Wow...so many people accepted my challenge. I wish I could give out prizes. Unfortunately, that's impossible, so I did the next best thing and got another chapter up. Not as good as prizes, I know, but hey...that's the way it goes.
Anyway, you guys asked for it, so here it is: the Justice League is finally gonna catch up with her. Will it happen the way you expected it to? Heck no. But at least it's happening.
I hope you like, and...I don't own Young Justice, just my OC.
Two weeks later:
"It's just a little heist," Blanca insisted as we stood outside in the posh downtown area of Central, staring up at a massive skyscraper.
I was wearing my fireproof clothes, but other than that, both of us looked completely unrecognizable.
Blanca had gone all-out on the spray tan, and morphed from a pale, washed-out girl to a tan surfer chick. She wore a wig of curly, honey-blonde hair and brown contacts.
I, on the other hand, sported a straight, chocolate-brown wig. I hadn't let Blanca attack me with her can of spray-tan, but she had put some makeup on me and given me another pair of dark brown contacts. Except for the clothes, I could be an average teenager.
Hah! I wish.
I laughed nervously. "There's no such thing as a "little heist", Blanca," I said, just the slightest bit terrified.
After two weeks of living with her, I'd learned that not only did Blanca excel at picking pockets, she also took up odd jobs from the city's resident supervillains. She hadn't told me who this job had come from, only that it paid a lot and she'd give me half if I helped her. I'd jumped at the chance to make some cash, but now, staring up at the hundred-story skyscraper, I wasn't so sure about this.
"Oh, come on, you'll be fine. Echo's been helping you with your powers, right?"
Echo had, indeed. My flames were still rough, uncontrolled, and did whatever the heck pleased them, but a little less so. Echo didn't really know much about flames, but he'd done his best and, among other things, taught me a skill that was probably gonna come in handy today: how to make a tiny, extremely hot flame, a.k.a. a blowtorch. I still wasn't very good at it, though, and whenever we practiced, Echo made sure that Sage was close at hand, just in case.
I tugged at the sleeve of my sweatshirt, nervously pulling it down over my flame tattoo. The flames were roiling and dancing to match my nervousness, and I didn't need anyone seeing that.
"Yeah, but…" I bit my lip.
"Look, I've already cased the joint and everything. I just need you to blow through a couple locks and you're done."
"Can't you just evaporate through them?" I asked, desperately searching for a way to get out of this.
"No. I've already explained to you, some of the doors are coated with lead. Do you know how dense that is?" She shuddered. "I can't phase through that."
"I don't know…"
"Please, Lissie!"
I sighed. "Fine. But we're just in-and-out, got it? No delays."
She squealed in delight, throwing her arms around me and causing some passerby to give us weird looks. "Of course!"
She grabbed my wrist, and suddenly, we evaporated.
It was terrifying, to say the least. All the little bits and pieces of me were still there, but they were disconnected, flying in a cloud. It was such a weird feeling: I could tell where every little bit of me was, and I was forced to unconsciously keep track of them all. My stomach, or the pieces of it, churned: I was terrified that I'd lose some of my atoms, and when I reformed, I'd do it without a toe or an arm, or even worse: without a brain or lung or heart.
We whizzed through space, and for a second, my mind went dark. I felt a terrible pressure, squeezing my lungs and crushing me in a way that made me sure I'd never breathe again.
Then we were through the wall, and whooshes of color swirled past as we moved through a set of office buildings, through a crack in the elevator door and up the dark elevator shaft. There were plenty of people, and it was funny to think that the most they felt of us was a small gust of wind.
Finally, we must have reached our destination, because all the atoms in my body began to crash in on each other, heading unconsciously to their destinations. They created a tremendous force, and as I reformed, I fell onto my knees, my hands burying into the plush, wine-colored carpet. My stomach turned and my head spun, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from hurling all over the nice, clean carpet.
Blanca had already re-formed, and was now standing above me, cackling at my current predicament.
"Hey!" I protested weakly. "If you were in my situation, you'd be on your knees, too."
She laughed again, but offered her hand to help me up. I didn't take it.
Pulling myself to my feet, I ripped off my wig and shook my red hair loose, watching as Blanca did the same. Together, we tossed the wigs down the elevator shaft behind us, then set about examining our surroundings.
We were in one of the top floors, either posh apartments or offices lining the halls. My feet sunk into thick, wine-red carpet, and electric lamps cast soft glows over the hallway. Dark wooden doors carved with twisting vines and cherubs lined the hallway. In contrast, the walls were a sterile, plain white, and blindingly clean.
Blanca grabbed my arm. "This way," she whispered.
As she dragged me through an endless spiral of hallways, I kept my eyes on the security cameras. Was it just me, or was every single one pointing straight at us?
"Are you sure Blades disabled the security system?" I whispered.
"Definitely. I trust him," Blanca declared, then, "This is it."
Next to the fancy doors, this one looked positively austere. It was a plain, concrete door with a plain, old-fashioned lock—no passcode or anything. (If there was, Blades could have just hacked it and I wouldn't be in this mess.)
"Your turn," Blanca whispered.
I knelt down, touching my index finger to the lock and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. I slowed my breathing down, trying to calm myself.
I was aware of everything: the cool steel under my finger, the smooth feel as my tattoo danced across my wrist, the noise Blanca makes when she chews on the ends of her hair, like she was doing then.
I concentrated, shutting it all out, until all that was left in my world was, well…me. I focused on my flames, which were dancing all along my body, my arms and legs. They didn't like being cooped up, I knew. They wanted to break loose. But I wasn't going to let them.
I focused harder, pulling them all into a ball in the pit of my stomach, feeling the warm heat they brought. Somewhere, far off in the distance, Blanca gasped, but I didn't let that distract me.
Slowly, carefully, I guided a little tendril off of the ball, forcing it along my arm. This was the tricky part; so often I'd lost control and sent the flame sparking at the nearest object. But I knew I couldn't do that now.
I guided the flame up to the tip of my finger, felt a familiar tingling there. In the pit of my stomach, the rest of the flames roiled angrily; they don't like being forced around like that. Well, I'll let them free soon enough.
Cautiously, I opened one eye. There, on the tip of my finger, a little flame was glowing white-hot. The lock had already started to melt, little drips of molten metal streaking down the concrete. Soon, it was gone altogether, and the door swung open silently.
"You did it!" Blanca cheered quietly, doing a silent victory dance. I smiled. I wanted to jump up and down and squeal like a little girl, but I knew couldn't. Not right then.
Slowly, I crept inside. The carpet was still plush and soft, but it morphed from the wine-red to an emerald green. Floor-length curtains made of blue, gold, and green silk framed windows that reveal spectacular views of Central. There was some office furniture, too, ornately carved and made out of leather and some kind of wood that looked expensive. Framed pictures hung on the wall, dull landscapes of the North Pole painted by artists that were probably famous for that sort of thing. The whole office radiated power and utter arrogance.
In the dead center of the office, a marble pedestal had been erected. It was covered by a glass case, and inside, swathed in ocean-blue silk sat…
A single microchip.
"That's it?" I cried. "That's the priceless—mrph!" Blanca clapped her hand over my mouth.
"Yes. Now, try to be quieter."
Slowly, she uncovered my mouth, then dug in her bag and produced a little silver spray bottle. Kneeling near the pedestal, she held up the bottle, then gave a few quick spritzes.
The mist hung in the air for a moment, catching several red laser beams. They shimmered, and Blanca winced.
"An alarm," she whispered. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Of course, we could have done the epic thing and performed a series of acrobatic flips, spins, and whatnot, thereby bypassing the lasers. But Blanca was never the athletic sort, so instead, she dug deeper in her bag, producing a series of tiny mirrors.
Carefully, she slid the mirrors into position. They reflected the beams, creating a pathway for us to walk through. It wasn't epic in the slightest—but it was ten times cleverer than your average thief.
I shook my head. "Blanca, I knew you were good, but I didn't know you were this good," I said. She just smiled and crept, cat-like, through the path she'd created.
The flames in my stomach churned unpleasantly. I knew they wanted to be let loose, but I couldn't risk a fire just then. So I shoved them back down, praying that they'd listen to me, just this once.
Blanca silently slipped the crystal cover off of the case, setting it on the ground. In one swift movement, she grabbed the microchip off of the pedestal and slipped it into her bag.
Suddenly, an alarm started blaring. It was loud and harsh and I slapped my hands over my ears to block it out.
Blanca let loose a string of cuss words. "The microchip must have triggered an alarm," she hissed.
"How long will it take Blades to turn it off?" I asked, on the verge of panic.
"Too long." She grabbed my wrist and gave a little cry of pain. "Lissie, you're burning up," she whispered.
I knew it was the flames. It was like they were taking revenge on me for attempting to control them. I could feel them surging inside me and knew that soon, all hell would break loose.
The flames surged again and I fell to my knees. I fought to hold them back, the effort creating a dull, throbbing pain in my skull.
"Blanca, listen to me," I whispered desperately. "You've got to get out of here. Close the door to this office and find some way to lock it. Don't let anyone inside. Get as many people out of the building as you can."
"What about you?" she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
"I'll be—fine," I hissed. I'm sure that just then, doubled over and clutching my stomach, I didn't look fine. But she had to believe me.
Blanca gave a tiny little nod, and I smiled weakly. Then she turned, sprinted out of the room, and slammed the door behind her.
I turned my attention back to the flames. They'd spread to my arms, and I fought to keep them inside me, to bring them back to my stomach. Some complied, but most put up a struggle. I squeezed my eyes shut and just focused.
At least there was no one in the room with me. At least people would have time to get out before…
"What are you doing in here, girl?"
Oh…crap. I glanced up. There, at the doorway, was a security guard in a blue uniform, holding what looked like a Taser in his hands. He was young, athletic, blond and handsome, with a little goatee and sparkling blue eyes. And if I couldn't control my flames, I'd end up killing him.
"You're not supposed to be in here."
"Please…leave," I hissed.
"What…no!" He took a step forward. "I can't just…"
"Get away from me! Don't come closer!" I screamed. Each word took a tremendous amount of effort, but somehow I managed them.
"Look, kid, I don't know who you are or…" He stopped, stepped forward, so close that I could have reached out and touched him if I'd wanted. "Hey, are you okay?"
The flames churned, and I knew they were going to burst out of me at any moment. Still, I managed one final word before they did.
I looked up into his blue eyes. "Run," I whispered.
Then all hell broke loose.
A massive fireball erupted from my skin, every pore turned into a flamethrower. It incinerated everything within a ten-foot radius—including the security guard. The force of the flames knocked me back, and I landed stupidly on my butt.
Every cloth or wood surface in the office erupted into flames, and soon the room was filled with a choking smoke that didn't hurt me in the slightest. Over on the wall, the polar ice caps were burning, turning the oil paint into an ugly shade of brown.
Flames streamed from my arms, dancing in a way that suggested they were laughing at me.
"You thought you could control us?" they seemed to hiss. "Ha! Stupid girl. You'll never control us. You'll never be normal. You'll always be dangerous."
I took one glance at the remains of the security guard. All that was left was a charred, twisted skeleton, barely recognizable as human. My stomach turned at the sight, and I vomited, spilling the contents of my stomach all over the flaming curtains.
Oh God, I thought. Oh God, I've killed him. I'm a murderer. I'm a MURDERER!
I buried my head into my arms, trying desperately to quiet my thoughts, but they came anyway.
Killer…murderer…I killed him…
Guilt washed over me in waves, and tears welled in my eyes, only to evaporate into little puffs of steam as soon as they touched my cheeks.
How could I…Why couldn't he have just left, like I told him? Now he's dead. And…oh, God, he's so young…What about his family? His wife and kids? His parents?
Never before had I wished that my flames could hurt me, but you bet I did then. I longed to just burn up and get rid of this guilt, this pain.
Suddenly, a voice whispered somewhere in the flames. "Lissie…" it called. "Lissie…I'm here, Lissie."
I looked up. The flames were swirling in patterns that somewhat resembled a human form…
Flames formed into tendrils of red, curly hair…pale skin…high cheekbones…the figure was tall and willowy, and beautiful—and so, so familiar. It was my mother.
Okay, so I know now that the guilt, stress, and heat combined to create some pretty serious hallucinations. My flames may have been little pains-in-the-butt, but they couldn't form into people unless I told them to, and believe you me, I hadn't. Still…right then, it seemed like my mother was right in front of me, as real as ever.
"Momma?" I whispered. Her full lips split into a smile and she reached out, enveloping me in a flaming hug. She didn't say anything, and yet, as her ghostly lips brushed my forehead, I could almost hear words.
"Be strong, baby…make me proud." I smiled, suddenly willing to stay here forever, if it meant being with Momma. But she released me from her ghostly hug and turned to go.
"Momma, please wait!" I called desperately. She turned, gave a sad little smile and a tiny shake of her head, the universal sign for "no". Then she turned and walked away into the flames.
"Momma, please!" I screamed into the flames, tears streaking partway down my cheeks until they evaporated into smoke. "Please don't leave me!"
But it was too late. She was gone.
The hallucinations continued after that. I saw tigers, puppies…even (once) a rabbit playing the saxophone, which makes for a weird picture. But Momma never returned. I think, somewhere deep inside of me, I honestly thought that she'd seen what I'd done, seen the damage I caused, and been too ashamed to stay. The logical part of me never kicked into gear or realized that she'd been a guilt-induced hallucination and hadn't been thinking anything. All I was aware of was that I'd killed a person, and probably loads more in the fire. It didn't matter if I could control my powers or not; those deaths were all my fault.
And then, suddenly, the monotony of the flames was broken. Voices echoed in the hall, sounding loud and desperate, yet not so clear that I could make out individual words.
Then there was a voice that was very, very close to me—right next to me, in fact. I realized that I was on the floor, curled up in a little ball with my eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"I found her," the voice said, just as I opened my eyes. Right in front of my head was a leg, clothed in a yellow Spandex costume that I knew far too well. The last time I'd seen its owner, I'd been sailing over him in a back alleyway.
I tried to push myself up into a sitting position, maybe fire off some sarcastic remarks. But after producing all those flames, my energy level was zero, and my arms weren't even strong enough to support my weight.
My view began to fade out, but I still managed to say something before I passed out.
"Long time, no see, Kid Flash," I mumbled.
Then everything faded to black.
Wow...that was a really intense chapter. But good, I hope. Once again, I live for your reviews, so PLEASE TELL ME SOMETHING. Anything. Please!
And, while I think of it, let me explain something about the security guard's death. Or actually, a couple of somethings.
1.) I hate it in stories when the main character controls fire, but never actually kills anyone with it. I mean, come on. Fire is dangerous-it's a killer. I felt that that needed to be made clear.
2.) His death is actually going to be what snaps Lissie to attention and makes her realize that yes, she does need help controlling her powers, and the members of the Justice League are really the only ones who can help her.
3.) The guilt she feels is going to be a driving force that leads her to become a hero, to try and "make up for" his death, as much as she can.
4.) It'll probably happen, but I didn't want to kill off a main OC right away. So I used a side character instead.
And I hope you liked it. :)
