3.24
The chunk of pavement explodes into a cloud of shrapnel in Cook’s palm, whizzing past and tearing up the ground around me. I throw my arms up, deflecting a number of shards as they tear through my flesh but thankfully glance off hardened bone.
Cook leaps, the spotlights overhead swerving wildly to follow him through the air. I track his movement, darting to the side as he lands heavily against the pavement, spikes of rock erupting around him. I plant my boot, halt my momentum, and register the distinct shift in three separate sacs of air as my pressure boosters refill.
I grin. Perfect.
I take a step, twist my torso, and fire a pressure booster. My left arm swings down, scoring a deep wound across Cook’s waist and forcing him to his knee. I turn, using the momentum to wind up another swing, and fire another pressure booster from the blade arm lashing out under my right one. It catches him in the gut and sends him tumbling over the ground.
All at once, Cook restabilizes, surging to his feet and stabbing another small capsule into his neck. The wounds crystallize, but as he shifts his stance I can tell he’s favoring his other side, now.
He moves like he’s about to go for another lunge, and I prepare to dodge, but abruptly he comes to a stop. He glances downwards for just a second before rearing back and plunging his fist into the ground.
The impact already kicks up a good bit of dust, but as he drags his fingers through the tarmac, a cloud starts to pick up in front of him. I take a step with the intent to stop whatever he thinks he’s doing, but —
Movement, shadows shifting within the cloud. I turn on my heel and break into a run just as the area behind me erupts into a shower of shattered rock. I sprint to the side, circling around the makeshift smokescreen and narrowly avoiding the thrown projectiles from inside it.
I note the next rock that barrels through the air behind me, counting in my head as I run, and by the time the next bursts out from behind the dust cloud I’m ducking to the side and dashing in close.
I stop just in front of the cloud, right arm pulled back, and launch myself into a sharp thrust with a pressure booster.
There’s a sharp crack of wind, and the cloud disperses immediately, revealing a furious supervillain leaning just far enough back to escape my blade.
He rallies, swinging his arm around in another haphazard attempt to hit me, but I’m beginning to pick up on his tells in that regard. I leap, barely passing over his head, and descend behind him, using my remaining pressure booster in my smaller left blade arm to score a deeper wound against his back, ignoring the accompanying spray of blood.
He screeches, stumbling, and I lash out with a harsh kick to the newly-opened wound, digging in and activating my last pressure booster on instinct.
A crack, and he’s tumbling through the air and slamming into the wall across the street.
He falls, brick crumbling around him, and struggles to pick himself back up. He settles for resting on a knee, panting.
I grin, stalking forward and spreading my blade arms wide. He scowls.
I’ve won. We both know it. And he’s sort of right, in a way, isn’t he?
I’m gonna do this better than he ever could.
I open my mouth to gloat a little — who knows, maybe the cameras will pick some of it up — when I’m interrupted by a loud, industrial whirring sound.
I freeze. The whirring picks up, and it sounds more like a harmony rather than a single noise the longer I listen to it. Actually, it reminds me of —
I tense, eyes widening, unconsciously making eye contact with Cook. He seems to come to a similar conclusion as a swarm of electric lights crest the nearby buildings.
I’m dropping into a crouch, and Cook’s bracing himself against the brick wall when a swarm of gleaming metal cascades over the crumbling landscape, smaller machines arraying themselves in a large dome around us, and a number of larger ones taking up long-range firing positions from a distance.
Drone lights flick on, and a siren blares as a larger, humanoid machine drifts into view, standing on a mechanical platform with a particularly obtuse propulsion system.
Rook’s posture is rigid, lights glinting against hard metal, and the glare of neon blue electric eyes pierces the encroaching night.
“You are under arrest for destruction of property, and criminal behavior while in possession of a supernatural ability.”
Her eyes flash. “Surrender. This is not a request.”
Yeah, fuck that. I glance at Cook again, and we make eye contact — I despise the fact we’re on similar wavelengths here, but I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I delay any longer, she’ll likely call reinforcements, and then I’ll have to deal with multiple of those humanoid drones.
Five or six emergency utility drones and a defense lattice? Easy. Two or more fully-armed high-level combat drones, plus the swarm of however many have us surrounded?
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Not likely. My best option here, is, unfortunately, to break away the same time as Cook in opposite directions and hope Rook prefers rat over roadkill. I take a breath, feeling a pressure booster in my leg finally click into place.
At least there’s one.
I grit my teeth, watching as Cook’s muscles tense and he heaves himself off the wall. I activate the booster immediately, turning and lashing out in a four-way cross motion and clearing the way through excessive force and plumes of sparkling smoke.
A group of drones goes down, and I have my exit. I dart through the hole, even as the drones begin to array themselves in a wider formation, and I begin to hear a mechanical buzz spin up behind me.
Bullets start streaming past, tearing up the concrete next to me, and I duck into an alley. Spotlights swerve, the larger one stopping out on the street while a number of smaller flashlights swing around to follow me through the cramped brick walls. I run, taking random turns but keeping my general heading outwards, aiming past the quarantine.
Drones duck down into my path, descending from over nearby buildings, firing potshots that light up the darkened corners with their muzzle flashes. I weave, taking a couple hits to my torso, and concentrate on regenerating, only dealing glancing blows as I pass by.
I take a left, sprinting out onto the street, and grimace as seven USMC marines and an armored truck collectively shift their attention in my direction.
The quarantine wall is right behind them.
I duck under another hail of bullets, dart close and shoulder-check a guy into his friend behind them, step to the side, drop and sweep the legs out from another, move into a crouch and roll behind the vehicle —
I stand, moving to try and climb the wall or something, when I hear a metallic clunk and a harsh whine from my left.
I whip my head around, and wind throws my hair from my eyes. Rook hovers on her platform a short distance away, facing me as a swarm of smaller drones carry chunks of interlocking metal, connecting automatically as they drop into her waiting hands.
The parts form a long, silver metallic cylinder, with an entrance like a jet turbine at the front. The last piece clicks into place, and the barrel starts to spin.
I huff. “…Fuck.”
The world goes white — spinning, blurring, exploding brick and cascading debris, barreling through the air again, slamming against the hard ground and going into a tumble —
Whatever that thing is, it hits me so hard I think I plow through the entire building, and it’s only thanks to reflex that I manage to regain my wits so quickly. I immediately set to work restabilizing myself, trying not to let the way my bones are pulverized in some areas get to me, and struggle, bloody and battered, to my feet.
Torn muscles, hastily-repaired bone, continuous internal bleeding — a number of pressure boosters on my left side have burst, and even sewing them back together with my power does nothing to refill them, and so at the moment I’m down to precisely zero.
I can still hear the drones. I turn, stumbling towards the quarantine wall, jamming my blades into the shuttered gaps and hauling myself up and over. The walls are really only meant to be deterrents, I’m sure, so I’m able to scale it in time to drop into the shadows just as a small swarm speeds by overhead.
Once I’m sure they’ve passed, I let out a breath, staggering to my feet and dragging myself down the road.
Maybe… maybe there’s a convenience store or something I can break into on the way back to the shack.
—
“Breaking news today, as an as-of-yet unidentified super appeared at the edge of our residential district, causing middling property damage and fighting notorious gang leader Cook to a standstill. Evidence suggests this super is also connected with a number of incidents deeper into the downtown area, including a shocking scene involving Suckup, a registered villain and high-ranking officer in Cook’s hierarchy. Authorities say they are tracking the new villain’s movements as we speak, but in the meantime we have USMC liaison Brian Crane here with us to discuss some of the particulars. Brian, how are you doing today?”
“Doing good, Lindsay, the promotion’s been treating me well.”
“Good thing too, with a new super on our hands — something Westpoint hasn’t seen in a few years now, is that correct?”
“It is! I believe the last one was four years ago, when Cook began making waves downtown with his specialty serums.”
“And speaking of, isn’t Cook the other participant here? Do you think there could be a connection between Cook’s relatively short experience and this encounter?”
“Ah, good catch. It’s possible, especially given the fact that neither combatants shied away from the cameras at any point during the fight — sometimes, reports from other cities mention villains that enjoy chasing the spotlight, and our new super might have a similar mentality. But in my personal opinion, that doesn’t seem to be the case here.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Well, Lindsay, if it was a flashy battle she wanted, our newly-minted villain likely would have preferred to go the route of Clockwerk, who consistently participates in small-time criminal activity and, as you know, sustains quite the following online.”
“Disturbing, what the youth get up to when their access to the forums is unmonitored.”
“You said it. Anyway, targeting a violent gang member as her debut just doesn’t seem like the actions of someone who only wants attention — that, combined with the rather gruesome sight with Suckup, more suggests a territorial dispute to me.”
“Oh, Suckup, downtown’s resident punching bag. We won’t be showing the images live on-air, unfortunately, but any curious watchers can see it under the ‘On-The-Scenes’ tab on our website, provided you upgrade your membership for just 4.99 a month! It looked like a real doozy, Brian, is there anything you can tell us about the man’s current medical status?”
“He’s currently in custody, Lindsay, but as far as I know, the only lasting wounds are psychological. The, ah… tendons he was found strung up in were tested, and while the material was confirmed to be disturbingly human, DNA tests verified that it did not come from the man himself. Still, it was quite the grisly sight, wasn’t it? This villain certainly knows how to send a message.”
“Sure, Brian. And, speaking of messages… the name?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The name, painted on the wall in the back. Red is a bit macabre, considering, but at least it’s on-theme. What do you make of it?”
“Well, Lindsay, I know I shouldn’t root for the villain — it’s against my employment contract, you see — but I believe we’ll be seeing a lot more of Carrion in the coming days.”
“Ha! You heard it here first, folks, this villain’s one to watch out for! Thank you so much for coming on, Brian, and to all you viewers out there, be sure to stick around for the next segment, where we’ll be giving an exclusive first-look into Brightheart Hero Stellara’s latest makeup line! Excited, Brian?”
“Thank you for having me on, Lindsay. I’ve got to say, I’m ecstatic.”