He snarled and rushed at me, exactly as I'd thought he would. I dodged the first swipe of one set of claws, ducked under the second, and quick-stepped inside his reach. Two quick underhand jabs to his chest (which still felt like punching a brick wall) and an uppercut knocked him back a step. I followed up with a left cross to the jaw that snapped his head back and split his lip. I hammered three hard punches to his sternum with my right fist and caught the tip of his chin with an upward slash from my elbow. He started to fall but I caught him by his wing, pulled him back into a right cross I threw everything into. I smelled the ozone before the breeze could carry it away as his jaw dislocated and possibly broke.
This was one tough mother. My knuckles ached a little from hitting him, something I hadn't felt since before boot camp.
I helped him fall by kicking the back of his left knee and pushing him to the ground. I only pushed hard enough to make sure he hit, no harder. I didn't want to damage the parking lot.
"Stay down," I cautioned, noticing my breath was coming a little faster than I'd been expecting. I hadn't felt the adrenaline rush I'd been expecting, though I could feel some level of it working through my system. That was odd. Maybe it explained why I hadn't ripped him into quivering lumps of bloody bird-man yet.
He shook his head and spit more blood, though it still streamed out of the corner of his mouth afterwards. I stepped back so he could regain his feet which he did, carefully and slowly, as if in more pain than he was accustomed to being in. Once totally upright he growled something and, using his fists, he popped his jaw back into place with a crack so loud that it drew sympathy groans from the watchers. His mouth dropped open and he sucked in a few breaths, letting out a louder noise, quickly turning into a scream, with each one. When the scream passed the level of what a human throat could produce he launched himself at me again, faster and harder than I'd seen him do it before.
This was ridiculous. Time to put an end to it.
I drew on everything I could --- the wind, the cars speeding by on the main drag, even the exhalations of expectation and gasps at the impact the norms were waiting for --- and allowed myself to speed up to the point Sablewing's movement was nearly that of a snail climbing a rock. I couldn't smell the ozone-like odor of my residue yet, but that was because I was moving too fast for it to slough off me yet. I only had a few seconds (at my comparative flow of time) before it did.
I had pulled more than I needed for what I was doing, but I held the rest in reserve. I could feel it burning in my arms and legs like I'd been hauling heavy weights up a flight of stairs. If I didn't let it go soon I risked an internal backlash that would, at the very least, hurt me badly. It had only happened once, but once was enough. I couldn't hold onto it forever.
I didn't need to.
Sablewing had thrown himself into the air, his wings folding back to reduce drag, his arms thrown wide to grapple with me, his claws extended, and a thin trickle of spittle-thickened blood flying from the corner of his mouth as the wind whipped it away in small droplets.
I positioned myself between his arms, took a quick look around at the fear and excitement on all the faces watching us, and I allowed myself to smile sadly. What a waste.
He must have seen a flicker of movement because his arms started to close ever so slightly. Mother wasn't just tough, he was fast, too. Not a speedster, by any stretch of the imagination, but his reflexes were inhuman.
I allowed myself to slow back to normal time a moment after I threw a punch. It wasn't especially hard --- it didn't need to be. At the speed I was moving the impact was roughly equivalent to a gun with a bore the size of my fist firing at the same range, and with much the same sound. Anything that breaks the sound barrier makes a sonic boom, and this was going to be at least that fast.
When I slowed myself down I released everything I'd held back, trapping Sablewing between my fist and a wall of force he couldn't possibly break through, even if he knew he had to and how..
His face disintegrated under my fist.
Blood actually spattered people standing far enough away they could barely see what was going on and the cars behind them. A tooth flew through a car's window, setting off the alarm. The hooting and honking added a note of unreality to the scene as Sablewing slumped to the ground. My hand was covered in blood, drool, and various pieces of what used to be the face of a super "hero".
It dripped.
And yet Sablewing was not dead. His chest heaved as he struggled to get air through the shattered remains of his mouth and the fluids gathering in the crater that used to be his face. Blood began to pool around his head, leaving me a choice. Let him die --- I had enough witnesses to keep a murder charge off my back --- and face the consequences, or call for medical help and do everything I could to keep him alive.
I patted the DVD case to make sure it was still there and stared at him. I really didn't have much leeway in how I decided to act, now did I?
"He dead?"
I turned to look at the man who'd asked the question. The fear on every face I looked at amongst the remaining watchers was tempered with some level of relief. The man who'd spoken had far more relief than fear, though his white-and-red baseball cap cast some shadows over his eyes I couldn't really see through.
"No, though he'll wish he was when he wakes up." I shook some of the goo off my hand and addressed the speaker again. "Who are you?"
"Names Travers. Nathaniel Gabriel Travers III, though folks 'round here usually call me Nate. You might want to be gettin' out of here before the cops show up. They're stationed just down the road there," he said, pointing. "He has a couple a'them on his payroll and they might not treat you too good when they get here."
"That's fine," I said, reaching for the pocket I'd slipped the ID card into. "I have a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card right here. If you happen to know the police officers in question I'm sure the investigation that's about to be launched would be helped tremendously by your input." Now why did saying that make me feel all dirty?
I flashed the card at him but he seemed less than interested.
"You're really from the Heroes' Guild?" a woman at the back of the crowd asked.
"Yes, Ma'am, I am." Okay, playing the proper Guild member was not the best decision I'd made recently. However, I was stuck. Shifting roles now would be as productive as dumping a large mocha latte on a windshield to try to clear off a splattered bug. "I'm a special investigator assigned to check out the attack in Canton earlier today."
They had started to mill closer to me, body on the ground and all. Some had faded into the background, probably because they were disappointed I'd come out on top, and no doubt someone was calling the cops at that very moment. I expected to hear sirens...
A wail in the background drifted on the breeze. Wouldn't be long at all.
"Everyone," I said as loudly as I could, "you'll have to give the police some room. They're on their way and will need to talk to some of you. Anyone who doesn't want the attention probably should get moving as soon as possible." That got the exodus kicked into a higher gear. "And anyone who can tell me where the hell the nearest hospital is so I can get him there," I said through gritted teeth, "will earn my thanks and appreciation."
The hospital was just up the road from the Life Savers sign and surprisingly large for such a small community. The signs of a recent renovation were obvious, but since the overall feel was quite modern it was probably a good thing. The staff scrutinized my Guild ID for all of thirty seconds before agreeing to keep Sablewing sedated till another Guild representative could bring further instructions. Emergency surgery to reconstruct his face and stabilize him would be performed by specialists flying in from Burlington, Vermont. A helicopter pad was on the roof or somesuch and they'd be there within six hours. In the meantime he would be kept alive and in a medically-induced coma. Apparently his blood type was on file and they had several units immediately available because, frankly, he was losing blood faster than they liked. Immediate surgery perfor
med by the surgeon on call would stabilize him enough they felt he'd make it till the specialists arrived.
His extracurricular activities had extended to some of the hospital staff, it seemed. When I'd brought him in they'd made a beeline for anywhere else and those that stuck around had been very... select in their questions despite the severity of his injuries. In fact, there wasn't a single member of the staff that seemed to be unduly bothered by the fact that he was missing his face. When I showed my ID and told them he had attacked me without provocation they all believed me --- or at least didn't ask any more questions. I got a look when I said the damage was done by a single punch, but all I had to do was pick a small fragment of bone out of my knuckle and flick it into a nearby trash can to get the last nurse to shut up. She looked a little green, but she shut up.
The police showed up a few minutes later, but I produced my ID and waited patiently, refusing to do more than smile politely, while they processed the information. Since the local Guild office was closed they had to run it through the police database, which meant they had to do an update...
An hour later they were back with a copy of the arrest warrant. When they tried to arrest me I was in Sablewing's room, watching him breathe, waiting for them. My thoughts were in a very dark place and I'm sure it showed on my face. One good look at the man on the bloody respirator and another at the expression on my face sent them scurrying out of the room with apologies. When I joined them in the hall I could see the sheer terror in their eyes. They babbled something about not having any authority over me, immunity from prosecution, and promises to talk to the sheriff's office and even the deputy sergeant to see if they could get him to drop the charges. I listened with half an ear, nodded, said my thanks, and left them as soon as it seemed appropriate.
The night air felt cool and soothing against my skin. The police cruisers were still running, their top-of-the-line LED light bars flashing painful strobes into my eyes while I took stock.
I needed to report in. Venom should know about Sablewing, the mess he'd been causing, and the fact that he'd apparently given in so much to the beast growing within him. His brother should be told, too, just to be safe. She should send a jumper to bring someone who could keep him under control if he woke up.
And maybe a healer should be brought in to try to save his face. I'd seen an x-ray over a doctor's shoulder and, frankly, it was a miracle and a testament to just how frigging tough the bastard was that he was still alive. The bony plate that had replaced the cartilage in his nose and made it hook slightly into more of a beak-shape had guided my fist downward rather than straight back and had prevented his skull from fracturing and sending chunks of bone scything through his brain like shrapnel.
It had still left a fist-sized hole in his face. Everything south of his nose and north of his chin was gone. Well, maybe not gone, as I was still finding small pieces of him imbedded in my clothing and skin, but no longer where it should be or in one piece. I had no idea what would be salvageable, but I had the feeling it was "not much".
Fuck it. I needed to be somewhere and the only place I knew where it was that I wouldn't be surrounded by corpses and cops was some distance away. I approached a nurse who was grabbing a smoke under a bug-ridden light and asked her politely if she knew the way to Watertown. She choked on the smoke she'd just inhaled, took a minute to get her wind back, and told me to go back to the Life Saver sign and follow the road over the bridge. I'd find the city before too much longer. I thanked her, felt for the DVD case, and took to the air.
Sure enough, it didn't take long and I saw the glowing lights of the military base. Shortly thereafter the familiar light pollution of Watertown was ahead of me. Less than ten minutes later I was in the parking lot and walking towards the Guild Hall's front door.
"I said I'd be back, Firebug." I pushed my way into his office and spun his chair around to face him. "And you're not here, are you?"
He wasn't. A quick look at the wall clock told me he might be in his quarters, sleeping. It was, after all, approaching late-night television time. It was disappointing I couldn't confront the bastard one more time, but at least I had the chance to watch the DVD without interference. Assuming his computer wasn't password protected and locked down for the night, that is.
Maybe it was too much to hope that the computer would be unlocked and that the Guild had standardized on both operating system and basic performance levels for their computer equipment. On the other hand, the way Firebug appeared to be skimming off the top, bottom, and middle of the money coming into this particular Guildhall, there was a good chance the computer I'd find would be about as new as a classic car.
Actually, it'd be kind of cool to see a twenty, twenty five year-old computer sitting on his desk. It would be great if I could play a game of Zork again.
I was out of luck, it seemed. Not only was the computer not old, it was locked with a key. I'd seen that kind of security system before. It was a measure that many found more appropriate than a biometric system that could, after all, be thwarted by removal of an index finger or an eye. It was also favored by people who always wore gloves.
I pulled the DVD case out of my waistband and tossed it on the desk. I didn't hear a rattle telling me the disc had come loose during the flight or the fight, which was good. I honestly didn't know what I'd do if the disc had been damaged.
I turned back to the computer. The power button was totally non-functional with the lock engaged, but I pressed it all the same. I looked around, opening drawers on the desk and moving things around, to see if I could find the key. No luck, not that I was surprised. For him to have left the key laying around would have been sloppy. As neatly organized as his desk and office were, sloppy wasn't in his vocabulary except as a curse.
I stared at the Guild property tag welded onto the side of the computer case for a moment, as if willing the PC to just power on by itself, but I knew it wouldn't happen. I started drumming my fingers on the case in frustration as I tried to think of my next move. I really wanted to get a good look at what was on the DVD so I could finish my report to Jackhammer. Venom hadn't sounded pleased that I'd nearly killed Sablewing, not that I blamed her. That was a mess nobody had been expecting and was going to take a lot to clean up. Of course, I wouldn't be getting into these little messes if the Guild had just taken care of business when they had the opportunity instead of sweeping it under the goddamn rug. I'd grant that it was harder to keep an eye on these backwoods farm towns than it was to force the bigger cities to keep their acts clean, but it really seemed like they were doing neither. I didn't need to bring up Grid Iron but I was going to anyway.
Well, it wasn't my job to clean up all their mistakes. I was just dealing with life as it came at me.
I put my other hand on the computer case to shift it just in case a spare key was being kept underneath it --- which was a long-shot and I knew it --- and when I shifted it back I realized I could feel the vibrations from my drumming with my other hand, through the case.
That gave me an idea. Maybe, just maybe, if I was really lucky, I could use the vibrations from tapping the case to jimmy the lock. It'd take a lot of focus and concentration, but there was a chance I could pull it off. I might as well, try, in any case. As late as it was, I really wasn't tired and if it didn't work I was out of luck in watching it till I got back. Getting back would be a whole other story, and not one I was looking forward to reading; before I could even leave I'd need to find some directions or something back to the compound. In essence, I didn't relish the thought of a late-night, supersonic flight with only a rough compass heading to guide myself by.
I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and cursed the quiet hiss of the climate control system. Before long I could ignore it and shortly I had myself centered enough I could slip into a minor meditation. This one I'd found useful in the past to hone my concentration to a razor's edge and this was going to take a very sharp razor.
I took a deep breath, let it half out, and starte
d tapping the case as near to the keyhole as possible. This proved disastrous at first as the reflections coming to me from every other angle almost overwhelmed me, so I stopped for a second before moving my hand a little further away on the case. That was much better, but I was tapping too fast because the echoes (or whatever) were overlapping and confusing me. So I started tapping it slower, and then slower still, letting the vibrations die down as much as possible between taps while maintaining some level of memory of the image it presented me.
The speed at which vibrations transmit themselves through any solid object (or liquid or gas) varies based on material and density. Without going into any further detail, this meant the motion changed in ways that I could, thanks to my meditative state, bring into a fine focus and, eventually, a three-dimensional image. It had no color, but I didn't need any. I felt for the tumblers --- twelve in total, the paranoid prick --- and began to manipulate them. It took me about three minutes to find the proper technique for holding them right at the breaking point without destroying the lock, but a couple of hard taps after that had the lock open and the computer booting.
My sledgehammer had turned into a set of lock picks with a finer touch than I'd thought possible. Interesting.
I spent a few moments bringing myself out of the meditative state. I'd tried to come back from it all at once one day and hadn't been able to speak for a couple of hours. Engaging that part of my brain actually disabled some other parts, so it was a lot better to reverse the process than it was to try to jump back to reality.
When I had recovered I smiled at the login screen and simply hit the enter key. Sure enough, it went immediately to the desktop --- a picture of a red-headed woman with large breasts in shoulder-length gloves, a black leather corset that exposed said breasts and didn't cover her groin (shaven) or extend to the hip-high lace-up black vinyl boots, and holding an uncoiled bullwhip --- and started loading programs. I opened the optical drive and put the DVD from the Canton Guildhall in. A minute and a half later I had a screen pop up asking me what I wanted to do with it. I smiled again and, using the trackball mouse placed on the left side of the keyboard, hit the play button. The ball was sticky, and I did not want to know why, but I got it to work. The single file on the desktop, a spreadsheet labeled "Finances", caught my eye but I figured I'd wait till I was done watching the video before I started prying.
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