3.18

“Shock and awe. Well, I always was a bit of a theater kid.”

— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 17, page 4

Both my biggest issue, and my greatest asset, are that people don’t know me.

Being unknown means I can stay under the radar. I can avoid the attention of the more powerful supers, as well as the major gangs. It becomes easier to make moves when no one cares enough to look.

Obviously, this defense isn’t foolproof. People have gotten hurt on my watch, and the ease of being unknown is beginning to lose its luster. Cook is able to control people through fear. I can do the same.

Not to helpless civilians, though. Instead, I’ll do it to him.

I don’t explain the entire idea to the others — the plan itself is half-baked at best right now, and I need a better idea of the resources available at my disposal before I work on anything concrete.

Chloe seems to pick up on the idea, and the others must notice some of the manic energy I can feel pouring off my demeanor, because they accept the change in track fairly easily. Mikey, actually, seems weirdly enthused.

I have Ava start going through our contacts, picking out people willing to relay information, rumours, people willing to sit in on conversations with any of Cook’s distributors. I ask Gordon how willing he’d be to visit the docks, get in contact with a weapons supplier, taking care to remind him he’d have backup.

I continue to meet patients, and I give all of them a similar proposal. After a couple of days, I think I’m starting to see everything fall into place.

All I need now, is an actual plan. I’m about to leave the house to visit a patient, when Racc confronts me in the hallway. Chloe and I have been staying here a lot recently, out of convenience, but I think she might be getting homesick.

At least her and Racc seem to have been getting along.

“I’m coming with you.” I snap out of my thoughts as the kid makes their intentions known. My first instinct is to allow it, but mentally reviewing that train of thought reveals it as a fabrication. Logically, I know I shouldn’t allow a child to come with me on an outing like this.

So, against what feels like common sense, I try to make the logical decision. Even if Racc does have a way to turn off their power, I don’t want to pressure them, yet.

I frown. “You aren’t. If I get attacked again, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

They scowl. “It’s not like anyone can actually hurt me.”

“Your power works by normalizing social interactions, right?” I ask. “If you run into someone who can see violence as completely normal, they’d be able to attack you just fine.”

Racc rolls their eyes. “If we run into any psychos, I’ll make sure to scram.”

Well that makes perfect sense — no, it doesn’t. I narrow my eyes, fighting off the unnatural sense of calm. “I’m able to argue with you about it, right? It’s not impossible someone else could, too.”

Racc scowls. “If you don’t take me with you I’m going to go break all the dishes.”

I grunt. “You’re a menace.”

They grin. “So you’re taking me.”

I don’t reply, but I also don’t stop them when they skip out the door after me.

Racc doesn’t chatter, exactly, but multiple times throughout our trip I find them ducking into a back alley and rifling through a dumpster, muttering to themself. I try to make conversation, a couple times, but it seems they don’t like being interrupted — they shut down any conversation with a sharp glare.

It’s weirdly endearing.

As much as I’d like to devote more of my attention to them, though, I’m more concerned with our surroundings. Hopefully it takes Cook more than a couple days to come up with a new ambush, but I make sure to keep an eye out, anyway. It’ll be good to get into the habit, I think.

The patient gives me an odd look as Racc chases down a can in the street, so I roll my eyes and wave a bone needle in the guy’s face until he drops it. I finish his check-up a little faster than normal so I can keep an eye on the road, but thankfully it remains clear.

Honestly not sure why the city still has them sometimes, to be honest. Feels like only the construction machines get any use out of them.

The patient is walking away when I see him. Racc’s gotten into another alleyway by now, but I can’t find it in myself to break line of sight to go look.

He’s not as tall as he seemed, that night in the alley, but he’s still huge. And, getting a better look at that cowl, it looks like it’s more well-made than anything else he’s wearing. His white tank top is as ratty as ever, and those black cargo pants have a concerning amount of holes in them.

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Seeing him out on the street like this is… jarring, especially as he lowers the cell phone from his ear and turns to stare at me from across the street.

I struggle to unclench my jaw, and stuff my hands into my pockets.

“…Yo.”

His shoulders shift, and it takes me a moment to realize Crush is… laughing?

“Do I know you?” He rumbles.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

He slips the phone into a pocket, and cracks his neck. “You here to fight?”

I pause. I… should be fighting him, right? He’s obviously a threat. Right? I look him over. His posture is… relaxed, if a little intimidating. And he hasn’t attacked yet.

Maybe this is an opportunity.

“…Nah,” I say neutrally, attempting to school my expression into something more amenable. “I’d rather talk.”

The man shrugs. “Then talk.”

I take another moment to think. “How do you feel about Cook?”

“Hah. What kinda question is that?”

I tilt my head. “I’m going somewhere with this. Humor me?”

“Sure. Why not.” Crush reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “He’s a skeevy bastard. If he wasn’t so good at fuckin’ hiding, I’d have popped his skull like a grape a long time ago.”

I try on a smile. “Then we agree.” I take a moment to look over the surrounding area, checking for hidden militia members, or any sign of Racc. Nothing.

I can’t see Crush’s face behind that mask. It’s difficult to predict him.

I proceed anyway. “Maybe there’s a world in which we work together to solve this… issue,” I offer.

Crush is silent, for a moment. And then, his shoulders jerk. He hunches over, and a raspy laugh starts to echo from across the street.

I ensure my smile remains plastered onto my face, but internally, I immediately start scanning my surroundings for an easy escape route.

“You’re… arrogant,” he says, finally, after a deep breath. “What makes you think you’d be better at solving our problems than we are?”

I duck my head slightly in acknowledgment. “Worth a shot.”

“Mm. Y’know, something tells me I’m gonna be seeing you around more often, now,” Crush says, almost idly. He takes a step off the sidewalk, and into the street. “It’d be a shame, to part ways without getting to know each other.”

My heart beats frantically in my chest, and I’m desperately hoping it doesn’t show on my face. I shift my stance. “I’m, ah. Really not all that interesting,” I deflect. Poorly, if the way he’s advancing is any indication.

“You better be lying,” he mutters, “for your sake.”

Crush’s hands light up in balls of starkly-glowing white energy, drifting up from his palms. He approaches, lifting a hand, and —

I flex my right arm, and it splits down the middle, releasing my flesh-blade. I close the distance, foregoing the use of a pressure booster in favor of more control, and quickly regretting that decision as Crush’s hand shoots up and wraps around the blade.

It snaps almost immediately with a discordant hum, the shock of it traveling up my arm and sending spikes of pain down my spine.

I grit my teeth, and drop down into a crouch, activating a pressure booster in my leg and kicking one of his out from under him.

Crush grunts, and against my expectations, provides little resistance as his leg snaps back from the force of my attack, pitching forward far enough that his other hand makes contact with the concrete —

Another menacing hum, the light under his palm growing brighter, and the pavement begins to crack. I scramble to my feet, taking a hasty step back, but before I can escape, the broken concrete spreads.

The humming reaches a crescendo, and the ground around Crush explodes, dust and stone shrapnel flying everywhere. I lose myself in the noise, for a moment, before my back hits the road, and I deduce that I’ve been thrown backwards.

I attempt to leap gracefully back into a combat-ready stance, and only partially succeed. As they dust clears, I take a moment to seal a number of minor cuts from the shrapnel.

I find myself seriously considering wearing my armor under my usual clothes.

The cloud of dust parts before me with startling speed and intensity, revealing a figure, palms cloaked in bubbling white energy, charging towards me. He lunges, open hands closing in for a full-body grab, and I dart backwards, keeping my destroyed blade close to my side.

Crush pivots, hand lashing out in a wide swing, which I manage to duck under fairly easily. He’s not slow, exactly, but his movements are wide, uncoordinated.

It has me on-edge. The image I have of him in my head doesn’t line up with… this. I narrow my eyes as I step away from another obvious attempt at a grab.

And then — he’s too close. His boot strikes my shin, something shattering under the weight, and with his newfound leverage he reaches downwards, palms humming with power.

I stifle a scream, activating a pressure booster in my right arm and smacking his away, while I force my leg to twist out from under him. I hear another sickening crack as I attempt my escape, and another heavy lance of pain, but I try my best to ignore it.

I duck his second hand, and as soon as he realizes it won’t connect, Crush pulls back his hands and darts forward. Having ditched the wide, sweeping attacks he’d used earlier, now he lunges in short, controlled bursts, ones that take all of my concentration to push past the pain in my leg and avoid.

The pain is quickly becoming unbearable, though, and Crush’s offense isn’t letting up. I make a split-second decision, activating the remaining pressure booster in my leg and propelling myself clumsily backwards, down the street.

My back hits the pavement, again, but I don’t take the time to lament it. I use the time it takes Crush to reach me to soothe my back, as well as realign the bones in my leg and restore some of the structure. I’m not sure what it looks like from the outside, but by the time I finish, Crush is again, approaching at high speeds.

He reaches me, and I scramble to my feet, already stepping back instinctively, before Crush leans down and begins to drag his palm across the pavement. The action is slow, methodical, and for a moment I forget to remind myself how dangerous he is.

I pay for that mistake very quickly, as suddenly the motion jerks into a frenzied sort of speed, and Crush’s white glow pulses against the tarmac. Cracks erupt along the black material, and in a flash, the shattered concrete is speeding towards me in a thick cloud of shrapnel —

I dive to the side, dropping into a clumsy roll, and frantically scramble out of the road, chest heaving and vision blurring. Crush is —

Stronger than I thought. Somehow. My mind is already working overdrive, switching gears completely towards plans of escape, but before I can attempt any of them, I catch sight of something that makes my heart stop.

A small figure, shiny black object clutched tightly in their hands, standing just behind Crush.

Racc.