Chapter Four

The first to close the gap with the vulpes had a length of steel chain wrapped around his fist. She ducked under the slow heavy handed blow, her mind already trying to plot the course of the fight. No easy exits, four to one odds, minimal cover, she wasn’t fond of being on this side of an ambush. She didn’t have much choice though but to get out of this in one peice and question the college kid cowering in the corner who sprang the trap.

She sidestepped swiftly as the man with the chain tried to follow up with a backhand swing, the steel links whistling just inches from her face. She dropped low, planting a swift kick to the side of his knee, forcing him to stumble and giving herself a precious second to assess her surroundings.

Two of the others were closing in from her left, one wielding a switchblade, the other a bat that gleamed menacingly under the fluorescent lights. The fourth hung back, eyes scanning her movements like a predator waiting for an opening. She could feel the walls pressing in, every exit blocked by a hulking enforcer eager to claim a trophy. But she knew better than to panic.

She slid into a defensive stance and closed her fists. They had weapons but so did she. Her armor wasn’t just for protection, the gauntlets, boots, elbows and knees had been enhanced to function as force multipliers. The inserts, lead shot and impact gel layers meant that she could hit a whole lot harder than she looked. 

The thug with the chain swung again, this time angling low to try and catch her off guard. Vulpes sidestepped, letting the chain whip past, and drove her knee into his ribs in a swift, precise strike—one that carried far more impact than he was expecting. He doubled over with a sharp exhale, the shock evident on his face, and she took advantage of the moment. Closing in, she delivered a controlled yet brutal uppercut to his chin with her reinforced gauntlet. The force was enough to knock him off his feet, sending him sprawling backward.

Without hesitation, she pivoted to face the next attacker, her stance instinctively grounded. The next thug lunged forward, brandishing a switchblade while the other came at her with the bat. The third was not advancing and she doubted she was going to luck out and all three would have a glass jaw like the first that went down. 

Her mind raced as she quickly calculated her next moves. The one with the switchblade lunged at her, aiming to close the distance, while the one with the bat moved to the flank. She sidestepped the thrust of the blade, grabbing the attacker’s wrist with her left hand and twisting sharply. The grip her gauntlets provided gave her the leverage to control his arm, forcing the blade out of his hand as he yelped in pain.

The bat-wielder came in fast, swinging at her head, but she ducked low, using her free hand to push the thug with the twisted arm forward into his partner’s path. The two collided, buying her a second to adjust. She delivered a quick strike to the switchblade thug’s midsection, her gauntlet amplifying the impact and forcing him to stumble back, gasping for air.

The bat-wielder recovered, eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and fear as he swung again, harder this time. She let the swing come closer, then stepped in close, trapping the bat under her arm and jabbing her knee into his thigh. A swift, precise elbow to the jaw followed, and he dropped the bat, his balance wavering.

The third thug was now in the fight snapping at his friends “She is just one woman! Grab her already!” He had forsaken a weapon and was lunging for her to grapple. Vulpes recognized a grappler and someone who knew more about the science of fighting at a glance and broad shouldered Greek who came at her was a step up from the clumsy enforcers who were flanking her. If he got those long arms around here he very well might just be able to lock her down and choke the life out of her.

As he closed the distance, Vulpes adjusted her footing, preparing to use his momentum against him. She waited until the last possible moment before shifting her weight to one side, stepping out of his path and pivoting to drive her elbow into his exposed ribs. The impact from her reinforced gauntlet made him grunt in pain, but he quickly adjusted, trying to lock his arms around her in a bear hug.

Vulpes didn’t give him the chance. She brought her knee up sharply into his side, throwing him off-balance just enough to give her the angle for a well-placed hammer fist to his shoulder. The force multiplier in her gauntlet struck with bone-rattling force, weakening his grip. She followed with a swift palm strike to his jaw, knocking his head back and forcing him to release her completely.

Taking a quick step back, she readied herself as he shook off the daze, anger and surprise in his eyes. “Nice try,” she said, steadying her breathing.

The three enforcers that stood were angry now and came at her, the vulpes however had expected this and her fight hadn’t just been about defending herself and landing a few choice blows she had been positioning them to take advantage of the terrain-such as it was-in the lab. 

She rolled back across a steel counter letting the momentum of the lead thug barrel into the solid steel barrier.

He grunted and staggered from the hard impact as his allies skidded and turned, starting now to move around the counters towards the Vulpes. Vulpes shot out with both arms tossing a small micro-bomb of tear gas with each arm striking the faces of the enforcer on her right and left the small bombs releasing a puff of tear gear directly into their faces.

The enforcers recoiled, stumbling back as the tear gas hit them full force, clutching their faces as they struggled to breathe. The chemical sting hit fast, blinding them and filling their lungs with burning discomfort. They staggered, disoriented and coughing, as Vulpes took full advantage of their compromised state.

Her next target was the dazed thug who had run full force into the steel counter. She leapt onto the counter, grasped his head with both hands and slammed his jaw into the counter hard enough to rattle his skull.

The thug’s head hit the counter with a sickening crack, his body slumping forward as he fell, dazed and barely conscious. Vulpes didn’t waste a second, pushing off the counter to land smoothly on her feet as the two others, now reeling from the direct tear gas hits, stumbled blindly, trying to wipe their eyes and breathing in ragged gasps.

She was on the one on the right first there was a flash and and a crackle as after her pounce, his body convulsed and he fell over leaving her standing with a crackling taser in her hand, she slowly turned to the remaining enforcer who was still reeling from the tear gas. 

The last enforcer, still clawing at his tear-filled eyes, froze when he heard the crackle of the taser and saw his partner drop, unconscious. Blinking through the stinging haze, he took a hesitant step back, panic spreading across his face as Vulpes advanced on him, her gaze cool and unyielding.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with a quiet threat. She took another step forward, and he stumbled back, crashing into a counter. Cornered, he tried to raise his hands in a shaky defense, but she was already there.

Vulpes struck with a swift jab to his abdomen, forcing the air out of his lungs. As he doubled over, she pressed the taser against his side, releasing a controlled jolt just strong enough to send him collapsing to the floor. The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the cooling taser in her grip.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then turned to face the cowering student, she slipped the taser into her utility belt and swiftly moved towards the kid who had lured her into the trap. She needed answers and was planning to get them.

Before her next step though there was a hiss and he dropped an inhaler on the floor. She slowed her pace and adjusted her stance, not quite sure what had just happened. 

He slowly turned and his eyes dihilated widely as whatever he had inhaled took effect in mere moments. His jaw went slack in a dreamy grin and he slumped over like a rag doll. 

Vulpes paused, her senses on high alert as she took in the sight of the slumped-over student. The grin on his face, wide and unnatural, coupled with his relaxed posture, was anything but typical. Whatever he’d inhaled wasn’t just a coping mechanism—it was powerful, fast-acting, and completely altered his state.

She crouched down beside him, inspecting the inhaler he’d dropped. The label had been peeled off and any identifying markers removed."Looks like you’ve been sampling some... extracurriculars," she murmured, pocketing the inhaler carefully. She didn’t want to risk contamination or activation by accident.

The student twitched and his dilated eyes practically staring through her, he muttered about the colors dancing and then recoiled inward claming spiders were crawling out of his skin. Vulpes wasn’t sure what drug had been in the inhaler but he was lost on a powerful psychedelic trip and she doubted she would get anything out of him. 

When campus security arrived the lights had been turned off, the intruders tied up and the Vulpes long gone, if she couldnt get clues from by questioning she might find something useful in the inhaler.

As the echo of hurried footsteps and murmured voices faded down the hallway, Vulpes crouched in a dim corner of the campus grounds, studying the inhaler she’d pocketed. The absence of a label, while not unusual in her line of work, was frustrating. Whoever provided this inhaler had clearly gone to lengths to cover their tracks. Still, there were ways around that.

Vulpes returned to the Den mind going over the trap that had been sprung, someone had known she would be lurking around campus, the kid had known she had seen him the night of the deal and so had his friend. They clearly had some contact with the Greek Syndicate, at least enough to get them to come after her, not that they needed much excuse to jump at a chance to take her down after what she had done. 

She placed the inhaler down on a table near her forensics lab along with a student I.D card she had lifted from the students pocket. His name was Chester Wellington and a student at the University of Toronto. Vulpes pulled off her mask and went to work on the inhaler first. 

“Find anything useful?” Asked John as he leaned over to watch her swab the inhaler.

“No useful prints, but we have an I.D to follow up on and chemical residue of whatever he took that sent him off to la la land” She carefuly put the swab into a glass tube and sealed it. 

John nodded and took the sample “I will see if the analyser can pick anything up, any idea what this kid was up to yet?”

Vulpes shook her head, leaning back slightly as she watched John work. “Not yet, but he’s definitely involved with more than just some college experiment.” Vulpes moved to her computer, the chemical analysis was going to take awhile if she could even get anything useful from such a small sample. The I.D card though that was much more instantly useful. She had his name, his address, he lived just off campus by the look of it. She pulled her mask back up and adjusted it.

“Once more back into the breach?” asked John as she watched her go.

“No rest for the wicked” Vulpes replied with a slight smirk as she got into the Silver Kit. The night was still young and she was far from done.

As Vulpes settled into the Silver Kit and revved the engine, she couldn’t help but feel the familiar thrill settle in—the anticipation of digging deeper into a mystery that was becoming more complex with every new layer she peeled back.

John gave her a quick nod. “Stay sharp. If this kid’s involved with the Greeks, you can bet he’s not the only one keeping tabs on you tonight.”

“I’m counting on it,” she replied, a glint in her eye. “Let’s see how deep this goes.”

The Silver Kit purred as she pulled onto the main road, slipping into the quiet, shadowed streets surrounding the University of Toronto. Chester Wellington’s address was only a few blocks from campus, tucked away in a maze of modest apartment buildings popular with students. As she navigated the darkened streets, her thoughts turned to the nature of the trap he’d sprung on her. It was carefully planned—too much so for a kid who’d simply been experimenting. Someone wanted her out of the way, and Chester was clearly one cog in a much larger machine.

She parked a block away from his building, taking in the surroundings. The area was quiet, but there was a subtle tension in the air, as if the shadows themselves were waiting to pounce. Vulpes slid out of the Silver Kit, blending into the darkness as she approached the building’s side entrance. The lock was old, nothing her kit couldn’t handle with a few practiced moves.

Inside, the hallways were dimly lit, and she moved silently, letting the faint hum of the building’s fluorescent lights mask her footsteps. Chester’s apartment was on the second floor, just down a narrow, quiet corridor. She paused outside his door, pressing her ear against it, straining to pick up any sound from within.

Nothing.

She took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline hum in her veins as she quietly tested the doorknob. Locked, but the latch was simple. She slipped a thin tool from her belt, easing it into the lock with practiced precision until it gave a faint click.

Inside, Chester’s apartment was exactly what she expected—a small, cluttered space filled with textbooks, an old computer on a wobbly desk, pretty normal for someone his age. There had to be something though that connected him to the chemical deal, the ambush and the drug in the inhaler. She carefully crept through his apartment taking note of everything. 

His text books indicated he was a psych major, his lifestyle was pretty typical of a student on a limited budget, instant raman noodle bowls, pizza boxes, reused furniture. He clearly wasn’t making money or at least not yet. 

Vulpes carefully sifted through the clutter on Chester’s desk, her gloved fingers brushing aside stray pens, half-crumpled notes, and empty snack wrappers until she uncovered a thick stack of papers, half-buried under an empty ramen bowl. She pulled the papers out, her gaze quickly catching on the title: “The Cognitive and Sensory Enhancement Potential of Psychoactive Compounds.” Beneath the title, the faint scrawl of a professor’s note stood out, the handwriting meticulous and confident.

Promising work, Chester. Explore this further for our project—Dr. L. Sinclair

She narrowed her eyes, taking in the significance of Dr. Lyra Sinclair’s name on the document. This wasn’t just a random assignment; it was personal, and the tone of her note suggested that Chester wasn’t just another student to her. “Explore this further…” echoed in Vulpes’s mind. Sinclair seemed to be encouraging him to push his research, nudging him along paths that were likely far more dangerous than any standard academic work. It was starting to look like Chester had been involved in something he couldn’t control.

As she leafed through the rest of the paper, a few phrases stood out, marked with Dr. Sinclair’s own annotations in the margins:

“Testing viability for practical application?”

“Analyze effects on sensory perception—consider unique compound combinations.”

“Consider alternative testing methods for reliability.”

These notes weren’t just academic guidance; they read more like subtle instructions, urging Chester to go beyond theoretical work. Each note was marked with Sinclair’s initials and a signature that stood out like a stamp of approval. This wasn’t just a standard paper. Sinclair was actively pushing Chester’s research towards real-world application, practically guiding him to test these compounds outside the safety of a controlled lab.

Vulpes’s gaze fell on a copy of a lab access badge, stapled to the final page. It seemed Sinclair had given him special access to her restricted lab for "extended research hours." Vulpes knew this meant Sinclair had granted him the freedom to work on his own, likely giving him access to the very compounds he would later use to produce whatever was in that inhaler.

“Looks like Sinclair’s got her fingerprints all over this,” Vulpes murmured to herself. She had what she needed: proof of Sinclair’s involvement and a paper trail linking Chester directly to her project. The picture was becoming clearer—Sinclair’s lab wasn’t just a place for research; it was a gateway to experimental, and likely illegal, drug production that had lured Chester and who knew how many other students into its orbit.

With the paper and the lab badge tucked safely into a folder she carried, Vulpes backed away from the desk. It was time to confront Dr. Sinclair and get to the bottom of what she was really running out of that lab.

Lyra put down the phone and slowly stood, Chester had failed but he wouldnt be giving anything to the vigilante. The Dose she had put in that inhaler would leave him out of it until the police arrived and the Vulpes had no love for law enforcement. Still Lyra noted that this could be a problem. She was already preparing plausible allibies and ways to shift the blame entirely to Chester. A shame she thought he had promise but if he had to be sacrificed so that she could refine her research such was a noble sacrifice in the name of discovery. 

Lyra paced the length of her lab, the quiet hum of machinery filling the silence as she considered her options. Chester had been a promising student, eager to please and easy to influence, but he had proven... unreliable. A liability. The concoction she’d loaded into his inhaler had been meant as a failsafe—a dose potent enough to leave him in a state of disorientation, one that would incapacitate him if he ever compromised her work. And it had done its job.

But Vulpes was proving more resilient than anticipated. Lyra’s fingers tapped thoughtfully on the edge of her desk as she replayed her encounter with the vigilante. The fox knows how to follow a trail, she mused, grudgingly impressed by Vulpes’s persistence. But Lyra had prepared for contingencies, and Chester’s mistakes would not be hers. She couldn’t let her work, her life’s work, be disrupted by an amateur with a mask and a misguided sense of justice.

She had other students, other eager minds willing to experiment in ways that she herself could not, at least not openly. And Chester’s involvement—if it came to that—could easily be framed as a rogue student’s poor judgment. After all, he’d had access, curiosity, and initiative. A tragic tale of a student who overstepped, perhaps, she thought, already crafting her narrative. She could picture it: the media would mourn a young scholar led astray, and she’d be free to pursue her research in new, subtler ways.

But Vulpes wouldn’t be satisfied with a convenient scapegoat, Lyra knew. She’d already come too close, her presence a reminder of the dangers of pushing too far, too fast. Lyra would have to cover her tracks more carefully and lay out just enough breadcrumbs to divert any suspicion.

She sat down in her office chair already going over what she knew about the vigilante mind, she was at her core a psychoanalysist and had used her ability to know how people's minds functioned as a weapon for most of her life. The Greek mobsters, the students in her employ, the board that was funding her, she had read them all and used them all to get exactly what she wanted. 

Lyra leaned back, fingers steepled as she pondered the psychology of the woman behind the mask. Vigilantes, she thought with a touch of disdain, driven by their obsessive need for control and justice. They were, in her experience, driven by a particular set of traits—idealism, unwavering resolve, and a dangerous sense of moral superiority. But Vulpes was proving more complex. She didn’t rush in blindly; she was calculating, methodical, and clearly skilled in evading detection. Lyra had studied enough minds to know that this fox was more than just a thrill-seeker. She had purpose.

If she could find that purpose, she could dismantle Vulpes’s resolve, maybe even redirect it.

Leaning forward, Lyra began to sift through the connections in her head—the Greek syndicate, the students she’d so carefully ensnared, and the complex game of deception she’d crafted to keep her work shielded from prying eyes. Vulpes was drawn to patterns, to unraveling mysteries. That much was clear. If she could engineer a new trail, just intricate enough to capture Vulpes’s attention but too convoluted to expose Lyra directly, it could keep her adversary chasing shadows. After all, a mind hungry for answers was easily led astray.

Lyra’s lips curved into a cool smile as a plan took shape. She would give Vulpes just enough truth to keep her invested, to keep her searching. A few carefully placed clues—files hinting at student experimentation, emails that suggested rogue parties in her department, maybe even a few anonymous tips to the right people about illicit projects going “out of hand.” Each piece would keep Vulpes’s attention focused on the decoy, far from the heart of her research.

And if she kept pushing, Lyra mused, fingers drumming thoughtfully, I could always pull her deeper into the web. She knew how to manipulate drive and idealism—she’d done it countless times. If she played this right, Vulpes might become so entangled that she’d have no choice but to abandon her pursuit or become ensnared in the very traps Lyra had laid.

Lyra tilted back in her chair, a slight, controlled smile playing on her lips. She prided herself on being immune to the sentimental chains that bound lesser minds, the ones that drove them to self-doubt or humility. She’d cut those threads long ago. Control was her currency—control over her mind, over others, over reality itself. It had been this way since she was young, since she’d learned to keep emotions in check to avoid the traps that had ensnared her mother.

Her father’s harsh, unrelenting words still echoed in her memory, phrases that had molded her into the fortress she now was. Weakness was a sickness, a poison that seeped into people who lacked vision and will. She saw how her mother succumbed to it, spiraling into helplessness. The crying, the darkened rooms, the nights spent lost in a despair so deep that even as a child, Lyra could feel it suffocating her. And each time her mother faltered, her father’s judgment was as sharp as a scalpel, dissecting their family with scorn and contempt.

So, she’d adapted. She’d become a model of strength, a vision of unbreakable resilience who was beyond reproach. Lyra was the obedient prodigy who never stumbled, the straight-backed achiever who was praised only when her success made others envious. She had buried her softer self under layers of logic and ambition, severing ties to anything that could weaken her. Emotions became tools to be used strategically, not burdens to be shouldered.

But even she could admit, there was something intoxicating about her work. The feeling of grasping secrets that only a handful of minds could comprehend—of manipulating neurotransmitters, unlocking doors to states of consciousness most would fear—brought her a thrill that bordered on dangerous. Control, she knew, was only as strong as her ability to inspire awe and fear, and her ability to make those around her obey without question.

The students she employed, including Chester, were mere pawns. Brilliant, yes, in their own right, but also hopelessly naïve. They didn’t understand that true genius meant seeing people as nothing more than data points on a vast experimental canvas. Chester had been easy to mold, to manipulate with hints of admiration and the slightest taste of her attention. He had that spark of brilliance, the willingness to explore the unknown—but like so many others, he hadn’t the courage to handle it alone. And now, as he stumbled, she would let him fall without hesitation, another failed hypothesis in her grand design.

Vulpes, though, she thought with a flicker of interest, is more complicated. She could almost appreciate the vigilante’s determination, her relentless pursuit of order and justice. It was ironic, really, that Vulpes fought for justice, the very thing Lyra had come to despise. After all, she had seen the truth: justice was a prison. Just as she’d been trapped by her father’s rigid demands and her mother’s instability, society itself was bound by rules that crushed individuality. Her life’s work was not just about experimentation but about proving her genius and that she was not nor would ever be like her broken mother to the world.

Her phone rang and she picked up the receiver “Doctor Sinclairs office” she answered calmly.

The voice on the other line was Robert, and he didn’t sound happy “The board has convined and decided that we are cutting your program Lyra, things are making us uncomfortable”

Lyra clutched the phone and her voice hitched in her throat. “You are going to cut my funding? Now when I’m so close to a breakthrough with Psyche-D?” 

“I’m sorry Lyra, but it's too dangerous, the risk of permanant mental damage is beyond the pale” Roberts voice was stern and held no room for arguement.

Lyra took a slow breath and calmly replied “I would like to met the board in the morning to discuss this”

“There is no discussion Lyra...” Robert started to answer but Lyra coldly cut him off.

“No, there will be a discussion or I will inform your wife about the young lady you have been spending you money on, what was her name? Linda Harrington?”

A tense silence followed, stretching long enough for Lyra to savor it. She could practically feel the anger boiling on the other end of the line, could hear the wheels turning as Robert weighed his options.

"That’s blackmail," he finally spat, voice low and full of venom.

"No, Robert," Lyra replied, her tone icy and unyielding. "It’s a negotiation. You see, we both know that I’m too valuable to discard so easily. Psyche-D could redefine the field, put this institution on the map in a way no other project could. We’re talking about the next frontier in understanding consciousness itself. And if you’re too small-minded to see that, well… I’m sure the scandal would be enlightening for your wife.”

There was a heavy pause, and Lyra felt a flicker of satisfaction. She had him trapped, cornered by his own vices. He could bluster and resist all he wanted, but Lyra knew how to hold her ground. It was one of her many talents.

Finally, he exhaled, the defeat evident in his tone. “Fine. We’ll meet in the morning. But, Lyra, this… this isn’t over. If you push this any further, it will be out of my hands.”

"Oh, I assure you," she replied, her voice silk over steel, "it will only be out of your hands when I decide it's over."

She hung up, a small, triumphant smile curling her lips. The board had always been a nuisance, fearful and limited in their vision, constantly trying to bind her with regulations and concerns about “ethical boundaries.” Boundaries, she scoffed inwardly, were for people too weak to break them.

But now, it was time to reassert control. Vulpes may have presented a minor inconvenience, and the board may be hovering on the brink of panic, but Lyra Sinclair was not about to let anyone stand in her way. She was building something monumental—something that would demand the world’s respect, even if it required a few sacrifices along the way.