The shot flashed up in a dark red for only a split second, ripping the Bomber’s body armor open where it hit. He was catapulted back and up against the ceiling. Ravela shielded herself once more with a shudder. That was too close.
Ravela wasted no time and went after the man. She got close to the wall of the hallway and put away her revolver, as it would be essential to run circles around the Bomber.
While the Bomber was coughing, he was already back on his feet. His defense was sluggish, and Ravela had the clear upper hand now.
The enclosed walls allowed her to dodge any explosions more effectively, but she was especially wary of his face mask now. She could see his hands and fingers, but she couldn’t see his lips.
It didn’t take long for the Bomber to use that particular ability of his again, but once he did, Ravela was ready for it. She dodged and blocked him from tracking her by simply turning his head. Concrete splintered as the explosion connected with the wall where she was moments prior.
Something inside her began to enjoy the rush she felt from actual danger. She could hear her heartbeat echoing in her ears and saw the same fervor reflected in her opponent’s dilated pupils as he tracked her movements. They looked like they were in some sort of trance.
Ravela concentrated on attacking his exposed right side since that was his most vulnerable spot.
The effect of constant attacks on his ribs began to show as he guarded his exposed side more and more at the expense of his head. If she managed to rip that off she’d have a face to search for.
Before she could go for an attempt at the helmet, however, the Bomber hit his chest where her revolver had ripped through her armor. Ravela heard the smack and realized what was about to happen disengaged with a massive jump down the hallway.
Ravela strengthened her shield as a big shockwave and fireball rolled over her. After weathering the first explosion, another rolled over her. This happened two more times, severely shaking the building. She closed her eyes at the continuous bright lights flashing her way. She felt the energy in her body flow into her shield.
After a full minute of withstanding these explosions, she suddenly stood in complete silence in a crumbling hallway.
Ravela retreated to the main entrance feeling exhausted and out of breath. That had been far too dangerous. She concluded that the Bomber could neither be reasoned with nor underestimated. He was adaptable, inventive, powerful, and most dangerous of all already trained.
She walked back onto the street where all but one of the gangsters were still sitting.
In the street with the standing gangster were three men in suits pointing pistols at the wobbling man. Ravela put one hand on the door frame and took a deep breath. That fight was intense. It had taken a lot to make the Bomber run away. She even had to use her pistol, a measure Ravela didn’t expect she’d need this evening. Then again she had taken it with her for that exact reason, and it had been a good decision.
She slowly made her way down the stairs. “If you’re smart you sit back down before I have to break your other leg too.” Ravela intervened before the gangster used his superstrength on the three people waving their guns in his face.
The mobster twitched at her voice. All eyes turned toward her. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and straightened her jacket. To her great relief, the man just dropped himself to the floor.
“What is it with the police in this city? There is a precinct just down the road?” Ravela addressed the suits who didn’t quite know how to proceed. “You called them, right?”
“Sir, you….you’re under arrest.” One of them found his voice and courage.
Ravela looked at him skeptically. “Under whose authority, pray tell.”
“We’re the FBI and you’re under arrest.” The partner of the first man jumped in, deciding to back his colleague up.
Ravela laughed. “I don’t think you have jurisdiction over me. Have a good evening,” She said sternly then turned to leave.
They let her walk away, clearly not interested in testing how long she would keep her polite facade.
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As she made her way down the street leisurely, there were finally some red and blue lights flashing around the corners. Atla Jaest caught her eye standing at the corner of the street with a camera and a huge lens mounted to it. The young journalist was looking at Ravela before she noticed Atla.
She smiled broadly for the camera pointing a finger pistol right her way. Her hopes were high for a great photo in the next paper. Ravela had earned herself a news cover she could frame.
Ravela kept walking until she turned the corner. When she was out of sight of the federal agents, she began running fast until she found a roof low enough to jump with one platform, finding any more too taxing after the fight. The priority was to get back to the motel without being spotted again.
Her mood was between tense and ecstatic. She had dominated the fight with the mobsters and had thoroughly worked off her frustrations on them. At the same time, the Bomber didn’t achieve his goal of killing those she had made too helpless to fend for themselves. It was an oddly good feeling to do the right thing.
Though she might have to work on her principles in the matter. Was it truly okay to let the Bomber move on to a different target if he had been agreeable to the solution? It was only a matter of time before he dropped into a parent-teacher conference to satiate his need to kill criminals. If she let him run instead of fighting him the next time she saw him, she would be just as responsible for the tragedy that followed.
Ravela promised herself that she would confront the maniac from now on whenever she had the chance. Not doing so was just begging for a catastrophe. On her way through the city, she kept taking detours. Ravela scanned the roofs for someone tailing her.
She came down from the roofs near her motel. Sliding into her room window, Ravela looked at her wristwatch. It was getting late. Ravela hadn’t even realized how long the entire fight dragged out. It felt like no more than an hour to her, but the clock was rapidly approaching midnight.
Once inside her room, she took a deep breath. She undressed as she was checking herself for injuries. There was none on her body. The shield had done its job. Her eyes wandered up to her face, followed by her hand feeling the damage to her hair, or Michael’s hair. She wondered how that worked.
Ravela was lucky that only her hair got burned when the Bomber used the ace in his sleeve. Michael’s hair was burned on the side of her head, the scorch marks barely missed the ear and facial skin. It spoke volumes to the man’s destructive power.
Removing Michael’s ring she found that her beautiful raven hair had been scorched. The damage done to the transformed form carried over to her usual body. It seemed only logical, but until now, she hadn’t wasted much time on the function of her rings.
She looked at herself for a while before clicking her tongue in dissatisfaction. After all the effort of growing out her hair, it now looked so cartoonish. Looking down, she felt saddened by the lower half of her hair which just fell off as someone had burned a hole in the middle of her haircut.
Ravela pulled out a set of scissors she had bought to cut her hair the first time around. She would have to take off half her hair just so she wouldn’t walk around on one side with still singed tips. The scissors floating around her began to work as she moved them all about the hair.
Thick locks of black hair fell to the motel carpet as she worked on sculpting her haircut in a way that would make her upset the next morning. Life was so much easier when she shaved her head clean.
Her mood was tanking. After she was done she took a moment to examine the drain defending from the attack of the Bomber had taken on her visible displayed indicators. Her veins were no longer glowing, but her eyes were still as vibrantly golden as before. Defending from the explosions took a lot of energy. If she wanted to ever bring Laena and Safora into this fight or fights of that kind she would have to provide them with something durable enough to shield them from such attacks. That would be troublesome, but the girls had grown on her, and Ravela didn’t wish to see them come to harm.
For a second she tried to imagine how horrible she’d feel if one of them got a horrible burn scar on their face because she didn’t give them proper protective gear. Ravela shuddered at the manyfold injuries the girls might suffer if they struck out on their own untrained and ill-protected.
One step after another, she calmed herself. She used her powers to prepare a bath for herself, while still busy cutting her hair into something not dreadfully aggravating.
Ravela wondered if she could find a hairstylist that didn’t mind aliens. Maybe Keeper Namon knew of one equally as moral and discreet as the Keeper himself was.
‘Fat chance,’ She thought while making a pouting face.
----------------------------------------
Detective Thorn was forehead to forehead with the douchebag from the FBI commanding his crime scene. They were currently in a contest of futile effort.
It didn’t help that there were only three federal agents on the scene all stonewalling him on what happened while roughly two dozen known Swaddy rank-and-file footsoldiers sat on the curb in various states of disrepair.
All of them looked bloodied, had broken legs, and looked despondent.
“You come into our town! Witness whatever shit led to this!” He yelled not for the first time. “And then try to tell US what we can or can’t do with OUR crime scene. I don’t care that you come from upstate unless my boss tells me you’re in charge, you three PISSANTS are under arrest for being a major pain in my ass. So start helping or get ready to sit together in one patrol car till YOUR boss comes down here. Now move it before I shove your ‘no jurisdiction badge’ up your self-important ass.”
He had returned two days ago and he could already feel the ungodly firestorm he just brought on himself by Inspector Gaan coming his way.
‘Serves him right for putting me on night shift after just making it back to active duty.’
The ‘I just bit a lemon’ face of those federal agents made it worth his while. Two dozen mobsters being hospital ready was just the icing on the cake for him today, and the shift just started two hours ago.
He began commandeering the crime scene. Telling officers to put the three douches into a cozy little patrol cruiser, and keep him up to date on when Inspector Gaan arrived or the suits decided they wanted to be at all helpful.
Right outside the crime scene tape, the detective spotted a reporter taking pictures.
‘Oh, great how did that one get here so fast?’ They barely had enough to put up the tape. That one had to have a source inside the police precinct or some damn good intuition. Either way, a journalist like that spelled trouble for his investigation.
“Stouts!” He called over his partner while not taking his eyes off the journalist shooting pictures like a possessed person. They met halfway from each other.
“Anything from the mobsters?” Thorn opened their tactical meeting.
Stouts shook his head just as his partner knew he would.
“You know that reporter over there?”
He looked at the woman, swaying his head from left to right before he spoke for a change. “No, but I know that she is too early on the scene.”
Benoles Thorn nodded in agreement, but before he could go to talk to this mystery woman, he spotted his boss rushing toward the crime scene. He looked supremely displeased.
‘Great, now I have to let the three suits run my crime scene.’ He sighed, preparing himself for a tongue-lashing.