A/N: The characters or mostly movieverse influenced, though the story doesn't really take place before, during, or after any of the movies.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy, Abe, Liz, Manning, the BPRD, or any of Mike Mignola's cool ideas.
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Rush hour. People stand about, waiting for the light to change, for the next available cab to bull their way towards, for the promise of a gap in traffic. They have survived another day's drudgery and all they can think about is getting home as quickly as possible so that they can kick of their shoes, sprawl in their La-Z-Boy recliners, and let the premium network package wash away their cares. Zaida shuffles amongst the milling crowds, a short, slight figure hidden in rumpled clothes, hood pulled low to obscure her features. None take any notice of her; she is invisible in the way that only the shabbily-dressed homeless can be. She wends her aimless path through the apathetic horde with no particular destination other than to find a sheltered place to curl up for the night. Perhaps she will try her luck at a church this time, or one of the charity shelters.
Thump.
The sound is felt more than heard over the roar of engines and the grumbles of weary commuters. Easy to dismiss.
Thump.
Louder this time, closer. Zaida feels the vibration beneath the soles of her ratty sneakers. She pauses, earning her a growl of impatience from the man behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end. Something's about to happen.
CRASH!
The sidewalk explodes, scattering chunks of concrete and screaming pedestrians. Something solid whizzes past Zaida's ear, yet she doesn't flinch. She is too stunned by what she sees before her. While the suddenly lively men and women stampede in panic from the fresh crater in the pavement, two creatures thrash against each other in deadly combat. One of them is a man, in that he stands upon two legs, has two arms, and is shouting curses in English. He's huge, with broad shoulders draped in a tattered long coat. His skin is red. A long red tail flails about, sometimes striking his opponent with a whiplike crack! But he is nothing compared to the beast threatening to tear him apart. The thing is gargantuan, all yellow scales and thorny tentacles. The thing screeches as the red man lands a blow with his massive stone club--no, Zaida realizes,it's his hand. A stone hand.
"Goddamnit!" the red man bellows, "Hurry up and die already!"
People elbow their way through the panicked throng. Men and women in dark business suits with guns drawn. Federal agents? Zaida's eyes widen in dawning comprehension. Of course! Hellboy. The notorious--some say mythical--demon who is part of some obscure government organization used to battle supernatural phenomena. Zaida never really believed in him, despite her own experiences. She didn't dare.
The agents begin to fire, careful not to hit their red-skinned comrade. This isn't difficult; the tentacled monstrosity is massive. Unfortunately, the bullets only seem to aggravate the creature further. It shrieks and hisses, tears at its foe with its bristling tentacles. A moving bramble. Hellboy is weakening.
"Liz!" someone shouts. Zaida's gaze is drawn to the voice's source. A tall, willowy figure clad in skin-tight black, his bare head devoid of hair. He has blue skin and large, dark eyes that blink rapidly with a transparent membrane. Red-fringed gills flare from the sides of his head. Zaida gapes. "Do it, Liz!"
A young woman with long brown hair holsters her weapon and raises both hands. A strange glow dances around her like a corona. The air grows thick with sudden heat and wavers before Zaida's eyes. Before she has a chance to process this the creature bursts into flame. Its anguished screech almost deafens her. She claps her hands over her ears and grimaces in pain, starts to back away as the monster's blazing tentacles whip and flail uncontrollably. One of the agents is unlucky enough to have moved within reach of one of those tentacles. A broad swipe and he is sent sailing over his fellows' heads to crash into the nearest wall and slump to the ground. The man is still horribly conscious, clutching his bleeding abdomen. His anguished screams rival those of the burning monster. Before she has a chance to consider her actions, Zaida rushes to the downed man's side, ignoring the all-too-immediate threat of the still-thrashing creature. The other agents cannot get past it to reach their wounded man. Hellboy, despite the flames eating away his overcoat, clings to the massive beast to prevent it from getting any nearer. The air is filled with crackles and shouts and the throat-clogging stench of burning meat. Zaida takes no notice of any of this. She focuses on the wounded man.
"Oh, god," he sobs, stoic professionalism forgotten, "Christ, please, I don't wanna die." Only his clutching hands prevent his insides from spilling onto the pavement. It is nothing Zaida hasn't dealt with before. She pushes back her hood, gently cups the man's face in her hands. He is so distracted by is fear and pain he doesn't notice her face, hardly reacts when she brings her lips to his.
Hellboy smashes his stone fist into the dying monster again and again. Flakes of charred flesh scatter and dance in the air like discarded autumn leaves. Yellow, odorous fluids spurt and bubble. The creature's yowls grow weak, then fade. Its entire body seems to deflate as it finally grows still. Liz lowers her hands and the flames enveloping her body vanish. Hellboy stands beside the smoldering corpse, panting in loud freight train chuffs. The edges of his filed horns glow with absorbed heat. He raises a trembling left hand, index finger extended, and points it at the unrecognizable mound of cooked flesh. "Take…that."
"Horne!" The agents rush forward. A slight figure rises unsteadily to its feet and darts off into the nearest alley, leaving the unconscious agent behind. Horne blinks awake as his companions reach him. He frowns in puzzlement, pulls the bloodied shreds of his ruined shirt apart to reveal the smooth, unblemished skin of his flat stomach. "The hell…?"
"Holy shit." One of the other agents touches the bared skin. "Not even a scar."
Abe Sapien stares down the narrow alley. "That person we saw beside him. We have to find them." He gestures to two of the agents to follow as he rushes into the shadowy opening. Liz radios in for a cleanup crew while Hellboy settles his tired bulk onto the curb. "I'll just sit here for a minute," he mumbles, then promptly conks out.
It would be a lie to say that Zaida is used to pain. One can never get used to pain, only learn to endure it. She stumbles through the maze of alleys and back roads, hands clasped over her stomach. She needs to stop, find someplace hidden away where she can sleep and recover, but the voices of the pursuing agents are right behind her. A sudden stab doubles her over with a groan. This wasn't just a near-disemboweling. There was something in those tentacle barbs, some kind of poison. She struggles against the overwhelming pain, tries to stumble a few more steps.
"Wait!" a voice calls, too close. Zaida grits her teeth and tries to force her legs to work, but her tired body betrays her and her knees give out. She falls, sliding against the brick wall that rasps against the coarse fabric of her old hoodie. The familiar lethargy envelopes her. She slumps to the ground, her vision darkening. The last thing she sees are the glossy shoes of the agents, and then the concerned eyes of the mysterious fish-man peering down at her.
"My god," someone utters from afar, "That face…"