2.22

The transport vehicle they put him in is secure. It’s a larger vehicle, more like a truck than a van, with thick metal doors and an intricate locking mechanism.

They cuff him in brutalist metal restraints. Nothing too over-the-top, it’s not like supers are usually bothered by cuffs anyway.

He’s still asleep. The sedative hasn’t worn off.

I cradle the broken necklace in my working left hand.

Two USMW officers sit on either side of the door, rifles in hand.

They shoot me looks every so often, when they think I’m not looking. Maybe they’re suspicious.

The only reason I’m on the damn truck in the first place is because I had to beg Commander Burke for a seat. He’s sitting up front right now, riding shotgun, and I guess he’s weak to puppy eyes because it didn’t take much to make him cave.

“Gee, if you want him dead that badly, y’know you can just say so. They’d probably agree with you!”

I turn to stare at Clockwerk, sitting next to Vincent on the bench and clad in similar restraints.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “Really? I’d say you’re glaring daggers at him, but they’re more like swords. What’d he even do, anyway?”

“No —“ I shake my head. “I mean — what do you mean they’d agree with me?”

One of the USMW officers leaning against the door speaks up. “Destruction of property, public endangerment, unregistered use of powers, suspected large-scale abduction — she means he’s headed to the Panopticon, kid.”

I blink. “That’s a death sentence,” I state, sounding more calm than I feel.

The officer shrugs. “Better him than us.”

I stare.

Clockwerk chuckles. “Ladies and gents — your public servants!”

One of the officers walks over and cuffs her over the head with the butt of his rifle.

“Agh! Quit it, shithead!”

He leans over to spit on her boots before returning to his post.

The truck jostles. We must have hit a pothole, or something similar.

“Soo… did you not want him dead?”

“…No. No, I don’t.”

The officer, the talkative one, snorts. “You don’t get to make that call.”

“Well… you could.” Clockwerk smiles.

She ignores the glares coming from the end of the truck.

“I mean, it’s not like those two bozos could stop you. You’ve got powers! All you gotta do is take them out, break our cuffs, and we can scram!”

“Hey, zip it —“

“I’d even help!” She continues. “Just get these cuffs off, and I’ll beat up anyone you want!”

“You…!”

“I mean, you want to save him, right?”

The officers look like they’re about to do something drastic, the talkative one seems to be getting red in the face.

Clockwerk stares directly into my eyes with a lilt to her voice and a wide smirk.

I stand. The officers freeze.

“…Why were you at the motel?”

Clockwerk’s smirk widens. “Maybe I’ll tell you if you get us out of here.”

I let the silence hang. Then, I drop back onto the bench with a huff.

“Maybe next time.”

Our little guards relax slightly.

She pouts. “You’re kind of a square, y’know that?”

I snort. “Square? The fifties came and went, dude.”

“It’s part of the brand!”

It’s definitely not.

The ride progresses quickly, if not smoothly. I take the time to try and memorize Vincent’s face, clutching the broken necklace and ignoring the boiling feeling in my gut.

—

They kick me out of the truck as soon as we enter the garage. Well, they don’t kick me out, but a lower-ranking USMW member arrives to tell me Rook wants to talk, and the other two officers pester me until I leave.

“My doors are always open, bud!” Clockwerk calls out as I hop out. I ignore the strange looks from unloading personnel around me.

Rook stands near the door to the main building. When I arrive, she pokes the button next to it and waves me through.

We walk down the white, clean hallways in silence.

“Rook.”

“Yes, Red?”

“What’s going to happen to Vincent — Faust.”

She gives me a side-eye.

“In this case, he will be restrained until such a time he can be transported to the Panopticon. Likely within a couple weeks.”

“No trial?” I comment.

Rook sighs. “Red. You know as well as I do that high-profile incidents involving supers don’t go to trial. He’s committed provable acts of property damage and large-scale theft, as well as the now-confirmed,” she stresses, “abduction and execution of several fugitives.”

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“Property damage shouldn’t justify his death.”

“It’s not just property damage —“

“Those guys were Nazis.”

“That doesn’t excuse his actions, Red.”

“That’s not the point!” I shout.

Rook stops.

“I — I know he’s done bad things. I’m not saying he should be excused, but — he —“

I grit my teeth. “Does he really have to die?”

She adjusts her glasses. “…It’s not about whether he has to die. It’s about maintaining the authority of the mundane people. We can’t just do whatever we’d like in this city, even if we think we’re correct.”

“We’ve covered this, Red. You’re missing the big picture.”

The hall is silent. I stare at the ceramic tiles, fist clenched.

When did I…?

My mouth moves on its own.

“…Yeah. I guess we have.”

Rook frowns. “Look, I know this might be hard, but —“

A muscle in my left arm flexes, corded muscle twisting underneath my skin.

My forearm splits, a thin red line tracing down the center and releasing a spray of blood and a serrated spear of bone that extends out an extra foot.

The bone is reinforced, intertwined with muscle and sinew into a solid organic blade.

Rook’s eyes widen as droplets of blood splatter her dress, and I spin, pulling the blade into a stabbing motion aimed at her head.

In a flash, a swarm of small hexagonal machines array themselves in a barrier, intercepting my attack and pulsing an electric blue, emitting a deafening screech and throwing off sparks where the blade makes contact.

There’s a beat, and then the lattice pulses again, sending out a thrum and an impact powerful enough to send me skidding along the tiles.

I stand, blade arm hanging down and dripping blood.

“Shut up!” I shout, voice raw. “I’m sick of your logic — your backwards justifications!”

Rook’s defense lattice splits, revealing a hardened expression.

“I’m sick of going out every day just to stomp on the weak! I’m sick of bein’ told I’m doing the right thing!” I take a breath. “I can see the big picture just fine, Rook. I’m not gonna to bend over for you just because you’re too scared to do anythin’!”

My muscles are screaming, my vision is foggy, but for some reason I get the sense I’m seeing more clearly than I have in a long time.

“You wanna know why I was at the warehouse that night?! Why I spent weeks gettin’ my hands filthy downtown, why I risked my life trying to fight a supervillain with nothin’ but a shitty mask, an aluminum bat and a desperate hope?!”

My voice cracks.

“It’s because I wanted to help people.”

I let out a breath, resolve hardening.

“So, maybe this is selfish of me, but…”

Something clicks inside my mind.

My teeth grind, and I feel my face stretch instinctively into a feral smile. I take a step, raising my blade to point at Rook. “I’m not going to let him die.”

Rook’s eyes tighten behind her mechanical glasses. She prepares a more defensive stance, as the shield bots float in a lazy orbit around her.

“I see you’ve chosen a side.”

Sections of paneling lining the walls pop out with a mechanical hiss, shifting to the side. Seven smaller drones array themselves in a hostile formation centered around Rook.

It’s less than I expect. I’ve seen the kind of firepower Rook can muster with some of her larger models, not to mention the humanoid drone she uses normally, I have no idea what that thing does.

These ones, if I remember correctly, come equipped with a basic taser and medical capabilities, including a powerful sedative delivered by simple manipulator arms.

If they can’t be here immediately, I should assume more powerful machines are on the way. I’ll have to incapacitate her before reinforcements arrive.

I give myself two minutes.

Rook’s glasses flicker, and the drones advance in formation, emitting a soft electronic whine.

Three of them split off from the pack, darting through the air and arraying themselves into position surrounding me. One curves around behind me, hovering behind my neck, another dropping to float next to my right leg and the last stopping in front of my torso.

In a flash, tasers are extended and sparking.

I react, hopping up and to the side, tilting my head slightly and avoiding the drones positioned at my leg and neck. While I’m still airborne, I lash out with my blade arm, impaling the final drone. Its metal shell crumples easily, throwing off sparks from the impact.

I land lightly on my toes, twisting my blade arm and heaving the attached drone into the one at neck height, leaving a large dent and sending it flying.

It’s not dead yet. The drones back off, darting away and forming into a slowly rotating layered circle around me.

I push the destroyed drone off my blade with my boot, kicking it to the side.

Trying to keep an eye on all of them is impossible.

Before I can decide on a course of action, I spot one breaking formation and darting towards me, seemingly trying to ram.

Again, it’s fast. If it hits me, I might break a bone.

I launch myself into a backstep, letting it glide past me while I focus my attention on the two additional drones approaching from my left.

They speed up, and when they get close enough I perform a harsh twist of my blade arm, knocking them off-course.

Another drone advances from the same direction, and this time I’m expecting it. I’m leveling my blade arm, preparing to impale it, when I catch a flash of movement at the edge of my vision.

Behind me…!?

Hovering next to my ruined right arm are two separate drones, one holding a sedative and the other extending a taser.

She must have spotted my injury — really going all-out, huh, Rook?

I attempt to twist, but even trying to move that arm sends sparks of pain shooting through my shoulder.

The needles make contact, and my muscles jolt. My vision darkens further, and almost immediately I find it difficult to maintain consciousness.

Not good. I need to remove the sedative. I activate my power.

My biology unfolds in front of me, and somehow, it’s different. The information presented by my power, the scope of it — it’s not increased, but it’s more accessible in some way I can’t quite pinpoint.

The sedative is an extremely harsh compound, but it’s administered in extremely small doses. It’s not difficult to dissolve it into something more harmless, and despite the speed at which I perform the fix, it takes significantly less calories than I expect.

Less than a second has passed. I only hesitate for a heartbeat.

I repair my ruined arm. Not completely, and some of the fat is still missing from my earlier stunt, but the structure is enough to let me move it effectively above baseline. Then, I seal the open wound around my bladed arm. Not like I’ll be needing to put it away any time soon.

It takes only minimal energy.

I don’t know why my power is suddenly so efficient, but I can’t waste this opportunity.

I resurface from my power. The drone’s sedative is emptied, and the taser charge has been spent.

There are still four more besides these two, all of which I assume have similar tools. These drones are dangerous, and I need to remove them as soon as possible.

My eyes snap open, and I grab hold of the drone closest to me with my newly-repaired right arm, slamming it into the other one. They collide, outer shells mangled, and I follow through on the swing. The twisted mass flies through the air at the last cluster of drones.

They weave through the air, deftly avoiding the makeshift projectile. It doesn’t matter.

I take two steps, jump, and swing, activating the final pressure booster in my blade arm.

The arm arcs out in a wide sweep, cleaving a jagged tear through all four remaining drones in a half-circle of released steam and thrown sparks.

The scraps fall to the floor, smoking, and I land heavily on my feet, breathing heavily.