Volume 9: Eclosion

Issue 4: Gunsmoke

Florian Reyes Honeywell

By Roach

Reticle pulled the trigger. A loud pop split the air. I flinched as a dark cylindrical projectile, about as long as a pencil, whizzed just an inch or two above Stagehand’s shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the projectile, and it appeared to grow as it continued on its trajectory past me. Instinctively, I reached out to grab Stagehand, but—the moment my hand connected with his shoulder—my fingertips ran through nothing but thin air.

An illusion. Which meant…

I whipped around, just in time to see who I presumed to be the real Stagehand, raising his hands in an effort to shield his face. He stood at the end of the street, about ten yards behind Spindle and I. The projectile continued to grow. It expanded mid-air into the shape of a net, widening as it approached Stagehand.

He started to move out of the way, but wasn’t quick enough to dodge it entirely. The net struck him, wrapping itself around his legs. He tumbled to the ground with a thud and a groan.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Guys, she’s—”

Before he could finish, another air-splitting pop sounded from Reticle’s direction. I turned to face the sound, when a second projectile hurled itself toward us. Ahead of me, Spindle threw herself to the right. I followed her movement, dodging out of the way just as the projectile brushed past my beekeeper’s veil. It wooshed past me, and—as it expanded—made a sound almost like an umbrella opening.

I heard Stagehand’s cursing before I saw him, struggling against the second net as it tangled with his upper body. Simultaneously, the Dragon’s Teeth van screeched down the alleyway, his illusion of the wall long gone.

Even if he never finished what he had been trying to tell us, I could make a pretty good guess: Reticle had somehow seen through his illusions, otherwise, she wouldn’t have known to aim behind us.

He could have warned us about what he was doing before she started shooting at us, I thought as I bit back my annoyance.

I glanced back at the villain, meeting the green glow of the eyes across her helmet. She maintained her stance and a steady aim, her weapon pointing our way while the van disappeared out of sight. Maybe, if her helmet had some sort of camera feed, she could have spotted Stagehand…

But she wouldn’t see through the swarm.

A hum surged through me as the swarm rose through my body. “Spindle,” I said in between mouthfuls of bees. She had been standing frozen in place, staring at Reticle before slowly turning her attention to me. Even beneath her mask, I detected a mixture of confusion and horror in her widening eyes. A buzz edging my voice, I continued, “Help Stagehand. I’ll try something.”

Spindle gave me a quick nod, before sprinting back to where Stagehand lay on the ground, struggling against the net. Reticle’s aim flicked after her.

I made my move immediately, each second too precious to waste. A searing pain blinded me as bees crawled through my eye sockets, forcing themselves underneath my eyelids with such urgency I thought my skin started to split. I stumbled, not really sure where I was going—just hoping to dodge whatever was thrown my way while I couldn’t see. Within moments, the hymn of a hundred bees drowned me as they shrouded my shape. My vision started to clear, and I steadied myself.

Swarm Reticle, I ordered my bees.

They rushed forward in a buzzing crescendo. But, if Reticle had any concerns, she didn’t show it. Her attention remained on Spindle as she pulled the trigger, sounding off another pop. I could only watch as the projectile launched toward Spindle, widening into a net as she was about to lean over Stagehand. It hit her side, and she let out a shriek. The force sent her to the ground, trapping her like a fly in a spiderweb.

In the span of a minute, Reticle had downed both of my teammates. And we had yet to make her budge as much as an inch. She saw right through Stagehand’s illusions, and—without a bond to trigger—Spindle’s powers were effectively useless.

I could only rely on the swarm now. Even as my bees shot toward her, I had expected her to flee—or, at the very least, move out of their way. Instead, she only swung her rifle my way.

As the several pairs of eyes on her helmet locked onto me, the swarm reached her. The air around her shimmered slightly when they approached. It reminded me of the force field around the Extinction Refuge—except, on a much smaller scale, and it was tinted with a green color matching the glow of her eyes.

The first line of bees hit the strange, green shimmer enveloping her. They came to an abrupt stop mid-air—then dropped dead at her feet.

The second line crashed into the field, appearing to be similarly electrocuted before I had time to reign them back.

The Queen writhed inside of me. Pull back, she hissed, her pheromones flooding my senses. Foolish, foolish, Hive.

My bees quickly scattered around Reticle, some of them falling to the ground as they hit whatever force field she projected. The remainders of the swarm dispersed in every direction, taking off to the streets.

As the swarm’s buzz died down, there was an odd pause, only filled in by the sound of Stagehand and Spindle struggling against the nets behind me.

Reticle remained perfectly still, rifle pointed at me. “I expected more from the famous Chapel Trio,” she said, her voice a perfect calm.

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She shouldn’t have, the Queen sneered.

My gut reaction was surprise that Reticle even knew who we were. Then, I quickly realized that, of course she knew. She had been hiding in Chapel for the last month or so. Hell, could she have spied on us?

More bees crawled slowly from my mouth. Although I knew they were useless against her, they still gathered around me—as if, somehow, I could create a force field of my own. A false sense of security; it was all that I had left, as every muscle in my body tensed—readying myself for whatever she would do next.

The villain’s aim remained on me in a split second of hesitation—perhaps she was waiting for me to respond, or assessing my next move…

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement on the roof of Linghun Lounge. A lithe shadow dashed forward and leaped from the edge, approaching from slightly behind Reticle’s position.

The villain didn’t appear to have noticed, her attention still on me.

The figure launched itself at Reticle just as she pulled the trigger. I ducked as the projectile ripped through my swarm, landing somewhere behind me with a thud. Turning my gaze back to Reticle, I could see her bracing herself under a rapid onslaught of blows from the lithe figure, who I could now see was clothed entirely in black. They swung some sort of weapon—a metallic, pink rod—at Reticle. But it wasn’t making contact; instead it skipped right off Reticle’s force field, which emitted a short, electric buzz in response.

Reticle stumbled a few feet back, steadying herself from the stranger’s impact. The black-clothed figure landed lightly on their feet and, although I didn’t recognize them, I thought it safe to assume that the stranger was some sort of hero or villain. A cloth mask hid their lower face, matching the black hoodie which hung to their small figure. They held a pink rod in their hand—about as long as my forearm, somewhat thicker than a pencil—whereas a white, fluffy rabbit-shaped charm dangled from what appeared to be its base.

Reticle’s aim locked onto the stranger as she leaped into the air. She jumped backwards—much higher than any person should be able to—before landing on top of a graffiti-covered dumpster. The lid started to crumple as she jumped again, this time to the rooftop of the building behind her.

Simultaneously, the stranger backed up; although their attention remained on Reticle, they started to retreat my way. And, when I looked at the villain, I could see why. She fired another, air-crackling shot toward them. The projectile hurtled toward the figure, who—in turn—raised the pink rod against Reticle.

At the same time as the projectile started to expand into a net, the rod also transformed in the stranger’s grip. A glowing light shot from its tip, stretching into a three-foot long blade. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it; it looked simultaneously solid, like I could touch it, yet entirely fluorescent and out of this world…

With a slight flick of their wrist, the stranger’s spectral blade made a clean cut through the net, separating it into two neat halves. The pieces fluttered uselessly in the air, before landing by the stranger’s feet.

A click followed by a sound like shifting metal drew my attention, as Reticle’s rifle once again started to change in her hands. It was the same kind of noise it had made when she fired the first projectile at Stagehand. Except, this time, the mouth narrowed instead of widening, and the weapon lost some of its blocky shape. Instead, it looked more defined now—more like what an actual gun looked like.

“Look out!” Stagehand yelled from behind me—perhaps he, too, had made a similar observation.

But, as I watched the scene unfold in front of me, it didn’t seem like the stranger had.

I rushed forward—I couldn’t take any chances on what Reticle was really capable of. The stranger didn’t seem to notice—or, perhaps, care—about my approach, as their attention remained solely on Reticle. At least, until I crashed into their side just as Reticle’s gun fired with a deafening crack—which rang between the walls of the buildings around us.

I had a glimpse of the stranger’s blade flickering and disappearing as I shoved them out of my way, a glimpse of their viscous glare, before a bullet tore into my chest, exploding out my back as it ripped through me. The world receded into the peripherals of my vision, distorted like the void opening up inside me. Then, all at once, the world returned to me—flooding my awareness as my body hit the ground. A ceaseless pain rippled from my chest. Every sense heightened in a sort of tingling agony, echoed by the swarm’s growing hymn.

Out of the corner of my eye, I managed to make out Reticle’s outline; she stood frozen on the rooftop above me, her green eyes staring me down.

I tried to move, to get up. Pain pulsed through me, like a thousand tiny, hot shards had lodged into my back, scattering throughout jumbles of wax and nerves. My head buzzed as bees swarmed the site of the injury, slowly softening the waves of pain.

I made out Spindle’s faint voice. “Hi… Hive?” she called out.

I tried to answer, but whatever I had wanted to say came out as a groan, while honeyed blood spluttered from my lips. With another heave of effort, I managed to prop my elbows against the ground.

As I lifted my head, I glanced to Reticle’s position on the rooftop. Although I didn’t really understand how she perceived the world through those several, green-glowing eyes scattered across her helmet, I got the distinct impression that she met my gaze. I gritted my teeth as another wave of pain rolled over me, but didn’t flinch away from her stare. Would she shoot again, make sure I stayed put? Her grip tightened on the rifle. Albeit only a for moment, time seemed to stretch out between us. What was she waiting for? For me to make my next move?

Reticle turned her back to me. When I blinked, she was gone. I heard her footsteps grow fainter as she ran across the rooftop, then I heard nothing at all.

I stared at the empty spot where she had been standing only seconds ago. Another set of steps sounded to my left, and the stranger now came into view—looming over me. Their rod, now void of any blade, had been attached to the belt at their hip. They leaned over me, and put their hands on my shoulders as they started to shake me. “Are you… Are you going to be okay?” they stammered. They spoke with a gruff, forced sort of edge—as if they were trying to mask what they actually sounded like. But, underneath that, I thought their voice sounded low, yet not particularly masculine nor feminine.

Bees poured out from the hole in my back, instinctually swarming the stranger's hands before I had a chance to reign them in or think of a response. The stranger recoiled, taking a few, rapid steps away from me. Their eyes widened in horror, but as soon as they retreated, my bees drifted back to me—tending to the wound.

After a long, stunned silence, they finally asked, “What are you?”

“Just…” I groaned as pain continued to ripple around the bullet wound. Although the bees softened the worst of it, it still felt like burning water trickled throughout my chest. I forced myself to sit up, and waited a moment for the waning of my anguish. “Just trying to stop her,” I managed to finish.

“Me too,” the stranger replied. They looked from me, then behind me—toward where I knew Spindle and Stagehand had been trapped in the nets. From the other side of the alley, I could hear a cacophony of traffic as the evening droned on. In the far distance, sirens cut through the chilly air… Was it for us? My bees continued to buzz around me, slowly sealing the wound.

“Let’s get you three out of here,” the stranger said after a long pause. “I know a place.”