Like many upscale Midtown buildings, Scapper’s building complex had a tram stop right against it, allowing the inhabitants on the lower levels greater ease in their work commutes (above the 20th floor or so, most people had personal air balloons or didn’t work at all). Jeremiah had noticed it when they arrived, and he’d noted when Gliridae was first speaking to the Silver that Scapper’s apartment would look out upon the same side. Gliridae may have had a set of specialised skills, but so did he, and it was time to put them to use.
He hadn’t spent eight years as a Silver for nothing, after all.
“You want to… climb onto a speeding train and use it as a launch pad?” checked Bill; the three of them were stood on the platform, staring up at the window which Jeremiah had identified as the engineer’s apartment- six floors up, and five from the left. Jeremiah shook his head.
“No, I want to climb onto a stationary train, and then use it as a launch pad once it’s moving.” Gliridae took a swig from a small hip flask and grinned.
“Sounds damn near suicidal; I like it.”
“Jeremiah, are you sure about this? There’s still the Silver in the corridor. And you’ve never given anyone a lift before: I know he’s tiny, but can you carry him?”
“How much do you weigh?” Jeremiah asked Gliridae.
“Roundabout 35 kilograms, depending on how much I ate and drank the day before.” Jeremiah nodded to Bill. He could carry that. His old friend, however, still looked worried.
“And what if there’s an issue- what if a fight breaks out? What if you need backup?”
“Bill, it’ll be okay: I’ve got my guns, and I know how to handle myself. If there’s any issue, we’ll yell down for you.” Bill sighed, then shrugged and looked back up at the window.
“Aw, hell. If you think it’s for the best, I can’t argue with that. Look, here comes the train- just make sure no one sees you climbing on.”
The train pulled up at the platform. A handful of commuters got off, but it was only just gone four and the rush wouldn’t start for another hour at least. Jeremiah quickly scrambled up the maintenance ladder at the back, Gliridae keeping watch to make sure they weren’t noticed before following easily up behind him. Being that small probably made climbing a lot easier, and he had the advantage of not having mechanical wings attached to his back. Jeremiah loved the things, could never bear to part with them, but they for sure weren’t light.
Despite the early hour, the sky was beginning to darken. As the train began to move, Jeremiah looked to the building clouds and frowned; hopefully they could get through everything that needed doing before the rain started.
The plan was simple: the train gave them a height advantage, and a discretionary advantage that they wouldn’t have had launching from the ground. Jeremiah wanted a good amount of distance from the building too: that way he could fly higher than the apartment, then glide down to the window at an angle and drive through with his heel. Most buildings of this kind were built with a special glass, designed to shatter into a sort of rubble rather than create shards, and bars against burglary were reserved for the poorest and the wealthiest. For some reason the Midtowners believed themselves immune from those problems.
He hoped that was the case now, as the alternative was a very painful deceleration and a very mangled leg
“Ready?” he asked Gliridae, who nodded and climbed on. Jeremiah made sure that the smaller man wouldn’t block the unfolding of his wings, and then carefully made his way to the edge of the train.
“Yeh’re going to unfurl them now, right?” yelled Gliridae in his ear. They were picking up speed now, and the wind had turned into a whistle over which it was difficult to make out the words. Jeremiah shook his head- if he did that, they’d both be blown straight off the edge of the train- but didn’t bother trying to yell that back. Gliridae swore.
Jeremiah watched the building rapidly recede. Not yet. Not yet.
Now.
He leapt into the air, and at the peak of his jump unfolded his wings and activated the boosters. Jumping back towards the building off the rear of the train helped mitigate their forward momentum somewhat, but the engines still whined as they kicked into gear. For a heart-rending moment, they dropped.
Then the engines overcame the air resistance and they were shooting up, and Gliridae was screaming again but this time it was screams of excitement.
Up they went, engines straining against the extra weight, until they were level with the sixteenth floor. Twenty stories below, Jeremiah could see Bill watching them- it was probably the first time his friend had ever looked small.
“Down we go,” he called, cutting the motors. They hung for a split second, weightless, looking out across a city which glittered in the late afternoon sun.
Then they began to fall again. Jeremiah pointed his wings back, gaining momentum, and prayed that Gliridae was holding tight enough as he flipped over and drove his heel straight through the window.
The good news: his leg did not shatter.
The bad: neither did the window. It splintered inwards, shards of glass flying, and Jeremiah felt a burning pain as one dug a deep cut into his leg. They hit the carpet and rolled, needle sharp jabs of glass pricking him as he went. For a moment he lay sprawled, world spinning, blood pounding through his ears, trying to put together exactly what had just happened. Then he heard a soft groan from beneath him.
“Jeremiah- yeh’re crushing me.” Swearing under his breath, Jeremiah quickly scrambled to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain in his leg as he did so. Gliridae rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, dazed, hat off to one side and shards of glass in his hair. There was a nick on one cheek that was starting to weep blood, but besides that the tiny musician seemed fine. Jeremiah felt a rush of relief: their hare-brained scheme had worked.
“Who’s in there?” yelled the Silver outside, and that relief vanished like dew in the morning sun. Jeremiah and Gliridae shared panicked glances, and then Jeremiah dashed to the door and managed to bolt it just as the handle pressed down. There was a thunk and a curse as the Silver tried to force his way in.
“What do we do?” hissed Gliridae, upright but crouched low.
“Hide, I guess? Or fight him? You can’t talk your way out of this one,” Jeremiah hissed back. There was another thump: the Silver was trying to force his way in.
“And you don’t want to fight a Silver. Even if you win, all that earns you is more Silvers,” said Gliridae. Both cast their eyes around the room, and Jeremiah only now realised the state it was in.
In the centre of the room was a chair, ropes draped over it in a horribly familiar way. Around the chair were smears of blood, the dull brown of days passing. All the cupboards and drawers had been opened, and their contents emptied onto the floor. There was a large crack in the table, most of the smaller furniture was smashed, and both the sofa and the bed had been split open, with the stuffing pulled out and discarded.
The apartment was ransacked; whatever the ransackers thought Scapper had, they’d overturned everything in their search for it. Gliridae picked up one of the ropes used to tie the man to the chair, his expression a mixture of revulsion and regret.
“What seems to be the problem officer?” Bill’s voice, on the other side of the door, jolted Jeremiah back to the very immediate danger they were in. “What? Don’t worry, I’ll help you get in.”
“There’s nowhere to hide,” whispered Gliridae, “unless you want to try and bury yourself in the Scapper’s clothes?” There was a much louder crash against the door, then Bill’s voice again.
“No, officer, it seems they’ve sealed the door.” Another crash, and the ex-Silver huffed a laugh in spite of himself. It looked like Gliridae’s lies were rubbing off on Bill- his friend could have smashed the door off his hinges if he’d half a desire to. “I’m sorry officer, but I’m not sure if anything could get through this.”
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“We need to get out,” said Jeremiah, grabbing a broken chair leg and using it to knock back more of the glass from the window. “We’re not going to learn anything here, especially not in this time frame.” Suddenly there was a crack in the distance, and a sharp stinging pain in his right ear. Flinching and turning back in confusion, he found Gliridae staring wide eyed at a bullet lodged in the wall half a foot from where he stood.
“That’s not good,” said the tiny musician, who then ducked for cover as the implication of it seemed to hit him. “Who in the hell is shooting at us?” Jeremiah also ducked, peeking his head above the window just high enough to scan the rooftops.
Another crash against the door. Jeremiah wasn’t sure how much more time Bill could buy them.
There. Two figures, hiding behind a rooftop generator, taking aim straight at the window. He ducked again as soon he spotted them, and the next second another bullet passed through the space where his head had been moments before.
“Pass me a plate,” Jeremiah told Gliridae, gesturing to a pile of dishware. Gliridae quickly complied, and Jeremiah carefully angled himself.
“Officer, are you sure you-“ came Bill’s voice, and then everything happened at once.
There was a shot from the other side of the door that blew the lock into fragments. Jeremiah tossed the plate into the air, and the next second it shattered as a third bullet came flying through the window. The Silver charged in. Jeremiah fired both pistols straight for the centre of the generator. Bill rushed in after, and with one quick punch to the back of the head knocked the Silver out cold.
On the other rooftop, the generator exploded in a volley of sparks.
For a moment there was silence, as the three of them stared at each other in shock. The Silver lay unconscious in the middle of the floor, and across the street fire alarms began to ring.
“What’s going on in there?” came a woman’s voice from the corridor.
“We need to leave,” said Jeremiah. “Gliridae and I can go back out the window- Bill, you need to cover for us.”
“And how in the hell am I meant to do that?” hissed Bill.
“Officer?” Called the voice. “Officer Jones, are you alright?”
“The window where the gunmen were? Great,” said Gliridae. “Bill, tell her we broke in, knocked the Silver unconscious, escaped, and that you’re going to get help. We’ll see you at the bottom of the building, if not at Cantankerous later?”
“Aw, hell,” muttered Bill, before raising his voice. “Hey, come back- oh, oh no, they’re getting away!” Jeremiah crouched low and Gliridae climbed onto his back. The tiny musician gave a thumbs up to Bill, who rolled his eyes. The larger man then grabbed the unconscious Silver and half carried, half dragged him back through the door.
Satisfied, Jeremiah quickly climbed back onto the window sill, ignoring the burning pain from the gash in his leg; there was no time to deal with that now. Spying the train just pulling away from the station below, he allowed himself a small smile: at least it appeared something was going their way.
“Hold tight,” he told Gliridae, pushing off. As he did so, he could just hear Bill saying ‘you look after the officer, I’m going to get help.” Anything else was cut off by the howling wind and Gliridae’s screams.
The wings unfolded with a whine, and then they were gliding, the wings cutting through the plumes of smoke. Jeremiah frowned at the rapidly spreading fire on the adjacent building, guilt tearing through him. He knew only too well the fear the residents would be feeling.
But it wasn’t like he’d had a choice.
Then a bullet pinged off one of his wings and his attention shifted back to more pressing matters.
Climbing onto the roof of the train were several figures- three men, sporting pistols and trench coats, a woman dual wielding two of the most expensive guns he’d ever seen up close, and a very peeved looking Mr Morrow.
It looked like the Matheses were onto them.
Jeremiah’s heart sank; for a split second he considered diverting to a different landing point, but at the velocity they were now going landing on anything but the speeding train would be incredibly painful at best.
“Brace!” He yelled to Gliridae, then pulled up and dropped down onto the middle of the train. The woman glared.
“The three of you have been meddling where you’re not wanted. You had your chance.” She raised the guns, and grinned. “Now it’s time to deal with the consequences.” One of the other men snickered.
“Miss Sherwood being the consequences, if you catch her drift.”
Great: they weren’t just armed, they were armed idiots. Miss Sherwood rolled her eyes at her companion’s comment, then took aim. Instinctively, Jeremiah flinched inwards, crouching down and wrapping his wings around himself like a mechatronic Kevlar vest. The bullets from one gun ricocheted off- only one?
Gliridae.
Jeremiah jumped to his feet, whipping out his pistols and pointing them back at her, frantically searching in his periphery for Gliridae. The tiny musician was crouched low, one hand flat against the roof of the train, the other extended for balance. A scattering of bullet holes punctured the metal around him, and Jeremiah could hear screams from within the carriage.
“Stop. Shooting at us. God damn!” Gliridae’s voice was strangled, a mixture of frustration and fear that pushed his vocal range two octaves higher than normal. “There are bystanders!” The woman blinked, then laughed, and took aim again.
“I’ll deal with her, Gliridae,” Jeremiah called. “You handle the others.” He shot, aiming to injure rather than kill, and while the first three bullets went wide, the fourth caught her in her hip. She grimaced, but fired back, and the two of them began to circle in a deadly dance.
“Sure,” he heard Gliridae grouse, almost to himself. “Leave me to deal with the three henchmen and the gorilla, that’ll go- wait a second, is that-“ There was a crash and the entire train shook, knocking all those on the roof to their knees and sending one of the goons flying off the back, his yells echoing. “Holy hell, Bill!”
To Jeremiah’s disbelief, his enormous friend pulled himself over the side, drenched in sweat and wheezing. When he got himself upright, however, there was murder in his eyes. Jeremiah fought down a smile.
Bill really did have a temper like a pissed rhino.
“Mr Morrow,” rumbled the enormous man. Mr Morrow didn’t bother to respond, tossing aside his hat and dropping into a fighting stance. Jeremiah took advantage of Ms Sherwood’s shock, and quickly fired off a volley of shots; his aim was true, and she dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching her feet and swearing. That would have been enough to take out the average goon, but it seemed that she was made of sterner stuff. Rolling onto her stomach, she reached out and grabbed one of her guns. Jeremiah once again found himself staring down her barrel.
He deflected the bullets using one wing, spinning with the momentum of the movement- just in time to see Gliridae trip one of the thugs. As the man was falling, the tiny musician deftly grabbed his belt off of him. The small voice in the back of Jeremiah’s head which struggled to focus on the matter at hand and seemed resistant to adrenaline wondered if coffee gave Gliridae jitters because the tiny man was on something much stronger. His movements were like lightning, his reflexes unnatural.
Then Jeremiah’s foot planted back on the roof of the train and he was once again facing down Ms Sherwood. Concern and frustration warred within him.
“I don’t want to have to shoot you again,” he said, and she barked out a laugh.
“You don’t have the spine to.” He yelped as the bullets whizzed past his feet, leaping into the air like a scalded cat. She fired again, but was greeted by the hollow click of an empty gun. Seizing his chance, he sprinted over to where she lay. Before she could react, he kicked the gun away from her and pulled her arms behind her back in a full Nelson. She swore and struggled, but injured as she was she couldn’t break free.
From this position, Jeremiah could also see how his friends were doing. Bill and Mr Morrow were trading blows powerful enough to shatter walls, each crack reverberating like a cinder block splitting. There was blood leaking out of one of Bill’s ears, and one of Mr Morrow’s arms hung limp at his side- had Bill gotten him in the shoulder?- but neither showed any signs of slowing.
Gliridae, meanwhile, had hog tied one of the Props with his own belt and was now using him as a human shield while the other waved his pistol and swore.
“Yeh should just get out while yeh can,” the tiny musician yelled. His voice had dropped to heavy Lowtown, a lilt that blurred the words together into a continuous sing-song. Getoutwhileyehcan, it sounded like. “We’ve been working with the Silvers this whole time, and as soon as this train stops everyone up here is going to Lockup. Yeh don’t wanna go to Lockup, it’s not pretty in there. But I ain’t no snitch, swear on me life, and if you leave with yehr friend right now I’ll act like I never saw yeh in all my days.”
To Jeremiah’s simultaneous glee and consternation, the Prop hesitated, then lowered his gun.
“Don’t-“ started Ms Sherwood, but Jeremiah clamped his hand firmly over her mouth, curving his fingers to safety as she tried to bite him.
“No funny business?” asked the Prop, and Gliridae physically crossed his heart, before handing over the bound man like some kind of trussed up turkey. The next second, the Prop had disappeared with his friend into the depths of the train, which was starting to slow as it approached the next station.
From his right came a sudden shout. Jeremiah’s heart dropped as Bill stumbled to the edge of the train’s roof, catching himself before he fell off with just his motorised hand. The gears screamed as he tried to cling on. Mr Morrow looked down and smiled cruelly, lifting a leg to stomp down; this was a mistake, as with his other hand Bill grabbed the leg and yanked the gorilla down beside him, using the forward momentum to wriggle somewhat back onto the train roof. Mr Morrow yelled in anger, but with his injured arm didn’t seem to have the strength to pull himself back up. Gliridae ran over and tried to help Bill further onto the train: with the size difference it was like watching a child trying to move a car. Jeremiah repositioned himself, ready to go help his friend, but before he could do so an amplified voice cut through the air.
“Nobody move! Hands where I can see ‘em!”
He looked towards the next platform and sighed: it was swarming with Silvers. As the train slowly pulled up, he dropped Ms Sherwood from his hold and raised his hands into the air as instructed. Everyone else on board quickly followed suite.
“You’re all under arrest,” said a furious Silver. “I don’t want to hear a word from you until we’re at the station.”
One by one, they allowed themselves to be shackled and meekly lead off the train. The two guys Gliridae had scared off were nowhere to be seen, but everyone else was brought in. Bill looked as though he were fighting the urge to throw up. Gliridae grinned as they handcuffed him, immediately sliding the cuffs over his tiny hands and giving Jeremiah a thumbs up. He then fixed his face to one of remorse, slipping the handcuffs back to their original position.
Jeremiah couldn’t bring himself to smile back. The ex-Silver had never imagined he’d find himself on this side of an arrest, but there was no plan C. Grimacing, he held his arms behind himself for cuffs of his own: this wouldn’t be pretty.