As I stand there, half-hidden behind a twisted mass of metal, my heart races and my hands grip my phone so tight it's a miracle the screen doesn't crack. All I can do is watch and record. Watch and record. That's it. My stomach feels like it's in knots, and I have to keep swallowing down the fear and the bile that's threatening to choke me.
Liberty Belle moves like a shadow in the moonlight, her body a blur of motion that’s almost too fast to follow. She's all coiled power and precision, each movement deliberate and deadly. She darts towards Chernobyl, her fist swinging in a tight arc aimed straight at his visor. The clang of metal on metal rings out, echoing off the refinery walls as Chernobyl’s arm shoots up, blocking her punch with a force that sends a shockwave of noise through the air.
It's like watching a high-stakes dance, the kind where one wrong step means death. Chernobyl counters with a swing of his arm, massive and heavy, like a wrecking ball. Belle's just a blur, a ghost, dodging at the last second. The arm smashes into the steel beam behind her, sending a cascade of sparks showering down. It’s so close, too close, and for a second my heart stops.
Belle's not slowing down, though. She's up on a platform now, higher ground, and then she's in the air, leaping. It's like gravity's got no hold on her. She comes down hard, aiming a kick right at Chernobyl's head. The suit's too slow to react, and her boot connects with a solid thunk. But it's like kicking a mountain. It barely moves. He stumbles back one step, his heel squealing and hissing as it kicks up gravel, grinding against the ground like a snake trying to burrow in tight soil.
I'm biting my lip so hard I taste my own blood. She’s fighting a losing battle, I can feel it. But she's not giving up, not Belle. She's a hurricane, a force of nature, and she's not going down without a fight.
With every punch and kick she lands, every dodge and weave, it's like she's telling the world she's still here, still fighting. But Chernobyl, he's a fortress, a wall of metal and rage. Every hit she takes, every near miss, it's wearing her down, bit by bit. And I can't do anything but watch.
It's the most terrifying, the most awe-inspiring thing I've ever seen. And all I can do is record it. Record her last stand, her final moments. This is history, I tell myself. This is important. But it doesn't make the fear, the helplessness, any easier to bear.
As Chernobyl and Belle clash, metal against muscle, it's like the whole world has narrowed down to just this moment, this fight. Everything else fades away, and there's only them, only this dance of death playing out under the cold, uncaring stars.
I keep recording, keep watching. Because it's all I can do.
Chernobyl's next move is straight out of a nightmare. He vents steam in a wide arc, a scalding cloud that envelops everything around him, emerging from dozens of small holes on his armor, pressurized jets of the stuff. Belle's caught off guard, her silhouette just a blur in the mist. I see her stagger back, trying to escape the searing heat. It's like watching someone try to swim through fire.
It's just like with Mr. T-Rex. The steam clouds - even if she can sense Chernobyl through it, the scalding temperatures just set your instincts on fire, just for a moment. The cold air quickly makes it start condensing on all the metal surfaces, and then start freezing over.
As the steam begins to clear, Belle doesn't waste a second. She's back in the fight, moving faster than before, as if the steam was just a shot of adrenaline. She throws punch after punch, a whirlwind of fury and muscle. Her fists are like hammers, but Chernobyl's suit is like a tank. Most of her strikes just bounce off the metal, but then, finally, one lands. It hits the suit's torso with a loud thud, leaving a small dent. It's not much, but it's something.
But Chernobyl isn't just going to stand there and take it. He reaches sideways, grabbing a chunk of the refinery, ripping a pipe out of the scrapped machines, and swings it at Belle, letting it go right at the tip of his arm's motion. It goes flying. Belle sees it coming, though. She dives to the side, rolling clear as the pipe crashes into the ground. The impact sends a loud clattering sound through the air, and I feel it even from my hiding spot. Dust and debris go flying, and for a second, I lose sight of Belle in the chaos.
But then she's back up, like she's made of springs and not flesh and bone. She doesn't even look scared. She looks pissed. And Chernobyl, he's just standing there, waiting for her next move. This is more than a fight. It's a war. A war between a relentless force and an immovable object. I squeeze my phone like a lifeline, holding it tight.
Belle's not giving up, not yet. She's using everything around her, turning the refinery into her playground. She grabs a hanging cable, swings like she's aiming for the stars, and launches herself at Chernobyl. Her body's a bullet, her leg stretched out for a flying kick that could probably knock down a wall. But Chernobyl, he's ready. He catches her foot in mid-air, his suit's hand closing around her ankle like a vice. With a flick of his arm, he tosses her away like she's a ragdoll. She hits the ground with a sickening thud that echoes through the empty space.
The ground where Belle lands is slick with ice. The steam Chernobyl vented earlier has frozen over everything nearby completely, coating everything with a thin, treacherous layer of frost. It's turning the refinery into a deathtrap, every surface slippery and dangerous. Her winter costume is prepared for the temperature, but less so the ice.
Still, Belle quickly gets up again as if gravity is just a suggestion to her. She's moving really fast, a smear frame on the slippery ground. She tries to sweep Chernobyl off his feet by going for his legs, but the suit doesn't move at all, like it's stuck to the ground. Not discouraged, Belle changes her approach and throws an uppercut at the suit's underbelly. It's a solid hit that would usually break bones, but against the suit, it's just another punch. I see a dent form in the metal, and Chernobyl takes a step back, looking a little unsteady.
Chernobyl's learning her rhythm, adapting to her every move. He steps back, his left arm locking into place with a click that makes me want to scream out. There's a moment of deadly silence, and I know I can't afford to distract her. I don't even see what comes out as it comes out, the air ripped apart with a sound that's like half thunderclap, half gunshot. Chernobyl recoils back, left hand smoking, several new panels squealing with a red glow before he shakes his hand and discards them, like getting rid of that back part of a bullet.
Belle and I assess the threat at hand, but she probably does it faster. It's like he has a pile driver inside his arms, with a metal spike that's easily the width of my fist sticking out of the palm of his suit. It looks like it has a blunt tip, like a ball-point pen, and I have no doubt that if that hit someone, it would turn them into a fine paste in an instant. Chernobyl takes another step back, and with a loud click, the spent spike slides out of his arm, easily longer than my own forearm, and clatters to the ground.
How many of those can he fit? One per arm? Two? More? My heart's in my throat, and my hands are shaking so bad I can barely hold my phone steady.
She's on her feet again, using the chaos around her to her advantage. She spots a pipe, thick and sturdy, sticking out from the ground. She grabs it, pulling herself up with a grunt, and then she's launching herself at Chernobyl again. This time, she goes for his shoulder, elbow first. It's a brutal, powerful strike, aimed right at the suit's joint. There's a loud clang, and for a second, I think she's done it, I think she's broken through. But the suit just absorbs the blow, the metal denting slightly under the force of her attack.
Chernobyl's not just some hulking brute, though. He's smart, tactical. He starts backing up, moving into a more open area of the refinery. It's a clear ploy to give his suit more room to maneuver, to use its range and power to its full advantage. He swipes at Belle, a broad, sweeping motion that's more about keeping her at bay than doing any real damage.
I'm crawling now, low and quiet, through the pipes and cables that crisscross the ground. My camera's still rolling, still recording every second of this nightmare. I have to be silent, have to be invisible. I can't distract Belle, can't risk drawing Chernobyl's attention. Every movement is calculated, every breath a silent prayer not to be noticed.
With one hand, I clamber over and under, going through parts of the machinery that humans weren't meant to climb through. The other hand, I try to keep pointed towards the action, which I'm hearing now more than seeing. I hear skidding, the grinding of boots into ice and metal against metal and metal against gravel. Blows are exchanged somewhere in the distance. Every second that passes is another second that Belle might die on me, but I manage to fit myself into a somewhat-uncomfortable configuration just in time to watch her close the distance, warding his hand away with an open-palm parry.
My heart drops as the force of deflecting his swing sends her onto her ass. She stumbles, and he towers over her, his right arm rearing back while his left one remains limp, by his side. In a move that's part desperation, part genius, she grabs the spent spike that Chernobyl ejected earlier. With a grunt of effort, she jams it back up the pile driver slot of his left arm.
The suit's not built for that, not built to take its own ammunition in reverse. The spike jams, goes through the machinery, and bursts out the suit's elbow joint in a shower of sparks and steam, right below where the rest of the rail continues into his shoulder. Chernobyl's arm is stuck now, locked in place, the left side of the suit rendered almost useless.
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Belle, like some kind of avenging angel, doesn't let up, not even for a second. With Chernobyl reeling from the spike lodged in his suit's arm, she's all over him. She's targeting the joints of his suit - the knees, the elbows - anywhere that looks like it might give. Each punch and kick is thrown with the kind of power that could demolish concrete. I can almost hear the metal groaning under the force of her attacks, see the dents forming with each hit.
But Chernobyl, that hulking mass of metal and rage, he's not down yet. He's like some kind of monster out of a horror movie, unstoppable, unyielding. With a roar that sounds more machine than man, he vents a huge burst of steam. It's a white-hot curtain that sweeps across the refinery, turning everything it touches to ice. The ground becomes a skating rink, slick and treacherous.
Belle doesn't hesitate, though. She's sliding across the ice now, moving with a grace that belies the danger. She ducks under Chernobyl's next swing and goes for his back, trying to pry open a panel on the suit. It's a gutsy move, the kind that could end this whole thing if she pulls it off.
But Chernobyl's quicker than he looks. He twists around, his good arm swinging in a wide arc. The backhand catches Belle square in the chest, and she's sent flying. She crashes into a pile of discarded machinery, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the refinery like a death knell.
I'm frozen, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands shaking so bad I can barely keep the camera steady. This is bad, really bad. Belle's down, and Chernobyl's still standing. He's like a force of nature, a disaster you can't outrun, can't hide from.
I want to scream, want to run out there and do something, anything. But I'm just Sam. Just a kid with a camera and a bunch of shark teeth. I'm not a hero, not like Belle. All I can do is watch and record, bear witness to this brutal ballet of violence and desperation.
In the chaos of the fight, with Belle down and Chernobyl looming over her like the grim reaper, I make a split-second decision. I find a metal pipe nearby, not too big but sturdy enough. I chew the end of it with my teeth, only able to file off a couple shavings, but enough to give it an edge. It's crude, but it's all I've got. With all the strength I can muster, I rear back and hurl it towards Chernobyl like a javelin. It's a desperate, wild throw, more hope than strategy.
The pipe bounces off his armor with a clang, not even close to finding a joint or weak spot.
But it's enough. Chernobyl turns, momentarily distracted by the noise behind him.
Belle sees her chance. She's up in an instant, moving with a speed that defies her injuries. She lunges at Chernobyl’s back, her hands reaching for an exposed panel she'd weakened earlier. With a fierce yank, she tears it open, revealing a mess of wires and hydraulics. She jams her hand inside, and there's a shower of sparks, a hiss of steam. Chernobyl stumbles forward, his movements momentarily disrupted. Belle lets out a loud, animal scream, as flying sparks and bursts of steam scald her arm, and she rips out cables, kicking away from Chernobyl.
But Chernobyl's not beaten yet. He's frantic now, spinning around to face Belle. His good arm comes down in a wide, sweeping arc, a blur of metal and fury. Belle's quick, but she's not quick enough. She dodges, but it's a close call, way too close. I see her wince. That's when Belle sees me. Our eyes meet for just a fraction of a second, but it's enough. I see the fear in her eyes, the anger, the desperation. The distraction.
She's protecting me. She's always been protecting me, from the very beginning. And now, here I am, hidden in the pipes, watching her fight a battle she can't win. The guilt is overwhelming, suffocating. But Belle doesn't let it show. She doesn't reveal my presence, doesn't give Chernobyl any hint that I'm here.
I raise my phone to my eyes, pointing the camera at her. I raise my fist.
She looks towards my camera.
Document it.
She hears and feels Chernobyl's fist before it hits her, feeling the air getting shoved out of the way, and ducks underneath. I grab another pipe, the thinnest one I can find, and start chewing the end to bits, trying to make another spike. I try to keep my biting quiet, slowly cutting the material, spitting out rust and metal shavings. It's disgusting, but I can't stand still now. I've already interrupted the course of events.
I'm already a butterfly. And if this is going to eat me alive, I'm going to be a poisonous one. A monarch.
Belle's still fighting, but it's clear she's running on fumes. Each punch she throws is a little slower, a little weaker. She's still a force to be reckoned with, but even forces of nature have their limits. Chernobyl, that hulking mass of metal, seems to sense her weakening. He's like a predator, closing in for the kill.
He vents another cloud of steam, thicker and hotter than before, leaking out of everywhere. It engulfs the area, turning the refinery into a blinding, scalding maze. Belle pushes through it, and the two of them disappear. By the time Belle re-appears, it's with a massive chunk of metal, shorn from the walls of this maze. With a roar, she swings it at his leg, putting all her remaining strength behind the blow. The swoosh cuts through the steam, sends it curling, twirling, like those spinning leaf-seeds in the suburbs.
It slams into Chernobyl's right leg, buckling it. He lets out a grunt that's amplified through his speakers, and I know immediately that his leg's been cut open - the bone cracked, most likely. I see his blood, dripping out from his suit, more caused by his own servos and joints cutting into him. And I see his vascular system, and it feels wrong. It feels hot in my head, like it's… I can't explain it in anything other than it's white, while all the other blood I see is in shades of red. Not his literal blood leaking out, that's red, but in my blood vision, I see white sparkles.
But he just keeps coming, relentless and unstoppable. He swings at her with his good hand, a blow that would crush anything in its path. Belle dodges, but the metal shield she's holding is obliterated, torn to scraps, buckled into a nice, neat V shape.
I'm still here, still hidden, but I'm not just watching anymore. I've got another pipe, and I'm turning it into a weapon. I'm biting, tearing, shaping the metal into a point. It's slow, quiet work, but I'm making progress. Belle might want me to just document this, to stay safe, but I can't do that. Not anymore.
I've got a plan. I don't know if it'll work, if it'll make any difference, but I have to try. I can't just sit here and watch Belle fight alone. I'm a part of this, whether I like it or not.
Belle's still fighting, still standing, but I can see the end coming. It's like watching a tragedy unfold in slow motion, and I'm the only one who can change the script.
I keep working on the pipe, sharpening it into a spear. I'm going to help Belle, one way or another. I'm not going to let her go down without a fight.
Belle, despite the pain etched on her face and her labored breathing, isn't done yet. She zeroes in on the suit's earlier exposed hydraulics, targeting the damaged back panel and the disabled left arm. She throws punch after punch, each one with less force than the last, but still powerful enough to inflict damage. The hydraulics hiss and steam under her relentless assault, but it's not enough to fully disable Chernobyl's suit. It's like she's chipping away at a mountain with her bare hands.
Her endurance is fading fast. Every move she makes is fuelled more by willpower than physical strength. The fight is taking its toll on her, and it's breaking down into a desperate struggle for survival. She's barely standing, her body pushed to its limits.
Then it happens. Chernobyl, in a move that's as swift as it is brutal, lands a heavy palm thrust to Belle’s torso with his right arm. The impact crumples her, forcing her to stumble back. She catches herself, barely, but the agony is clear on her face. She's teetering on the edge, her body screaming for respite.
I can't just watch anymore. I prop my phone up against a chunk of debris, ensuring it keeps recording, and then I'm running. I charge towards Chernobyl, gripping my makeshift pipe-spear with both hands. I aim for an exposed part of his armor's torso, somewhere I hope will make a difference.
As I ram the spear into the suit, a burning sensation unlike anything I've ever felt courses through me. It's intense, and searing, nothing like Aaron's fire, or burning myself on boiling water, or a brownie pan. It feels like I'm being cooked from the inside out, just for a second, and the tingling lingers. Belle's scream of "No!" rings in my ears, full of fear and horror.
The spear punctures the suit, and blood bursts out the back. Chernobyl reacts instantly, swatting me away like I'm nothing. I'm sent flying, my body skidding across the iced-over gravel. The world spins, pain flares up in every part of me, and for a moment, I can't breathe.
I lie there, dazed, hurting, my mind racing. I've just attacked Chernobyl, and Belle screamed. Did I make it worse? Did I help at all? I try to push myself up, but my body protests. That single hit packed more in it than any street thug's punches, enough to send me hurtling through the air like an acrobat. The fight's still going on, Belle and Chernobyl locked in their duel, and I'm on the ground, helpless.
I try to slowly pull myself to my feet, while sparks fly from Chernobyl's body, lighting up the dark-cloaked moonlight.
Lying there on the frozen ground, every part of me hurting, I watch as Belle, with the last of her strength, launches herself at Chernobyl. It's like she's become more than just flesh and bone, more than just a person. She's a force, a storm, a superhero, her punches raining down on him with a ferocity that's almost inhuman. She focuses on the areas I damaged, the spear in his side, the busted leg. Through my blood sense, I can see the wounds she's inflicting on him, each hit driving the suit's internal mechanisms deeper into his flesh.
But Chernobyl, he's still standing. He lines up his right arm, his hand moving with a terrifying precision. He grabs Belle, his fingers splayed out, encircling her throat, his thumb pressing against her chest. My heart stops as I realize what's coming. The other pile-driver activates, the spike shooting out with a force that's deafening, lethal. It hits Belle, and I know, even before she goes limp in his grasp, that she can't survive it.
Chernobyl releases her, and she crumples to the ground, in a silent, broken heap. Chernobyl, his suit sparking and hissing, turns away from us. His voice, distorted by the suit, reaches me. "Where I go, do not follow, child. Tend to your teacher. She may live yet."
I'm on my feet before I even realize it, rushing to Belle's side. She's lying there, so still, so quiet, her breathing labored. I can see every injury in her body. Tears blur my vision as I bend down beside her, holding her, crying. Belle's hand reaches up, trembling, and I take it, holding it tight.
"Sam," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Thank you for coming."
"I'll call a doctor," I choke out between sobs. "You're going to be okay. You have to be."
But Belle just shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips. "I'm finished, Sam. Just… stay with me. Don't let me be alone."
I nod, tears streaming down my face. "I'm here, Belle. I'm here." I can't stop crying, can't stop the feeling of utter helplessness that's washing over me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Belle's eyes meet mine, and there's something like peace in them. "No, I'm sorry for yelling at you," she whispers. "You did the right thing. You were right… I…"
She squeezes me with what I know is every last ounce of her super strength. I see Chernobyl in my mind's eye, his white-hot veins disappearing beyond the radius of my blood sense. "I'm sorry. I should've…"
Her hand goes limp in mine, and I know she's gone. Belle, my mentor, Philadelphia's hero, gone. The refinery is silent, the fight over, but the pain, the loss, it's just beginning. I sit there, holding her hand, as the snow begins to fall, covering us in a blanket of white.
Everything goes totally numb.