This letter should, if all goes well, be the third that you receive from me. I’m sorry about sending them separately, but I can’t afford the risk of sending them together. I have been told that you are not the kind of man who will publish a story without hearing it to the end. I want you to understand that if I don’t contact you again before the end of the month, then this is the end of my story.
Milton Plask was the last target I’d ever had as Knight. He’s managed to pull together more power in Confluence than any one man had ever had for over two centuries. As far as we know, he doesn’t have powers, but he still managed to organize the near simultaneous deaths of every other crime boss in the city.
We were supposed to kill him, throw the underground in Confluence into such disarray that the remains could be swept up by locals with no issue. It wouldn’t have worked out as well as w though anyway, it never does, but if we succeeded there would have been almost no downsides. But he found out, he knew we were coming. We failed, I failed, and Knight disappeared from the world.
I became Allspades.
As Allspades I could be so very different than I could have ever been as Knight. I didn’t become a better person; looking back I could see that The Cards were the good guys, even if they weren’t heroes. But Allspades didn’t need to hide in the shadows; he could afford to save the person calling for help and see the good of what he was doing. Knight never had that luxury.
But being Allspades couldn’t change who I was. The day that had killed Knight haunted me. Page haunted me. Allspades wasn’t enough to control the anger I felt.
So I asked for help, and I was given a choice. I could be Allspades, and hope I could control my anger, or I could leave, and avoid putting myself into the kind of situation where I needed to. I spent months with people trying to make the same decision.
But as long as I stayed with them, as much as they were trying to help, I didn’t get any better. The joy I felt when I could throw a punch just kept growing, and Page’s voice just kept growing louder.
But then I was given a third choice. A man I hoped thought I was dead gave me a chance. He asked me to go after Plask. To be Knight again.
I took it.
Now I’m back in Confluence; a shithole of a city with more criminals per capita than the few honest men should be able to keep paid. I’m here to kill the man who killed the only woman I’ve ever loved. And god help me, I think I’m going to do it.
Page is talking to me again. Doing her best to put me in the loony bin. Sooner or later she’s probably gonna pull it off.
But with any luck, I’ll be able to finish this job before that happens.
I’m sending this to you because their names deserve to be known. Because if I fail, it may be the only closure they ever get.
Thomas Crown, Helen Craig, Page Trueman
Knight stared down at the page sitting on his desk. He’d sent the first two before he’d left Macropolis, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish this one.
If Craig found out about them, then he’d probably wake up somewhere on the other side of the planet with three years of his life missing.
But he had to do this.
He picked up his pen one last time and wrote the last few words.
Thomas Crown, Helen Craig, Page Trueman, Mason White
Please remember us, because I don’t think anyone else will have the chance.
Knight of Swords