saw you talking to the lovely Blowfish. May I ask what you talked about?"

 

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John was instantly more interested. Mentioning Vanity aloud was not a good idea, so this woman had a reason. "Honestly just wanted to say hi to the owner of this place." He shrugged. "Who's Vanity. Old performer? Leave with a record deal or something?" He needed to keep his cards close to his chest, he knew. He could handle Blowfish's thugs. He could not handle a whole crowd of men with guns.

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GM

 

"Just wanted to say hi? to the owner? to Blowfish?" she said, surprised. "Don't let his pleasant demeanour fool you. It's calculated. He came over from Freedom City a year ago with ill gotten gains, set this place up. He does like Jazz, but he like putting people's head in a vice and slowly turning the wheel as an accompaniment" she explained. 

 

"He isn't the biggest crime lord in Bedlam, not by a long shot, but he's got his foot in the door and has the intelligence, brutality, and money to wedge himself in deeper. Most importantly, he isn't in a rush. Acts small, and doesn't overstep his boundaries. Tolerated by the crooks of the city, and he butters up the police...as you can see..." she said, indicating the audience. 

 

"And for God's sake, don't mock his tic. You know, that Hmmphhh sound. Drives him beserk" she added. 

 

"Vanity..." she swallowed, fighting that emotion again, whatever it was. Mainly rage. "...she was the top singer here. Nothing wrong with Amber. They were close, as far as I could see. Best friends forever, that kind of thing. But..."

 

Here she did pause a moment. 

 

"Buy me a drink and I'll tell you" she said, smiling, the facade up again. She put her finger to her plumped up lips, indicating this was a topic for low voices. 

 

"L-llllaaaadies and Gentlemen...For your entertainment! The Bad Beat Band and Aaaamberrrrrr!" anounced the compere, to much applause and a splendid Jazz drum roll. 

 

As the Bad Beat Band fired up an up tempo swing song, Amber strolled on - a slender tall lady, with deep rich red hair, with an equally deep red dress low cut. It spoke of sophistication and allure, and Amber has by most men's count an equally alluring lady, with emerald eyes and high cheekbones. Perhaps she was wearing a little too much make up, and just perhaps her mascara was a little smudged. 

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A drink was a small price to pay, but he still intended to watch what she had to say. "Sure." He said. "I'll buy you a drink." He watched Amber and relaxed, or seemed to. He was watching her, watching the crowd. He was seeing how things went, how they were handled. Blowfish was muscling into Bedlam from outside. That was interesting. He wondered what kind of power that had to take. Still, the Bad Beat was his pride and joy, the center of his empire. He had all his eggs in one basket, and John knew he could hit it and destroy him if he needed to. 

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GM

 

Amber had a good sultry voice, but every now and again, it cracked with emotion. She was good at blending this into the performance, making emotion part of the song. Making words dance with drama. Every flawed spasm of her vocal cord became a playwrights punctuation. 

 

This might have been part of her normal performance, and indeed, it was well received. She was good at her job. But it seemed to be peppering the songs a little too often. Blowfish frowned after the fifty or sixth time, and a shiver ran down Amber spine as he did. The audience still applauded and enjoyed, but there were a few quizzical looks; she was not exactly worse than normal, and still giving a great show, but perhaps different. More moving, less technical. 

 

"My name is Jane Silverfinger" explained the woman he had struck up conversation with, back at her table. She was drinking a rich red wine. "My sister was Mary Silverfinger. Most people knew her as Vanity. And she was murdered" she said. Soft, trembling with rage and fear, and mostly, grim determination. 

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John understood, but said nothing. He could probably trust her to be honest about that, but he also couldn't trust anyone in Bedlam, not really. "Know who did it?" He asked. He had to be careful. Nobody was allowed to even say her name. He didn't think he could put anyone away, but if he could hurt the Bad Beat in some way, that was fine by him. Even if Blowfish didn't do the deed himself, he was clearly dirty anyway. 

 

He considered trying to get Amber out of here. Could give her a bus ticket, maybe. Get her out of town, maybe. He considered the angles and waited. He knew the price of taking action without making plans. 

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GM

 

Jane barely moved. A slight parting of lipstick'd lips, exhaling. A kind of hard blankness fell over her face, a thousand yard stare that suggested the question and answer had circled without end around her skull. 

 

"Blowfish" she said, dry as a desert. The word was focus for her, and end to that circle. 

 

"Not that I have any proof, but its a clear as crystal. Blowfish was in love with my sister, wanted to possess her. Not the only one. But she was no man's possession. She wanted to run away, escape. Maybe Blowfish couldn't handle losing her. Maybe Blowfish couldn't stand other men gazing. Most likely he was scared she knew too many of his secrets and would sell him. Frankly, she probably would have. She was brave, and she needed the money"

 

"Only thing Blowfish loved more than my sister was himself. Probably hurt him to do it. But he has an iron heart if needed. Cold and hard" she said, bitterly. 

 

"I don't want to set the woooorld on fiii-iiire! This one is to all the jilted lovers out there!" said Amber through the speaker, before launching into a loud, pointed, and languid jazz version of the song. 

 

Blowfish huffed, his tic magnifying, and his eyes and brow speaking of vexation. 

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John watched Blowfish out of the corner of his eye. He was agitated. Amber was clearly showing off a bit, probably poking at him. Blowfish wasn't stupid enough to kill two of his top talents, was he? Was he seriously that short sighted, especially given the mediocre opening act? John reasoned that yes, he probably was. People like him wanted control, but often times, the tighter you squeezed, the less control you had. John watched the show.

 

He began to formulate an idea in his mind. Get Amber out of there. He reasoned he could probably get out of the building, he had enough to pay to get Amber out of town if need be. A long, lonely bus ride to somewhere else, but was that feasible? He watched, and listened.

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GM

 

Blowfish and Jane sat watching Amber perform. Her song seemed bitter, and she seemed to linger on the word fire. 

 

Fire....Fire....Set the world on FIRE....came the sour song. Blowfish was perplexed and, whilst appreciative of a fine performance, had that frown and tic...he sensed something was up. 

 

Jane seemed to distracted to pick up on the subliminal message. But John Smith felt something. And, more pertinently, smelt something. 

 

Wine and smoke and sweat, as always. Damn the laws, everyone in the Bad Beat smoked, or seemed to. Nicotine was in the air, in the water, and stained on every piece of furniture. But, right now, John could catch the whiff of a different type of smoke. 

 

The smoke of fire. 

Edited by Supercape
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John muttered some harsh, vulgar words and turned to Jane. "Do you smell that?" He asked, he looked around. He had time, but precious little of it. If Jane knew anything, maybe he could bargain with her. Save these lives, just get Amber out of town. There wasn't much he could do otherwise. Except, perhaps, go all out.

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GM

 

Jane sniffed the air. "What...? I smell corruption and bile and...wait..." she sniffed again, nose wrinkled, eyebrow raised. 

 

"Smoke? Somethings burning?" she said, aloud. The music blared out to drown out her words. 

 

I...want to set the world on Fi...ire! sang Amber, missing the "don't" rather pointedly. 

 

"We gotta get out of here!" said Jane to John, starting to panic. "This place is a death trap! Blowfish paid off all the Health and Safety people...any second now there will be a stampede!" she blurted, looking for the exit. There was a fire exit. It looked a dubious proposition, creaky and dusty and possibly even jammed shut. 

 

"Wait...Amber!" she said, smacking her head. "Hey boyfriend was a fireman. Blowfish didn't like Amber or Vanity having boyfriends. Particularly boyfriends that wanted to run away with his prized possessions. He has in his thugs did a number on him...set him on fire, burned him alive!"

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John groaned internally. "I can get us out." He said. "Just calm down and nobody has to get hurt or die." He said. "Panic will kill more people than the fire." He looked her in the eye and shifted his appearance to another, fresh face, and back. "Relax. We'll get everyone out, and the Bad Beat can burn for Blowfish's sins." He stood up and looked up at the stage. He could blow the doors open. He could try something. He could talk to Blowfish, he could make an announcement. He had to get these people out.

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GM

 

Jane did not look calm, but a resolve hit her face. She looked around, spying the dusty, unused and jammed Fire Exit. 

 

"At least half of these people deserve to burn" she said. "And Blowfish...I would love for that sadist to go up in flames...but the other half don't" she said, with regret. "In any case, if we don't get out of here in the next minute, its going to be panic and burnt flesh for the lot of us. And any second now somebody is going to smell the smoke and there will be a panic..." she said, tugging John by the sleeve. 

 

She spared a glance at Amber. 

 

"She knows, dosen't she?" she said, realising. "And she doesn't care if she burns, as long as she takes Blowfish with her and gets her revenge..."

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John stood up. If he went to Blowfish, Amber might get in trouble, and possibly die. If he approached the stage, he'd draw their ire. If he called out a fire, he'd create a panic. There were no perfect solutions. There might not be a way to save everyone. He had to minimize the loss of life, damage control. So, he headed towards the backstage area. He'd find where the smoke was coming from, and try to put it out. He wasn't going to play by Blowfish's rules. 

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GM

 

A fat man in a tight fitting suit was sitting down, smoking, drinking, and drunk. He was blocking the backstage and was meant to stop people going backstage. 

 

"Hey, bozo...ya..."

 

He was about as much use as a chocolate teapot. John barged past him without breaking a sweat. 

 

The backstage seemed to have some windows high up, to the street level. There were various instruments and electronics, dealing with lighting and sound. The respective engineers dealing with light and sound were out cold. 

 

Over the unconscious men was a large man, dressed in flame - retardant overalls and steel armour, with a giant welding helmet over his face and a flame thrower in his hands. At his feet, a small fire was growing by the second, and around his belt, all the tools of a skilled arsonist. 

 

"Who are you?" he demanded, a deep, croaky, and wounded voice, full of angry determination. 

 

"It doesn't matter. This place is going down. Your bad luck to be in the way of the Burner...."

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John cracked his neck and growled. "Bad luck and I are old friends." He said. "I get that you're pissed, but I can't let you kill all these people." He thought about trying to talk him down, but no. This guy wasn't going to be reasonable. He wasn't going to listen, and every second he wasted put more lives at risk. This man was going to kill a hundred people to get at one. John was going to say no.

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GM

 

"Pissed? Let me tell you about pissed" said the Burner. "I was going to take Amber and leave Bedlam. New life. Maybe Spain. Somewhere that fat sadist can't reach. He finds out, ties me up, then sets me alight. Walks away. Lets me run ablaze down the streets of Bedlam, like a goddamn firework..." he croaked. 

 

"I don't know how I survived. Spite, I think. And a year in hospital. That man destroyed me. And I'm going to destroy him. Amber let me in here. And now, she and I are going to set the world on fire..." he croaked, in time with Amber singing the line. 

 

There were mumblings of worry from the stage...can you smell something?

 

"I'll save more lives by burning this place than I'll kill. And good lives too, not the rats that scuttle around here..."

 

He flicked on his flamethrower....

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John bolted forward like a shot and swung a bit wild. He overstepped by a bit, still not used to his new speed and strength. He figured he could end it quickly if he could get a clean shot, but that was his error. To his consternation, the 'Burner' took that opportunity to back up. He didn't imagine being lit on fire was going to feel all that good, but he figured he was about to experience it.

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GM

 

"You got heart. Just the wrong type. Soft and warm. That's the kind of heart that will bleed. That's the kind of heart that will hurt"

 

He took a few more steps back, till his back was slam against the wall, with the broken window above. 

 

"I had a heart like that. It's the kind of heart that will burn" he said, cold, angry, in pain. 

 

Without another pained, croaked word, he fired up the Flame thrower. A jet of blazing heat shot forward, like a stream of liquid orange light. Except it was hot, hot, hot. 

 

And now, the backstage was well and truly ablaze. The mumblings of concern from the stage started to escalate, although Amber sang louder and louder through the mic to try and obscure the chaos behind her. 

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John growled, this was getting annoying. He stepped forward and ripped the flamethrower from out of the Burner's hands and threw it clear out a window. "I understand anger." He said. "Believe me." John looked around. This was not good. The club was starting to ignite. He needed to get people out of the club, and unless this kid wanted to keep fighting, he had better things to do than duke it out with an angry punk with a grudge.

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GM

 

The Burner croaked. A kind of scream, a kind of rage, but through his damaged throat. It was a horrible crackling sound. His heard turned to watch the flamethrower sail out the window. 

 

His head turned back. Impassive, unseen, behind that steel mask and black glass. 

 

He did not speak, but instead threw a heavy fist in a heavy glove. A telegraphed, wild swing, not calculated, not aimed, and not effective. But it surely felt like a wild primordial fist. He was not holding back. 

 

And neither was the smoke, that now wafted through the Backstage area and engulfed the two engineers lying unconscious on the floor. They would surely get the worst of it, and even John felt the smoke in his nostrils. 

 

And from the stage area, Amber could no longer hide the blaze. A scream sounded out. 

 

"Fire!"

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John growled. "I ain't got time for this!" He roared, turning away from the Burner. He turned towards the door into an open run. He scooped up the sound and lighting engineers and slowed down only long enough to kick a door off it's hinges. The 'Burner' couldn't burn anything, fighting him would just waste precious time. Time he didn't have. He burst into the open club. He'd head for the door and shatter it if he had to. These people had to get out.

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GM

 

In the Main Stage the panic was at the midway point between zero and infinity, and rising fast. People stood from their seats. Some confused, some disbelieving, and some smart - the latter of whom were already heading towards the doorway. 

 

Blowfish was smart, and was bustling out with his two large bodyguards. 

 

"Leaving so soon, honey?" screamed Amber through the mic. She pulled out a tiny gun from her dress and fired it into the air. 

 

At this point, the panic hit full swing. Tables overturned, people stood up, many pulling guns. 

 

"Outa my way!" was a frequent refrain as elbows and knees became battering rams, and by osmosis, people flowed to the main entrance where the brutality increased into a horrible crush. 

 

Amber laughed hysterically through the mic. 

 

"This is for Vanity!"

 

Jane had not yet moved, and spied John. She was smart too, and looked at the "Fire Exit" door which said "Out of Order" and had two rotten pieces of wood nailed to it. 

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John ran for the fire escape and kicked it open. He winced as it seemed to crumble rather than open. The fire escape was not in good shape. It was rusted metal, creaking and basically without function. John knew if he tried to climb down it he would fall in a crumbling, rusted mess. So he skipped it, jumping straight down to street level, the two men still under his arms.

 

He ran down the alleyway and dropped the men off somewhere safe before running to the front of the club. He would break open the door and try to get everyone out. He imagined chaos, and possible deaths, but this was the situation he was handed. He had to try and do his best.

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