The escape was... anticlimactic. No police cars showed up by the time he was out of sight on the highway. Jason swerved onto the highway, waited for a spot where the trees covered the side of the road... and pulled off into the woods. Taking the metal cylinders, pulling wads of hundreds, fifties and twenties out, jamming them in; honestly he didn't think the ATM cash would have trackers in it, but these cylinders? Probably. He ditched them in the bushes. For the money from the vault... this was about to go into the teller drawers.
He was reasonably sure there was something alarmed about them, but... was it that each drawer was supposed to have one tracker or alarm, that you should only pull out if it was stolen? He sorted through the pile... but all of it looked good. No stray chips, no stray ink packets... Fine. He'll camp out for a couple days in the woods, see if anything comes up.
Using a wire brush, he scraped off the crappy spraypaint from the bike and pulled back out; now with a really hideous-looking, but different-colored bike, a different plate... and with a sad last glance, he had dumped the helmet... and lit it aflame with a bit of gasoline. Pulling back on the road, he was at least a bit less recognizable; and going the wrong direction. He'd already passed his little hole, and now backtracked; pulling up at the campground to see his fire still going, tent still there, truck waiting... and a solar panel charging his laptop.
The bike would go into a hole, a quarter-mile away, he'd smooth out the make-up covering his third eye, and that hideous fake nose he'd attached.. and now... to sit and wait. Let the heat die down for a bit.
At first, his thoughts boiled down to whether he could keep the bike. How much money was buried with it, and how long before he should leave. He checked through the ice chest in the truck; pulling out a carton of eggs, a packet of bacon; and started cooking over the fire, setting a cast-iron skillet carefully in place.
It wasn't until he'd started feeling he was safe that the events really sank in. He could see Lightning's face. No eyes. Numerous tiny holes in his body... and three big ones. Exposed brain. Honestly, most of the nose was gone. That mask... the bloody mask. He didn't have it with him, but he could see it. The man suddenly seeming to appear, like a projectile splattering against the counter.
His groans of pain. The panic of the tellers. The blood.
Well, fuck. Was he having second thoughts now? He'd never had this happen before after a fight. Then again... was he smart enough to rob a bank before? He was pretty damn sure that pre-head trauma Jason wouldn't have bothered with all of that advance planning. Sure as hell wouldn't have thought of mixing Orbeez and ceramic glass pellets the size of water droplets to make a custom Shroud grenade. Was he going to have a breakdown every time he fought someone!? No. He didn't after the cops. But then... those cops were bad guys. Worse than he'd ever been, probably.
And the nightmares. He'd started having nightmares about the deaths in the desert... mostly the kids. But he'd never had a nightmare about that cop. Would he have nightmares about Lightning?
Okay. Lets look at the facts.
Before the injury, he just flat-out wasn't that bright. He was strong, fast, sure. Not as strong or fast as now, but above-average even for a soldier. Now.. he was thinking of things he never would have thought before. Feeling what he never would have. Developing.. well. A conscience.
And at exactly the wrong goddamn time. The last time he'd had to shoot someone.. and been conscious after... he'd been calm, collected. Might as well have been filling a bucket of water. Some old man with a rifle older than Jason, defending his home, wrong place, wrong time.
Well. Not like he'd have to keep doing this bullshit. He had a fake ID, and enough cash to buy a place. All he had to do was find some way to launder the money... and he could just disappear. Who the hell would he call to launder money. The easy answer was gambling; just leave with as much as he came in with and he could claim it as gambling winnings. But... after Memphis, the casinos were probably watching for him.
...There was a good answer there. Lawyers. He could drop a grand on some lawyer who'd represented supervillains before. Sure as hell they'd be able to steer him right. And anybody who kept... well. People like him.. out of prison wouldn't have any sort of moral quandaries with it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He flipped out his latest burner phone; thank god smartphones were so cheap now.. at first, he started to run a search for lawyers, for supervillain trials. But no. Obviously they could trace that sort of stuff. Best to do that while on the move.
So for now, it just left him alone... in the woods, by a fire... eating a late breakfast. He had enough food for a few days... and.. huh. The hotel. He still had a few days left there. They'd seen him, plenty of times; but always with a hat, or a disguise. So... he should be fine. Except... they'd probably piece things together eventually, figure out Jason and Eyeball were one and the same. Unless... he burned down the hotel, killed everyone in it.
Yeah, not gonna happen. Why would he even think of that?
He flipped his bacon, and dished the eggs out into a cup; starting the long-familiar practice of eating everything out of a mug and disposable dishes in the middle of nowhere. Honestly... he'd probably sleep better tonight than he did in the hotel.
Well. Except for remembering Mark's face. His last, dying moments.
***
"This is Tina Lamarc for Headline news! Breaking news from Crater City, Colorado; During a robbery at the Crater City Credit Union, the superhero commonly known as 'Lightning', or 'The Speed Titan', was slain by an armed robber just before the credit union opened this morning. Video from the bank security cameras is now available; warning that this may be disturbing for our younger viewers."
The heavyset man sitting behind the table slammed both hands down, a broad grin spreading across his face as he watched the video. "Holy fuck! Finally! Somebody did it! Ten years, I had that bounty on that fucker." The other men at the table seemed somewhat reserved. Some equally jubilant. Some afraid.
One young woman, with dark skin, dyed pink hair dangling down her back, wearing blue tights with a black dagger emblem on the chest, crossed her arms, leaned back, and practically growled. "Damnit, daddy, I wanted to kill him! Can I kill this guy? He stole my kill!"
As the video played in slow motion; showing the thrown grenade... Lightning appearing, slamming into the counter... and his brutal execution with three shots at point blank range.. 'Daddy' shook his head. "Sweetheart. This guy just took down Lightning. Don't get me wrong, doll, you're absolute murder on just about anybody. But there's a reason you stayed clear of the midwest... until now."
He pulled to his feet, turning to the room. "Alright, gentlemen! I'm gonna have to pay out a giant goddamn bounty sometime soon to some dangerous motherfucking Titanslayer! That might suck, but you know what doesn't? I, Don Russo, am officially declaring open season in Colorado! With Lightning out of the way, whats left are old folks, retirees, people nobody gives a fuck about. Lets clean out the whole goddamned state!"
The Don turned to his daughter, and settled a hand on her shoulder. "Penelope." At her sudden glare, he rolled his eyes. "Swiftblade. Don't worry about this character 'stealing a kill' you couldn't have made to begin with. Why don't you think about all the jewelry stores in Crater City.. and how many diamonds you can have in your collection this time tomorrow?"
The girl's angry glare abruptly switched to a manic grin. "I can go solo, daddy!?"
"Do it. And if you see the man who killed Lightning, give him my regards. And the address here."
The laughter faded as the girl vanished form sight; a visible blur fading from the walls as she departed.
One of the men; wearing a more traditional suit and hat, finely tailored black with pinstripes, stepped up to the Don. "Boss. You sure about sending her out? She's... well."
"She's the best decision I ever made. My brother was a goddamned idiot for giving her up just because she was the wrong color. Maybe she's a bit aggressive, but right now? With Lightning out of the picture? The game has changed. Give Valkyrie a call. Make sure we don't step on her toes, but otherwise... when I said open season, I meant it."
***
The blue blur speeding across the border, heading north into Colorado, was clocked in at over 800 miles per hour when it passed a police car on the side of the road; but somehow, didn't create the sonic boom that they were expecting. For just a moment, the Colorado Highway Patrol officer was unconcerned. He'd clocked Lightning going past a few times, but he only registered on radar when he felt like being a bit silly.
It was another minute after he'd cleared the numbers out of his radar gun that he remembered the news. Lightning was dead. Then who the hell... Oh, shit. She was coming up out of Nevada? He ran to his radio, held down the button. "This is offisss......" He went silent. Everything suddenly felt... cold. So cold.
He fell to the ground, a hole the size of a fist clear through his torso. That blue figure manifested in front of him for a moment. A tiny dark-skinned girl wearing some sort of breathing apparatus covering her face. She held a rock in her hand, tossing it up and down a few times as she examined her handiwork... and then disappeared once more. The camera on the officer's car picked up the entire scene.