by wildbow
“Trigger. Something’s wrong.”
“Trigger events can be plenty bad on their own.”
“Mm,” Rachel grunted.
“Oh. Yeah. You know.”
“Mm. You stay out of the way. Black stuff is bad.”
She didn’t wait for a response, ordering Bastard to head down towards the ground. Why? Hard to say, just like it was hard to explain the solidarity, or why she’d come in the first place. There were people out there who functioned best with their brains. Putting ideas together, analyzing the situation, rationalizing. She wasn’t one of them. She functioned best on instinct.
Gut feeling? If this fight continued like this, it would turn out ugly.
Miss Militia had shucked off the foam dispenser, and was backing up, shouting orders. She pulled the trigger on a small gun, sending a flare skyward.
Rallying the troops. Made sense.
The ooze man rose higher into the air, as she made her way down. There were people on the fringes, cornered or caught where they couldn’t freely maneuver.
Bastard’s claws scraped against the side of the building on the way down, his front claws getting more traction than the rear ones. He wound up swinging, his hind end descending while his front end maintained a grip. Rachel was nearly flung off, but her hold on the chain kept her in place. Bastard elected to drop the remainder of the way to the ground.
Another heavy impact. The imminent bruising went from ‘I’ll feel it in the morning’ to ‘I’ll be feeling this all next week’.
He was out of practice. Chasing buffalo and bringing them down was different from leaping around a city.
But she was on the ground, free to run.
“Kip up!” she called.
Bastard leaped, touching the side of the building, tensing and leaping from that point before landing on solid ground. In the process, they’d circumvented a large pool of the black stuff.
They landed near one of the capes on the fringes, a man standing in a construction site, with enough stuff around him that he couldn’t maneuver freely. He was using his power to push at the ooze, a kind of telekinetic wind. Her arrival had distracted him, and the wind had faltered. The ooze encroached.
She extended a hand.
He glanced at the ooze, then at Bastard, and sided with her. He took her hand, and used his power to help himself up, landing behind her.
She could see movement out of the corner of her eye. Tentacles, pitch black, reaching out of the ooze that poured from the man’s body. Like the fire, it spread, altering all of the ooze it touched to make it the same.
“Up! Rooftop!” she called out.
Bastard leaped, ascending by leaping from one wall to the next. By the time they were halfway up, the tendrils were almost touching them.
They reached the last jump, leaping to the lower of the two rooftops, and stopped. They’d been snared, suspended over the street, the rooftop ten feet in front of Bastard’s front claws.
Cassie was approaching, moving along rooftops to try and get to them. Below the rooftops, the entire neighborhood was a shifting morass of black fronds,grasping, seizing what they could, crushing. Fire and the lights of other powers were visible on the opposite side of the battlefield. Miss Militia’s group. A flamethrower—
He tried to push the feelings away, but they were seductive. A spiral, where the feelings were both the torment and the balm that soothed the torment. Stopping was daunting. He had been wrapped up in them, and now it was something else. He’d never dealt with something like this. For hours, days, he’d been reveling in emotion, and now he couldn’t stow it away, even as he experienced trauma for the first time.
—torched the worst of the tendrils, keeping them at bay. The fire stopped as other capes stepped in.
Rachel felt a frond seize her wrist. She pulled, and it didn’t give. Cassie wouldn’t make it in time.
The telekinetic wind shifted from focusing on the fronds to focusing on Bastard. Pushing him in one direction, getting his claws closer to the rooftop. One and a half feet closer, two feet…
At the same time, the rooftop changed. It twisted, inching closer to them.
Rachel gave her companion a bit more power. Size at the expense of flexibility.
Bastard extended his front claws and found a grip. He pulled himself and his riders closer, and the tendrils that encircled him went taut. All of his strength, and he couldn’t manage another inch of progress. Claws left gouges in the rooftop.
Other tendrils encroached. There was no ooze on the ground, now. All of it was alive, a singular writhing mass that extended from the man above them.
Distant gunshots sounded. They jerked forward, and Bastard got one claw on the edge of the roof. More traction.
Two more gunshots. They were free. Bastard made it three steps before the black tentacle around Rachel’s wrist pulled tight. He took her sudden movement as a command and stopped, turning, his head moving so he could see any gestures or instructions.
A red dot appeared on the tendril that gripped her. Another distant gunshot, and it was severed. Ooze splashed onto the rooftop.
“Go!”
Bastard moved.
Tendrils became fire in that same flowing transition, and the flaming liquid descended, covering the streets and buildings below them. There were flammable materials on some of the rooftops, where tall buildings were being extended to be higher, and black flames rose.
High above them, the man continued to fall apart. Barely any fragments were larger than a fist, now. There was only the upper half of his head, a chunk in his chest. His legs were a pillar, framing the flow of the ooze that continued to spread beneath him.
Capes had retreated to higher ground, but it wasn’t a refuge. The ooze would change again.
Common sense told her she shouldn’t get any closer. Instinct told her otherwise.
She directed Bastard to a lower rooftop, then one that was lower still. A pair of kid capes, fending off the spreading black flames with a combination of powers.
There wasn’t time to be nice about it. She grabbed one, had Bastard grab the other. They ran for higher ground as the liquid fire became mist.
It reminded her of Grue’s smoke. It spread to fill the air, and it moved too fast to avoid. Consuming everything, covering everything. The fires seemed to have gone out, or the black fire had overtaken any normal fire, but the damage was there. There were places where Bastard would fall through if he landed, balconies and rooftops. hazards. They were harder to see now, too, behind the mist.
If he turned it into fire or tendrils now…
“Up!”
The heroes were hesitating to attack any more. Easy to see why. Every bit of damage seemed to increase the amount of ooze by a hell of a lot.
He wasn’t dying, he wasn’t stopping.
She ordered Bastard to higher ground, and the telekinetic wind helped them rise, where the added weight of the two kids slowed them down. The tallest building was near Miss Militia, so she circled around the area where the fight was taking place, constantly moving higher. A balcony nearly collapsed beneath Bastard’s weight. She misjudged a jump, urging Bastard on, while forgetting that she’d made him stronger and less agile.
Down there, somewhere on the ground, Miss Militia was in the midst of the smoke, her team holding it at bay. She seemed to come to a decision. Her rifle became something else. A cannon, fixed to the ground.
She shot into the black mist with a rocket. The rocket seemed to grow to twice the size as it flew. The explosion was dramatic, noisy, and distracted Bastard mid-landing, making him stumble. The explosion consumed the ooze man entirely.
The amount of smoke flowing out around the man doubled.
Two more rockets hit the same point, each one growing as it moved.
The smoke cleared. The dust and smoke from the explosions slowly cleared. By the time the area was visible enough to check on their enemy, the black mist was starting to clear as well.
He’d been stoppe
d.
The visions, they’d been broken up, too recent. She wasn’t forgetting them. The power, too… he’d been strong.
He’d been—
A man in a white hood and cape stood there, the tension in his body swiftly stopping. He had no expression, only a green and blue glow beneath his hood, but his body language was clear. Shock, defeat.
A flash of golden light wiped him out of existence.
—too strong.
She started to turn her head, looking for the source of the voice, and felt the disorientation that had accompanied the visions. Her ride-alongs weren’t in better shape.
It wasn’t over?
Bastard’s head turned. His ears perked up.
Instinct. She urged him towards whatever had gotten his attention.
She could hear it, now.
“Hey,” the wind-maker said. “What—”
He stopped when he heard the same sound.
Screaming. As if from underwater, getting louder with each moment.
There was somebody on a rooftop, in the midst of a garden, screaming.
Her arm broke in half, and ooze began dripping from the injury.
Bastard collided with her, and she broke apart, ooze flowing like a wave, tossing them aside. It was defensive as much as offensive.
Except it seemed to be hurting its host more than anything. The force of the flowing ooze was damaging her body, tearing her apart. Her eyes were gone, with only dark sockets streaming more fluid. When she opened her mouth, more erupted forth, flowing.
“Again,” Rachel whispered.
Bastard found his feet, readying for another attack. She could feel the tension as he prepared to leap.
Just have to break her enough.
The ooze froze into jagged crystal. Bastard’s leap failed, and he nearly bucked his riders free.
The freezing had spread through the ooze that covered the woman, and the jagged spikes of black ice tore through her upper body and head.
For long seconds, things were still.
And then the woman came to pieces. The ice broke, and Bastard pulled himself free.
“Jesus,” the wind-man said.
Rachel was silent, watching the back of Bastard’s head. He hadn’t reacted like he’d heard more screaming. Was it over?
“Hey kids, are you—” the man started. He was silenced as Bastard leaped, retracing his route to the ground.
More hard landings, but she was already resigned to the aches and pains that would follow a fight.
When they touched solid ground, Miss Militia’s entire group was waiting. Vista was there, along with one of Taylor’s teammates from Chicago.
Bastard landed, and Rachel was careful to keep a distance. Miss Militia stepped forward, and Rachel directed Bastard to back up a little.
“We going to have a problem?” Rachel called out.
“No. No problem,” Miss Militia said. “I’m coming closer, okay? We’re good. There’s an amnesty.”
“Don’t know what that means.”
“There’s a deal. Everyone gets a second chance. We don’t have a problem with anyone, until they do something wrong.”
“I’m not a villain anymore?”
“Not unless you want to do something villainous.”
Rachel nodded.
Miss Militia approached.
“It shifted to a new host,” the wind-man said. “That was definitely another one.”
Rachel gave a push to the kid she’d slung over Bastard’s shoulders.
“Get down,” Rachel said. “Bastard, drop it.”
Bastard let the boy he was holding drop, along with a fair amount of slobber. The boy hurried back. The girl was taking more time to find her way to the ground. Rachel grabbed at her arm, and the girl flinched.
“You dealt with it?” Miss Militia asked, stepping closer to give the girl a hand.
The wind-man wasn’t moving. “It dealt with itself. The power destroyed the host. That’s number two on the list of things that aren’t supposed to happen.”
“Shit happens,” Rachel said. “World makes a lot more sense when you accept that.”
“This is a little different from the everyday sh-tuff,” the man said.
Miss Militia nodded, her eyebrows knit together in concern. “This makes four. Almost a fifth of the regular triggers we’ve heard of. Two in three days. One’s still loose, the others died or destroyed themselves.”
“Hey, wind-man,” Rachel said. “Off.”
“I’m just waiting for Gloss to get down.”
“Off.”
He heard something in her tone and moved, using his power to hop down.
“Hellhound—” Miss Militia said. Rachel gave her a hard look. “Um. Bitch.”
“If you’re going to fucking give me trouble after what you said before, then—”
“No.” Miss Militia said. She raised her hands, showing she was unarmed. The mortar was a distance away. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to say.”
Rachel shrugged, averting her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel surrounded, here. “I was looking for you anyways. This is your territory?”
“That’s a little complicated. The—”
“You work here? Do the superhero thing?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then it’s yours,” Rachel said. Others had told her she could sound hostile in situations like this, so she tried to speak like she would to a dog that hadn’t been exposed to humans. Gentle, acknowledging the fact that it couldn’t understand. The sound was more important than anything.
“Um, I suppose,” Miss Militia said.
“It is,” Rachel said, trying to measure her tone, suppressing her irritation. “If someone else is in charge, you tell them this instead. Some fuckstick came into my fucking neighborhood, cozied up to his old girlfriend, then waltzed with their kid. Came here. I was looking for the asshole, and I wanted to let you know before I went to collect them.”
“Okay,” Miss Militia said, sounding a little more authoritarian. She glanced at the wind-man, who had his hands clamped to the boy’s ears. “That’s—”
“Okay?” Rachel gave Bastard a light kick, indicating he should go.
“—problematic!” Miss Militia raised her voice.
But Rachel was already leaving. She heard Miss Militia’s voice, swearing, running footsteps.
Didn’t matter. A glance to the rooftops indicated that Biter had arrived. He had a man and a little boy with him.
She pointed, and she could see a nod on Biter’s part.
* * *
From civilization to nature. She could relax.
“Didn’t realize it would be that serious,” Biter said, when they’d slowed.
Seeing Bastard panting, Rachel led him to the water. The other dogs followed, eager for the chance to drink.
“Not an issue.”
“See, this is an area where you should get on my case, get mad that I didn’t help.”
“I told you it was fine,” she said. “So it’s fine. Who the fuck doesn’t say what they mean?”
“Most people?” he asked.
“Most people are morons,” she said. “Bitching about wanting french fries or whatever.”
“A strong recommendation, not a… bitch,” he said, stumbling over the last word. “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate your willingness to stop.”
“Kid needed food anyways,” Rachel said. She looked at the boy who was riding with Cassie. The girl had opened her jacket and zipped it up so it held him to her. “He good?”
“A little spooked, tired. It’s a long way to travel, even with breaks,” Cassie said. “But I think he’s mostly good?”
She’d made it a question, looking down, and the boy nodded.
“Issue’s handled. Take the kid to his mom, take the dad to a cell. We figure out what we do with him tomorrow.”
“Right,” Biter said. “And you?”
“Going for a ride,” Rachel said. She jerked her thumb o
ver her shoulder.
“Oh,” Biter said.
“Say hi to her for me?” Cassie asked.
Rachel nodded. “Anything else? Stuff? Problems?”
“No,” Biter said. “Thanks for the burger-stop.”
Rachel shrugged. She gave Doon a bit more power, to ensure he got the rest of the way home, then hopped off Bastard’s back. She led him by the chain as she walked down the path.
The fields had tall grass, and the light frost hadn’t done much to dampen the effect. In the afternoon light, it glittered and sparkled.
There’d been a problem. She hadn’t missed that. Some new powers weren’t working the way they should.
She’d have to talk to Tattletale about it. Figure out what it meant, and whether she needed to do something in case one of her people went down that road.
She was losing Biter. This wasn’t the life for him. He was loyal, he wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t a bad lay, if she was in the mood for that. Didn’t, unlike some, make it more than it should be. He took it in stride.
She’d barely had time to register that he was going, before the trouble started. It bothered her more than it should.
People came, people went. There were so many reasons for it all. It was exhausting to keep track of. Sometimes impossible.
She led Bastard down a path towards the mountains.
She stopped at a spot where the path crested a hill, between two peaks. Not all the way through the mountains, but far enough that she could see the ocean. The Bay.
Bastard knew the way. His flesh was sloughing off, and he was slower, but he was adroit enough to navigate the rocks.
At the side of one mountain, here, a tree had fallen into a ‘v’ where another tree stood. with a glimpse of the spot where the city should be. Water had filled the cracks where the landscape had been ruined. When the trees had had leaves, they had framed the view.
At the top of this hill, rocks had been rolled into place, some with the help of her dogs.
She sat down with her back to the biggest.
Her hand settled on one rock, and she gave it a rub, like it was a dog’s head. Some left like Biter was leaving, while others were gone forever.
Bastard growled, then barked.
“Who’s there?” Rachel called out. She sat forward, looking towards the path.