Flipping Through the Pages
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 48
47 sat in front of the monitors, the glow from the screens casting a dim blue light across the otherwise dark warehouse. The building was quiet, the hum of the computer fans low and steady. His gloved hand rested lightly on the keyboard as his eyes scanned the drone feeds.
Six monitors were active, each displaying a different view of the exterior of Hatter’s Productions. One camera tracked the alley behind the building. Another covered the front entrance. Two watched the sides. The remaining two focused on the rooftop and surrounding streets.
He had been monitoring the scene for the last several hours. Guards on patrol—two out front pretending to be vagrants, one actually adjusting the position of a garbage bag as if it mattered. It didn’t; it was part of the act.
Suddenly, movement on the garage feed caught his eye.
He leaned forward.
The garage door was rising, slow and deliberate. A black limousine emerged from the interior, moving efficiently.
He tapped a key. One of the drones adjusted, its camera zooming in.
Driver: Jervis Tetch. Smirking. Focused.
Passenger: Alice. Calm, collected, her blonde hair tied back. She said something to him, but he didn’t react.
He pressed the comm button on the computer console.
“Selina.”
There was a slight delay, then her voice came over the computer speakers.
“Yeah.”
“Jervis and Alice just left the building. Black limo. They just pulled out of the garage.”
Another pause, but shorter this time.
“You sure?”
“I have visual. It’s them.”
“Okay,” she said. “This might be our best chance.”
“My thought exactly.”
“Give me a bit,” she said. “Let me see where everyone is. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
“Moving assets to assist with extraction. On my way.”
The limousine turned the corner and disappeared from the feed.
Harley sat cross-legged on her bed, braiding Tammy’s hair while the older girl flipped through a worn magazine. The third-floor room they shared was small but comfortable enough—two twin beds, a dresser, and a window that looked out onto the street below. Tammy was chattering about something she’d seen on television when a soft knock interrupted.
“Come in,” Harley called out.
The door opened to reveal Mr. J in his familiar green overalls, cleaning supplies cart beside him in the hallway. His kind eyes met hers across the room.
“Hi, Harley,” he said with his gentle smile. “I need your help with something.”
Her heart jumped. The signal they’d agreed on yesterday morning over pancakes. Today was the day. Tetch was at his meeting.
“Hi, Mr. J,” Tammy said brightly from the bed.
“Hello, Tammy,” he replied politely.
Harley finished the braid and patted Tammy’s shoulder. “There you go, all done.”
“Thanks!” Tammy checked herself in the small mirror above their dresser. “See you later, Harley.”
“What do you need help with?” Harley asked, standing and smoothing down her t-shirt.
“Just need someone to hold the ladder while I change a light bulb upstairs,” Mr. J said casually.
Tammy waved from her bed as they left, already turning back to her magazine.
The elevator ride to the fourth floor felt endless. Harley’s palms were damp with nervous sweat, but Mr. J hummed softly under his breath, calm as always. When the doors opened, he led the way down the carpeted hallway to Tetch’s apartment.
He found the right key without hesitation and unlocked the door.
Tetch’s apartment was everything the third-floor rooms weren’t—spacious, luxurious, decorated with expensive furniture and original artwork. The contrast still struck her every time she was here.
“Nice place,” Mr. J muttered, shaking his head as he took in the leather furniture and crystal decanters.
He began his cleaning routine, dusting surfaces while staying alert for sounds from the hallway. His movements were efficient but quiet, positioning himself where he could see both her and the apartment door.
Harley made her way to the far wall where the painting hung—a framed print of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, her imperious face staring down with cold authority. She grasped the ornate frame and pulled it away from the wall. The painting swung open on hinges to reveal a small wall safe with a round combination dial in the center.
“Got it,” she whispered.
Harley pressed her ear to the cold metal and began turning the dial. The skills came back easily—muscle memory from her days on the street when locked storage sheds had sometimes meant the difference between eating and going hungry. She’d learned from her father, who’d taught her to feel for the subtle clicks that indicated the tumblers falling into place.
Click. The first number. She held her breath and continued turning, listening for the next sound.
Mr. J’s quiet cleaning provided perfect cover, masking any noise she might make. Every few seconds, his eyes would flick toward the door, then back to her—a silent guardian keeping watch.
Years of planning. Dreaming about this moment. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, coaxing the safe’s secrets one careful turn at a time.
The knock on the door was soft but insistent. Tammy looked up from her magazine and padded across to the door in her socks.
She opened it to find Waylon Jones filling the doorframe—easily over six feet tall with broad shoulders straining against his cheap black suit. His expression was calm and matter-of-fact.
“Oh, hi Mr. Jones,” she said.
“Hey Tammy,” he rumbled in his deep voice. “I came here because Mr. Tetch and Alice asked me to bring you to them. They have someone who wants to meet you.”
Tammy tilted her head slightly. In all her time here, neither Tetch nor Alice had ever sent someone to fetch her for a meeting. Usually they called through the intercom or collected girls during scheduled activities.
“Oh, okay,” she said. “Who wants to meet me?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna take you to see them. So let’s go,” Jones said, not answering her question.
Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. “Well, let me get myself ready.”
“Don’t worry about what you got on. It’s good enough.”
“Let me get my shoes at least.” She turned back toward her bed, her mind starting to turn over the strangeness of the situation.
She slipped on her sneakers and tied the laces. When she straightened up, Jones was waiting patiently by the door.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and followed him into the hallway. As they walked toward the elevator, she tried again to get information.
“Where are they exactly?”
Jones made a noncommittal grunt.
“And what do they want with me?”
This time he didn’t respond at all, just kept walking with that steady, unhurried pace.
Her caution was shifting into something sharper now. The lack of answers, the unusual pickup—none of it felt right.
The elevator chimed softly as the doors slid open. Tammy’s face lit up when she saw who stepped out.
“Hey Selina!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around the older girl. “How are you doing?”
Selina returned the embrace warmly, but Tammy could feel tension in her posture. She leaned in close and whispered urgently, “Selina, I think I’m in trouble. I need help—”
Before she could finish, Jones’s hand settled on her shoulder with firm pressure.
“Yeah, Miss Tammy, it’s time to go see Mr. Tetch and Alice,” he said calmly.
Selina looked up at the towering man with a bright smile. “Hi! I’m new here. What’s your name?”
“Waylon,” he said, already guiding Tammy toward the open elevator.
But Selina quickly stepped between them and the doors. “You know, Tammy and I are best friends. We’ve known each other for ages. Isn’t that right, Tammy?”
“Yeah, that’s interesting,” Waylon said, his tone flat. He put his hand on Selina’s shoulder and moved her aside with casual strength.
Selina stumbled but recovered quickly, reaching out to grab Tammy’s arm. “Hey Tammy, before you go, I got something I want to show you—”
“No.” Waylon’s voice carried quiet authority. “I think we need to go now.”
He pushed Selina again, harder this time. She hit the floor, her shoulder striking the wall. Waylon didn’t apologize or look down. He simply took Tammy’s arm in a firm grip and stepped into the elevator.
“Wait—” Tammy started, looking back at Selina on the floor.
The elevator doors closed.
Selina pushed herself up from the floor, her shoulder aching. She touched her ear with shaking fingers.
“47? 47, are you there?” Her voice cracked slightly. “Something really bad just happened. This huge guy just took Tammy and I tried to stop him but he’s really strong and he knocked me down and—” She took a shaky breath. “He dragged her into the elevator and she looked scared and I don’t know where he’s taking her. Can you help?”
Carrie pressed her eye to the viewfinder and watched in amazement as guards dropped one by one around Hatter’s Productions.
She couldn’t see what was taking them down.
The front door slammed open. A massive man in a black suit emerged with a blonde girl slung over his shoulder.
Carrie squeezed the shutter release rapidly, capturing everything.
The man suddenly jerked his head to the side, as if avoiding something. She saw nothing through her lens. Then he sidestepped again, and something metallic sparked off the concrete near his feet.
Her heart rate spiked. Someone was out there—someone she couldn’t see.
“I don’t know who you are out there, but why don’t you stop being a little bitch and come out and fight me like a man!” the man shouted at the empty street.
Carrie adjusted her focus, scanning desperately for any sign of movement. The vigilante was right there—had to be—but her camera caught only shadows and empty air.
This must be her target. The one her client wanted found.
But she still couldn’t see anything.
47 released his grip around the guard’s throat. The man went limp from the rear naked choke, unconscious but breathing.
“Selina, I’ve got this,” he subvocalized through his comm, lowering the guard to the ground. “Evacuate the girls. I’ll take care of the Tammy problem.”
The front door of Hatter’s Productions swung open.
A huge man emerged—easily six-eight, built like a professional wrestler, wearing a black suit. A young girl was slung over his shoulder, fists pounding his back uselessly.
Tammy. Has to be. Selina had described how this bastard pushed her down and dragged the girl into the elevator.
47 stood perfectly still, hidden by his camouflage.
He raised his arm toward the man’s face. A throwing blade shot from his gauntlet with a quiet snick.
The huge man jerked his head to the side at the last second. The blade whistled past and cracked into the stone wall.
The man’s head snapped toward the sound, scanning. He saw the unconscious guards scattered around, including the one slumped in front of 47’s position.
But his eyes slid over his attacker.
Lucky move, 47 thought, adjusting his aim to the man’s knee. He wouldn’t risk hitting the girl.
A second blade shot from his gauntlet.
The man sidestepped. The blade sparked off concrete.
He’s got training.
The huge man turned slowly, searching. “I don’t know who you are out there, but why don’t you stop being a little bitch and come out and fight me like a man!”
47 wouldn’t take the bait. He began moving slowly.
The man kept scanning, alert but blind to the threat. The girl stopped struggling.
47 closed the distance, waiting for his moment.
The final tumbler was being stubborn, but she could feel it getting close through the vibrations against her ear. One more careful turn...
Click.
“Got it,” she whispered, a smile spreading across her face.
The safe door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. Inside, stacks of cash were bundled neatly with rubber bands, organized by denomination. Harley’s eyes lit up as she stared at the money. This was their ticket out—hers and Mr. J’s freedom from Gotham, from Tetch, from everything.
She began counting quickly, her fingers moving through the stacks with practiced efficiency.
“About a million dollars,” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.
Mr. J looked up from his cleaning supplies. “That much?”
“Yeah.” She turned to face him, practically glowing. “Hey, could you gather all this money while I go find the keycards?”
She already knew where Tetch kept them—in his bedside drawer.
“Sure,” Mr. J said, setting down his cleaning rag. He pulled one of the large garbage bags from his cart and shook it open. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
While Mr. J began methodically loading the cash, Harley made her way into the bedroom. The bedside drawer opened with a soft pull. Inside was a collection of items: nude Polaroid pictures of Alice from when she was younger, a small black handgun, and a little black address book.
She grabbed the gun and tucked it into her waistband, then picked up the black book and the stack of keycards. Account numbers were written in Tetch’s careful handwriting throughout the book. All of it could be useful.
When she returned to the living room, the keycards and book in hand, Mr. J was tying off the garbage bag.
“All we need to do now is get down to the garage and get out of here,” Harley said, holding up the keycards.
Mr. J placed the bag on his cleaning cart. “I’m glad this is all working out.”
47 crept forward silently, closing the distance on Waylon step by step. The big man kept scanning the area, his head turning slowly as he searched for threats.
As he moved closer, 47 subvocalized into his comm.
“Selina, deploying drone support. Four units—one through the open front door, three through windows on floors two, three, and four. Interior guards will be neutralized. Stand by for my signal.”
“Okay,” came Selina’s quiet response through his earpiece.
47 paused his advance and gave a mental command to his drones.
The four cloaked units launched simultaneously. One slipped through the open front door. The other three struck their assigned windows—floors two, three, and four erupting in crashes of shattering glass.
Waylon’s head snapped toward the building. “What the hell—”
47 resumed his silent approach, now just steps away from his distracted target.
Selina moved quickly down the third-floor hallway, her footsteps soft on the carpeted floor. Through the building’s walls, she’d heard the crashes of breaking glass from the upper floors—47’s drones doing their work.
She passed the first unconscious guard slumped against the wall near the elevator, his radio lying silent beside him. The hallway that had been patrolled just minutes earlier was now eerily quiet.
As she rounded the corner toward the main corridor, girls began emerging from their rooms. Some peered out cautiously, others stepped into the hallway completely, their faces showing confusion and surprise.
“Did you hear that glass breaking?” whispered a girl with dark hair, maybe fourteen.
“What happened to the guard?” another asked, pointing at the unconscious man by the elevator.
Selina kept moving, scanning the walls for the fire alarm panel. She could see more evidence of the drone assault—another guard face-down near the common area, his weapon still holstered. The drones had been precise and silent.
More girls were appearing now, clustering together in small groups. Their voices carried a mixture of fear and cautious hope.
“Something’s happening,” one of them said to her friend. “Look, there’s another one.”
She followed their gaze to see a third guard collapsed in a doorway, completely motionless.
Selina spotted what she was looking for—the red fire alarm panel mounted on the wall near the emergency exit. She approached it quickly, her heart racing.
47’s hand sliced forward in a knife-hand chop aimed at the exposed throat.
The big man’s massive arm snapped up instinctively, catching 47’s wrist in a vice grip. His eyes locked on the point of contact as the rest of 47 blurred into visibility. “Ah, there you are,” he growled.
With a casual shrug, the man let Tammy slide off his shoulder. She hit the ground with a soft thud, scrambled back on her hands and knees, then bolted toward the abandoned building across the street. Good—out of the way.
47 twisted sharply, using his body weight to wrench free and step back into a defensive stance. The camouflage flickered with the sudden movement—it wasn’t perfect at high speeds. This guy’s got instincts, 47 thought, adrenaline sharpening his focus. Trained. Maybe ex-military.
The big man lunged forward with a precise jab-cross-hook combo that cut through the space where 47 had been a split second before. 47 ducked low, countering with a swift shin kick to the ribs. It connected with a solid thud that forced a grunt from the bigger man.
He absorbed it and shot for 47’s legs, trying to drag him into a grapple. 47 leaped back, but the man’s fingers grazed his ankle, nearly pulling him off balance. He’s strong. Too strong. If he gets a hold, it’s over.
47 fired a blade from his gauntlet. The man twisted away—the projectile grazed his suit jacket and embedded in the brick wall behind him. He pressed the attack, closing distance with a spinning back fist that 47 barely ducked, feeling the wind ruffle his cowl. 47 retaliated with a series of sharp elbows aimed at the jaw, but the man blocked with crossed arms, absorbing the blows before sweeping low with a leg kick that clipped 47’s calf and sent him stumbling.
Pain flared in 47’s leg, but he used the momentum to roll away, coming up in a crouch. The big man was on him instantly, grabbing for his arm and yanking him into a clinch. 47 drove a knee toward the groin—the man anticipated, twisting his hips and slamming an elbow down toward 47’s collarbone. 47 blocked, the impact jarring his bones, then headbutted the chin. The man staggered back, blood trickling from a split lip, but didn’t release his grip entirely.
This guy isn’t just strong. He’s fast, 47 realized, his breath coming in controlled bursts as he wriggled free. Multiple fighting styles. Adaptive. I can’t beat him straight up without the tech.
47 darted in with a flying knee that the man partially blocked, following with a spinning back kick that grazed his temple. The man roared, countering with an ax kick that clipped 47’s shoulder and buckled his knees. 47 fired another blade aimed at the thigh—the man pivoted and sidestepped, the projectile sparking off pavement, then surged forward to tackle 47 against the building’s wall.
The impact rattled 47’s teeth, the man’s weight pinning him as knees drove upward. 47 twisted and slipped most, but a hammer blow smashed into his chest, bending a rib. He gasped, vision blurring, and slid along the wall to create space. A spear hand strike at the man’s eyes drew blood from his brow, but he ignored it, grabbing 47 by the wrist and bicep to flip him to the ground.
The big man loomed over him, hoisting 47 up by the front of his suit like he weighed nothing. His grin was feral as he pressed 47 horizontally over his head, ready to break him over his knee. “Time to snap you like a twig,” he snarled.
This could end me.
Subvocally, 47 commanded: “Suit lockdown.”
The nanotech in his uniform activated instantly, the flexible material going rigid as reinforced steel, locking his body in place. The big man brought him down hard over his knee—and screamed as the unyielding suit met bone with a sickening crack. His leg buckled, the knee giving way under the reversed force.
47 gave the mental command to unlock his suit, twisting in the loosened grip and driving the blade that extended from his gauntlet into his opponent’s throat.
The big man’s eyes widened in shock, his hands releasing as he staggered back. 47 yanked the blade out in a spray of blood. The man clutched his throat, gurgling, his massive frame collapsing to the pavement in a heap. He twitched once, then went still, eyes glazing over.
47 stood there, breathing heavily. His ribs ached, his leg throbbed, and bruises were forming under his suit. He was good. Damn good. In a fair fight, no equipment ... I’d have lost. But fighting fair is stupid.
He glanced across the street where Tammy had fled—empty shadows now. Hopefully she’s safe.
47 subvocalized into his comm, still catching his breath. “Selina. Exterior threat neutralized. Coast is clear—you can now evacuate the girls.”
“Copy that,” Selina whispered into her comm.
Girls continued emerging from their rooms around her, clustering in confused groups near the unconscious guards.
“Protocol Moses activate,” she said quietly to her earpiece.
A holographic screen materialized in front of her face, showing four camera feeds. Floor one showed a few girls in the lobby area, floor two had several older girls in a common area, floor four revealed three girls near abandoned film equipment. Her own floor—three—showed the girls already gathering around her.
“Drones one, two, four—activate,” she said.
On her screen, she watched three versions of herself materialize simultaneously—one in the first-floor lobby, one on the second floor, and one on the fourth floor.
Selina began speaking, her voice reaching all three locations simultaneously. “We need to leave this building right now. This is our chance.”
Through her feeds, she saw resistance. On floor two, an older girl crossed her arms. “Why should we trust you?”
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