"They Kill Everything You Believe In" - Warriors concept album fanfic (part 2/11)
Sorry for the long wait. I tore two abdominal muscles, had to deal with three major storms, and my tarantula died. It has been a very weird month. Enjoy!
Previous chapter
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Ajax had to keep her head down when she retrieved her vest from Cleon’s apartment. She saw her crew’s apparitions in the corner of her eye and couldn’t bear to look them in their faces. It made her want to puke, imagining what she might find, whose blood was spilled and who wanted her dead for failing to protect them. She locked the door on her way out.
Standing around the corner of the abandoned warehouse where Cleon held war councils, she watched the overcast sky grow dimmer and dimmer. D-Train was elsewhere, said she had to check on someone, but not before spotting Ajax a pack of Newports.
“Thought she didn’t want you to pick this up,” she said cautiously as Ajax blew smoke through her nose.
“She didn’t,” Ajax said around the cigarette, “but it was a lot easier to get cigarettes when they let me out of the hole than it was to get alcohol.”
“You stopped-?”
“Go see who you need to see and get the fuck back here.”
Now, D-Train called her name as she jogged over to her, accompanied by a short, stockier figure, a woman with shaggy brown hair she kept pushing out of her face. Ajax’s heart lifted as much as it could given her circumstances.
“Vermin, thank fuck, you’re still alive,” she sighed, grabbing Vermin’s hand and pulling her into a brief hug.
“Thank fuck, me? Thank fuck, you!” Vermin said. “When Swan said the cops got you, I thought you were done for.”
“Not yet.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Wasn’t s’posed to be.”
“Right.” Vermin shook out her hands, turning to hide the way she cringed. Not that Ajax didn’t notice it regardless. “You ready, Warlord?”
“Don’t call me that,” Ajax snapped. D-Train moved between them before Ajax lashed out further, ruffling Vermin’s hair and kindly pushing her backwards by her head. “Let’s go.”
“You want us to go ahead or flank you?” D-Train asked.
“I don’t care. It’s gonna be weird either way.”
Vermin said, “We’ll follow you.”
Orphan Town. Swan calling the shots. You lead, we’ll follow.
“Ajax!” D-Train snapped her fingers in front of Ajax’s face. “Yo, you with us?”
“I- Y-Yeah. C’mon.”
Once upon a time, a war council in the warehouse meant Warriors packed in tight, hanging off one another, discreet shoving matches between whoever had a petty beef that week. That was when they were at full strength. When Cleon stood tall at the front of a makeshift stage, everyone watching her with hope and admiration in their eyes. When Ajax’s position was in back with Swan, looking on with a heart full of pride. Now, all eyes were on Ajax in the near empty space. Every Warrior surviving gawked as if they just witnessed her rise from the dead. It wasn’t far off, she supposed. D-Train and Vermin posted up at the back of the stage as Ajax took Cleon’s place - now hers - in front.
Looking out over the three barrel fires illuminating the congregation, she met each and every soldier’s eyes; the skeletal remains of the Warriors. Beyond them, across the broken garage door, WARRIORS was written in bright red and black paint. She remembered Rembrandt putting that up. Cleon had to lift her onto her shoulders to reach the highest part. Ajax didn’t understand the way they looked at each other until years later.
She raised her voice to address the crowd. “Cleon’s dead.”
She wished she could have eased into the news but there was no way around it. If the Warriors had any hope left, she killed it in two words. She watched it drain from their faces, watched their shoulders drop, both those who thought she might alleviate their fears and the pessimists praying to be proven wrong. Her first hour as Warlord and she was already failing them. Swan would have done so much better.
“I watched her go down at the conclave,” she continued. “She’s gone. Swan and the rest of the summit crew are missing and everyone we’ve lost here… We are not gonna let this slide without a fight. I’m not gonna let it.” A low murmur of agreement rippled through the warehouse. “I saw the motherfucker who blamed Cleon and set the Riffs on her. He had a bandana, a gray hoodie, and a black vest with a skull patch. I don’t know who he belongs to-”
“Wait!” A younger girl pushed forward. Fox’s age. Ajax remembered when she was recruited; she earned her colors a month before Ajax got locked up. “I know those colors. That’s the Rogues out of Hell’s kitchen.”
“You know who runs that crew?”
“Their warlord’s name is Luther or something, I think.”
“Then that’s where we’ll start. D-Train and I are gonna find him and figure out who actually killed Cyrus. And then, we’re going after the Riffs. Vermin, you’re holdin’ down the boardwalk until we get back, everyone reports to her.” Ajax’s voice rose to a growl, the words spewing from her mouth like fire. “This, right here, right now, is our declaration of war on the Riffs and everyone else who fucked us over! Nothing will bring back Cleon or the Warriors we lost. Nothing will make up for it. But they owe us a blood debt! If we have to burn down every other borough to make them pay, we will, starting with Manhattan!”
A cheer went up from the survivors. It did nothing to stop the stabbing pain in her chest.
She raised her fist. “Fuck the Riffs!”
They roared in response. “Fuck the Riffs!”
“And fuck the cops!”
“Fuck the cops!”
“This is for Cleon!”
“For Cleon!”
“For all of us!”
The Warriors erupted into applause and battle cries as they shouted Cleon’s name and Ajax’s and called down death threats on the Riffs. Ajax let it go for a minute, let them scream and stomp and push each other around, before looking over her shoulder at D-Train.
D-Train stepped forward and raised her hands. “Aight! Aight, that’s enough, shut up and listen.”
Ajax waited for the gang to quiet and said, “D-Train and I leave tonight. Take care of each other and stay alive down here. If you see anyone repping their colors on our turf, you waste ’em, no questions asked. It’s us or them now. And it is going to be them.”
She walked out to a soundtrack of raucous celebration. She walked out remembering how the armies of the night greeted Cyrus in the same way. Did she see it coming? Did she know what would happen in her absence?
D-Train stayed at her left side; Vermin at her right. Lowering her voice so only Ajax heard, D-Train said, “Nice speech.”
“Swan would’ve done better.”
“Ajax!” Vermin pulled her off to the side once they were out of sight from the rest of the gang. Ajax held her by the shoulder and felt her shaking. “Yo, whatchu doing having me hold down the boardwalk? I’m no leader, they’re not gonna listen to me!”
“Well, they’re gonna have to,” Ajax replied.
“Are you sure you don’t need more backup?”
D-Train snorted. “You’re asking the two heavy hitters if they need more muscle?”
“You’re tryna take on the whole of Manhattan!”
Ajax jostled her rougher than she intended. “I need someone down here keeping order. I need someone to check in with and I’m making that you, so quit being a wimp!” Then, because that was a little mean considering how anxious Vermin already was, she added, “You’ll be fine. Now go back in there and handle them.”
“I… Okay.”
“Good man.” Ajax clapped her on the back and pushed her towards the warehouse, staring at the back of her head as she left.
Would Vermin end up another face Ajax could only pray to remember?
Shaking her head clear of the thought, she turned towards her apartment, turned away from her crew. Soft fingers skimmed the inside of her wrist. When she reached out, her hand closed around empty air. She felt it like a knife in the back, the vacant space, frigid night air biting into her skin where there should have been a warm body against her. She should have been putting an arm around tense shoulders that loosened under her touch. Should have had someone to hold, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, her head dropped back against Ajax’s chest. She should have had Rembrandt, but there were only reminders of her in the red tags around every corner.
Should have. Should have. Should have. Who gave a fuck about what should be?
I’m gonna bring you home, baby, she vowed. All of you. Just wait for me a little longer.
“Yo, you hear what I said?”
Ajax jolted back into her body and found D-Train frowning down at her. “Man, I’m thinking,” she shot back. “What’d you say?”
“Did you just make Vermin your number two?”
She thought for a moment. “I guess.”
“The fuck am I, then?”
“You got brought in as replacement heavy artillery if anything happened to the enforcer. Where’s the enforcer now?”
“You’re right… oh.”
“Yeah, oh, dipshit. Vermin’s only keeping watch here until we find the others. Then Swan can be Warlord, she can name someone else as her second, and we can all be what we’re supposed to again. So just shut the fuck up and soldier, alright?”
D-Train made a face at her behind her sunglasses but followed without further argument. Ajax remembered when that used to be her, bitching at Cleon with Swan looking on in annoyance until Cleon shut it down. Challenging just to do it until Cleon got fed up with her. After things went wrong between them, it was often the only way for Ajax to get her undivided attention. She wished she had it now. Even Cleon screaming at her would be better than reality.
They walked in silence to Ajax’s apartment. The streets were dead, not a soul in sight, Warrior or civilian. Curtains closed. Windows dark. Even the cops were missing. Ajax tried to forget it but the questions remained in her mind: How bad? How violent? How public was the massacre of her people? She doubted the Riffs gave them any real opportunity to fight back but did they try anyway? She imagined car bombs and drive-bys and shoot-outs, ambulances with their sirens off coming to collect the dead while the cops took a few pictures, saw their colors, and forgot them entirely. They never cared about a few boppers killing each other off if it took any real effort to find the murderers. And as much as they felt it, none of the Warriors were really family; a few cousins, maybe, but no next of kin to claim their bodies. They were all in pauper’s graves by now, buried somewhere on Hart Island. Her family, reduced to numbers on pine boxes.
She heard the screams and sirens of the conclave. She wondered who died there alongside Cleon and Cyrus, who was arrested and shipped off to ride out a bullshit sentence, who was taken out by other gangs in the melee or taken out by the cops. Fuck, Cleon. Where was her body now?
She didn’t fumble with her keys this time. She barely forced herself to climb the stairs, D-Train trailing behind her as she stepped into the disheveled apartment. D-Train let out a quiet curse taking in the scene but nothing more as she followed Ajax to her and Rembrandt’s room.
“Did the Riffs come here?” Ajax asked quietly. “Do you know?”
“I’m not sure,” D-Train mumbled. “If they did, they left quick.”
“Right.”
“What are we here for?”
“My gun.”
Ajax picked up Rembrandt’s backpack where it and its spilled contents still lay on the floor. She fiddled with the rings of the sketchbook, trying to straighten them out and flatten the bent corner before carefully placing it and Rembrandt’s other things on the coffee table. For when she gets back, she thought, and grabbed the red spray paint can to put in the backpack instead.
Deliberately not looking at their bed, she opened the top drawer of her dresser and pulled out all the clothes to reveal her pistol and two boxes of ammo at the back. 9 mm. Small enough to hide, powerful enough to finish whoever she needed. She checked to make sure it was loaded, fishing around until she found her second magazine, before tucking it in her waistband and pulling her shirt down over it.
She wondered if losing Cleon was always part of the equation. Maybe if she ran the situation over, Cleon died every time. But if she had heat with her that night, maybe she could have protected everyone else.
Along with the pistol and ammo, she also grabbed a sheathed bowie knife - a gift from Cochise when Ajax earned her colors - and a set of brass knuckles, which she slipped into her vest pockets. D-Train whistled.
“Full arsenal, huh?” she remarked.
“No shit. I’m not tryna get caught off-guard if we…”
A flash of silver on the bed. The world rocked as Ajax turned. Laying on her pillow, delicately set across it, was Rembrandt’s paint palette necklace. The only one of her dozens she never took off. Ajax thought she might vomit as a horrible vision filled her head, of Rembrandt in a fight, the chain ripped from her neck in the struggle-
No. No, it wasn’t thrown there. The clasp was linked, deliberately taken off and secured and placed on the pillow for her to find.
“D-Train, gimme a minute.”
“I’ll be outside.”
Ajax knelt as she picked up the necklace; she didn’t know why. She cradled it in both hands, thumbing the pendant, tracing the engravings in the silver. It was a present from her, a few years into being together. Rembrandt had a grin that lasted the whole day when she gave it to her. Ajax found it within herself to smile as she remembered Rembrandt turning so Ajax could put it on, holding her hair out of the way, giggling up at Ajax as she held the pendant. She never took it off. Ever.
It was supposed to be a ring, but Ajax chickened out.
“Ajax…”
She looked up. Rembrandt smiled softly at her from the bed, Rembrandt wearing her Jets jersey, Rembrandt bathed in golden light. She didn’t dare reach out, terrified of breaking the illusion.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Rembrandt cupped her chin, drawing her closer, and her touch was solid this time. Real. Ajax felt the pressure of fingers on her jaw, felt the warmth of her skin, her voice clear as day. Her hands twisted in the sheets as she closed her eyes, trembling as Rembrandt’s touch trailed down the length of her throat.
“Tell me you’re alive,” she begged. Rembrandt’s hand pressed over her heart. “Please tell me you’re alive.”
A spike of pressure shot through her chest. Suddenly, she was on her back, shaking and gasping for air and staring at the ceiling. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she dry heaved for a solid minute before composing herself. She glanced up, the metal pendant digging into her palm, and found the bed empty and cold again.
“What the fuck,” she whispered as she staggered to her feet. “What the fuck was that?”
Phantom fingers on the inside of her wrist. On the hand with the necklace. Taking a deep, grounding breath, Ajax nodded in understanding and put the chain around her own neck. It took her a few tries to secure the clasp but she did it. Holding the pendant against her lips, she sent a silent prayer to anything that would hear her before tucking the necklace into her shirt collar.
She locked the door on her way out.
D-Train waited on the sidewalk. Ajax passed her without a word, waving her along towards Cleon’s apartment. She didn’t waste time there; she couldn’t stand an excess moment under the stare of so many ghosts still hovering in the living room, tracking her as she went straight to Cleon’s bedroom. D-Train, mercifully, stood in the doorway, unknowingly blocking Ajax’s view of the specters outside. In the closet, she retrieved a metal box with a small combination lock. She had always known the combination: Lincoln’s birthday.
Ajax wasn’t jealous of that anymore. Not often, anyway. Her and Cleon versus Cleon and Lincoln were different situations, she knew that, different situations with different rules. Didn’t make it sting any less when she put in the code.
Inside was a box of bullets and Cleon’s pistol. You should have had this, Ajax thought.
Shaking her head, Ajax shoved the bullets in her backpack and held the gun out to D-Train, grip first. “Take it,” she said, but D-Train just stared at her. “Yo, take the fucking gun. You’re not going into this unarmed.”
“I can’t carry Cleon’s gun,” D-Train said. “You should. Gimme yours.”
“Where in the natural fuck does it say a new leader is supposed to inherit the old one’s gun?”
“It’s got nothin’ to do with you being Warlord now.” Her voice softened as she pushed Cleon’s pistol back towards Ajax. “You keep her gun. Give me yours.”
Ajax swallowed hard and stared down at the gun for a moment longer before nodding slowly. She pulled her own pistol from her waistband, passed it to D-Train, and replaced it with Cleon’s. The rough metal grip was freezing against her bare stomach.
“Alright,” she mumbled. “We got what we need.”
“You don’t want to grab anything else from here?”
“I’ll go through it with Swan when we get back. Let’s… Wait, you’re right. Hang on.” Stepping into the kitchen, Ajax pulled three small liquor bottles out of a cabinet and tossed them in the bag. In Swan’s room, in the top dresser drawer, she found a handful of bandanas, worn and soft. Swan used to tie her hair back with them when she was still figuring out her style. Cowgirl teased her for looking like a pirate. Ajax thought it was cool, not that she’d ever tell her. “Now we’re good.”
D-Train crossed her arms. “Molotovs? You takin’ a page out of Swan’s book?”
“Please,” she scoffed, “I taught her how to make one. That pyromaniac just got an affinity for them.”
Swan in Orphan Town, silhouetted in violent orange light. A wide, wicked smile on her face. Walking away proud. Victorious.
From the corner of the bedroom, eyes full of fire watched Ajax leave. She closed the door on her way out. Swan always hated when she left it open.
D-Train squeezed her shoulder and gave her a little shake, an attempt at comfort between two people who rarely knew how to accept it. Ajax let her hand stay there for a moment, a silent acknowledgement of understanding, before shrugging her off. She managed to hide her shaking hands as she locked the door. She’d seen Cleon scared before, Swan even more often in their fledgling years, and it put her on a hell of an edge every time. Ajax on-edge made mistakes. Ajax on-edge put herself in bad situations that became worse for everyone else involved. This was not the time for mistakes.
She decided then and there: Her crew could see her enraged. They would never see her scared.
“Stillwell station?” D-Train ventured.
Ajax nodded once. “We’re taking the Q.”
“Heard.”
But before that, they found Vermin waiting on the sidewalk, mumbling to herself and holding something behind her back. Ajax cleared her throat to get Vermin’s attention, who still jumped when she saw them. Ajax’s heart ached. Vermin never used to be so skittish. Vermin, who had been there since the beginning, almost as long as Ajax, always posted up in support. What horrors had her crew suffered in her absence?
“You guys leaving now?” Vermin asked.
“Have to,” said D-Train. “We can’t risk walking around in the daylight like this. Too much risk of getting spotted.”
“Right. Well, take this with you.”
Vermin revealed what she had hidden: a battery-powered pocket radio, with the Warriors’ tag scribbled in red permanent marker on the back. Ajax’s stomach dropped.
“Is that…?”
“Snow’s,” Vermin confirmed, thoughtfully thumbing the dial.
Ajax gritted her teeth, speaking past the lump in her throat. “She go down swinging?”
“Took down two Riffs before they got her.”
“That’s our girl.”
“Yeah.” Vermin sighed and handed over the radio. “I put new batteries in it, just in case. It’s already tuned to DJ Lynne Pen’s station but the frequency’s written on the back if it gets changed on accident. If anything goes down, you won’t get caught off guard, and… a-and you’ll know if something happens to us here. Again.”
Again.
Ajax couldn’t stop herself. She put her arms around Vermin and pulled her into a bonecrushing hug, screwing her eyes shut as Vermin squeezed back just as tight. She buried her face against Ajax’s shoulder, and Ajax felt her shaking beneath her hands.
“I’m gonna fix this,” she whispered fiercely. “I promise, V. I’m gonna finish this.”
Vermin nodded. “Just bring them back.”
“I will.” Forcing herself to pull back, Ajax ruffled Vermin’s hair and gave her a light shove down the street. “Go watch our crew.”
“I will.”
Ajax watched her leave, keeping eyes on her until she disappeared around a corner. She patted D-Train’s arm and turned towards the subway station. D-Train mumbled a curse before following along.
She knocked their shoulders together. “What’s the plan, Warlord?”
“Don’t call me that.” Ajax adjusted her backpack straps and lifted her eyes to the distant Manhattan skyline. “I’m gonna make this city regret leaving me alive.”
