It was Friday and Malcolm sat through lunch alone as always, eating the same exact ham and cheese sandwich he'd perfected years before; bread a bit buttered and burnt, lettuce, salt and pepper, some mustard and mayo thrown in.
It was a calm sunny day, and Malcolm enjoyed looking out through the tall glass windows just beside his two-seat table. Students were allowed to eat outside too, and he saw plenty sitting there on the patio, some on benches, some around a table, all of them in the same white and green uniform he now wore.
The cafeteria droned loudly as always, but that's what earbuds were for, and cranking up The Cure made fine enough background noise for his thoughts, most of which revolved around scheduling. He'd gotten a text just that morning that made him want to get through the assigned biology reading early, else he'd be stuck doing it just as the Outpost got lively enough that even he wouldn't want to miss out.
Malcolm munched on in this way, people-watching and planning. Then Luke had to go and ruin it by sitting across from him.
The guy said something, waving as he set down his own plate of rice, chicken, and beans. Malcolm sighed, accepted his lot in life, and reached up to unplug his earbuds so he could actually hear.
Luke watched him stuff the earbuds in his pocket. "Whatcha listening to?"
Malcolm stared deadpan at him. "Music."
Luke nodded, scooping up a bite. "Amazing."
He was in many ways Malcolm's exact opposite; square-jawed instead of narrow-faced, hair army-cut instead of slicked over, and where Malcolm suffered from an annoying lack of height Luke stood buff enough that he had to hunch over the table just to properly use his plastic cutlery. His good looks matched with good humor, and it was no surprise to see several other students around the cafeteria shoot their table strange looks, wondering why the jock chose to sit and eat with someone who had by then built a solid reputation as an unapproachable loner.
And yet, despite everything, Luke had become one of the very few people entirely nonplussed by Malcolm's surliness. Speaking charitably, they were even something like friends, though Malcolm himself would never admit it.
Save someone's life and he'd never leave you alone; at least, that's what Malcolm had learned. Now Luke had made it his life's mission to bug Malcolm into some degree of sociability, and no amount of disinterest on the latter's part seemed to discourage him.
"So listen," Luke said, between bites, "things are all ready to go for tonight. You're still coming, right?"
Malcolm raised a brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Dude, Walton's party, remember? You said you'd come."
It took a bit for Malcolm to bring the memory to mind. After the chaos of the week before, he'd frankly had far more important things to deal with. Still, he did eventually remember something about a party.
"I said I would think about it," Malcolm said.
"Right, and after thinking about it you'll obviously make the right choice and go."
"Not so obvious to me."
"I'll text you the deets later," Luke said, and that was that.
The guy was relentless. As much as it irritated him, Malcolm had to admit if only to himself that it was also pretty impressive.
But he still had that text to fall back on. "My brother's coming back today," Malcolm said, still trying to imply his way out of this one.
Luke just nodded, as if that were an interesting yet completely unrelated fact. "He been on a trip or something?"
"Yep. Long trip. It'll be good to catch back up." Even as he said it Malcolm knew, looking at Luke's continual and untroubled nod, that this was not at all registering as something that might disturb his supposed party plans.
"I remember you telling me your bro did... er, the same thing you did," Luke said, voice falling to a conspiratorial low. "I guess it's the family business, huh?"
"Something like that."
"So, what's he been up to?"
"Sometimes, there are problems big enough that certain people need to get called in. He's one of those people."
That made Luke shiver. "Ugh, I can't even imagine something worse than that big-ass spider. Thing still haunts my dreams." He looked at Malcolm then, brow raised appraisingly. "You know, as stupid as I think it is, I gotta respect you for sitting here cool as a cucumber knowing there's straight-up monsters out there. I mean, how does that not constantly freak you out?"
Malcolm shrugged. "You get used to it. Plus, it helps to know I'm not the only one who needs to deal with them."
- - - — MKII — - - -
Captain Frank Rollins had hoped it would take longer than a measly week for him to run into another bout of absurdity, but his luck had failed him there. Worse, this time it happened at the docks and right in the middle of the day, so it wasn't quite as simple to evacuate the area. That and, rather than a big yet lumbering rock monster, he had to somehow deal with what he was pretty sure were wind speeds in the hundreds of miles per hour.
The sun had by now been covered in a sheen of dark storm clouds, graying the sky. Added to all the flying debris, not to mention the necessary hand over his own face to keep his eyes open; it all made it hard enough for Rollins to even see if there were still people left to help.
Actually getting to those people without falling flat on his ass was another matter entirely. Each step he took threatened to steal away his balance, and even when he leaned forward against the gale he felt like he was walking a swaying tightrope, dreadlocks whipping around uncontrollably.
"Captain!" one of his men now shouted behind him. "I think we oughta fall back!"
Clamping his hat tight against his head, Rollins turned to see only two other officers following him. The rest of his team were either rolling across the concrete, buffeted by wind, or hunched over by a wall of shipping containers, hugging their rusty corners to keep from getting thrown off.
God damn, they really didn't get paid enough for this shit. The only thing they had going for them was that no normal person would stick around in this weather.
He and his men had gotten there just in time to watch a whole throng run away from the shore and into the city. But, Rollins knew from experience, that wasn't good enough. There might still be some maniac hanging around, and it was their responsibility to check.
After all, Rollins had gotten roped right into the heart of the weirdo madness last time they established a perimeter without making sure the area was clear. That wasn't happening again, nuh huh.
"We keep going!" he shouted, voice blowing away.
Then, just as he turned back to carry on, he saw the clouds overhead suddenly spin, gray swirling faster and faster, thickening and darkening. Wind spun around, taking in water, shooting out drops of the sea in waves of sideways rain, morphing into a miniature cyclone just over the shore.
Buffeted by wind and the pounding of small tsunamis, one of the four large shipping vessels docked nearby swerved back and forth, back and forth, then rolled over completely. Water surged up over its great metal mass, consuming it in a splatter of whirlpools, sinking the whole thing in seconds.
Well, okay then.
Rollins turned back to his men. "We oughta fall back!" he said, and the others nodded vigorously. Can't say they didn't try. Responsibility was one thing, but he wasn't about to throw his life away.
They all started stomping away from the meteorological impossibility, going to join the rest of their team by the shipping containers. Just as they came into the refuge of this makeshift outdoor hallway, a constellation of wooden crates flew out from around the corner, all of them people-sized and all of them bearing down on the squad of cops.
Seeing it, Rollins' team ducked behind whatever container they could. As for Rollins himself, he was still too far away to go for cover. All the captain could do was crouch and wait wide-eyed as the crates danced in erratic chaos, one of them bearing down on him. He closed his eyes, bracing for impact.
And then a boy leaped down right in front of him, arm already pulled back. Feet digging in against the wind, the boy twisted his hips, fist curling forward, and punched the coming crate apart in an explosion of splinters, glass, and styrofoam.
Rollins watched the crate and its contents break, the debris shooting past at either side of him along the surging air current. Then he watched the boy turn around and look back at him.
"It’s you!" Rollins said.
And it was. Now donning a black hoodie that fit just a bit too large, curly brown hair blowing with the wind, and the very same diagonal crimson stripes marking one cheek down to his jaw, Red Two was not someone to forget.
It took a second, but eventually Red recognized Rollins back, and he grinned. "Hey, copper," he said, shouting over the whooshing gale. "Long time no see!"
Rollins sighed, feeling his muscles unknot. Strange as it was to admit, this boy could take care of business. "Man am I glad you're here, kid!"
"I'm glad I'm here too," Red said, turning back. The cyclone writhed over the water, expanding and contracting in sudden surges. "Feels like the world's ending!"
He sounded excited about it. Obviously insane, but Rollins wasn't exactly expecting the boy to be reasonable after the last time they'd met.
"Where's the one with the glasses?" he asked.
"Four-eyes is at school right now."
"So you're on your own?!"
"Uh..."
Now someone else appeared, though unlike Red they struggled forward against the wind from behind Rollins. The cop turned to see this new player, a young man with long sandy hair that matched a carefully kept goatee. His cargo shorts, a loose tank top, and sandals made him stand out in the terrible weather, though in all honesty he would've been off-season either way.
"I appreciate the heroic entrance!" Stretch shouted. "But don't just run in!"
Red's grin turned sheepish, and he gave an ironic salute. "Sorry!"
Looking between the two, Rollins saw that, while they both stood bent-kneed against the constant barrage of gusts, they still seemed stable enough on their feet. A far cry from Rollins or his men, who could only barely avoid getting blown away even as they crouched low enough to graze the floor.
These two could weather the storm just fine. Rollins didn't know much, but he'd seen their type in action enough to guess it had to do with that strange power of theirs, one that made them stronger and faster than any normal person.
They were the people who got called in when the job got too difficult and strange for anyone else. They were Rangers.
"I'll leave the rest to you!" Rollins said.
Red sent him one last thrilled look. "Good idea!"
Rollins nodded and, without further ado turned to walk away, waving at the rest of his men to do the same. They all stumbled their way out through the corridor of shipping containers, all of them with an arm just over their eyes, clothes whipping with each shift in the air.
"Alright," Red said, looking up at the cyclone. "Now that the normies are gone, what actually is this thing anyway?"
Stretch hummed, examining with eyes narrowed against the wind. The concentrated storm hovered over the sea, right between two rows of great orange shipping cranes that dipped up into the clouds. Wind, fog, and rain cycled through the cranes, splashing against their bulk, curving clockwise around their beams.
"Looks like wind sprites," Stretch eventually said. He thumped Red's shoulder and started for the row of cranes on their left, jogging unsteadily beside the drop into crashing water. "Come on, I have an idea!"
Debris flew at them as they ran, though thankfully it was small enough to ignore or easily avoid—pieces of glass, crunched-up soda cans, bits of earth. Red felt himself get pelted by all these things and covered his face, hoping none of it would poke his eye out.
"So, wind sprites?" he asked.
"Little superpowered bugs," Stretch said. "Usually they get together and spin up a hurricane or two down by the Caribbean, but every once in a while a few fly further up the coast."
"A bunch'a bugs can do this?!"
"World's a dangerous place, man." Stretch smiled back at Red. "But all we have to do is catch enough of 'em and the storm'll die out!"
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Red didn't know how they were gonna do that, but he followed Stretch all the same. They reached the first crane, and without any hesitation Stretch started climbing up the metal stairs on its back leg, Red right behind him.
Each step was a mute ring under the rolling storm, and they both ran up several at a time in leaping lunges. Then they got high enough to pierce up into the swirling layer of clouds, and it became impossible to ignore the push of the wind. Red had to hold tightly onto the handrails to avoid getting blown off, and Stretch slowed to one painful step after another, crouching low, hugging the railing like a mountain wall before a precipice.
When they reached the top, the two Rangers stepped into a narrow platform. Red held a hand over his eyes, looking out at a nonexistent view. Everything around them was a sheet of fluid gray currents, one that came right at them, consuming them in cloudy streams.
"Okay, what now?" Red asked.
But when he turned to Stretch the guy had wrapped one arm diagonally around one of the crane's beams and a foot around the handrail below. Each limb held tight in a surreal knot, extending far beyond what should've been possible, and Stretch hung in the air between them.
"Help me out here!" he said, holding out his other hand and foot to Red. "Tie these to the other side over there!"
Red blinked up at him. "Uh, sure."
He went slowly over, grabbing the outstretched limbs and stomping across the rest of the platform. As Red walked, those limbs got longer and longer, like pulling on a fleshy rope. "Can't tell if this is awesome or freaky or both," he muttered.
He tied the leg to the railing, and while getting the arm around the beam high up was a bit more difficult, Stretch helped by extending his own arm the rest of the way and tying himself up around it. Stepping back, Red saw that now Stretch hung between the crane's beams several feet in the air, arms and legs held out like a star, the wind slapping against his body and rocking it erratically.
Then, Stretch expanded his torso. Chest flattening, it grew up along his arms until it reached the beams on either side, hips doing the same down along his legs. Watching him, Red looked in wonder as he grew into a sort of sail, one that immediately bent back as it caught the wind, reaching far out over the platform's edge.
Stretch's head, standing like a nub atop his new flattened body, grimaced painfully. "I can't look down! Tell me when I start catching them!"
Red was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, but then saw what looked like a bead of blue light suddenly streak in along and settle into Stretch's expanded gut. The boy leaned over the rail, eyes narrowed to see that it was some kind of fluffy gnat, one trapped against the pushing wind and the wall Stretch had made out of his own body.
No one had to tell Red this was one of the wind sprites Stretch had talked about. "Oh, I get it! You're like a big net!"
Despite the strain of holding on against the raging air currents, Stretch shared Red's full-toothed smile. "I'm all-purpose, baby!"
Slowly, more and more wind sprites fell into the Stretch trap. Red watched them fly in, some plopping in and wriggling in place, others landing splat like bugs against a windshield. He counted them, one, two, five, ten, fifteen, and then Red noticed Stretch slackening a bit as the wind started winding down.
"I think it's working!" he said, looking up at the sky. Still gray and cloudy, but definitely calmer, even if he still had to shout over the roaring noise.
The wind slowed more and more until within seconds the air seemed to still. Stretch sighed, looking down at his belly and all the dead or injured sprites that had piled up there with a grimace. "Y'know, this isn't even in the top ten grossest things I've had to do on the clock."
Red smiled, about to respond, but then the wind picked right back up again. It sliced through the air with even more ferocity than before, slamming into Red and making him stagger back in surprise, filling his ears with the shock of sudden noise.
It slammed into Stretch too. But now he bent forward in the opposite direction, almost smacking Red on the platform.
"It's blowin' the other way!" Red said, and walked to look over the railing at where the cyclone's eye had been floating over the water.
In the meantime, Stretch shrunk back to normal, letting himself get untied, limbs rubber-banding back into his body. Groaning, he rolled a shoulder, feeling a soreness he was sure would only get worse as it settled in. "We got a good few, at least. How's it looking, man?!"
Red didn't answer, so Stretch strode over to join him, looking over the railing himself. The two stared in a silence filled with the scream of a jet-force gale.
"That's a friggin' tornado," Red finally said.
"Yep."
"... We should really get down from here."
"Yep."
Still, neither moved, a little too stunned to see the funneling spiral of thick gray destruction that rapidly formed just a hundred or so yards away. It grew by the second, getting fatter and fatter, coming down from the curtain of clouds above like a godly finger to touch down on the chaotic storm surge of waves below. They stood still on the shipping crane's platform, just staring, right up until they felt that crane begin shifting from under them.
That got Stretch to step back. "Uh, yeah, let's run."
The tornado, roiling in lasso cycles, now began to steadily make its way right toward them. No detours, no stutters. Just heading straight in their direction.
Red hummed. "I think we might've made 'em mad."
Stretch slapped Red's shoulder, grabbing the boy by the hoodie and pulling. "Red, buddy, running-away time! Right now!"
The two dashed across the platform and stopped at the stairs. Stretch looked down at all the flights, remembering how long it had taken to climb up them, then glanced back at the coming twister. Its turbid form was horrifyingly close now, maybe half the distance it had been just seconds before.
He thought about just weathering it on the crane, tying himself to it again with Red in tow, but another shake of the floor and an accompanying screech of metal made his stomach drop. Staying there would get them sucked in for sure, and at this rate taking the stairs down would end up the same way.
Red seemed to come to the same conclusion, but instead of panicking he just wordlessly grabbed Stretch and threw the guy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It happened so quickly that Stretch didn't even get the chance to complain about it before Red, still without a word, lunged onto the railing and leaped right off the platform.
"YEAH!" Red shouted, fist pumping forward.
They flew into the air, hung there for a moment, then dropped like a couple of bound rocks.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Stretch screamed, watching the ground below zoom closer and closer as they fell what had to be a hundred feet.
Red let out a bark of laughter, feeling the raging wind all around him, reveling in the way his heart went straight to his throat the faster they went down. Then, once they reached the ground, he bent his knees and used the immense momentum to throw himself forward into a sprint.
"Please, please tell me before you do something like that again," Stretch said, feeling woozy. "God, you're insane. I thought we were gonna die!"
"It wasn't that bad," Red said. A fall like that wasn't ever gonna kill him, though he supposed he could've made that clear before jumping. Still running, he held onto Stretch like a boombox. "How close is the thing now?"
Stretch tried to blink away the dizziness, then looked up
He was met by a veritable wall of gray consuming the crane they'd just been on, enshrouding the whole thing. Shipping containers started popping open, doors swinging wide and letting out all manner of random waste that rose and wrapped itself around the twister. Soon enough some of the empty containers themselves started sliding across the concrete ground, bouncing up and down toward the giant swirling vacuum.
"It's definitely close enough!" Stretch said, thumping Red's back. "Faster! Go faster!"
Red did go faster. His legs pumped with as much strength as he had, and they zipped through the container aisles like scurrying vermin.
At least they did up until a container in front of them fell off another, blocking the way. Red tried jumping over it, and only realized his mistake once gravity seemed to turn off. He hung in the air again, except when gravity returned he fell not down but back, getting sucked into the storm.
Luckily, Stretch thought fast and threw an arm out like a whip, grabbing onto one of the closed containers. He drew them away from the coming tornado, teeth gritting against the sheer pull and bite of the wind.
Then, Red's grip slipped.
Stretch shouted with equal worry and effort, throwing out his other arm at the boy. "Grab on!"
Extending some dozen feet, his hand got close enough to the flying Red that the boy managed to reach it. Now in the air with this single lifeline, Red held onto Stretch's lengthened arm with both hands, still getting pulled away.
"Don't let go!" Stretch said, trying and failing to reel the boy back in.
"Really wasn't planning on it!" Red said. He tried climbing up Stretch's arm, but the wind had him whipping around in the air like a crazed flag, and it was all he could do just to hang on. "Got any other ideas?!"
Stretch tried to think, but the tornado continued to get closer and even now he felt like anything he did would just get him and Red both killed. Anxiety shot him in one big twitch, tensing all his muscles, and his breath caught with an indecision that could only come from a complete lack of options.
Red saw Stretch give up. It was a sort of empty, glazed-over despair in the man's eyes, a slight gaping of the mouth, a slackening of his usually upturned cheeks.
Welp. Looked like he'd have to handle it somehow, then. Red glanced back over his shoulder, trying to get a good view of the tornado even as he shook in the air, searching for the bugs he knew were causing all this.
He'd let himself fly in and maybe get at them from inside. Not exactly the best plan, but even if he failed at least he'd go out swinging. Red breathed in, preparing himself.
And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw someone else enter the scene.
A tall man rushed around from behind one of the containers and slid to a stop, facing their direction. He seemed to crouch, grabbing something that hung at his hip, and at that moment Red felt a kind of premonition.
It wasn't fear exactly, though he did feel suddenly afraid, and it also wasn't excitement, though he did feel some of that too. A great sublime weight bore down on him, one that stifled his body and mind in a timeless pause, filling his head with air and drowning it all at once.
For a long, endless moment, Red felt himself float in the feeling of witnessing what he knew must be the gestation of sheer, unadulterated power.
Then time came back. The man swiped up with an arm, something long shining in his hand, and Red saw the air ripple. Red turned to look back over his shoulder, sensing more than seeing some force pass by him, and in the next instant he saw to his utter bafflement the tornado get split right in half.
It went from the bottom up, a rapid zip that tore the twister apart in one clean line, spinning gusts of wind not curving away or even crashing against anything but coming to an impossible stop, simply disappearing from existence.
The weather lightened immediately. Clouds still gathered in a long shin sheet over the sky, but the only wind that came did so in a slow, cool breeze. Red saw a tattered residue of blue dust drifting down, and realized that whatever wind sprites had been buzzing in the tornado had been ripped completely to shreds.
All that had been pulling him now gone, Red fell straight down with a gasp. He landed on his face, concrete slamming hard against his nose, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Instead, pushed himself up and looked over at the man, eyes wide.
Only two words that came to mind. "Holy shit."
Stretch, arm shrinking back, stared incomprehensibly down at the boy, not quite understanding what had happened. Then he followed Red's gaze, turning around to see the man now walking slowly towards them.
His eyes came alive again, lips spreading into a relieved smile. Chuckling, Stretch went over to meet the other man halfway. Red hesitated only a second before following after him, all the while examining this new face.
He had silent strength. It was the first thing Red decided, this impression only strengthened the more he observed. The man stood at least half a head taller than Stretch, which was saying a lot, but a combination of canvas sneakers, weathered jeans, and a green henley shirt covered a muscular physique that was compact and full rather than long and lanky. His hair, an unruly mass of black locks, combed forward with casual assurance, and his tan, clean-cut face sparked with a kind of tamed humor that seemed to appreciate everything around it.
And in his hand Red saw a sword. The steel seemed plain at first, but it shone with an unblemished perfection that shouldn't have been possible. No nicks or scratches, however slight, colored its edge, and the flat of the thin, arm-length blade didn't even feature so much as a smudge, like it had been cleaned and oiled just minutes before. The hilt was similarly perfect in its simplicity, a narrow gold block that extended mere centimeters over the blade itself, and the handle only stretched long enough to fit one strong hand before ending with an austere gold sphere pommel.
It was the most boring sword Red could have imagined. It was also, at the exact same time, the most beautiful.
Stretch and the man closed in on each other, both smiling, and then came their special handshake. They bumped up, bumped down, slipped an arm past the other, pulled it back, then finished with a clasp of hands and a one-armed hug.
"Sorry to interrupt," the man said. "But I was on my way home and saw everything going on here. Figured you guys could use some help."
Stretch still chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, believe me when I say you came just in time."
Now the man looked over at Red, brow quirked up. He had green eyes, calm and steady. "You're Red, right? The new guy?"
"That's me," Red said.
He wasn't given a chance to feel awkward before the man held out his hand. "I'm Jason, your Outpost Captain." When Red took his offered hand, he shook firmly and smiled. "More importantly, I'm the guy who got two different calls in one week about how my baby brother almost died. So thanks for looking out for Mal while I was gone." Now his smile turned sly. "I hear you're kind of a badass."
The comment was obviously meant to score points, and Red saw it well enough, but he still found himself preening. "Heh, no problem. I've heard a lot about you too." Pulling his hand back and watched as Jason sheathed the sword, its shine disappearing into the polished leather sheath at his waist. "Where have you been, anyway?"
Jason shrugged, crossing his arms and looking out over the dock. The tornado was gone, but it sure had left a mess—detritus everywhere, broken crates and their contents littering the ground, whole shipping containers crumpled and turned on their sides. The Cleaners sure would have a field day with this one.
"I was dealing with a wild dragon out west," he finally said. "Not an everyday thing, so the local Rangers out there weren't ready to handle it. I try to help out with the bigger stuff when I can."
Red stared, having forgotten everything Jason said after hearing the words wild dragon. "Okay, how are you already the coolest person I've ever met?"
Jason scratched the back of his head, clearly embarrassed. Beside him, Stretch let out a laugh.
"That's our Captain for you," he said. Looking merrily down at Red he threw an arm around Jason's shoulders, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "Elite Rangers are no joke, huh?"
"No kidding," Red said, still a little awed. "Hey, how big was that dragon anyway?"
"Definitely big enough to gobble up a whole town," Stretch said.
"Definitely not," Jason said, pushing the other man away. "Don't hype me up too much."
Stretch did not stop. "Saving the world from comets and stopping volcanoes from erupting," he said, smirking at Red. "That's our Jay."
"I can't stop a volcano from erupting."
"Ah, but the comet thing's still in play, huh?"
"Drop it," Jason said, though he was smiling now too. "Come on, I left my bag somewhere around here. Let's get back home."
They left, walking through the destroyed dock, sometimes laughing, sometimes talking in insistent rambles. Nothing better than a job well done.
- - - — MKII — - - -
Far away, but at the exact same time, a man named Donny ran for his life. He crashed recklessly into one of the decorative tables set against the wall, topping a whole row of framed pictures, but he didn't care. All he needed to do was find the exit to this damn mansion and get the hell out.
His breath came out panicked, his suit was splattered with blood, but worst of all... worst of all, he'd seen something impossible. He'd seen shadows move.
In his haste, he'd left the door to the room behind him open. It creaked on its hinges, and a pool of blood ran out into the hallway. Following it, the dark room contained a soft hanging lamp and a poker table at its center, around which sat five other men. All suited, and all, unlike Donny, dead.
From the shadows, something watched. Shining gray eyes had seen the last victim run off, and now those eyes stood in place, allowing the escape.
There had to be at least one survivor, after all. Someone had to spread the story.