Firebreak bellowed his frustration in the hollow confines of his mask even as it filled with water. Again. He felt a lot of things at that moment. The pain in his leg and burned hands. Fear at having been caught using his unreported power. Anger at himself for allowing it all to happen. Then there was the guilt, guilt that he’d failed so utterly at his job that now Johansen was in real danger, especially when there was no real need to take the risks he did.
How did it come to this?
It had been two years since he’d advanced his understanding of his power enough to realize what it really was. The limitless potential it gave him. The danger it represented. He’d been so careful leaving no digital trail when acquiring materials, running his experiments way out in the hinterlands, training with Uncle Wilhelm. Hell, he’d spent a month mentally preparing himself for visits from AHAB, assuming a completely different physical and psychological profile like a method actor.
He didn’t want to end up like some of his peers from the early days after the incident, black bagged and drugged on an operating table. It had been a decade since Longknife and her Fixers tore open the NSA’s super blacksite and exposed the program, but the horrors that came to light in the ensuing days were seared into every super’s memories. Their choices were to be so powerful no one could touch you or be so mundane no one bothered.
Supers like Joseph were dangerous, not just in what they could do, but in how vulnerable they were. The temptation they offered to amoral parties like the government or biotech corpos.
And now Joseph just pissed all of his careful planning and subterfuge away by blowing up the only Company agent they ever assigned him.
He rolled onto his side, using one arm to push himself out of the water and the other to cradle Johansen’s head. The company woman’s eyes were open but unfocused, blinking rapidly. Her breath whistled and rattled in her throat too, which concerned Firebreak more than anything. How long had she been in the house?
Propping Johansen up against the basement wall, he unfastened the straps on the back of his mask and pulled it free from his face. Instantly, the particulates in the air stung his eyes and attacked his sinuses, but he’d deal with that problem later. Being a super made him a bit more resilient than human. Hopefully that translated to alien fungal infections too. Already he could feel the fluid building in his lungs.
Meanwhile, Johansen was getting more active, weakly slapping at him, trying to crawl away, not fully realizing what she was doing. Probably a good reflex given the situation, but it cost her precious seconds, seconds the two of them couldn’t afford. Using a loose corner of Johansen’s skirt, Firebreak wiped down the inside of the mask to get the worst of the debris out of the way, so it could make a seal.
“Johansen! Put thi- *cough*” a coughing fit interrupted him. “Put this on! *cough* It will help!” He shouted, knowing her ears must be ringing like church bells. He’d found out just how effective the yellows were the hard way.
In a swift motion, he jammed the mask onto Johansen’s face and went to work tightening the straps.
At first, she tried to fight it, some semblance of her strength finally returning to her arms and legs enough to claw and kick at him as he held the mask on her face, but eventually she seemed to come back to reality, holding the mask herself. She didn’t try to get up or to speak. She just laid there and breathed filtered air for a while, presumably getting herself back together.
Leveraging himself on a section of the old iron plumbing that hung on rusted braces along the walls, Firebreak stood then hobbled over to the break in the ceiling, but when he looked up, the lasher was gone, probably back to watching its food wear themselves down. He ran his eyes over everything, picking out possible spots for a truck-sized creature without a skeletal structure to hide. Too many to count. He’d seen a video once of an octopus that could escape from securely sealed aquariums, even jars, thanks to being able to fit through openings it had no business fitting through. It didn’t seem fair for the lasher to be so strong and still able to fit through a keyhole.
“Found something.” Firebreak jumped in surprise, banging his head on the pipe he’d been using to support his weight. Johansen stood behind him, gas mask on, looking otherwise like a drowned cat with filthy and ripped clothes, but in her hand she held his shotgun.
“Holy shit, Johansen,” he said, rubbing his forehead where he’d made impact. “Are you okay?”
“Not hearing too well. I’m just going to assume you said ‘Let’s get out of this house and nuke it from orbit,’” she said, wiggling a finger around in her ear. “Thank you for this, by the way,” she added, indicating the mask with a wave of her hand. “What about you? Are you okay?”
Firebreak nodded trying to look stoic but failing as he sniffled and coughed in the toxic air.
“After this is over, I’m making a powerpoint presentation about open flames and natural gas, and you’re sitting through the whole thing.”
A little spark of hope ignited in Joseph’s spirit. Had she mistaken his flashbang working for plain old fire? A gas explosion would have been a convenient explanation if he’d not turned off the gas and electricity to the house himself. Could he turn it back on before anyone was the wiser?
He frowned, not willing to accept that Johansen would be sticking around. “Still not sold on having a Company agent-“
“Liaison. And It’s too late. We’re bonded now. I saved your life.”
Joseph cocked an eyebrow. “You fell on me.”
“Rallied at your location, you mean.” Johansen held out the shotgun for him to take. “It’s probably best if you use this. I can’t see much in this mask, and I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Besides, you’re the hero right?” She wobbled a little on her feet, nearly overbalanced from the weight of the shotgun combined with the inner ear disruption she was suffering.
The guilt surged up from the depths and gripped Joseph’s heart even more tightly, and it was only going to get worse after what he had in mind.
“Keep it for now,” he said.
“And what do I shoot at?”
“You’ll know it when you see it” he said, wiggling his fingers in the air in his best impression of tentacles. “First order of business would be to find a way back to the first floor though. Patty didn’t mention a basement.”
“Looks like it was sealed up,” Johansen replied, pointing to a rotting pile of wood that probably used to be stairs. Above said pile was an empty door frame that led to bare sheetrock.
Firebreak thought back to the floorplan for a moment and did a little guess work. “Probably leads to the kitchen. I don’t like the idea of crawling back through the ceiling, so let’s try the stairs. I’ll give you a boost.”
“And what am I going to do once I’m up there?” She asked dubiously. “That’s a wall.”
“Make a hole and find something to help me up.”
“I think our scales of difficulty are a little out of sync. You expect me to break through the wall like a powdered drink mascot?”
“It’s wet drywall.”
“You have no idea how little that means to me,” she replied, running a hand over the overhead plumbing then scraping the slime onto Firebreak’s shoulder. “Listen, so far this place has been incredibly gross and painful, but that’s it. I haven’t seen your lasher or even heard of one. I want to help, but I’m working blind. It’s obviously something awful, but what is it exactly?”
“A carnivorous bundle of tentacles that manifests in the Scar. Ambush predator. Each tentacle has a mouth like a leech. They move into a location, and that location becomes hostile to life over time.”
“Is it always like this?” she asked. “With the knives and nails and fish hooks?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve never seen one just come in and take over like this.”
“What are you even doing fighting something like this anyway, what with your limitations?” she asked as she cracked open the shotgun to check the shells. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he replied, knocking on one of the pipes above his head. “Limitations or no, someone has to do it.”
“Don’t they have people for this?”
“Who?”
“They. AHAB, the military, the three letter agencies. Take your pick. I thought they had the Scar sealed up tight.”
Firebreak chuckled bitterly but otherwise couldn’t think of anything to say, nothing that could capture the utter futility of the U.S. government trying to contain a literal rip in the fabric of their universe, at least.
Johansen must have picked up on his feelings, because she went back to more immediate concerns. “So, it won’t just pick me off once I go wandering around the rest of the house?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He pointed down at the shotgun. “Because you’ll have the boom stick.”
“It’s intelligent enough to recognize a gun?”
“Yes and no. They have a kind of enhanced awareness of everything in their territory, and this one won’t want to take the risk.” Not while there is weaker prey around anyway.
He unfastened the catches on his suit and started feeling around for the velcro seams.
Johansen’s head tilted to the side. “What are you doing?”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He grunted. “Suit’s wet. Too heavy.”
The suit came off in pieces, the arms, the vest, the midsection, the groin, and the legs. He saved his bad leg for last. When he got to that part, he found the material much tighter than it had been when he put it on. Apparently his injury came with some significant swelling. The suit was probably the only thing allowing him to stand on it at all. He hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided that it had to go if his plan was going to work.
This was going to hurt. He grasped the velcro between his fingers and let out a long, calming breath. Then he pulled. Hard. His entire world spun, and he fought that feeling of vertigo he’d experienced earlier. A tortured scream tore its way out of his throat, and he fell back into the water. When he finally was able to look down and check his work, he was panting and tears freely flowed down his face. Only half way done.
Johansen crouched down over him. “Let me help,” she said with surprising gentleness that came through even with the mask. She reached down and gently pulled the velcro apart, little by little, while Firebreak hyperventilated. When the entire leg finally came free, a profound sense of relief washed over him, and his hands were shaking as his body worked processing all that adrenaline.
Johansen stared at him from behind the gas mask, unreadable but looking concerned nevertheless. “Might have been better to leave that part on.”
“It’s done now,” Joseph panted. “Help me up.”
After Johansen cleared away some of the rotted wood to clear a solid foothold under the sealed door, she deposited Firebreak to awkwardly lean against the wall as he braced himself and cupped his hands.
“You’re sure about this?” asked Johansen as she stuffed the shotgun into the waist of her skirt.
This was most definitely going to hurt, but Firebreak didn’t see any other way. “Time’s wasting. Once you get through the wall, find a ladder or a rope or something.”
Johansen nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she declared as she stepped into his cupped hands.
The muscles in Joseph’s body naturally tensed in preparation for what he was about to do, igniting his pain anew, but it was either this or stay down here until help came. Firebreak grunted and heaved, launching Johansen upward, overshooting the door frame and nearly flattening her against the ceiling. There was a moment as her momentum died, where she just hung in the air, flailing her arms to keep herself upright, grasping at what handholds she could see. Then she came down one foot on the old door frame and one hand bracing against an exposed stud on her right.
As he watched Johansen get her footing, Firebreak breathed a sigh of relief. He’d chosen to err on the side of too much force as opposed to too little, and it nearly cost them. Now, though, with Johansen safely on the ledge, Joseph let himself collapse back into the filthy water. The cool pressure and weightlessness seemed to help with the pain somewhat.
“Okay. I’m going to try to break through.” Johansen called from above. “Just hold on, alright?”
Now that his part was done, Firebreak allowed himself a moment of respite there on the floor, just basking in the knowledge that there was nothing else for him to do for now. His hands shook and his eyelids felt heavy again. He was most likely coming down from his adrenaline high or succumbing to shock. Or both. Probably both.
From above there was the thump thump thump of Johansen bashing the drywall with the butt of the shotgun. Little clumps of the stuff rained down on his head, but they were too small to worry about and moving would be just too much of a bother right now.
A few minutes later the pitch of the blows changed, followed by a triumphant shout from Johansen slightly muffled like she’d stuck her head in the other room. “I’m through! You okay down there?”
He processed the question for a couple seconds before responding “I’m good. Just be careful.”
“I promise, I’ll be right back,” she assured him, maybe a little louder than was necessary. Was she reassuring him? Herself? The lasher? It might have been all three.
With that, she was gone. Good. Firebreak knew nothing in the house, rope, ladder or otherwise would be close to usable. The place was too far gone. Too tainted. Johansen would have to make her way outside to the workshop and grab something from there. That gave him a little time.
Motivation came to him slowly. His position propped up against the wall was so damned comfortable, but it wouldn’t do. Slowly, the will to get back on the job returned to him, summoned from that place in his mind that wouldn’t let him rest. That maddening ember that never cooled. Not until everything was right.
He rolled his neck and stretched his arms and torso, careful not to move his leg overly much. Then, with a pained grunt, he hauled himself upright once more to hobble over to the opening to the living room, making it a point not to look around.
Without the support of the suit he couldn’t move well, and he was vulnerable to attack. Without the mask his eyes stung, and he coughed weakly. Without the shotgun he had no quick defense.
He’d made himself vulnerable. Weakened.
Prey.
Firebreak reached for his bandolier, popping open a blue tube and a green, holding the rolled up papers in opposite hands and ready to call upon his power. There he stood, exposed, injured, hands at his sides, his fire brimming on the edge of existence. For a solid minute he listened to the drip, drip of the water, the wind whistling through the house, and the shifting of the wood.
That was when the attack came. Not from above, as he’d expected, but from behind him. Hook-toothed horrors sprang from the darkness and latched onto him, two in the small of his back. He reflexively tried to spin to face his attacker, and that motion saved his neck from a third tentacle that missed its mark and attached to his collarbone instead. The mouths flexed and bent, working their way into his flesh. The lasher had a good hold of him now, and he felt himself lifted off the ground and spun around to allow the tentacles to bind his arms and legs. The creature had nearly slipped entirely into the basement with him through the plumbing, parts of it still oozing from the old pipes to deposit itself into the water with meaty, wet plops.
The tentacles binding him flexed, tightening their grip and crushing the wind out of his lungs, while the mouths at the ends of the tentacles drank what blood they could get from his body. The edges of Firebreak’s vision started to feather and go dark.
Hey. He really needed that blood. He also really needed oxygen. But it wasn’t time yet.
The pipe that the creature was extracting itself from sagged in its supports. The body of the lasher was too much for the old construction to hold. Old bolts and fittings came free from the brick with little pops, and the pipes groaned under the weight. Almost there. Then a great clump of biomass spilled from the pipe’s opening into open air, immediately supported and drawn into the mass of tentacles that formed a protective screen in front of it. There it was, the lasher’s core where he could finally reach it.
Firebreak ignited the working in his right hand. Again, he felt his flesh burning, but the pain was fleeting. Then the air glowed a blue so bright and intense, he had to shut his eyes. The tentacles around him suddenly fell limp. The mouths no longer actively ripped at his flesh. He and the mass of appendages dropped to the floor, a round shield of otherworldly energy he’d summoned into existence was now affixed to the back of his hand, which he was very careful not to land on. Severed stubs of the tentacles previously attached to Firebreak whipped back and forth, smashing into the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Loose brick and splinters of wood rained down to splash into the water or sizzle on his shield.
Like all of his workings, this one was still a prototype, A work in progress if you will. It functioned like a force dispersal barrier, creating a circle shaped plane that redirected energy transferred to it out to the edges and away, save for light waves and a little vibration. However, the edges were sharp as hell with the shield being maybe an atom or two thick. He’d nearly lost a limb as he’d developed the design. Twice. Also, the doc had to reattach his pinky. Momentum of direct strikes made against the shield were severely diminished, but the trade-off was that it wouldn’t stick around for long.
The lasher was rallying, retracting the severed appendages and employing quick, probing strikes from the sides and above, never fully committing like it did at the start. Firebreak blocked these strikes for the most part. His inability to stand kept him in one place, but it also gave him a low profile that could make good use of the shield. His reaction speed took a hit of course. Some strikes made it through, but the edge of the barrier cut into the offending tentacles before they could latch, severing a tip here or carving off a disgusting filet there.
He needed to make the most of the opening he’d created for himself while the creature was still figuring out its new spot on the food chain.
Igniting the working in his other hand, the green, an amorphous blob of gray goo coalesced in the air suspended an inch above Joseph’s palm. He could feel the effects of the stuff even as he tried to move the working into position. It felt like his arm was underwater with every motion he made, robbed of a bit of its momentum. Sensing that his concentration was split, the lasher’s tentacles came at him now, from the sides and above. It had withdrawn to its side of the basement fully now, spreading itself along the walls and ceiling and under the water until it was in a position to strike from all angles at once. Unless something changed it wouldn’t be long before Joseph was overwhelmed.
Firebreak twisted and drew back his arm, preparing to activate as much muscle as he could for his next move. He twisted at the waist and hurled the gray goo like a shotput into the center mass of the creature. The projectile felt so slow. So cumbersome. The glob bent and deformed in the air like a water balloon, floating, gliding unnaturally until it impacted the flesh of the lasher with a splat. The lasher had blocked the projectile of course, but that didn’t matter. The gray goo affixed onto the thing’s body, seeping into its pores, spreading, replicating, turning anything it touched the same shade of gray as the working itself. First, the tentacles nearest ground zero stopped moving, their now gray mass hung there, suspended, unable to even succumb to gravity. Then the effect spread through the creature, down the flesh, through the blood vessels, capillaries, fibers, and nerves.
The lasher knew something was wrong. Out of instinct it attacked the problem, biting at it and whipping it, but this only served to infect itself further. Whatever touched the gray goo lost its ability to move or be moved.
Then the creature attempted to tear itself away from the threat, even going so far as to sever some of the affected appendages, but in its rush to get away, it could not divest itself of enough mass to stop the spread entirely. It only took about ten seconds for the creature to be entirely robbed of its ability to move. It floated there, tentacles, mouths, core, everything, gray and lifeless. Even the walls it touched turned gray, and Firebreak was sure the water was similarly affected, though he couldn’t tell in this light.
Firebreak tried to get some distance just in case. This working was an accident, one that he didn't fully understand, and that scared the hell out of him. It was a sort of white noise that scrambled matter and energy until the concepts became effectively meaningless, disconnecting affected matter from the rules of force and inertia for a short time. It was also contagious. The gray goo was particularly frightening if it touched living material. If he allowed it to infect him, he most likely wouldn’t survive long enough for it to wear off. His blood wouldn’t be able to pick up enough momentum to travel through his body. His heart would stop. Even the electrical signals in his brain would cease. He didn’t want to think about what that felt like. While he waited his shield sputtered and died.
He reached up to his shoulder and popped one of his red tubes, pulling out his final working. The killing blow needed to be fire. The Company expected him to use fire.
He crushed the paper in his hand and let it burn, then in its place ignited a yellow conflagration so familiar to him, it was like an old friend. It was the most stable of his workings, warm and serene so long as he held it in his hand. An inferno once it was thrown. He held it out to his side as he waited for the gray goo to run its course on his adversary.
The color of the walls came back first, going from gray to brown slowly over the course of a few seconds. The lasher started getting its color back after about a minute, its weightlessness left it soon after. Then it fell down into the pool with a splash and an impressive displacement of water that almost carried Joseph back into the opposite wall, but once the creature was out of stasis and grounded, he performed the coup de grace.
He unleashed his old friend. The fireball working screamed ethereally as it barreled into the lasher, dead center at its core, igniting flesh and evaporating the surrounding water instantly, and as it hit, the ball detonated with a *fwump*, flinging sticky webs of hot napalm in all directions. The lasher didn’t have the energy to scream or flail anymore. It simply died with the bulk of its body consumed in a yellow inextinguishable inferno. Black, unwholesome smoke billowed up from the corpse and escaped through the ceiling into the Maldonados’ living room.
Firebreak could tell the creature had died when the oppressive presence of the house seemed to pop like a soap bubble, finally allowing light and sound from the outside to come in. Red and blue lights flashed through the living room windows up above, casting strange shapes and hues in the smoke. Unintelligible orders were being shouted by gruff voices out there somewhere.
A shiny silver extension ladder slid down from the overhead opening with a clunk.
Johansen stood at the top, carrying an expensive looking pistol in her hand that she kept pointed at the lasher’s burning corpse. After coming to the conclusion that the creature wouldn’t be getting up, she turned to Joseph, her eyes pinning him in place. “You and I need to talk.”