Big Hands sees the injector and his smirk twists into something sharper. "Fuck 'em up, Bash," he says, his voice low but carrying like a gunshot.
"Bash," I mutter under my breath, locking the name away in the mental catalog. Yeah. He sure looks like a guy who named himself Bash.
The autoinjector clicks, and Bash doesn't move for a second. Then his body seems to shift, the weight of him settling deeper into the pavement, like the ground itself is straining to hold him up. He rolls his shoulders once, testing his movement, and when he steps forward, I swear the sidewalk cracks under his foot.
Carla doesn't notice at first. She's too busy pulling everything she can find into her orbit. A loose street sign wobbles and tears itself free with a screech, the metal twisting as it hurtles toward him. Bash doesn't even try to dodge. It smashes against his chest, crumpling like foil, and falls to the ground.
Carla freezes, her breathing ragged. Her powers stutter for a moment, the debris in her orbit faltering before snapping back into place. "What the fuck?" she spits, her voice shaking. Another piece of rebar whips toward him, faster this time, but the result's the same. It hits him dead-on, and he doesn't even blink.
"Sam, what's he on?" Maggie whispers. Her voice is tight, laced with panic.
"I don't know," I say, my teeth gritting. "That's not Fly."
Carla takes a shaky step back, her powers flaring again. A hubcap rises from the ground, wobbling in midair. She's running out of steam, and Bash knows it. He steps forward, one deliberate, heavy footfall at a time, and it's like the air in the street changes. Everything feels heavier, like we're caught in some kind of gravity well. Even breathing feels harder. But I might just be having anxiety - hard to tell.
"Stay back!" Carla yells, but it's hollow. She's not yelling at Bash--she's yelling at her fear, trying to shout it down. It's not working.
She hurls the hubcap, and Bash lets it hit him square in the chest. It bounces off with a dull thunk, and before she can pull anything else, he closes the distance. His fist lashes out, slow enough to see but impossible to stop. It connects with her gut, and she folds around it like paper, her body flung backward like a ragdoll. She slams into the side of a parked car, the metal crumpling like aluminum foil under her weight, and the impact echoes through the street like a thunderclap.
"Shit," I hiss, my blood sense flaring. I can see the injuries bloom inside her--the cracked ribs, the burst blood vessels, the bruising spreading like ink under her skin. She's alive, but that hit wasn't clean. She's teetering on the edge of real danger.
Maggie's already moving, darting between pieces of debris to check on the civilians still lingering too close. A guy in a hoodie stumbles out of a doorway, his face pale as he stares at Bash, and Maggie pushes him back toward the alley with a sharp, "Move! Now!"
Bash doesn't even glance at her. His focus is entirely on Carla, slumped against the wrecked car, barely conscious. She coughs weakly, a spray of orange blood staining her lips. The fight's over--she's done--but Bash doesn't back off. He takes another step toward her, slow and deliberate.
I dart forward, putting myself between them. "Enough!" I shout, my voice cracking. "You won. She's down. Just go!"
Bash stops, his eyes locking onto mine. They're dark, unreadable, and there's no hint of emotion in them--no anger, no satisfaction, nothing. Just weight.
For a second, I think he's going to keep coming. My heart's pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest, but I don't move. I can't. If he decides to push through me, I'm toast, but if I back off, Carla's done.
"Go," I repeat, my voice steadier this time. "She's not a threat anymore."
Big Hands steps forward, his smirk replaced with something colder. "Listen to the girl, Bash," he says. "We made our point. Let's not make this messier than it needs to be."
Bash stares at me for a moment longer, and I swear I feel the weight of him pressing down on my bones. Then he turns, his movements slow and deliberate, and walks away. The pavement groans under his feet, his steps leaving faint indentations in the cracked asphalt. Big Hands follows, throwing a glance back at Slim and his crew.
"See you around," he says, his tone casual, almost bored. Like they hadn't just trashed half the street.
Slim mutters something under his breath, but he doesn't argue. His crew's already scattering, dragging Carla's crumpled form away from the car. She's still breathing, but her head lolls to the side, her body limp as they pull her onto a piece of plywood like a makeshift stretcher.
I kneel next to her, my hands hovering just above her chest. I can see everything--the jagged lines of her ribs, the angry red fractures spreading through her body. "She needs a hospital," I say, more to myself than anyone else. "Maggie, call an ambulance."
Maggie's at my side in an instant, her phone already in hand. "On it."
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The street around us is clearing out now, the civilians retreating back into their homes and hiding spots. The car alarm finally cuts off, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in its wake. I look down at Carla, her face pale and drawn, and I feel a knot of something ugly tighten in my stomach.
"What the hell was that?" Maggie asks nobody in particular, her voice barely a whisper.
"No, no, no," I mutter, stepping forward and crouching beside Carla. "Set her down--now. Gently."
Slim and his guys hesitate, their faces twitching with uncertainty. Bloodhound, the Big Bad Wolf of Tacony, throwing herself at Carla's side like she's about to save the day. I can almost hear the gears grinding in their heads, trying to figure out if this is some kind of setup.
"Now!" I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut through their doubt. They flinch and lower her onto the ground, the plywood thumping against the asphalt. It's not gentle, but it's not a drop either. Carla groans faintly, her head lolling to the side. Her pulse is weak, her breaths shallow.
I take a breath and focus. I've done this before, and I know what to look for: jagged breaths, irregular pulse, blood pooling under the surface. I unzip a pocket on my jacket, pulling out a roll of gauze and a compact pair of trauma shears. They pause when they see the gear, like they can't believe it's real. I ignore them.
"She needs to be stabilized," I mutter, mostly to myself, as I cut away the sleeve of Carla's jacket. The blood vessels under her skin look wrong--bright yellow, glowing faintly orange in my blood sense, like fluorescent ink running through her veins. "Her blood vessels are dissolving from the inside out. Get her to lay off the Jump," I say, just loud enough to make sure Slim hears it.
Maggie kneels beside me, her phone still in hand. "Ambulance is coming," she says, her voice steady. Then she looks up at Slim. "We'll trade questions for first aid, deal?"
A little rougher than I'd have expressed it but, yeah, okay, Maggie.
Slim shifts his weight, glancing at his crew like he's hoping one of them will have a better idea. They don't. "What kind of questions?" he asks, his voice wary.
"What the hell was in that syringe Bash used?" Maggie says, getting right to the point. "And who's getting Carla's Jump? From where?"
Slim stiffens. His jaw works like he's chewing on his own words, and then his face starts to screw up.
Before Slim can answer, one of the other guys--a scrawny kid with a busted lip--pipes up, his voice high and shaky. "He can't answer you, man! That's the rules!"
Maggie catches it immediately, her eyes narrowing. "What rules?" she asks, trying to sound both polite and intimidating at the same time. "Who's enforcing them?"
Slim raises his hands, palms out, like he's trying to fend off a rabid dog. "I... can't," he strains, like he's taking the biggest shit of his life. His nose starts... bleeding? I can swear that a blood vessel in his face just pops. Is that his brain? Why is his brain bleeding? No, false alarm, that's just a blood vessel near his skull, but still.
Maggie's face scrunches up. "Bull and shit,"
"Stop, Flashpoint," I cut in, not looking up from Carla. "He can't can't." I pause, glancing up at Slim. "Am I right?"
Slim can't even answer that. Any sort of acknowledgment is too much acknowledgment. "You gotta chill or he's gonna lose it!" the scrawny kid desperately explains, trying to prevent some sort of boil-over.
Maggie adjusts her domino mask and folds her arms over her chest.
I turn back to Carla, pressing gauze against a cut on her shoulder to slow the bleeding. Her blood is sticky and too bright, drying yellow under my fingers. "Chronic Jump use messes you up," I say, addressing Slim even though I don't really expect him to listen. "It makes your blood vessels weak. Like tissue paper. She's bleeding way more than she should be for these injuries."
Slim's face tightens, but he doesn't say anything.
"She needs a hospital," I continue, my voice flat. "I can keep her stable for now, but if you care about her at all, you'll make sure she gets real help. And maybe..." I pause, glancing at him, "...maybe use this as a wake-up call to reconsider your chosen career. Because if you keep going the way you're going, you're all gonna end up like her."
Slim doesn't answer. His jaw works, his hands fidget, but he doesn't argue. One of his crew mutters something under his breath, and Slim throws him a sharp look that shuts him up immediately. Good.
Maggie touches my shoulder. "Ambulance is here."
I look up and see the flashing red and blue lights cutting through the night. The paramedics pull up first, the cops right behind them. I hear the sirens die, the car doors slam, and the sound of boots on asphalt.
"Alright," I say softly, turning back to Carla. "You're gonna be okay. Just hang on a little longer."
The paramedics rush over, their gear clattering as they drop to their knees beside me. I step back to give them room, my hands stained orange and red. One of them glances at me, her eyebrows raising when she notices my gear. "You did first aid?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say, standing up. "Rib fractures, damaged lungs, and a ton of bruising. She's bleeding internally, and she's a chronic Jump user. That's all I have for you."
The paramedic nods, already turning back to Carla and taking her away into the dark night - or the early morning, time isn't real. I step away, wiping my hands on a rag from my jacket pocket. The street feels quieter now, the crowd dispersed, but the weight in my chest hasn't lifted.
Slim and his crew are gone. I'm not surprised. The second the sirens showed up, they bolted, leaving Carla behind. Good.
I glance at Maggie, who's watching the paramedics work with a frown. "Ready to go?" I ask.
She nods. "Yeah. Let's--"
"Stop right there!" a sharp voice barks, cutting her off. I turn to see two cops striding toward us, their hands resting on their belts. "Both of you--stay where you are."
My stomach sinks. "For what?" I ask, my voice tighter than I mean it to be.
The taller of the two officers looks us over, his gaze sharp and assessing. "Obstruction," he says. "Interfering with a crime scene. Endangering public safety."
"Seriously?" Maggie blurts, throwing up her hands. "We just stopped them from tearing each other apart!"
The second cop, a woman with a stiff expression, gives her a pointed look. "And now you're interfering with our job. Turn around, hands behind your backs."
I grit my teeth, glancing at Maggie. Her face is flushed, her fists clenched like she's ready to argue, but I shake my head. It's not worth it. Fighting this here isn't going to help.
"Fine," I mutter, raising my hands. The cold metal of the cuffs snaps around my wrists a second later, the weight of them settling like lead.
Maggie sighs and follows my lead, muttering under her breath as the female cop cuffs her too. "We just saved a life, and this is the thanks we get," she grumbles.
"Save it," the male cop says. "You can explain yourself at the station."