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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)	By : Sparrow & InBrightestDay Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > Crossovers Views: 1830 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the franchises, characters, or anything else from the settings in this collection. These include Street Fighter, Marvel, Sailor Moon, Kill La Kill, and others. I made no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Johnny Silverhand had played a lot of shows, and he knew there were different kinds.
Some of them were just gigs, the kind you played for food or the necessities: food on the table, clothes on your back, upkeep for your hardware. Those came and went, never really important enough to commit to memory.
Some of them weren’t really shows at all. These were the little private performances you gave when circumstances called for them. When you were sitting around with friends and they wanted you to play some of the hits. Times when music just seemed right for the moment. Those were memorable, even if sometimes a little too much alcohol had been shared to truly remember them.
Then there was the third kind of show. These weren’t done for pay, and they weren’t done for fun. These were the times when you took a stand; the times when music wasn’t a way to earn your keep and it wasn’t something you were sharing with friends. These were the times when there was a message to be spread, a crowd to rile up, and something to fight.
These were the times when music was a weapon.
As far as Johnny could tell, the bunker didn’t have a jail of any kind, so Satsuki and her people had made one. The big storeroom on the top floor, the one they tended to call the common room, was where they were holding Copperhead.
And if turning the common area into a prison wasn’t the most corpo thing in existence, Johnny didn’t know what was.
He’d needed less than an hour to get all of his supplies together. It hadn’t been as hard as he’d thought, in fact. Normal amplifiers had been in short supply, but there was an alternative. This bunker, whatever it was, had a sort of PA system. The intercom might have some sort of central control room, but there were also access panels on the walls, complete with a microphone to speak into. He wasn’t sure if they were used to call some control booth somewhere, but each of the things was a local access point too, and as retro as the whole thing was, he could still figure out how it worked. In the end, all he’d needed was the cables to wire into the panel nearest the common room and the knowhow to tweak the system a little. He didn’t have an amplifier, and he didn’t need one.
When Johnny started playing, the entire bunker was his amplifier.
He used the Hand to hold the guitar, his biological fingers working the strings with years of finely honed skill. He could have gone with one of Samurai’s old hits; he knew them all by heart. But he also knew that most of these people came from times farther back, and he wanted something that would speak to them. And frankly, there was one of those older songs in particular that was just about perfect for this situation.
Johnny’s sound echoed through the concrete halls of the bunker, broadcast into every room, the building itself vibrating with the rebellion-infused chords of The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again”. Johnny grinned in spite of the situation. The song was damn near half a century old in his time, and there was still nothing quite like it. There really was something to be said for the classics.
He didn’t bother with the beginning of the song; the show was only starting. Instead he cut to the guitar solo, broadcasting the sound, getting the word out. By this point, just about everyone in the shelter knew what had happened to Copperhead, and they’d no doubt figured where Johnny would be. Sure enough, it didn’t take long for the crowd to gather, and Johnny waited, continuing to play, issuing his wordless challenge to the elites behind that steel door.
Chun-Li and Kyle arrived together, followed swiftly by Spinneret. Johnny was surprised to see her without her black suit. He actually wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her without it, but for now the redhead was clad in jeans and a plaid button down shirt. Still, he didn’t focus on it, and kept to playing and watching the door.
The two new arrivals came after that. Doctor McCoy looked beyond confused, while Vi seemed unphased by the noise, albeit very curious as to the situation.
“Does anyone want to tell me why this racket was being piped into my room?” McCoy asked.
“Satsuki arrested Copperhead,” Chun-Li said. “Or detained her, at least.”
“Why?”
“Satsuki was drugged yesterday,” Chu-Li said. “We think Copperhead might have done it, and taken something while Satsuki was out of it.”
“Except there’s no proof she did take it,” Mary Jane cut in. “Satsuki’s stepping way out of line here!”
“Damn right about that,” McCoy said, nodding. “You don’t lock someone up without any evidence.”
“Oh, there are people who do that,” Mary Jane said. “Peter and I have dealt with them.”
“She’s the only suspect,” Chun-Li argued back. “Satsuki might be overstepping her bounds a little with this…”
“A little?” Mary Jane returned. “Clearly you weren’t there for the time Norman Osborn took over SHIELD. You do not want the head of a giant corporation deciding that they want to start making the rules.”
“Gonna come right out and say I didn’t understand any of that,” Vi said, “but this thing happening here is bullshit.”
“Vi, I know how it looks right now, but we cannot turn on each other like this,” Kyle said. “Satsuki makes mistakes, but she’s still the one in charge.”
“Look, I’m a simple woman,” Vi said. “I punch bad guys. Kinda my thing. Satsuki let me in here, and it’s not like I’m not grateful, but I’ve seen how the people at the top can be bad guys too, and this whole thing here is starting to have that vibe.”
“I understand what you’re saying, believe me,” Chun-Li said, “but this could be more complicated than it looks, and—”
The conversation ended abruptly, as the door to the common room slid open and Satsuki stepped out. She met Johnny’s gaze, her steel blue eyes narrowing, and Johnny heard the others behind him all take a step back. He felt the same urge, to quail under her stare, but with some effort pushed it down.
You handled Night City, he told himself. You can handle the world. Instead of stepping back, he advanced, still playing, moving toward Satsuki, looking her right in the eye.
You’ve got the plugs, the music and the message; it’s time to take it to the streets; to let the common man know what’s happening down here.
Johnny followed the music, letting it build, charging the air. Just like back home, he used the truth that all Rockerboys knew: you didn’t play to the room; you played the room. He let the sound wind the others up, building still more as Satsuki glared at him. Felt them gather behind him, forgetting their fear.
If someone gets in your face, you stare them down or you take them out…
The girl stepped forwards and drew in a breath, as the solo built to its climax.
...Because you’re a Cyberpunk.
“I WILL NOT ALLOW—”
Johnny didn’t let her finish. She’d spent way too long looking down on others. Now she was in his world. When she opened her mouth and started to issue her command, he went exactly where the music led.
“YEEEEEEEEEAH!!
And Satsuki stepped back, stunned, reeling, overcome, everyone else covering their ears as the entire bunker shook. Johnny just smiled. Daltrey himself would’ve been proud.
“Meet the new boss! Same as the old boss!”
Johnny kept playing.
“Jesus Christ,” Isabeau breathed, looking at the door. “What was that?”
They had been in the room for a while now, attempting to get information out of Copperhead. Not that they were meeting with much success. After they had let her get dressed, it had taken an absurd amount of time and effort to even secure her, her incredible contortionist skills allowing her to slip free of her bonds time and time again. Isabeau had finally resorted to cuffing her hands, arms, and legs together with a collection of handcuffs they had found in a storeroom, then stuffing her into a crate until even she had no room to move around. Even then, they still had trouble getting her to tell them anything. The problem, it seemed, was twofold.
First, as the Latina had clarified when she had arrived, in her world it was evidently best not to cooperate with one’s captors, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that cooperation wouldn’t necessarily save one from a gruesome death, so it wasn’t worth cooperating with one’s captors. As a result, Copperhead had been taciturn at first, merely glaring at Satsuki and Isabeau as they spoke.
The second problem was that when Copperhead had started talking, it wasn’t to provide any information on the whereabouts of Satsuki’s katana. Given her linguistic skills, Isabeau had been brought in to translate, but had chosen not to do so thus far. Nothing had been said that would aid Satsuki.
Copperhead had been very creative with her Spanish curses, however.
When the music had started, that had only gotten worse. Copperhead had been puzzled at first, but after a moment a confident smirk had appeared on her lips, as she evidently realized who the only musician in the shelter was. After that had gone on for a while, Satsuki had elected to go outside and put a stop to… whatever was happening.
That had left just Isabeau and Copperhead in the room. The knight had been trying to think of something to say to her when the scream had come from outside. Both women stared at the door, and then looked back at each other.
“I don’t suppose you know what that is,” Isabeau said, stuffing the last remaining set of handcuffs into her pocket.
“The Who,” Copperhead replied, saying something other than a swear word for the first time since they’d detained her.
“I...I meant the people outside,” Isabeau said, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” Copperhead said again, smiling a little. “It’s the Who.”
“What do you mean, ‘who’? I’m talking about—” Isabeau started, and then caught herself, sighing. “This is a joke, isn’t it?” The assassin just raised an eyebrow. Outside, the singing continued. Isabeau couldn’t hear Satsuki over the din, which was actually somewhat worrisome.
“Very well then,” she said. “I’m going to venture outside and see what assistance I can offer.” As she headed for the door, she turned back to Copperhead. “Stay where you are.” Copperhead blinked, only her head sticking out of the crate.
“Are you fucking kidding?”
“Remains to be seen.” Turning back to the door, Isabeau opened it and stepped out into the hall.
Satsuki was outside, face to face with Silverhand, and every one of the survivors living in the Bunker had gathered here as well. Most of them were gathered behind Johnny, and Isabeau thought she saw a hint of concern in Satsuki's eyes.
She briefly considered attempting to intervene in the confrontation between Satsuki and Silverhand, but while she might not have had the best ability to “read” people, there was mistaking the intensity of the glares being exchanged by those two; it was almost a physical pressure.
Anything could potentially push the situation in the wrong direction, and Isabeau didn’t want to cause things to escalate if she didn’t have to. Instead of trying to speak to either of them, she scanned the small crowd, and finally settled on speaking to one of them.
“Miss Xiang,” she asked, getting in close to Chun-Li to be heard over the music, “what’s going on?” The policewoman shrugged, sighing in frustration.
“It’s over Copperhead,” she said.
“I gathered,” Isabeau replied, “but what is the group arguing about? This seems like something more.”
“Look,” the new doctor, McCoy, said, “I’m sure Satsuki’s confident that what she’s doing is right, but that can be a very dangerous thing. A powerful leader with no one to keep her in line’s at risk of turning into the next Kodos the Executioner.”
“You weren’t here when that monster that bled acid got in here,” Chun-Li responded. “Satsuki came up with a plan to take it down, and she put her own neck on the line to see it through.”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t go wrong,” Mary Jane said. “Yes, she helped save the Bunker back then, but how do we know that if she crosses the line, that she’ll ever come back?”
Isabeau wanted to object, but she recalled her own words on the subject, back on the surface. Satsuki had the abilities required to lead, but she was still very young. She found there wasn’t really anything she could say.
Looking away from the argument, she found herself staring off down the hall, pinching the bridge of her nose and shutting her eyes in a vain attempt to focus her thoughts over the noise. Opening them again, she tried to calm down, still looking down the hall. It wasn’t working. The music was far too distracting.
Or… was it the music to begin with?
Isabeau frowned, concentrating on what she was seeing rather than what she was hearing. Down the hall, something was… off.
Isabeau had been trained to acclimate herself to the patterns of her surroundings. She absorbed the usual sights, sounds and smells, and learned to notice when something changed. It was vital in her line of work. It allowed her to sense the approach of a stealthy enemy, be that a half-breed or the black monster several weeks ago. Isabeau never really stopped doing it, and had become sensitive to all the patterns of the Bunker.
That was why, while no one else had noticed it, she could tell that the lights down the hall were very subtly flickering.
The music was coming from everywhere, and she considered that Silverhand’s “performance” was drawing power, enough to affect the overhead lights, but quickly dismissed that notion. If the broadcast were affecting the lights, they would be flickering everywhere. Instead, the phenomenon was restricted to one area.
The area near Medical.
Looking back to the crowd, Isabeau realized that the entire Bunker was not, in fact, present. April O’Neil and Erzsebet were both absent. It was true that the doctor rarely left Medical, but surely something like this would have drawn her attention. Her absence was bizarre.
Isabeau looked back down the hall. After a brief hesitation, she left the crowd and headed for the medical ward.
As she approached the door, she tried to think about what could be causing the power drain. There were few machines in the medical ward that used that much energy, so it was possible that something had gone wrong with the wiring. Isabeau was still somewhat unfamiliar with the workings of such things, but she’d heard that term used by others.
The worst case scenario, she thought as she drew her gun and reached for the switch, was that something else had gotten into the Bunker, some new form of monster that could somehow affect electricity.
At least, she thought that was the worst case scenario.
Then the door slid open and the screaming spilled out into the hallway.
Isabeau had expected a number of things, but when she ran inside she hadn’t been prepared for the sight of April lying naked on the table, squirming and shrieking over the low buzz of flowing electricity. Erzsebet was standing by the table, one hand on the switch for the overhead lights, and wires ran from the lights to…
“What the fuck is this!?” Faced with the image before her, there was no restraint; no attempt to phrase things delicately. Erzsebet started somewhat at the sudden interruption, shutting off the switch and stopping the flow of electricity. For the briefest of moments, she looked genuinely off-balance, almost frightened. Then she seemed to recognize Isabeau, and her expression returned to its usual look of detached amusement.
“Isabeau,” she said, “you startled me for a moment.” On the table beside her, April began sobbing. There were visible burns on her exposed breasts, along the undersides and on her nipples, and there was a horrible wound just below her left knee, blood running down onto the table next to a blood-smeared scalpel. Isabeau looked to the crying redhead, and then back to the doctor, barely able to process that this woman, one she considered her friend, would do something this… this…
“What… what is this!?” she demanded, sheer horror at what she was seeing stealing her breath. The blonde snorted derisively.
“I caught little April here rifling through my private possessions,” she said. “I felt she needed a lesson in manners, one she wouldn’t forget.”
“A lesson?” Isabeau said, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is… this is an atrocity.”
“What?” Erzsebet asked, almost as if what Isabeau had just said were a joke. “Please, Isabeau, don’t tell me you’ve developed a soft spot for the little mick.” Isabeau shook her head.
“Please,” April begged from the table, her voice hoarse from screaming, “please help me.” Isabeau looked between Erzsebet and April again, her horror and disbelief beginning to give way, the hardened resolve of a knight of the Order taking their place..
“Erzsebet, this has nothing to do with—” Isabeau cut herself off. If she had to explain what it meant to be a basic, decent human being, then an explanation was useless. Rather than explain why this went beyond the pale, she wanted Erzsebet to explain to her. There would be time for that later, though.
She pointed her pistol at Erzsebet.
“You can’t be serious,” the doctor said, and the genuine lack of comprehension in her voice caused Isabeau’s grip on the weapon to tighten.
“I am,” she said firmly, before shifting her attention to the tortured reporter. “Steady, Miss April. You’ll be alright.” Looking back to Erzsebet, she gestured briefly with the handgun, indicating the door.
“You are coming with me, Erzsebet. The others will know of this.”
“Please, Isabeau,” the blonde said, some irritation in her voice now, “the others won’t understand this.”
“Then perhaps I am not as different from them as I thought.” Isabeau said. “If you would accompany me, Doctor.”
Báthory raised a hand to the brim of the curious hat she was wearing, and made as if to adjust it.
“Mm, no,” she said, pulling the hat off and flicking it at Isabeau in one lightning-fast motion.
Isabeau fired blind, missed, and then the hat struck her in the face. In the split-second she flinched back, blinded, Báthory leapt onto the operating table, darted forwards and heel-kicked the pistol out of Isabeau’s hand.
To Isabeau, Erzsebet had always seemed somewhat lazy, even slothful, rarely expending any energy unless it was on something that caught her attention, and seldom demonstrating any kind of focus or commitment.
But now she moved faster than Isabeau could have ever believed, another whipcrack-fast kick striking Isabeau’s knee with boneshaking force, pain blasting up the noble’s leg. It was all she could do to get her arms up in a guard to shield her head, giving ground rapidly as the doctor’s relentless assault continued, raining blows down on Isabeau. They were less coordinated and fluid than someone truly trained for battle, but coming with far greater speed and strength than any normal person could be expected to have.
Erzsebet sprang forward, body twisting in the air like a snake, and slammed a foot into Isabeau’s midriff hard enough to send the older woman staggering backwards into the closed door. As Báthory advanced on her again, Isabeau yanked her short sword from its scabbard, ripped off her heavy coat and flung it at her. Erzsebet darted away from the heavy garment right as Isabeau slashed at her, the doctor going straight towards Isabeau’s cut. Yet she still somehow managed to halt her leap, seemingly in mid-air, and spring back, out of the way of Isabeau’s blow.
But Isabeau had the initiative now, and she was determined to hold onto it- advancing rapidly with swift thrusts and slashes from her sword. Fast as Erzsebet was, Isabeau knew the power of her weapon over flesh and bone, and was certain that if she could just hit her once, that would end the fight there and then. Yet even as she forged onwards, Báthory ducked, and twisted, and evaded each strike with what seemed like an almost casual ease.
It was like trying to cut smoke, Isabeau thought, feeling sweat breaking out on her forehead from her exertions.
On the fifth or sixth such escape, Báthory ducked under the blow, rolling past Isabeau and kicking one of her legs out, sweeping Isabeau’s legs out from under her. Isabeau fell to the ground, but managed to snap out a kick of her own that struck Báthory’s ankle, sending her stumbling into the desk, rattling the box lying on it.
Sitting down on the desk and crossing her legs with a sigh, as though she were relaxing after a long day rather than in a life-or-death battle, Báthory straightened the box idly as Isabeau clambered to her feet. She yawned widely, stretching her arms out over her head as Isabeau charged her, the point of her sword aiming straight for her heart.
Isabeau didn’t even see her move, but instead of striking home her thrust only managed to sever a single lock of blond hair that had escaped Báthory’s bun, the blond pirouetting out of the way so fast Isabeau barked her shins on the desk. She turned just in time to block a kick that had been aimed at her head with her arm, her opponent’s heel driving hard enough into the limb to draw blood, making Isabeau yell out loud as the impact shoved her against the desk hard enough to jostle it.
Like a cat playing with a mouse, she thought, steadying herself against the table as the cardboard box Báthory had been playing with fell to the floor.

Báthory made a sound of annoyance at this, as though irritated at the thought of having to pick it all up later, the only sign she’d shown so far that the fight was in any way inconveniencing her.
She wasn’t even breathing hard.
Isabeau began to have a sudden, rather distressing, bad feeling about the potential outcome of this fight.
Breathing deeply to try and slow her racing heart, Isabeau studied Báthory carefully, watching the other woman’s movements, reading her, like she had with Chun-Li in their fight a few days ago. Just like then, she watched the tension building in her enemy’s muscles; watched the look in her eyes, the eager anticipation of a predator about to strike.
When Báthory moved, Isabeau waited until the last possible second, then sidestepped, the short sword darting out and managing to just slightly graze Báthory’s flank, slicing through her white shirt. The doctor’s eyes flashed, and the hiss she released told Isabeau that she had finally drawn blood. Báthory spun around, a high kick sweeping toward Isabeau’s head. The knight blocked the attack with one hand and drove the sword forward with the other. Báthory countered by turning to her left, allowing the blade to just barely miss her chest, and then grabbed Isabeau’s sword hand with her own, snapping the elbow of her other arm into the hinge of Isabeau’s jaw, hard enough that Isabeau feared she might have broken it as pain scalded away her thoughts for a moment. She pressed her knee into the doctor’s back, pushing hard and driving her forward, forcing her to release the trapped hand.
Driven across the room, Báthory stumbled against the operating table, and Isabeau took advantage of the sudden stop, slashing down at her with all her might. Báthory darted away, and the blow fell on April’s bound wrist, making the immobilised woman scream. Isabeau flinched for a moment, before realizing that she’d only cut through the leather strap holding the reporter down, and the scream had merely been from shock.
Turning back to Báthory, Isabeau caught the next kick that was thrown at her, pulling on the leg and yanking the blonde off balance. She slashed at Báthory’s exposed neck, but the doctor caught the arm, so Isabeau countered by leaning forward and slamming her head into Báthory’s, sending the other woman reeling back.
“Ahah,” she said, chuckling almost sheepishly, sweeping a loose piece of hair out of her face. “Perhaps I let this go on too long.”
On Isabeau’s next attack, she swatted the sword arm aside, stepped inside her guard and slammed a fist into her gut. Before Isabeau could retaliate, she drove a brutal kick at her shin, striking hard enough that the stiletto heel actually punctured flesh, making Isabeau gasp in pain. Báthory pulled back, the heel of her shoe leaving a scuff of blood on the floor, and threw several punches at Isabeau’s face. The knight blocked, but it left her open to a high snap-kick that clipped her chin and caused her teeth to slam together. Isabeau didn’t fall or reel, however, and instead used the momentum of the attack to gain just a little distance, enough to slash at Báthory’s raised leg, opening up a cut on her thigh.
The pair broke apart again, circling, Isabeau heading back toward the door while Báthory circled toward the operating table. Isabeau had bitten her tongue in that kick, and blood was filling her mouth. She spat it on the floor, never taking her eyes off Báthory.
Chuckling, Báthory lunged again, and another rapid fire exchange ensued. Báthory ducked under the slashing attack and brought her fist down on Isabeau’s chest like a hammer, knocking the wind out of her. Isabeau’s stabbing counterattack was evaded, but Báthory’s attempt at rolling out of the way ran into Isabeau’s leg, and the knight literally kicked the doctor back upright. There was another tiny pause, no more than a second, as both prepared for their next exchange.
Suddenly Báthory stumbled, as though struck from behind, and then screamed, her body shuddering as the operating lights, which Isabeau now realized were on, flickered behind her. After a moment, the exposed wiring in the light finally shorted out in a burst of sparks and acrid smoke, and Báthory toppled forwards, revealing the long medical clamps that had been driven into the meat of her back, and which were still connected to the smoking electrical wires.
Behind her was April, sitting upright on the operating table, having freed herself of the other straps and then turned her tormentor’s instruments of agony against her. The hand on the power switch for the lights was glistening with blood from her denuded fingernails, and her body was shaking, both from pain and, Isabeau imagined, from the aftereffects of the electric shocks, but she still managed a vicious little grin.
“How do you like that, you Nazi bitch?” she forced out. Isabeau knew she couldn’t afford to lose focus, but she couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for the young woman and what she had just managed.
Báthory growled, and made to push herself to her feet, before Isabeau planted a knee in her back, pinning her to the floor as she laid the flat of her sword against Báthory’s neck. The blonde turned her head slightly, glowering up at Isabeau and April. Her eyes flitted back and forth, moving between the woman on the operating table and the knight with her sword at her throat as she contemplated her next move.
She was still evidently thinking through it a second later, when the door to the room slid open and Chun-Li entered the room, eyes going wide as she took the situation in.
“What the fuck?” the Chinese woman asked. Isabeau opened her mouth, but Báthory spoke first.
“I’m glad you’re here!” she said, sounding almost desperate. “I came back here to find Isabeau torturing Miss O’Neil! I’ve been trying to fend her off, but I don’t think I can do it without you!”
“What!?” April demanded from the table. “No! NO!” She pointed a bloody finger at Báthory. “She was torturing me ‘cause I found out what she’s been hiding!”
“Miss O’Neil is not in her right mind,” Báthory cut in. “After what she’s been through I would hardly blame—”
“Shut up,” Chun-Li said, the words delivered with a precision born of anger. Reaching down, the cop picked up Isabeau’s lost gun and, without a second’s hesitation, pointed it at Báthory.
“Isabeau, are you alright?” she asked without looking.
“I’ll live,” Isabeau replied. The wound in her leg would need tending, but that could wait for later. “Thank you.”
“April,” Chun-Li said, “what did you mean, ‘what she’s been hiding’?”
“Check out her little treasure box over there on the desk,” April spat. “It’s not subtle.” Chun-Li glanced quickly at Isabeau, who nodded, quickly digging the cuffs she had meant for Copperhead out of her pocket and secured Báthory ’s hands behind her back, before standing up. The policewoman kept her gun on Báthory, and Isabeau walked over to where the box had fallen, knocked from the desk during the fight.
The contents had spilled on the floor, and Isabeau scooped them back into the box. Carrying it over to Chun-Li, she let her glance over the items: a cross-shaped medal, an engraved ring and a dagger, most of them marked with a symbol Isabeau had seen in India, albeit somewhat off, perhaps reversed.
They may not have meant anything to her, but Chun-Li reacted with a look somewhere between disgust and fear.
“Oh, my God,” she said quietly, and then looked back at Báthory, keeping her eyes on the woman as she spoke to Isabeau.
“I don’t know what all of that stuff is,” she said, “but from the swastikas, this is all from Nazi Germany.” Isabeau tilted her head.
“What does that mean?” she asked. She recognized the country, but not the first part.
“I’ll explain later,” Chun-Li said, “but trust me, it’s bad.” Isabeau nodded, looking back down at the dagger and medals. The others in the Bunker all clearly had knowledge she didn’t, something that made these items far more significant to them than to her.
But in the middle of the pile was something that meant far more to her than it would to any of the others: a hair-tie made out of green plastic beads. Isabeau picked it up, feeling her mouth going dry. It had no distinct markings; nothing to tell it apart from any other piece of inconsequential jewelry, but Isabeau knew what it was. She had seen it over and over again.
The hand holding the tie began to shake. Standing back up, hand still shaking, she looked at Chun-Li, who shook her head.
“What is that?” she asked, before returning her attention to Báthory.
“It’s Miss Kino’s… Makoto’s hair tie.” Isabeau locked eyes with Báthory.
“Where is she?” she asked, audibly straining to maintain her calm. Báthory looked at her.
“Guess.”
Isabeau swallowed, and took a step toward the doctor.
“Where is she?”
Báthory arched a brow.
“Try the waste bin for the incinerator.”
“Oh my god,” April said quietly. “She said that people had died in this room before…”
“She’s lying,” Báthory said, too quickly. “She-”
“Shut. Up.” Isabeau’s voice was tight with fury. For a moment she wrestled with herself, then stalked rapidly towards Báthory, holding her sword with a white-knuckled grip, but caught sight of Chun-Li quickly shaking her head.
“April needs your help,” she said, her tone carefully measured. “Doctor Báthory’s not going anywhere. Help April.” Isabeau looked at Báthory one more time, exhaling long and slow, and then turned away, walking to the operating table and helping April unstrap her feet and get up. Her body was still shaking somewhat, and the cut leg wouldn’t move, so Isabeau slung one of the redhead’s arms across her shoulders, helping take her weight.
“Alright,” Chun-Li said, “let’s get moving.”
“Not without the evidence!” April managed, looking quickly at Isabeau.
“I understand,” she said, “the box.” April shook her head quickly.
“Not just the box. There’s one other thing we’re going to need.” April indicated a small supply closet, and Isabeau walked them over to it, pulling open the door to reveal…
Oh no.
Stowed in the closet was Satsuki’s sword, still in the locked white scabbard.
“We need to get this back to the others,” April said, and Isabeau nodded.
“More than you know.” Given that Isabeau’s hands were occupied holding the box and supporting April, the reporter used her good hand to carry the sword.
With that, the group left Medical, taking their evidence and their prisoner with them. It was only around the corner to the common room, but it felt much farther. Every step of the way, Isabeau’s mind boiled with questions she couldn’t help but think. She knew what had happened to Makoto now, at least to an extent, but the knowledge didn’t help her; she had merely traded terrible uncertainty for grief, and as they made their way down the hall, horrible questions began to emerge in her mind. How painful had it been? Had she been afraid? What had she thought about, there at the end? What had it been like for a child to face the most terrible of unknowns by herself?
Isabeau looked over at Báthory, walking along with Chun-Li’s gun pressed to her back.
She knew she shouldn’t ask. Asking would bring her nothing but pain. It would probably be better for all involved if she never knew.
But try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself.
“How did it happen?” she asked. Báthory looked over at her, seeming mildly curious.
“How did what happen?”
“Isabeau,” Chun-Li warned, “you don’t want to know this.”
“How did Makoto die?” Báthory seemed to think about it for a moment, and then an awful smile appeared on her face.
“Screaming. Crying. Begging for her mother.”
Isabeau had never before seen someone look so gleefully cruel.
A lightning bolt seemed to jolt through her brain, remembering suddenly the morning in the lookout, when Báthory had asked her to translate a Japanese word. The bottom fell out of her stomach.
“I practically told you as much back in the lookout, remember?” Báthory gloated. “Did you want to hear something different? Did you want me to tell you that she endured her pain and faced death with dignity?”
“That’s enough,” Chun-Li said, jabbing the gun into the doctor’s back, but she kept talking.
“No, darling, I know you like to think otherwise, but that isn’t how people are when they die. There is no death with dignity. Your brave little friend died bawling her little slant eyes out, begging for someone to come and save her. It was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”
It was this last thought that did it. Even after the insults, the knowledge of how terrified the girl was when she died, and the thought of the sheer cruelty of wanting to do anything like this to a child. It was that Makoto had died, pleading for someone to come and rescue her, and that even after everything, Isabeau hadn’t been there. Because she had trusted Báthory.
Isabeau saw red, the horror and sadness within her burned away, all of it pushed out by an ever-expanding swell of white-hot rage.
She swung around, April staggering back on one leg as her support was removed, seized a fistful of Báthory’s hair and slammed her head into the wall hard enough that the thwack of bone on concrete echoed down the hall. She drew back her sword, wanting to drive it through one of those blue eyes of Báthory’s and silence her smug mouth-
Something grabbed her arm, keeping her from the final blow.
“Stop!” Chun-Li interjected, leaning into Isabeau’s field of view. Isabeau knew how easy it would be to disobey. All she had to do was shake her off, push forwards, and see how much dignity this monster had in her own death.
“Listen,” Chun-Li said, her voice working its way through Isabeau’s anger. “This isn’t how we do this, alright?” She looked directly into Isabeau’s eyes. “April needs your help. I need your help. Please, I need you to stay in control. Around that corner everyone’s getting ready to kill each other, but with her we can stop it. But only if we go, now.”
Isabeau held Chun-Li’s gaze for a while longer, working to control her breathing, and slowly the rage lessened. It didn’t vanish, burning beneath the surface, but it was low enough now that she could control it.
Nodding to Chun-Li, she pulled the blade away from Báthory and sheathed it, walking over to April and taking her arm again, as well as picking up the box from where she’d dropped it.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said. She started walking again.
“Hey,” Chun-Li said, getting her to look back. “I don’t blame you,” the second part had been spoken in Cantonese, which Isabeau realized neither of the other women could understand.
“We’re going to take her to Satsuki,” Chun-Li said, still in Cantonese. “We’re going to show them what she stole. We’re going to make her tell them everything.” The policewoman’s face hardened.
“And then we’re going to kill her.”
Satsuki had made a mistake.
She had wanted to keep people safe, and when she had decided to continue Ash’s search and rescue missions, to bring everyone they could into the shelter, it had seemed completely reasonable.
But now she had allowed someone in who was pulling the entire place down around her.
The song had changed, but Johnny was still playing, and the longer the music went on the more fractious her group of survivors became. She couldn’t see Isabeau and Chun-Li anymore, which was worrisome, but far more worrisome was the way the population of the Bunker had begun to align itself against her. Kyle seemed to be the only one simply trying to de-escalate things. Satsuki appreciated his efforts, but they didn’t seem to be bearing fruit, and the tension was only growing. If a fight broke out, Satsuki was reasonably confident she would prevail, but harming the other survivors would destroy the entire point of having brought them here.
And she was being faced with all of this because of this man, this “rockerboy” she had decided to allow into the shelter. This unprincipled, undisciplined anarchist had the entire group on the brink of turning into a mob, and then turning it on her. If this became a riot, she was either going to have to harm the others or… or they would take command from her for good.
He wanted her to give up the prisoner. She couldn’t do that. She had tried to force him to acquiesce, but it hadn’t worked, and as Satsuki looked at the iron in his expression and the hint of rebellious satisfaction in his eyes, she knew that she would never be able to make him back down.
As far as destabilizing elements went, this was Ryuko Matoi, but ten times worse. Satsuki briefly allowed herself to imagine what would happen if someone like Johnny Silverhand had appeared at Honnouji; to imagine her entire army ripping itself apart, and for a moment she quaked.
That wasn’t going to happen here.
As Johnny looked into her eyes, she remained silent. Words would mean nothing.
Instead, she raised her right arm, never taking her eyes off of Johnny’s, and reached for the cuff that would awaken Junketsu.
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Bunkerkampf (Mortuus Orbis Part Two)