Rachel was running. Ever thankful for the vocal techniques that she practiced every night before bed that had given her capacious lungs, Rachel Berry was running fast. Her feet pounded the sidewalk with every stride, leaving only a dull thud echoing behind to alert the stampeding assailant of the direction in which she had turned.
She didn't know how she had gotten herself into this situation. She had left the studio after her weekly vocal training, and innocently walked towards her car. As she fumbled for the keys in her bag, she had noticed a burly man approaching. Suddenly, her sixth sense had kicked in. Narrowing her eyes at the robust shadowed figure she just knew trouble was imminent. Of course, it helped that when a slight breeze blew past his long jacket had opened slightly, revealing a gun shoved into his waistband and glimmering by the moon's light.
She took off running immediately, dropping her open purse on the ground beside her car and hoping that he had simply intended to mug her and thus would not give chase. Unfortunately for Rachel, that was not the case. As soon as she had began sprinting down the deserted streets she heard the man groan in protest and start jogging after her. She risked a glance over her shoulder every few yards, nearly careening into a broken streetlight, noticing how her soon-to-be attacker was gaining ground quickly.
She cursed her small stature under her breath, from what she could see of the man, he had at least a foot on her and her shorter legs were making that adamantly clear. She turned the corner onto the next street, hoping that there would be somebody around to help her. But it was past 11pm and this was Lima's shopping district and so it was just her and the heavy breathing, pit-bull of a man at her heels on yet another vacant street.
She looked around frantically, eyes searching every darkened store that she passed for some sign of movement. The next thing she knew, she was flying. There was a sharp pain in her lower extremities and the ground was moving towards her face at an alarming pace. When she connected with the ground she cried out in pain, mumbling obscenities at the overturned trashcan that had caused her to fall.
The man slowed his pace to a casual walk, adjusting himself through his pants as he neared her. She winced in pain as she tried to crawl away from him. She had attempted to break her fall with her hands and now they were red and bloody, and her right wrist was tingly and limp. She was at the entrance to an alley and thought that perhaps she could find a shadow to hide in. She pulled herself along the ground, ignoring the tears that fell freely from her cheeks and mixed together with the steady trail of blood she was leaving behind on the concrete.
Rachel cowered behind a dumpster, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her head atop of her blood stained knee socks. She took in a large gulp of air and then held her breath, desperate not to inform the man of her hiding place. She could hear him getting closer, rummaging through the garbage that had gathered over time in the dark.
"Come out little girl," he called, his voice menacingly seductive.
Rachel heard him running, what she assumed to be the barrel of the gun, along the width of the dumpster. She clamped a hand over her mouth to silence the sob that threatened to spill from her lips and searched for an escape. To her right there was a chain link fence that partitioned the alley, she would ever have to climb that and run some more or attempt to defend herself against the intruder. One look at her wounded legs and Rachel knew that she would not be able to make it over the fence.
"Found you!" The man exclaimed, opening the lid of the dumpster forcefully. He growled when he realised that it was empty, letting the heavy steel fall with a loud bang. "You better come out, little girl. You're just gonna make this worse for yourself."
Rachel knew that he was close; she could smell the alcohol on his breath permeating the air. She began to steady herself, reading to throw her weight into his stomach or legs when he eventually found her. She thought that if she could just tackle him to the ground, that she could either flee or somehow overpower him.
Suddenly, he was in front of her. His grinning face filling her vision and gun aimed directly at her head. He was crouched down before her, his knees touching hers and that contact alone was enough to make Rachel try to squirm away. She couldn't go anywhere, behind her there was nothing but a brick wall and she didn't have the energy to get up and run. Her plan to take him down had disappeared as soon as she saw the gun. He was drunk, that much was clear, but Rachel doubted he'd miss the shot considering the muzzle was already an inch away from pressing against her temple.
She was trapped, and he was smiling lasciviously at her. She felt her heart stop when he steadied the gun against her head, and then began to unbutton his pants with his free hand.
"I just wanted to talk, sugar." He ran the tip of the gun across her forehead, "but now I have all this... adrenaline." She gasped as she watched his hand disappear into the crotch of his jeans, "you really shouldn't have made me chase you."
She closed her eyes tightly as he leaned closer towards her, willing her mind to shut down and to brace herself for what was about to happen. But nothing did, not to Rachel anyhow. Something akin to a thunderclap sounded, and Rachel opened her eyes just in time to see the man go flailing backwards into the wall across the other side of the alley. His back connected with the bricks before his body sagged to the ground.
Rachel was confused; surely her sixth sense couldn't be that powerful yet. She hadn't even been able to read the thoughts of her neighbour's cat, let alone send a 180 pound man sailing through the air with just a frightened twitch of her forehead. Nevertheless, he seemed unconscious, and Rachel was pleased with herself.
"Just wait until I inform the glee club of this," she muttered. "There is absolutely no chance that Kurt will be able to doubt the authenticity of my abilities now." She kicked the gun away from where it had fell by her feet, noting that there was a small stream of smoke filtering out of the barrel. She turned to the left, gasping and scrambling away from the bullet hole left behind in the mortar, no more than a few centimetres from where her head had previously been.
She heard the man stirring, forcing her to sit back down, riveted to the ground in shock. There was a blur of red, and the man again went scrambling through the air until his chest was forced against the fence by somebody wearing... a cape? Rachel rubbed at her eyes, clearly she was hallucinating from a head trauma that she couldn't remember obtaining. When she removed her palms from her eyes, the man was on his knees and her mysterious hero was nowhere to be seen. The man grabbed for the forgotten gun, turning and pointing it directly at Rachel.
Rachel screamed, both at the sound of six rounds being fired and the incomprehensible shock of that same red blur she had seen earlier. This time, whatever it was stopped in front of her, and Rachel's eyes widened as she took in the figure of a woman. The floor length, red flowing cape was baffling enough but Rachel couldn't take her eyes away from what she could see of the mysterious woman's legs. Granted, she could only see a mere glimpse of the left side of the woman's body from her vantage point, but it was enough to distinguish the fact that this caped... lunatic was wearing a navy blue skirt of an indecent length, riding low on her hips. And the boots, Rachel had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. They were a dark red, hemmed with a dull yellow which stopped just below her knees.
It was when a muscle in the woman's thigh quivered that Rachel remembered that there was a psychopath in the alley with her, firing off what seemed to be an endless stream of bullets at another possible psychopath. She was half aware of the fact that the strange woman standing in front of her, protecting her, probably should have been dead by now. But Rachel decided that if she was already hallucinating caped crusaders that could move at the speed of light, she may as well just go with it. Thus she barely blinked when she noticed how the woman didn't flinch, though she could see that the bullets were making contact with her body. Rachel rolled her eyes as she watched one literally bounce off of the woman's outer arm, hitting the ground and resting by her foot. She picked it up, juggling it between her palms a few times whilst waiting for it to cool. The tip of the bullet had been flattened, its edges folding down and spilling over. It had definitely hit something hard, but Rachel couldn't understand how it hadn't ripped right through the supple flesh of the woman casually standing in front of her.
"At least now I understand why people enjoy being high," Rachel mumbled. She pocketed the bullet, a test that she would conduct on herself. If the bullet remained in her pocket when she awoke the next morning, she clearly wasn't as insane as she was feeling now. When she looked back up, the woman was gone. The man who had attempted to attack her was unconscious on the ground, his gun somehow twisted into an unnatural arc at his side.
Rachel stumbled to her feet; eager to thank whoever it was that had saved her life. She stepped out from behind the dumpster just as her hero was walking away towards the entrance to the alley. "Wait!" She called enthusiastically, ignoring the shooting pain in her legs.
The woman stopped, turning around so that Rachel could just make out what she was wearing. Her face was encompassed by the shadow from the neighbouring building, but the brunette was able to see the red "S" emblazoned on the short, but long sleeved navy blue top she was wearing. Her eyes unconsciously traced over the woman's bare stomach, dampening her lips at the sight of perfectly toned abs. The woman turned away again and Rachel stepped forward, "who are you?"
The woman hesitated, her back turned to Rachel and hands on her hips. Rachel stopped and studied the beautiful blonde hair that was now glowing under the moonlight, swaying in time with the elegant dark red cape.
"A friend," came the whispered reply. Rachel took another tiny step forward, but was cemented in shock when the blonde raised one arm above her head and gracefully flew away. Up into the night sky, becoming that same red and blue blur which had defended her in the alley.
"Holy fucking Streisand," Rachel muttered. And then promptly passed out.