The man moved too fast, too mechanically to be a man. His movements betrayed him even in the thick crowd on the streets in the late afternoon.
That was all Jocelyn needed to register before her reflexes kicked in. She'd been found out, someone was after her or—Angel forbid—after Clary, and that trumped any need for discretion or blending in. Moving cities—or even countries, if it came down to it—was always preferable to dying.
Jocelyn kept walking, holding little Clary's hand just a little tighter as she quickened her pace until she could find reasonable cover for her daughter. All the while, her heart raced, her brain firing thoughts on overdrive. It's been four years; I'm lucky I lasted this long without him finding us.
She spotted an alleyway not far ahead of her, with a Dumpster resting at the entrance of it, large enough for four-year-old Clary behind it. Not the safest hiding spot Jocelyn could have wished for, but it'd have to do—the man was gaining speed too, a tickling at the edge of her awareness letting her know she would not outrun him.
"Clary?" she said, not daring to stop as she spoke. "Do you remember when I told you we might have to play a very important hide-and-seek someday?" Her daughter's breath hitched, her eyes widening in fear. Good, Jocelyn thought—and her heart tightened that she had to live like this. "Can you hide for me now? Start over there behind that Dumpster. If you hear anyone coming and it's not me, you run and call Luke. All right?" Clary's frantic nods were all Jocelyn would get, she knew—all she had to go on. So many things could go wrong; but none of the alternatives were as bad as keeping Clary by her side to fight…whatever Valentine had sent after her.
Clary had barely hurried off into the alleyway that gunshots rang from behind Jocelyn. The sound felt out of place, but when she turned, the strange man was the one holding a gun. He'd also walked into traffic, seemingly not caring that he might get hit. "Whatever you are, come and get me," she muttered, and walked in his direction. She got her stele from its hidden holster at her belt, etching runes into her forearm as fast as she could draw.
The gun fire had dispersed the crowd, and a few cars swerved to avoid the man; then more noticed he was holding a gun and turned back altogether. All this, Jocelyn took in with satisfaction as she kept walking towards the man. The less mundanes were in the way, the better—it would be less people for Jocelyn to worry about, both as potential collateral damage and as obstacles to her fighting.
When she emerged from the panicked crowd and reached the road, the man turned to her—only his head pivoting, the rest of his body still perfectly immobile, a grotesque attempt at mimicking human behavior. She could not see his eyes, hidden by shades, but she could feel his gaze on her.
"Sarah Connor?" His voice matched his burly look and mechanical movements—male and human, but not quite.
Jocelyn flinched at the unfamiliar name. Was this thing not looking for her?
The question faded as the man pointed his gun at her, slowly. She tensed, ready to dodge, but then the man turned away. "Negative." Then he resumed his inexorable walk, towards Jocelyn but not quite, as if he had already forgotten all about her and just happened to be going this way for some other purpose.
That was when another voice rang out. "Get out of there, he's dangerous!" A woman's voice, coming from somewhere near where Clary was hidden. Jocelyn whipped towards the voice, seeing nothing but the now empty sidewalk, until a woman came out from behind an abandoned hot dog stand. "I'm the one you want!" she cried out—and Jocelyn realized she was talking to the man. "Come get me!" The man broke into a run, faster than any human should ever be capable of, firing at the woman, who ducked behind her cover.
Jocelyn could see the scene play out: the woman had nowhere to run, and in a moment, the man would reach her. If his strength matched his speed, he would wreck her cover rather than move around it and kill her. Jocelyn had spotted no Marks on the woman; she had to be mundane or unprepared, and she wouldn't stand a chance.
It would be over soon, but every moment there was fighting, a stray bullet could reach into the nearby alleyway and find Clary. Or the man could decide to leave no witnesses. Or—
Jocelyn quieted her thoughts when the man reached her and ran past her without even glancing her way. Her and Clary's safety weren't the only things in the balance here, and she'd sworn to be better after leaving the Circle.
The man may have been faster than a human, but Jocelyn was Nephilim, equipped with fresh runes. Her stele returned to its holster, and her other hand found the seraph blade on the other side of her belt. "Ithuriel," she whispered, and the blade came alive in her grasp.
She couldn't quite catch up with the man, but when he slowed down and reached for the hot-dog stand, she rammed into him, blade first. Her weight barely made him stagger at all, and she felt hard material under the man's flesh—metal, perhaps—but her blade sank into him like butter.
The man was immobile for a moment, as if confused by the blade sticking out of his chest, but he did not seem dead or even in pain, in spite of the blood dripping out of the wound. Jocelyn felt him move, and only her years of training and honed reflexes allowed her to pull the blade out in time and avoid being disarmed.
His shades had fallen due to his own momentum, and when he turned to face Jocelyn, she saw the damage around one of his eyes, revealing metal and a gleaming light where the eye itself should have been. It was all Jocelyn registered before the man raised his gun and fired.
She leaped out of the way, rolled forward as soon as she landed, hoping to come too close for the man to use his gun. He must have anticipated that, however, because he dropped his weapon and his fist flew at Jocelyn's face when she recovered.
The hit sent her reeling backwards, and she felt a bone crack, but her clarity rune prevented her sight from blurring. She recovered her balance, and kept a solid grip on the seraph blade's handle. The man—the creature, she corrected—was strong, but she could take him on. All she needed was an opening.
He struck again, and Jocelyn dodged this time, ripping into his side with her blade as she moved out of the way. She swung at him again, but he caught her blade this time, trapping her in his iron grip. She struggled, and saw the blade sawing through flesh and metal, but without momentum, she couldn't get it free. But the man also needed both hands to get a grip on her seraph blade, and for a moment, they were at a standstill.
Then, from the edge of Jocelyn's vision, she noticed the woman coming out of hiding and moving behind Jocelyn's opponent. She held a device—not quite a rifle, but similar and heavier, with wires dragging behind her and disappearing somewhere behind her hiding place.
Jocelyn's curiosity got her to stare at the other woman too long, and the man caught her gaze; he let go of her seraph blade and whipped around, readying himself to pounce at the woman who was aiming her weapon at him. Before he could, Jocelyn sliced forward with her blade, aiming for the legs. She couldn't sever them completely from her position, but it was enough damage to destabilize him, and when he rose in the air, it was without enough force to reach his target. He landed heavily, and before he could make another move, the other woman fired her strange weapon.
There was a blast, and a bright flash of light when she hit the man, who fell down, seemingly out. Jocelyn let out her breath, but the woman didn't relax. "We have two minutes before it reboots."
Reboots? No time for questions. "What do you need me to do?"
"We have to destroy its chip." The woman knelt by the man's body.
"Where is it?"
"In the head." She tapped her finger to an area at the top of the man's skull, and started rummaging through the pack hanging at her belt. "I need to remove the flesh, and unscrew the metal plate underneath, and—"
"Don't bother," Jocelyn said, and she knelt beside the other woman. "Move your hand, please."
The woman glanced at her, frowning, but she didn't question Jocelyn and removed her hand. Jocelyn placed the tip of her seraph blade on the area the woman had pointed. "Here?"
"Yes. But they're made of coltan, a blade's not going to go through."
Jocelyn ignored her, and pushed the blade forward. It took effort, even with her strength rune, but Jocelyn trusted a seraph blade to cut through anything. And indeed, it did, sinking into the man's skull at last, and then past it, into the asphalt with no effort.
Next to her, the woman gasped. "What—what is that thing?"
"Long story. What's that guy?"
The woman smirked. "Long story."
Jocelyn couldn't help but return her smile. "I'm Jocelyn Fray."
"Sarah Connor."
"Yeah, I'd figured." She got to her feet. "Hang on a moment," she said as she headed towards the alleyway. "Clary, it's me! You can come out!"
Her daughter zoomed out of her hiding place, and only when Clary was in her arms did Jocelyn let herself relax at last. "Are you okay, sweetie?" she asked, but Clary's face was buried in the crook of her neck and she wouldn't even pull away to nod or answer her.
She turned back to find Sarah staring at her with an expression Jocelyn could easily identify. "You're a mom too?"
Sarah nodded. "I have a son; he's eleven. He's the one this thing is really after. I'm doing everything I can to protect him."
Jocelyn chuckled. "I know the feeling. How does he take it?"
"It's not always great, but…what can you do about it? It's not like you can pretend the apocalypse won't happen if you ignore it."
"I guess not," Jocelyn said, thinking back to her recent appointment with Magnus. "But we can try to give them a chance at a good life, can't we?"
"It's all we can do, I think." For a moment, they stood still. Sounds in the distance announced police and journalists coming—they only had a few moments left of tranquility. "I'll take care of its body," Sarah finally said. "I can't let it fall into the wrong hands. Or any hands, really. Take your girl away from here while you can."
Jocelyn nodded, grateful—but she didn't want to part ways with Sarah just yet. "If you need any help preventing the apocalypse…" She shifted Clary's weight in her arms, and reached into her pocket for one of her business cards. "Just drop by. You and your boy will be welcome."
Sarah considered it briefly, then took Jocelyn's card. "You know, I just might."