The scream hits me like a physical blow, rattling my teeth and making my ears ring. I stumble back, my vision swimming, as the mountain of a man charges forward, apparently unfazed by the sonic assault.

Crap, crap, crap. I have less than seconds to come up with a plan before I get knocked over like a bowling pin. What do I even do?

But before I can even begin to formulate an answer, the man is on me. His meaty fist slams into my gut, driving the air from my lungs and sending me flying. I crash into a stack of crates, the wood splintering and cracking under the impact.

Pain explodes through my body, sharp and fierce. But even as I'm gasping for breath, I can feel my regeneration kicking in, knitting together the bruises and cuts. It's not enough to take away the ache, but it's enough to keep me in the fight.

I push myself to my feet, my eyes darting around the loading dock. Derek is grappling with Squeal, trying to get him in a headlock, but Squeal's sonic screams are making it hard for anyone to keep their grip. Sparkplug's goon has broken free in the confusion, and he's scrambling for the gun I just tossed aside.

Oh no you don't. I lunge forward, but I'm too slow, my body still reeling from the impact with the crates.

The goon snatches up the gun, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. He swings it around, pointing it straight at me. I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest. But before he can pull the trigger, Jordan makes their move. The space between the goon and me suddenly warps, the gun's aim going wide as the very air seems to twist and stretch, cut in an incorrect arc, shoving me aside diagonally in a way that's hard to explain.

The bullet ricochets off the concrete, missing me by inches. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my knees going weak with relief. All bullets disposed of, unless someone grabs the discarded magazine.

Spinelli takes advantage of the distraction, charging towards the pile of struggling bodies that is Derek, Squeal, and Sparkplug's goon. He throws himself into the fray, his limbs wrapping around them like a human straightjacket. For a moment, it looks like he might actually have them subdued. But then Squeal lets out another ear-splitting scream, and Spinelli's grip loosens as he flinches away from the noise.

We've got to end this. My gaze darts around going wide, looking for something, anything that can give us an edge. Before someone gets seriously hurt.

Before I can come up with a plan, the mountain of a man is on me again, his fists swinging with wild abandon. I duck and dodge, trying to stay out of reach, but it's like trying to avoid a wrecking ball. Just hold on, I tell myself, gritting my teeth as a glancing blow sends sparks of pain shooting through my jaw. Just hold on a little longer.

I charge at the mountain man, since that's what he is in my mental world now - a mountain, not a man - dropping into a slide at the last second to zip between his legs, skidding off my knee-pads and shinguards. I pop up behind him, spinning to deliver a kick to his back. The man stumbles forward, off-balance, but he recovers quickly. Too quickly.

My body is still weak, still not fully recovered from the damage Chernobyl inflicted. My muscles ache. Radiation sickness is a hell of a thing, and even with my regeneration and months of recovery, I'm not back at peak performance yet. Aikido training can only compensate for so much of a size difference when you're running on empty.

The man's meaty hand swats me like a fly, sending me tumbling across the floor. I land in a heap, my head spinning, my lungs burning as I struggle to catch my breath.

Derek sees me in trouble and rushes to help. He tackles the mountain man with all his strength, but it's like trying to bring down a brick wall. The man hardly budges. With a roar of anger, he grabs Derek and throws him off, sending him skidding across the floor to land in a tangled heap on top of me.

"Sorry," Derek mutters, his face inches from mine as we struggle to untangle ourselves.

"Don't mention it," I grunt, shoving him off me.

Across the loading dock, Jordan expands the space around Squeal, trying to trip him with narrow slices, giving Spinelli room to maneuver. Spinelli seizes the opportunity, lunging forward to wrap his elongated arms around Squeal in a chokehold.

For a moment, it looks like he's got him. But then Squeal twists in his grip, sinking his perfectly white teeth into Spinelli's arm. Spinelli yelps in pain and loosens his hold, giving Squeal the chance to wriggle free.

The fight has split into two separate brawls now - Squeal and Spinelli grappling with each other, while Sparkplug's goon tries to make a break for it. And then there's me, Derek, and the mountain man, trading blows in a desperate struggle.

Jordan is the linchpin, using their powers to mediate both fights. They're pulling crates over and shoving them away, the air quickly filling with dust from their degrading spatial duplicates. They're opening the air, making our enemies swing wide, and then bringing us in close to swing back.

I spot a length of metal pipe lying amid the shattered crates. I snatch it up, feeling the solid weight of it in my hands.

This'll do.

I swing the pipe at the mountain man's thighs with all my strength. It connects with a sickening crack, and the man roars in pain, his leg buckling under him. He stumbles, off-balance, and I press my advantage, raining down blows on his head and shoulders. Just because I'm a superhero doesn't mean I need to fight fair, especially with someone who has like two hundred pounds over me.

But even injured, the man is a powerhouse. He surges back to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury. He swings a fist at my head, and I barely manage to duck in time, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my buzz cut.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

We can't keep this up.

As if in answer to my thoughts, I hear Jordan shout a warning. "He's getting away!"

I turn just in time to see Squeal making a break for the exit, the duffel bag clutched in his arms, along with Derek's bag. My heart sinks. We can't let him get away, not with all the drugs. He can keep the duffel bag.

But Jordan is on it. They cut the space in front of Squeal, dragging several heavy crates into his path. Squeal slams into them at full speed, the impact sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Nice one, Jordan!" I shout, a grin spreading across my face.

But the grin fades as I turn back to the mountain man, who is now running far past me, charging with his shoulder lowered. Not at me. At Jordan. I get in the way, getting bowled over but grabbing hold of his clothes like a monkey. Teeth from my fingertips tear into the cloth, and I try to scramble him like an omelette the best I can, cramming as many of my hard points like my elbows against his crotch - only to be met with the uncomfortable tinking of elbow against cup.

At least he's not going after Jordan anybmore.

Derek, having recovered from being thrown, leaps onto the mountain man's back, trying to get him in a chokehold. The man reaches back, grabs Derek, and flings him over his shoulder, slamming him into me. We go down in a tangle of limbs, the air rushing out of my lungs in a painful whoosh. Derek staggers to his feet, wiping blood from his splinted nose. He slides his brass knuckles onto his fingers, the metal glinting dully in the dim light.

We rush the mountain man together, a coordinated assault. I slide low, sweeping the man's legs, while Derek goes high, delivering a powerful uppercut. The combined attack finally staggers the brute, sending him reeling backwards.

Across the warehouse, Squeal and Spinelli are locked in a bizarre, contorted battle. Spinelli wraps himself around Squeal like a squid, trying to choke him out, but Squeal's sonic screams keep forcing him back. It's a stalemate, neither one able to gain the upper hand. Every time Spinelli's hands meet Squeal's throat, they bounce off, like he's trying to touch a hot pan.

The mountain man, enraged, lunges at Derek and me. I push Derek out of the way and take the full force of the tackle myself. We slam into the concrete floor, and I feel my ribs crack under the impact. Pain explodes through my chest, and I taste blood in my mouth. The mountain man and I both spit out teeth - mine from the impact, his from Derek's uppercut earlier. It's okay, though. My teeth are meant to be shed.

Jordan takes their eyes away from the Spinelli/Squeal/Henchman fight for a moment, just long enough to throw a piece of wood at the mountain man. It bounces off his head, distracting him long enough for Derek to get him in a headlock. This time, I latch my claws into his shoulders and keep him on the floor. Jordan turns their attention to the other fight, but that's okay, because I can keep this guy here. He roars in pain, losing more and more breath with every exhale. He struggles. His face turns purple, then blue for a moment, and then he taps out.

Finally, the mountain man goes limp, collapsing to the floor in an unconscious heap. "Count sheep, bitch."

Spinelli, still grappling with Squeal, manages to wrap himself around the screaming villain, pinning his arms to his sides. But Squeal unleashes a deafening sonic blast, causing Spinelli to lose his grip and everyone else to clutch their ears in pain, me included. I feel blood trickling out a little bit, but I don't know if it's from my eardrums or some other part of my busted face.

In the confusion, Squeal grabs the duffel bag and bolts for the exit. Jordan tries to contract the space around him again, but they're too drained from the constant use of their power. Sparkplug's henchman, seeing his chance, makes a break for it as well.

I stagger to my feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs. I give chase, but Squeal's sonic scream has left me disoriented, and every breath feels like a knife in my chest. By the time I get anywhere, Squeal is gone out the back of the warehouse dock, and I can hear his car sloppily peeling out, likely leaving rubber marks on the asphalt.

I take a deep breath, and spit out a loogie consisting of a: blood b: snot c: another tooth.

Back inside, Derek and Spinelli have managed to subdue Sparkplug's goon, tying him up with some zip ties, probably Jordan's. The mountain man is out cold, his face bruised and swollen, and his throat looking raw.

We regroup, battered and bruised but alive. Jordan is pale and shaky from overusing their powers, and Derek is nursing a broken nose on top of his already broken nose from Elias. Spinelli seems relatively unscathed, but he's quiet, his usual jokes absent, looking at his fingers. Oh. They're twisted the wrong way. Uh.

He gingerly wraps them inside the crook of his elbow and twists them back the right way with a wince. Okay, I think that's normal for him.

As for me, my body is already knitting itself back together, the cracks in my ribs sealing up, the bruises fading. Well, not that fast. But still.

Dammit. I clench my fists. Dammit, dammit, dammit. We could've just grabbed Squeal and interrogated him here, but now it's all fucked up.

With the mountain man knocked out cold and Sparkplug's goon tied up, we take a moment to catch our breath and assess the damage. Jordan rummages through the scattered crates, looking for anything we can use for first aid.

"You okay?" Derek asks me, eyeing the blood on my chin.

I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling the sharp edges of the new ones already pushing through my gums. "Yeah, I'm good. You know me, I'll be fine in a few minutes."

Derek shakes his head, a bemused smile on his face. "Do you need to see a dentist, man?"

I shrug, wincing as the movement sends a stab of pain through my ribs. "No, they're supposed to do that."

Jordan returns with a few clean rags and a half-empty bottle of water. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. We take turns cleaning the blood from our faces and hands, trying to make ourselves look a little less like we just got our asses kicked.

Sparkplug's goon, meanwhile, is thrashing against his bonds, spitting curses at us. "You think you're so tough?" he sneers. "Just wait until Sparkplug gets his hands on you. He'll make you sorry you ever messed with us."

I ignore him, focusing on the throbbing pain in my side. Cracked ribs, I think, probing gently at the tender spot. Probably two or three. They'll heal, but it's going to hurt like hell in the meantime.

Jordan, ever the resourceful one, spots something sticking out of the goon's pocket. They reach in and pull out a battered old flip phone.

"Hey!" the goon protests, struggling harder against the ropes. "That's mine! You can't just take my stuff!"

Jordan flips the phone open, scrolling through the contacts. "Oh, I think we can. Seeing as how you and your buddy just tried to kill us and all."

They find what they're looking for and hit the call button, putting the phone to their ear. "Yeah, hello? I need to report a crime. Me and my friends were just attacked by some guys with powers. We managed to subdue them, but we're pretty banged up. Can you send some cops and an ambulance to our location?"

They rattle off the address of the warehouse, then hang up the phone and toss it back to the goon. "Help's on the way, asshole. Hope you like prison food."

We gather ourselves up, wincing at the various aches and pains. "We should get out of here," Derek says, glancing at the door. "Before the cops show up and start asking questions we can't answer."

I nod, taking a deep breath and immediately regretting it as my ribs scream in protest. "Yeah, let's go. We need to regroup, figure out our next move."

We limp out of the warehouse, leaving the mountain man and Sparkplug's goon behind for the authorities to deal with. It's not the victory we were hoping for, but it's something. A small step forward in this tangled web we've found ourselves caught in.