FAULT LINES ━━ titans [REWRITING]

THREE.

HOMEMADE DYNAMITE !
❝ OLD FRIENDS. ❞

THE RECOLLECTION OF WHERE SHE KNEW THE BLUE HAIRED GIRL FROM, whilst an odd place to remember something, had been at her fifth gas station three quarters of the way to Washington, in the crisp and cold early hours of the day. It had hit her just as she'd paid for gas and had taken her first bite of a sandwich. Rachel Roth. The case was an old one, but it had been one of the first Abigail had taken when she started working at Star City police.

It had started simple enough. She arrested a woman who had attempted to kidnap another girl, one with blue hair and pale skin. It hadn't been Rachel Roth, but there had been similarities. Upon arresting her, Abigail watched a photo fall from her coat. An old one, crumpled and worn. Creased in the middle and folded at the edges. It had been taken out a lot, opened. Sentimental value, her head had said. She had been wrong. Retrospectively, Abigail knew now it was a photo of a younger Rachel Roth. This cult had searched for her in Star City, too.

The force hadn't let her look further into the woman and the cult, saying it was unfounded and unnecessary, but a tip to a crimson archer had seen the cult's branch in Star City shut down permanently. Abigail had run the girl's face and called the closest police precinct to the last know address to inform them of the situation; they promised her they'd keep an eye out, but she had never followed up or double checked. She supposed they stopped keeping an eye after a while. How well that turned out.

The case quietened in Abby's mind as she planned the rest of her route on her phone, mapping out the roads she'd take before finishing her food. She was about to return to her bike, when a cry caught her ears, dragging her gaze to a group of masked men pointing a gun at the man she'd just handed her money to. Her eyes hardened, face darkening as she stood to her feet, pushing her phone back into her pocket as she approached the gas station again.

If the bell above the door ringing didn't grab the burglars' attention, the sound of her black combat boots hitting the floor did. They turned to her, sneering aggressively at the brunette now stood before them, blocking their exit. It didn't deter her. She'd faced down crueller men than these. One of the men stepped forwards, swinging a baseball bat up to his other hand. A threat, how cute.

"Can we help you, sweetheart?" he asked, voice disgustingly patronising.

Abigail visibly recoiled, scoffing at the nickname, "Well for starters, you could not call me sweetheart."

A chorus of mocking oooohs came from the men behind him, and it brought her attention to the fact that only two of them had guns. The other four, including the one in front of her, were armed with bats and knives. The man before her took another step forwards, becoming dangerously close to invading her personal space. Abigail stared down at his approaching feet, before dragging her eyes up to his face, her eyes sharp. She couldn't pick another fight. She was barely recovered from the last one.