CHAPTER THREE // Hey, Don't Get Distracted Now
The car struck Fall head-on, and then he was flying back, skipping and bouncing across the pavement like a stone.
It was only through Fall's enhanced durability and a great deal of careful, on-the-fly weight-shifting that Fall survived, though nevertheless he slammed quite painfully into another rusted vehicle.
Now, he climbed to his feet, his expression still deadly calm as he threw off his coat. He reached up to loosen his tie, too, then unbuttoned and rolled up each of his sleeves in turn.
Ahead, the police Esper was striding forwards, the cars shifting and turning to face him as he advanced. Was it telekinesis? No, Fall decided. Almost certainly magnetism. Well, that wasn't so bad - he had dealt with a handful of these in his time as a Predestitigator.
Nevertheless, this could be a difficult fight. This man was no rogue, unregistered Esper - he had been trained to fight just as Fall had, though his training no doubt pales in comparison to the Predestitigator's own.
"This is your last chance, sir," the police Esper called. The shifting cars came to an abrupt halt. "Lethal force is authorized against Esper subjects." He, too, put up his fists. "There's still time to do this quietly."
"Oh, please," Fall scoffed, reaching up with one thumb to wipe away the blood dribbling from his right nostril. "Besides, I'm not even the one you should be worried about."
The officer's head turned - just as a stark-white wolf with four red, bleeding eyes pounced upon him, its fangs digging deep into the man's outstretched arm.
There was only a moment of opportunity. In a flash, Fall shifted a nearby car's weight to nearly zero - allowed it to float several feet up into the air - and kicked it with eight times normal force, sending the two-ton vehicle hurling forwards.
The Esper's eyes flicked to the side - and with a grunt of exertion he slammed his fist hard into the beast's stomach, grabbing it by the throat with his other hand and hurling it the snarling creature away. Then, with two outstretched hands, he halted Fall's makeshift projectile dead in its tracks - just as Fall came sliding in from beneath, fist cocked back and ready to strike.
Fall leapt forward, avoiding the car as the Esper brought it crashing down, and launched into a spinning roundhouse kick that smashed into the police Esper's face with a shockwave that blew turgid city air into both their faces.
And yet, the police Esper did not move. Did not even stagger. There hadn't been time to enhance the weight of the kick! And so, Fall leapt back, narrowly avoiding a counter-jab. The police Esper surged forward, seizing the advantage with a series of rapid-fire punches and forcing Fall to nimbly dodge and weave, deflecting when he could but, for the most part, avoiding his opponent's blows by only a hair's breadth.
The police Esper lunged - then, suddenly, he skidded to a halt, holding up a single, rigid fist as no less than twelve gunshots rang out.
Behind him, Petra stood with pistol raised and wolf snarling at her side - and, between them, a dozen bullets hovered motionless in the air, suspensed in frozen animation by the police Esper's invisible power.
"This," Fall grumbled, shooting forwards as the police Esper sent all twelve bullets racing towards him with a pointed finger, "is such a pain in the ass." A snap of his fingers sent the bullets plummeting to the ground and then the two of them were in the thick of it once more, trading blow after blow after blow. Again, the wolf leapt up - and, without warning, a stainless-steel blade shot up from a pouch on the police Esper's back, embedding itself in the beast's throat and sending it crashing to the ground, black fluid bubbling and gurgling from the wound as it died. And, in the corner of his eye, Fall saw Petra drop to her knees, her own eyes bleeding profusely.
"Come on, man - we're both Espers!" the police Esper bellowed, his left hook going wide as Fall dropped low to the ground. "We don't have to-" Fall's leg snapped up, catching the other man under the chin and sending him staggering back.
The Esper swung again - but it was a clumsy strike, one spurned largely by pain and frustration - and so Fall sidestepped it with ease, stepping into the man's guard and cocking his open palm back.
"Ten-ton strike," Fall said flatly, and the moment his hand connected the other man was flying back, passing clean through no less than three cars before finally impacting with a titanic shockwave against the wall of a nearby apartment complex. The entire building shook, momentarily, as Fall stepped forwards and extended a hand to Petra.
"You alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine..." Petra coughed, waving him off. "Just takes a second to..."
Fall's head snapped up - and in an instant he leapt aside as three daggers shot by without warning, the leftmost of them ripping a long gouge across his cheek.
Then, the daggers halted - turned - and came flying back.
"Damn!" Fall swore, throwing up a two-hundred-pound field before him - but while two plowed straight ahead, one curved, swinging around the field and embedding itself in the former Predestitigator's thigh before he could react. He let out a grunt of pain, yanking the knife free and crushing it with nearly a full ton of force before the police Esper could drag the weapon up into his heart.
And then, all the cars were flying.
Fall shot forward, lightening his body to just ten pounds as he leapt nimble and agile from car to car. Time and time again he only narrowly escaped death, jumping away at the last second as the cars slammed together or shards of pointed metal came flying from whatever direction.
A final car came rising from above - and so Fall increased its weight with all that he could muster and rode the vehicle straight down, leaping off at the last second and coming to a halt before the battered, bleeding officer.
The police Esper raised his hand - and Fall was a blur, snapping the man's wrist with a spinning kick and darting in, wrapping his other hand around the Esper's throat before he could so much as move a muscle.
"I can kill you with a twitch of my finger," Fall warned - and so, the scraping metal behind him fell abruptly silent. They stood that way for a moment, both of them, each panting heavily. Then, finally, the Esper spoke.
"What are you waiting for?" he demanded, through bloody and gritted teeth. "You got me, you fuckin' piece of shit. Finish it."
In his nine months as a Predestitigator, Fall had killed nearly two dozen Espers. To him, killing was like mowing the lawn of washing the dishes - a chore. It was nothing more than an annoying task to complete. The only thing he thought about when killing was the best way to do it.
He held the man for a moment longer - and then, without a word, he released him.
The Esper's eyes widened in surprise, only to wrench shut in pain as Fall shattered his knee with a well-placed kick. He crumpled, now, groaning in pain as Fall raised his boot once more and stomped, obliterating the man's other kneecap as well.
"Don't follow me," Fall ordered coldly - and then he turned, meeting Petra's eyes as he reached up and straightened his tie. His hand was trembling as he did so.
"He's done," Fall said simply, to Petra's unspoken question, and after a moment's consternation she merely shrugged her shoulders and gestured for the other to follow.
They were running down a tight, trash-strewn alley now, keenly aware of the gunshots and sirens sounding in the distance.
"Son of a bitch, son of a bitch," Petra was saying, breathlessly, beside Fall. Her hand went to her ear-piece, now.
"Don't," Fall interjected sharply, shaking his head. "Any call you make, they'll intercept it."
"If we're not in that ambulance, we're dead!" Petra shot back. Then, she motioned for Fall to halt, and at her urging the two of them took cover behind an old, overturned dumpster. The wails of the sirens were growing only louder as Petra spoke with hushed tones into the ear-piece.
"Alley outside..." she leaned over, squinted. "Intersection of James and McCarthy." She paused. "He did, yeah." She glanced back at Fall. "He won." Another pause. "Understood."
"Well?" Fall demanded.
Petra's response was to unholster her pistol, eject the magazine - allowing it to clatter to to the pavement below - slap a fresh magazine into place, and finally rack the slide.
"We wait," she said, simply. "And pray he finds us before they do."
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"Drive! Drive! Drive!" Surge was shouting.
"Shut the hell up!" Tachyon snapped.
"Everyone, please," Pharaoh interrupted with a warm smile. "Let the man work."
Ahead, Breakneck was utterly calm and collected as his hands danced across the wheel, the cumbersome ambulance moving like a limber sports car as it darted and weaved through traffic, pursued at all times by a steadily-growing number of police cars that struggled mightily to scythe through the traffic in similar fashion.
The ambulance came to an intersection - and before Breakneck, no less than a dozen pathways now stretched before him. They were potential futures, all of them, different sequences of actions that would all lead to different outcomes.
In just a fraction of a second, Breakneck saw the pathways - selected the best one - and moved at once to follow through.
His foot slammed down on the pedal, and without warning the ambulance shot to the right, tearing the wrong way down a one-way street as, beside him, Raúl observed in silence with one hand upon his chin.
Behind them, gunshots were ringing out now - and with a frustrated growl, Tachyon rose to her feet and extended a hand to Pharaoh.
"Tachyon," Raúl cautioned, his eyes reflected in the rear-view mirror.
"It's already gone to shit," Tachyon retorted. Raúl hesitated - then, slowly, he inclined his head. And so, the smile never leaving his face, Pharaoh reached back and passed Tachyon a long, sleek, black-bodied assault rifle.
"Surge," Tachyon ordered, dropping to one knee and sighting in. "Door."
"Why do I have to-"
"Pharaoh," Tachyon sighed, to which the bearded man crossed beside her and took hold of the door-handle ahead.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Do it," Tachyon ordered, closing one eye and narrowing the other. Pharaoh yanked the handle down - threw both the doors open - and then all of them were hit full-force by both rushing wind and the sight of nearly a dozen police cars.
Tachyon squeezed the trigger - and the nearest windshield shattered, the police car skidding and sliding to a halt as its fellows raced by. Again and again the rifle barked, and one by one the police cars were falling to the side with bloodied windshields and ruined, sparking tires.
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Finally, the last car swerved and crashed into a telephone pole - and now Tachyon rose, shouldering her rifle as Pharaoh slammed the doors shut.
"Fine work," Pharaoh grinned.
"Only kind I do," Tachyon replied, shoving her rifle into Surge's hands without looking. "Neck - we close?"
"Jesus fucking..." Surge was muttering, shaking his head.
"Just about," Breakneck called over his shoulder. "Another minute or two at most."
"And then what?" Surge demanded, setting the rifle aside. His forehead was beaded heavily with sweat. "What's the plan after that?"
"After that," Raúl said calmly, fingers still drumming across the dashboard, "we disappear."
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Suddenly, Petra rose sharply to her feet.
"They're almost here!" she exclaimed, snapping her phone shut as she extended a hand and pulled Fall to his feet. "Come on, we gotta go!"
And so, the two of them ran, tearing down that darkened alley as fast as their feet could carry them. And they were only a few feet from the brightness of the daylight street when, with only the squealing of tires to signal its arrival, a police car skidded into place, turning the passageway to their freedom into nothing more than a wall of solid steel.
Both doors swung open - and two police officers were leveling their weapons now as Petra did the same, muttering curses under her breath all the while.
"Don't move! Don't move!"
"On your knees, now!"
"Hands, goddamnit! Hands!"
"Drop the gun!"
"Fuck you!" Petra screamed back, her weapon whipping from one officer to another.
Then, slowly, as the three of them exchanged shouts and threats, Fall stepped forward, pressing thumb and forefinger together as he extended his hand before him.
"I'm an Esper," Fall declared - and now, both weapons were trained upon the former Predestitigator. "You won't be able to kill me - so get out of my way."
"He already killed your shit-ass Esper!" Petra added emphatically. "We'll do the same to you!"
"D-Don't move!" one of the officers shouted in response. Their reticence was visible, now. The barrels of their weapons were trembling.
"August, kill these motherfuckers and lets go!" Petra demanded.
At this moment, however, Fall had quite a lot on his mind.
"Listen," he declared, taking another step forward - his hand still extended. "To me, killing is a chore - it's like mowing the lawn, or doing the dishes. It's nothing to me. It's effortless. So, when I say that you are going to die if you don't get out of my way, I want you to know that's not a threat - that's a fact."
It was a complete and total load of horseshit.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. And then, slowly, the lead officer tightened his grip on his weapon.
"On your knees, sir," the man said through gritted teeth. "I won't say it again."
"August...?" Petra glanced back.
Fall's hand was shaking.
"Uh, August?"
He didn't snap his fingers. He didn't move at all.
"August, what the hell are you-"
The officer began to pull the trigger - and then, suddenly, there was a great squealing of tires behind them. And, if the officers had turned to look, they would have seen Pharaoh leaping down upon them with wild eyes and a hungry, crooked grin. And they would have seen, too, his hands closing around a pair of onyx daggers as they emerged from two small, formless voids of inky black.
Then, Pharaoh fell upon them. The first officer was dead in the blink of an eye, felled with a quartet of vicious diagonal slashes that sent him spinning around and slamming bloodily against the side of the car.
As Pharaoh slid across the roof of the car, the other whirled around, raised his gun, and fired only once.
There was a blur of motion - and then, as Pharaoh's shoes touched down upon the pavement, both halves of the bullet fell smoking and perfectly bisected at either side of him.
"What-" the officer started, squeezing the trigger once more - but with one blur, the barrel of his weapon came clean off, and with another Pharaoh's dagger was embedded deep into his chin, the point just barely emerging through the outside of the man's left eye.
Five seconds had elapsed - and now what were once a pair of living, breathing human beings were now nothing but lifeless sacks of meat.
It took everything Fall had - Fall, who had killed nearly three dozen unregistered Espers without ever experiencing even the faintest pang of guilt - not to vomit right there on the spot.
Now, his heart was beating so fast that he could hardly breathe as, before him, Pharaoh straightened his jacket - the daggers dissipating into little more than quickly-fading mist - and gave the young man a cheerful, friendly smile.
"Shall we?" Pharaoh asked, gesturing to the ambulance behind him.
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NEWARK INCIDENT
CASUALTIES: SEVENTEEN WOUNDED, [REDACTED] DEAD
DAMAGES: $11,395,013
SUSPECTS: [REDACTED]
PRESIDING AGENCY: DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY; DIVISION FIVE
STATUS OF INVESTIGATION: ONGOING
ADDENDUM: BY ORDER OF DIR. THOMPSON A MEDIA BLACKOUT IS NOW IN EFFECT. ALL PHOTOS, VIDEOS, AND ANY PHYSICAL EVIDENCE IS TO BE TURNED OVER TO DIVISION FIVE FOR INTERNAL INVESTIGATION PENDING INDEFINITELY
- Asst. Dir. Harris
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Eighteen hours later, the seven of them were gathered in the same apartment at which they had planned that disastrous heist. Six different cars, nine train rides, and multiple fake identification cards had preceded their arrival. It was a long, arduous process, one that had taken them all the way to the state of North Carolina before finally looping back to Baltimore.
It was a small price to pay to evade a statewide manhunt.
Now, here they sat - exhausted, disheveled, frustrated, and confused. Raúl was pacing. Breakneck was smoking casually. Surge was talking constantly. Petra was holding an ice pack to the tattoo from which she had called her wolf forth. Pharaoh was reading a paperback with a small, unbothered smile on his face. Tachyon was leaned back, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
And in the corner, Fall sat, shoulders slumped and head hunched.
A question was bouncing around inside the confines of his skull like a rubber ball - what the hell was wrong with him?
"So," Raúl said, finally, and at once every head perked up. They had been waiting, all of them, for their leader to make some sense of this chaos - to tell them how it was, and to tell them what it was they were going to do.
"So," Breakneck repeated dryly.
"I've spoken with some friends of mine," Raúl began. "People with connections. As far as we know, the sting was not specifically targeting our crew - rather, it was bait for anyone who would take it. Esper crews have been rising to prominence all across the East Coast, and this operation was the state of New Jersey essentially casting a line and seeing what would bite."
"Well, shit," Petra sighed. "We're sure as shit on their radar now." At that, however, Raúl shook his head.
"All they have are physical descriptions," Raúl explained, "from the 'between-time' when you exited the bank. No photos. I'm told law enforcement agencies are, for a moment, at a loss for identification."
"You're kidding me," Surge scoffed. "No photos, video, nothing?"
"By all accounts, they dropped the ball," Raúl replied. "And as unregistereds, we're all off the grid - they'll have a difficult time trying to put names to faces."
"'cept for me," Tachyon added, to which Raúl inclined his head.
"We erased your identity long ago," Raúl said, turning to face his longtime conspirator. "There's as much on you out there as there is on the rest of us."
There was a long, long pause - and then, finally, Breakneck spoke up.
"So - we're off the hook?"
"So it would seem," Raúl replied - immediately eliciting all manner of reactions from those present.
"No way," Petra muttered, glancing back at Surge. "Surely it can't be that simple."
"That's the devil's luck, right there," Pharaoh grinned, clapping his book shut. "The wicked go unpunished once more."
"Hey, speak for yourself," Surge shot back. "All I'm tryin' to do here is make a little cash, that's all."
"On the backs of the innocent," Pharaoh chuckled. "As are we all."
Fall hadn't said a word the entire time - nor did he intend to. Right now, the only thing on his mind was just how badly he wanted to go home and collapse into his bed.
"Alright then," Breakneck interjected, folding his arms. "How much we pull?"
"Three million, give or take," Raúl replied - reciting the number as though it were some simple, casual thing. "It goes to my man in Calcutta this evening and shall return, in three days time, clean and ready to be divided amongst ourselves."
"Damn," Surge remarked, letting out a low whistle. "All this bullshit might actually be worth it, then, assumin' we don't end up dead or in jail."
"You won't," Raúl said firmly, looking around the room and staring each and every one of them directly in the eyes. It was only Fall - exhausted, despondent, silent Fall - who refused to meet the older man's gaze.
"I guarantee it."
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After that, there was much consternation, much planning, much exchanging of information and contingencies. And then, finally, some hours later, Fall was permitted to leave and go home.
Now, Fall's head was swimming as he stumbled down the sidewalk, the weariness pressing down upon his back like an iron cross and forcing his shoulders to hunch beneath its weight.
Why did he just rob a bank? Why couldn't he kill those men? What was he even doing here?
All of these questions went unanswered. Fall had neither the energy nor the capacity to do so.
The sun was setting, painting the city skyline in strokes of blistering orange. Atop a streetlamp, a raven was cawing.
It was nighttime when Fall made it to the front door of his apartment. Belatedly, he thrust his hand deep into his jacket pocket, struggling for several seconds to find his keys until, finally, the telltale jingle of metal on metal reached his ears.
He let out a long, sustained yawn as he inserted key into lock. Whatever, he thought to himself as he turned the knob. All these questions could wait. Right now, he wanted nothing more in the world than to simply black out - which is exactly what happened as, from behind him, a pair of scarred hands thrust a damp rag hard against his face.
An Esper's physiology was different in many ways from that of an ordinary human's. They were more durable, not just on the outside, but inside too, sporting greater resistance to internal assailants like poison and disease. Had he wanted, Fall may very well have proved capable of staving off the effects of the chloroform for long enough to increase his weight and slip at once from the attacker's grasp - all in accordance with his training.
But, truth be told, Fall wasn't particularly interesting in the world of the waking right now. It was the world of slumber - that deep, fathomless black void that he desired, and thus he merely allowed himself to drop face-first into silent and soundless oblivion with not even the faintest hesitation.
"Get him in the car," a deep voice commanded, and a pair of men in black leather jackets complied at once, dragging the unconscious young man back to a waiting sedan as, behind them, an unnaturally tall figure covered from head to toe in all manner of tattoos and piercings observed with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
A few moments later, the sedan's tires were squealing - and then it was gone, and so was Fall.
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While the others dwelled in city apartments, all of them, it was Pharaoh alone who lived about a half hour north, his manor nested snug and secluded amidst the rolling hills of the county.
Manor though it was, it was a relatively humble abode, an old brick-and-mortar house whose windows glowed with a warm, welcoming orange as, inside, Pharaoh sat now in his study, one leg folded carefully over the other as he read from his book with a contented smile upon his face.
It was a full study indeed, a space packed from the floor to the walls with beautiful mahogany bookshelves and centered by a stout oak-wood desk, ahead of which the man himself sat in an old, weathered leather armchair. Behind him, a trio of candles burned upon the desk, illuminating the study with that same welcoming orange glow visible from the darkened hills outside.
It was a mystery novel in Pharaoh's hands, one in which he was thoroughly engrossed until, suddenly, he was interrupted by a sound - a soft, pleasant chime echoing throughout the corridors of the house.
Pharaoh pursed his lips - then shrugged, setting the book aside and rising smoothly to his feet. Visitors? At this hour? An odd occurrence, to be sure.
Pharaoh tied his robe tight as he made his way down the hall and to the door, feeling the soft fur of the carpet beneath his feet as he reached up, removing his spectacles and tucking them into his corner-pocket.
He stopped in front of his door, reached for the handle - then halted.
Ahead, there were neither windows nor a peephole - just an opaque slab of wood staring him in the face.
Still, Pharaoh hesitated.
Then, he cleared his throat.
"Good evening!" he called, after a moment. "I can't say I was expecting visitors at such a late hour!"
Then, he froze. Cocked his head to the side. Listened...then stepped quite smoothly to the side just as, with a deafening retort, a full loud of buckshot blasted clean through the door and shattered a mirror at the far end of the hall.
A slow smile spread across Pharaoh's face - and soundlessly he stepped back, vanishing entirely into shadow as, with another booming gunshot, the doorknob blew free and impacted, smoking, against the umber carpet below.
The door flew open and in came a dozen men, all sporting balaclavas and shotguns and outfitted in an assortment of jackets and tee-shirts. They flooded the hall, shotguns and flashlights sweeping in every conceivable direction.
One of them held up a fist to halt.
"Shit," the leader swore. "Alright. Vasquez, Sorrel, Syeong take left. Wainright, Torres, Gibson right. Tez, Farou up the stairs. Everyone else clears the hall with me."
Nobody spoke, and nobody moved.
"Go."
At one, all were in motion, dividing themselves into four disparate groups as per their leader's orders. Now, that same leader was making his way down the hall with shotgun at the ready, flanked with a man on either side and a third covering carefully behind him.
There was a quiet urgency to their movements as they swept briskly through the door, opening every door and clearing every room as they progressed. There was no sign of Pharaoh, not even a trace - there was only the voice that they had heard, muffled, from upon their target's front porch.
The four of them stopped outside the last door, the one that loomed at the end of that winding hall. A gloved hand reached down, turned the knob - and then they were in the study, their gun-barrels roving over the controlled chaos of Pharaoh's inner sanctum.
"Hey," one of the men whispered, leaning his head back. "What if he just booked it?"
"Quiet!" the leader hissed, a finger to his mask as he checked, shotgun-first, behind the oak-wood desk.
"I'm just saying-" the other man started.
"I said shut your mouth before..." the leader, snapped, turning his head - then trailing off as, behind his subordinate, Pharaoh seemed to all but materialize from thin air. "Connor!"
Connor turned - and then he was already dead, his throat gaping open as Pharaoh surged forward, appearing just inches from another intruder right as the startled man squeezed the trigger. Lighting-fast, Pharaoh slapped the barrel to the side, and without further ado the weapon discharged and blew another man's knee into chunks of glistening meat. Then, Pharaoh dropped low, ducking another blast and darting past as a jet-black dagger materialized in his hand, gouging open the man's side and sending his entrails spilling out onto the beautiful hardwood floor.
Eyes wide, the leader leapt back and fired - but with supernatural agility Pharaoh leapt to the side, touching against one of his bookshelves for just a moment before launching himself forward with blistering speed. The leader cocked his weapon - and then he was pressed back against the wall, a pair of onyx daggers digging hungrily into the skin of his throat as, before him, Pharaoh's eyes were alight with almost childlike enthusiasm and vigor.
"Well," Pharaoh smiled, ignoring the wailing screams and agonized groans of the two surviving intruders behind him. "Whoever you are, your presence is unexpected - but not entirely unwelcome."
"D-Don't do it..." the leader wheezed, the knives beginning to pierce his windpipe now. "Please, man...I'm sorry..."
"I'm sure you are," Pharaoh tutted. "Serves you right, you know, barging into a man's without an invitation. Now you're all going to die here, and I'm going to have to change my name again." He shook his head. "It's always such a bother."
"I'm sorry..." the leader whimpered. "I'm so, so sor-"
"I know, I know," Pharaoh sighed, pulling his blades opposite one another and severing the leader's head clean from his body. Then, he turned, and with casual ease he let each dagger fly.
Both embedded themselves quite perfectly into the survivors' skulls as, from beyond the door, a cavalcade of footsteps and shouts could be heard.
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," Pharaoh muttered, climbing atop his desk. The daggers disappeared into mist and, pinching the bridge of his nose, Pharaoh reached into a waiting portal and withdrew a long ebony spear, one wickedly pointed at either end.
"Come on then!" he called, dropping to a low crouch as, ahead, the first of the reinforcements burst through the doorway with weapon at the ready. Already the smile was returning to his face. "Let's try and have a little fun, shall we?"