25: This Entrance Was Meant Solely for You
The cars rattled through snow that had the consistency of ash. Powdery puffs billowed around them and masked the air in phantasmic haze. Even the sheer pink of the convertible's hull drifted in and out of visibility. More valuable was the whirr of its engine and the electric crackle that lingered around the Terminatrix's mask.
Sloan licked blood from her lip and rolled off Hennepin. She knelt behind Carmichael's driver seat and observed over his shoulder.
"Who is that," Ramsey asked.
"Terminatrix," said Sloan. "Her gun steals the powers of the girl it shoots. She already has barrier and healing magic."
"Better hope she don't shoot me," said Hennepin.
Despite the ten people crammed inside, the Cadillac had enough space for Sloan to summon her gun. She propped it against the cup holders with the barrel sticking between the two front seats.
"BEEP BOOP." The voice pierced the wind and motor-whirr like a speakerphone. "PULL OVER THE CAR. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. PULL OVER THE CAR. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. PULL OVER THE CAR."
"Oh shit, what kinda undercover ass cop is that," said Carmichael. "I ain't going to fucking jail, yo."
"She's no cop," said Ramsey. "She's one of my kind. Let me and Sloan handle—"
The convertible emerged out of the haze and smashed into their side. Sloan's head cracked against the side of Ramsey's seat and Ramsey's head cracked against the glass. The other girls screamed.
Ramsey rubbed her head. "Damn... Carmichael, you and the others need to jump ship. This isn't a fight for you guys!"
"No," said Sloan. "The only reason she hasn't royally wrecked our shit already is because she won't hurt normals. We get rid of them and she drops a barrier right in front of our car, boom."
"THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING. PULL OVER THE CAR OR YOUR GOODS ARE FORFEIT WEE-OO WEE-OO WEE-OO WEE-OO WEE-OO."
"Then what do we do?" Ramsey asked. Blood ran down her hair like a red highlight in a wave of platinum blonde.
"Surprise her," said Sloan.
She leapt out the shattered windshield, bounced off the hood, and dove the gap onto the convertible. Her gun span as she aimed for the driver's seat, only to find nobody sat there and a small red bubble held down the accelerator. The unmanned wheel made a lazy revolution as the convertible leaned to the side and aimed for the curb.
Sloan dropped her gun and grabbed the wheel. The car righted while the Terminatrix popped out from the backseat with her silver revolver drawn and aimed at Sloan's back. Sloan commanded her charged gun to blast the Terminatrix in the gut. Light fired instantaneously and the Terminatrix formed a bubble around herself.
The light ricocheted into the sky. Sloan abandoned the steering wheel and let the car go where it pleased at nearly a hundred miles an hour down an icy road. She jump-kicked the bubble, bounced back, and flipped onto the hood. Creativity, creativity, she needed a way to get past Delaney's bubbles. She remembered the stupid image she had made of herself in the backyard. Even if it only distracted for a second—
From the Cadillac, Ramsey lashed her whip. It coiled around the Terminatrix's bubble as the belt-bound girl leapt from the Cadillac and into the convertible. Sloan had to hastily cut off her gunfire to stop it from frying Ramsey in the face.
"I got her!" Ramsey said. "Now how do we break this bubble?"
The bubble burst. The whip constricted around the next solid thing it could find: the Terminatrix's torso. Elation lit up Ramsey's face and she pumped her fist. From the Cadillac, her adoring fans cheered.
Despite the whip coiled around her, the Terminatrix calmly turned her gun and shot Ramsey in the face. Ramsey clapped her hands to her eyes but no wound appeared.
Ramsey you fucking idiot. The situation had gone from bad to worse really quickly. Sloan had not surprised the Terminatrix at all and the convertible veered toward the edge of the road. With a running start, Sloan bounded back to the Cadillac. Her boots hit the slick paint and she slipped onto her ass, but she made the jump just before the convertible struck the curb and went airborne. The girls inside the Cadillac made a collective gasp as the Porsche corkscrewed into an oblivion of snow, followed by a series of progressively louder metallic screeching and smashing noises.
A whip lashed from the aether and coiled around Sloan's leg. Sloan swung her hands out and latched around the windshield frame moments before the whip yanked her off the hood. Shards of glass dug into her arms as her body stretched its full length along the side of Cadillac. She glanced behind: the Terminatrix bounced along the road, Ramsey under her arm.
Sloan corrected the whip issue by summoning a new gun and having it sever the whip with one quick shot. Which caused Sloan's lower half to drop against the road and drag through the snow. The snow at least buffered her so she didn't sand off the flesh on her ankles.
I can't use my powers! said Ramsey's voice.
I fucking warned you, said Sloan.
I just wanted to help...
Sloan jammed a foot into the door handle and propped herself up as she tried to climb back into the car. Another whip lashed her in the back, but the pain was nothing compared to an attack by those dolls. She bit her lip and pulled herself in, rolling into the vacant passenger seat.
"This is why I don't jump between moving vehicles," said Hennepin.
"Where's the Boss," said Carmichael. "Where she go?"
Something landed on the roof of the car and dented it inward. Sloan angled her gun straight up and fired. Holes tore through the roof until the roof peeled back like a sardine can.
Out of the ashen air sailed a body. Sloan halted her fire just in time as Ramsey thudded into the swarm of screaming girls. The next moment, the Terminatrix landed on both feet, stiletto heels digging into someone's hand. Sloan lifted her gun but hesitated.
"Raise your gun, I shoot." She had to yell above the wind.
"YOU SHOOT, I BUBBLE."
"And then every normal in this car gets fried," said Sloan. "I told you before, I don't give a shit what I have to destroy. I won't let you stop me from reaching Clair."
The face on the Terminatrix's mask had changed from Delaney to Ramsey. The Terminatrix shifted her stance to stop impaling somebody's hand. She rolled the revolver around her finger, rubbing the barrel with her other hand. As the barrel turned, so turned her mask, from Ramsey to Delaney and back again.
"WELL NOW! I WOULD NEVER WANT TO HARM MY ADORING FANS, BEEP BOOP."
With dramatic aplomb, she struck a pose. A bit of digital glimmer ran down her body like a sparkly flair.
The girls, cowering against the sides of Cadillac or between the luxurious seats, poked up their heads.
"Wow!"
"So cool!"
"She's like hot Daft Punk!"
For a moment, Sloan had no idea what Ramsey's goons were saying. But as their praise grew more unanimous, one voice chiming against the wind, Sloan realized: the Terminatrix stole Ramsey's likability magic as well.
"BEEP BOOP. MY ADORING FANS. I AM SO HAPPY TO HAVE YOU, BECAUSE NORMALLY EVERYONE HATES ME. FOR MY FIRST COMMAND, I DEMAND YOU... RESTRAIN THAT FAIR MAIDEN ESCAPING OUT THE WINDOW!"
She pointed at Hennepin, who had half her body out and looked prepared to fling herself into the street, even if it meant an immediate coma as her Soul Gem sped away with Carmichael. She cast a frantic glance back at the Terminatrix and froze as though caught red-handed, which was just enough time for three or four girls to grab various parts of Hennepin and yank her back into the car.
"I never liked this bitch anyway," one of the girls said as they pinned Hennepin down.
"Hey, hey." Hennepin did not struggle against them. "Hey, I'm not involved in this. I'm neutral."
Sloan fixed an eye on the Terminatrix. She kept swapping between the Delaney and Ramsey masks, maneuvering her gun with practiced finesse until it seemed almost like both masks were on at once, Delaney's face phasing through Ramsey's.
If the Terminatrix could only use the power of the mask she currently had active...
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION, BEEP BOOP." By switching between the two masks so fast, she could keep the goons pliable zombies to her will, while also remaining prepared for Sloan's attack. "YOUR POWERS WILL BE TAKEN TEMPORARILY IN PURSUIT OF JUSTICE AND THE LAW AND OTHER THINGS ROBOTS LIKE ME ARE PROGRAMMED TO UPHOLD. ONCE THE CRIMINAL SCUM HAVE BEEN ERADICATED, YOUR POWERS WILL BE RETURNED."
"Let's not do this." Hennepin's voice wavered. "I don't like this."
Sloan waited for the Terminatrix. Watched her masks cycle. Calibrated the timing.
"Just have these girls go after Fargo, yeah? That's the simpler option, right? Right?"
"I CANNOT SEND NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS TO FIGHT A DEPRAVED MURDERER," said the Terminatrix. She seemed hesitant, as though aware Sloan had caught onto her. "YOUR POWERS WILL BE USEFUL. THIS DISCUSSION IS OVER."
The revolver barrel clicked and the mask switched to Delaney's face. A bubble sprouted before Sloan, flattening several other girls beneath it or shunting them to the walls of the car. Sloan dove over the barrel as the Terminatrix flicked the barrel to an empty chamber, her face swapping back to the generic wraithlike visage from their first encounter. Sloan squeezed over the bubble and came down on the Terminatrix hard and fast. Her boot slammed against the hand holding the revolver. A metal and inhuman grunt of pain issued from the dull open mouth in the Terminatrix's mask as her hand opened and the revolver flew out.
Without pause, Sloan pivoted in the cramped space and swung her fist at the mask. Her knuckle struck the cold hard metal and she reared back with a shriek as a dull reverberation of pain shot through her nerves. She stepped on a body and lost her balance and fell on her ass atop some other bodies. The Terminatrix bounced against the door. Her head snapped back and smashed the window to glitter. She rebounded, her mask twitching and flickering with static, her arms jerking back and forth.
Sloan scanned the cushions of the seats for the revolver but it did not catch her eye. Instead she noticed the Corvette racing alongside them, Lynette with her vodka bottle in one hand and the other clutched to the steering wheel.
On the roof of the Corvette sat the one doll Sloan had not managed to deal with, the Tassel doll. It waved at Sloan with its immutable smile.
Before Sloan could react, the Terminatrix fell upon her and levied a swift karate chop to Sloan's throat. Sloan clutched her neck, rasping for breath as an uppercut nailed her in the chin. The Terminatrix forced her onto the writhing mass of bodies and aimed a hooked set of fingers at Sloan's Soul Gem.
A gun clicked and the Terminatrix froze. She slowly looked behind her. Ramsey stood there, the silver revolver raised.
"I did it!" she said. "I got her now. I did it!"
The Terminatrix tilted her head, shrugged, and swept out a kick that knocked Ramsey off her feet. She reached out and snatched the gun from Ramsey's hand while she fell.
If Sloan had nothing better to do, she would have slapped her forehead in shame at Ramsey's antics. But she had a split second window while the Terminatrix's head was turned so she used it by shoving her hands against the Terminatrix's neck and squeezing. The Terminatrix tried to pivot her arm and aim at Sloan, but her hand struck the headrest of a chair and stopped her for the moment Sloan needed to heave with all her strength. The Terminatrix lifted off of her, into the air, her body suddenly weightless from Sloan's magic. Up and up she went, sailing airborne, out the open roof of the Cadillac, into the snowy heights. Her limbs flailed as though swimming, but nothing could redirect her ascent, unbound by gravity's pull.
Eventually, as the gray sky obscured her, she gave up trying to redirect herself and aimed her revolver down at Sloan. But Sloan anticipated this action and grabbed the closest piece of worthless material to block the shot: Ramsey.
Ramsey squirmed, so small without her inflated Dalmatian cloak, but as the shot rang out and she yipped in fear nothing actually happened—her powers had already been stolen.
The Terminatrix gave up on firing from a distance. A red bubble encased her and stopped her from untethering completely from the planet. Sloan pushed off Ramsey and sat up. The Corvette still drove alongside them, but the doll had disappeared from its roof.
Fuck. Sloan scanned the waste of girls and picked out Hennepin as she attempted to burrow herself beneath the seats. Sloan wrapped an arm around her torso and yanked her from her hiding spot, at the same time imbuing her with the same weight-reducing magic she had used on the Terminatrix. By about this time the magic had worn off on the Terminatrix, at least according to Sloan's internal timer. Sure enough, the bubble popped and the Terminatrix dropped. But Sloan already had a running start, hauling Hennepin under her arm as she leapt out the Cadillac and landed atop the Corvette.
Hennepin wrapped her arms around Sloan. Her fingers dug into the coat. "What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed.
"Getting on the faster car." And also getting them away from a group of mindless normals the Terminatrix could sway with Ramsey's magic, and the ineptitude of Ramsey herself, and—if Sloan guessed correctly—the Tassel doll, who had probably slipped into the Cadillac undetected. But that took too long to say.
With one agile motion, she scurried down the opposite side of the Corvette (no more hesitation, she had her car parkour down pat), pulled open the door, and hurled Hennepin into the passenger seat.
"Step on it!" she hollered at Lynette. "Get us away from their car! I'll stop anyone from following."
Lynette gave a thumbs up and stomped the gas. The Corvette spurted ahead, quickly whipping around a hairpin corner. The scenery that flashed past had shifted from suburban sameness to the larger towers of the inner city. Once they came out the other side, they would be close to Eden Prairie and Clair's house. And Sloan's own house...
Now was not the time to think about that. She slammed the door shut as she scurried onto the roof of the Corvette. The Cadillac already lagged behind them. Eyes peered through the window, faces pressed to the scattered remnants of glass. On the hood knelt the Tassel doll, no longer waving, her arms folded in a sulky pout, her smile somewhat straightened as the distance between the cars became impassable. Sloan lifted a hand and flipped the doll off.
Unless the dolls could fly, that meant they were out of her hair for the time being. She scanned the Cadillac for the other thing she had to watch out for, but the snow and the tinted glass soon rendered everything invisible save the pink sheen of its coat.
Ramsey, talk to me. Where's the Terminatrix.
If I go too far away from my gem I'm gonna die, y'know?
The response puzzled her until she realized it was Hennepin. Shut up. I brought you along so you wouldn't get your powers jacked. Ramsey, where are you?
Ramsey's voice finally spoke up.
Uh, uh, hey Sloan. I'm here. I know I messed up, but I'll help any way I can. We gotta beat Clair, right? I can't let my personal quibbles get in the way—
Where's the Terminatrix, Sloan said.
Please don't be mad at me, but she's not in the car. I don't know where she is. Oh, and, uh, tell Lynette to slow down, okay? Carmichael can't keep up.
Only the dim circles of headlights remained of the Cadillac as it slid down the wispy gullet of the city. Sloan knelt atop the Corvette, holding onto the slick surface with sheer magical willpower as she surveyed the road and the towers around her. She disliked not knowing the Terminatrix's location.
Sloan? Are you there? You need to slow down...
Ramsey, tell Carmichael to stop. Stop your car. Stop following.
What? The voice weakened, either from the distance or the howl of wind or the dwindle of Ramsey's self esteem. You want me to... stay here?
That's exactly what I want. You're no good without your powers, Ramsey. I'll handle Clair myself, and the Terminatrix too. I don't need you.
The Cadillac disappeared completely.
Oh... said Ramsey.
Are you doing it? Are you stopping? If you want to help me, stop your car.
Yeah. Yeah, I'll tell Carmichael to stop right now. You're right.
Good. This was going along swimmingly, with minimal fuss. Sloan had little patience for long, drawn out pleading.
Don't worry about me, she said. I can beat Clair. I know I can.
Yeah. Good luck. Yeah.
Sloan let the conversation die. All immediate danger had cleared and it was too damn cold on the roof with the wind and sleet pounding her. With a fluid motion she swung down the side of the car, opened the passenger door, and hooked herself inside.
She shuffled Hennepin's temporary corpse to the side, enough for Sloan to sit, and sealed out the ice with a slam. The howl subsided into a muted muffle and despite sharing her seat with a dead girl, Sloan found time for her heart to calm and her blood to slow.
"Damn girl," said Lynette. "That was some stunt you pulled. Jumping between cars? People can't do that shit."
"Becoming a Magical Girl magnifies the capabilities of your body," said Sloan. Her eyes followed the arc of the windshield wipers as they fought against the elements outside.
"Magical Girl? That's the name for it?"
"I didn't make it up." Too bad the Corvette had no backseat. Hennepin's limp head sagged against Sloan's shoulder, a bony plate of forehead boring into the gaunt flesh. The girl weighed a lot more than Sloan expected, and was only slightly less obstinate dead than alive.
"Well, let's talk serious for a moment," said Lynette. "You're gonna kill Clair, right?"
"Yes."
Lynette stared ahead. She turned the wheel while phantom street signs lit up beneath her headlights. "I'll help."
Great. More functionally worthless and potentially distracting people who wanted to "help" Sloan. "You're helping enough by driving. A normal person stands no chance against magic. She'll tear you to pieces in an instant."
"I know." A smile parted on Lynette's lips. "She knows it too. Which means she won't consider me a threat. If she's preoccupied fighting you, I can sneak up behind her..."
"That won't work. There's only one way to kill a Magical Girl. You have to destroy their Soul Gem."
"You mean like that thing on your stomach?"
Sloan looked down. In the ruckus her coat had come unbuttoned, revealing her true Magical Girl attire beneath. The bare skin and skimpy accoutrements glistened with frost. When Lynette gave Sloan a sly wink, Sloan seized the sides of her coat and furiously fitted the buttons back together.
"Yeah, like that," said Sloan. "That's the only place she's weak. But destroy it and she's dead instantly."
"So I go for her stomach."
"No, that's just mine," said Sloan. "Hers is..."
Sloan searched her memory, drew a mental picture of Clair in her Greco-Roman regalia, the long folds of toga, the golden sandals and bare arms. A look that suited her so poorly, exemplified her slight frame and brought out her red eyes as the only splotch of color in her entire ensemble. In this mental image, Sloan quickly located Clair's gem: right shoulder, a dull ruby set within a clasp that pinned the strap of her gown. Wait, was that it? That was where Delaney kept her gem. Sloan wasn't getting confused, was she?
No, Sloan remembered clear enough. Clair's gem was also on the shoulder. In either case, she made no effort to hide it. But now that Sloan remembered Delaney, she wondered if Clair might borrow one of Delaney's tricks and swap her gem with a fake. It was such an obvious ploy every girl ought to do it. Although Sloan guessed not too many girls could afford real precious stones to use as decoy.
"It's on her shoulder," said Sloan. "You'll find it."
"So you're down with the plan?" said Lynette.
"I..."
Maybe. It made sense and gave Sloan a strategic ace. Lynette's voice maintained a casual apathy but in her eye gleamed something more, almost a frenzy of color Sloan rarely saw. She too was a girl whose entire life had been carefully deconstructed by Clair's all-consuming presence. And while Sloan had suffered defeat in a calculated moment of betrayal, Lynette had lived an entire life under Clair's thumb. Sloan had misgivings that another Ramsey might transpire, but Lynette exuded a cool competence Ramsey lacked. A desperate determination Sloan recognized as a mirror image of herself.
"I..."
Sloan, no!
Sloan looked around. The road stretched behind and the road stretched ahead. The car turned. Snow and mist everywhere. Hennepin's dead body and room for nobody else.
Who's there?
Sloan, don't rely on her to fight for you... Have faith in yourself, okay?
The voice was unmistakable. Omaha? Where the hell are you?
That's... not important! What's important is you beat Clair yourself. That's what's important to you, right...?
Sloan looked under her seat for any traces of blood. There was nowhere Omaha could possibly be. Unless... the trunk? Or clinging to the roof? How had Omaha wound up in either of those places? Had she hitched along in Ramsey's Cadillac?
"It doesn't matter what you say," said Lynette. "I'm gonna try anyway. You might as well use me like a tool I am. Ha ha ha!"
Whatever. Lynette's idea had potential, but Sloan doubted it would work in practice. A normal had half the speed, reflexes, and general combat acumen than even a garbage-tier Magical Girl, and while Clair's raw power was mediocre, it was more than enough to dispatch Lynette in a fraction of a second.
Actually, Clair's music instantly incapacitated any human who heard it, much like a wraith miasma, turning them into brainless shambling zombies. No way would the plan work.
No need to tell Lynette, though, who still sat in the driver's seat.
"How close are we?" Sloan asked.
Lynette adjusted the rearview mirror, although their backward visibility was basically void. "Close. When we get there, you gonna shoot shit up?"
"That's the idea. You worried about your parents?"
"Fuck my parents," said Lynette. "Fuck Eden Prairie. Fuck Minneapolis. Fuck MINNESOTA. Who decided to build a city here? What was their fucking impetus? How many Norwegian fucks decided their own damn country wasn't cold enough so they had to inhabit the ice shelf of North America? A race of idiots browbeaten by the snow until their craniums folded inward to inhibit their mental processes. There's that stereotype about Minnesotans, oh they're so nice, oh they say sorry, but really you know what it is? They've all been fucking LOBOTOMIZED. The ice numbed their frontal lobes and transmogrified them into grinning imbeciles. A few more years and I'll be the same."
They swerved around a bend. Around them fluttered strings of multicolored fairies weaving in and out of the mist. Christmas lights. They were damn close now. Gone was the Land of Coke and Hookers, come was the Land of Yuletide Cheer. Of woolen sweaters and cookie trays, of fuming chimneys and woodstoves burning. Sloan's hand curled around the armrest. The Terminatrix and the gossamer dolls were behind her. Who knew how long until they caught up, but that was all the better: it gave her an incentive not to waste time. She had one objective now, and one only. Clair Ibsen.
Are you ready, Sloan? said Omaha's voice.
Yes.
If you want to win... don't mess around with anyone else she might throw at you. Go straight for her.
I know.
I believe in you! You can do it!
Sloan did not respond. Her heart palpitated with the useless blood that chilled her veins.
The car rounded a corner and slid to an abrupt halt despite the ice. Great floodlights penetrated skyward from the snow to illuminate a tall iron gate and the sign beside it:
EDEN ESTATES.
Lynette put the car in park but left the engine running. She gathered her coat around herself and opened the door. Her boots crunched against the ice as she wandered through the mist to the gate's password input system.
Sloan drummed her fingers against the glovebox. Lynette lingered in front of the control pad, mashing keys with trembling fingers. Sloan drummed faster. Cold air sluiced through the open door. Her white breath was sucked out the vacuum.
Lynette pushed the final key. The gate uttered a low and ominous groan as it fought against the snow piled against it. Inch by inch, its iron bars parted and began to open.
Sloan drummed faster.
A sudden thought struck her. She should make sure Hennepin was out of sight. If the Terminatrix caught up, it would be like leaving her a free power-up.
While the gate continued at its monumental pace, Sloan hit the lever to disengage the trunk, opened her door, and slung Hennepin over her shoulder. Her boots hit the snow and crunched. She shielded her face with a hand and the bulk of Hennepin's body and rounded the car for the trunk.
Omaha sat curled in the trunk. She waved at Sloan with her sloppy wrist. Wrapped in her other arm was the fourth doll.
Hi. I hope you don't mind... I snuck in here awhile ago. To keep at least one of these dolls out of your way... She won't do anything as long as I hold her. She won't hurt me...
Sloan dropped Hennepin on top of Omaha and slammed the trunk shut.
She looked up. Lynette stood by the control pad as the gates continued to open.
"Bah," Lynette shouted. Her voice almost drowned beneath the wind. "This is taking forever, let's walk—"
Two things happened at once, in such rapid succession they almost seemed choreographed. First, from between the gates leapt a hooded figure encircled by a ring of shiny silver discs. The figure—St. Paul—landed near Lynette and decked her in the face. Lynette dropped cold.
The second thing that happened, while Lynette plowed into the snow, was a gunshot. Sloan staggered back as a dull, painless, but significant force impacted her foot. She stared at her boot, but saw no hole or wound.
St. Paul stood by Lynette's body, consternation on her face as though she only now realized it was not Sloan she punched.
From under the Corvette, with lithe and snaky motions of her limber body, the Terminatrix emerged. Sloan boggled at the fact the Terminatrix had managed to fit beneath such a tight space, especially since she surely must have been there while the car was moving. But then she noticed the smoking revolver in the Terminatrix's hand and forgot everything else.
Oh no. Oh no this wasn't happening.
Sloan summoned her gun, and a wave of relief surged through her as it appeared as commanded, long and heavy in her hands. The barrel span as she aimed at the encroaching Terminatrix, swiftly building momentum until it reached the necessary velocity to fire.
But it didn't fire.
It just span and span and span, worthless.
The Terminatrix clicked her revolver. Her mask shifted from Delaney's face to Sloan's own face. Same squinted eyes, mouth hung agape in moderate idiocy.
"BEEP BOOP. I AM A PROFESSIONAL ROBOT, DID YOU KNOW? MY ENTIRE LIFE REVOLVES AROUND HUNTING DOWN WHIMSICAL LITTLE BITCHES LIKE YOU AND MAKING THEM PAY FOR THEIR SINS. I'LL GRANT YOU HAVE AN ABOVE-AVERAGE LUCK STAT, OR AT LEAST THE UNIVERSE SEEMS TO BE CONSPIRING TO KEEP YOU ALIVE FOR WHATEVER REASON. BUT I AIN'T ABOUT LUCK. I'M ABOUT RUINING YOUR FUCKING DAY."
Oh no, oh no... said Omaha. Sloan, did she... oh no, oh no, let me out of here Sloan, I can help!
To open the trunk, Sloan needed to pull the lever beside the front seat of the car. But that was currently low tier on Sloan's list of priorities, because the Terminatrix's hands started to glow with a dazzling golden sheen. Sloan knew this attack. It was her own damn attack, after all.
She tucked her head low (closing her eyes was not enough, since her light could fry corneas through eyelid skin) and charged the Terminatrix. She still had her gun, which meant bereft of all else she could smash a bitch to bloody pulp.
The light flared. Even with her face nearly pressed against her chest she sensed it, her eyes crinkling as, sightless, a field of red replaced the black. She swung her arm and the gun and connected to a ribcage. The Terminatrix grunted and slammed against the Corvette.
Sloan lifted her head and opened her eyes, the light in the Terminatrix's hands dying. She raised her gun to bring down on the mirror-image mask. The Terminatrix shot out a leg and caught Sloan in the stomach. Sloan sailed backward, bounced against the snow, and rolled into an inflatable Santa Claus.
Sunspots crept across her disoriented vision as she flipped to her feet. Two bright circles emerged out the snowy haze as two entwining rivers of light surged toward her. She scanned for somewhere to jump (nowhere but snow) when the light streams struck an odd ripple in the air and bounced into a nether realm. Sloan rubbed her eyes and better saw the silver disc studded in the snow that had reflected the Terminatrix's attack.
A second ripple sliced through the air. Sloan jumped as the disc sailed through where her waist had been moments ago, now only whooshing under the curled toes in her boots. She hit the ground and darted to the side, unsure of the terrain but sure she lacked the luxury of immobility her overwhelming offensive power tended to afford. She soon ran into the gate, almost striking it but redirecting her path as it sprung into sight before her, following it back toward the Corvette and the entrance to Eden Estates.
She could not simply evade the Terminatrix now. She had to get her powers back before she fought Clair.
Sloan? Sloan...? Are you okay? Please talk to me, I'm worried...
Stop distracting me. Sloan found the Corvette, but both the Terminatrix and St. Paul had gone somewhere. Only Lynette's unconscious form, already half-buried in falling snow.
Half-stooped, she skidded for the driver's seat. Someone had closed the door or else the door had always been closed. She fumbled for the handle, her hand slipped, her feet slipped. She wound up on her ass, rubbing the back of her head.
She reached again but retracted as another disc skipped over the Corvette's hood and bounced just over her skull, severing a few strands of wet and clumped hair. Fuck, Sloan didn't even know where St. Paul was, or the Terminatrix. The snow made sight such a mess, and sight was supposedly her forte.
Shuffling aside snow, Sloan crept under the Corvette. The space beneath was actually rather open: the carriage had been lifted to accommodate oversized and flashy tires, probably with spinning chrome rims or some other tacky embellishment. A thought that only made Sloan angry for having it because it was so stupid, but now she couldn't get stupid spinning rims out of her mind, so somehow Ramsey had managed to transmit her uselessness across time and space and distract Sloan without even being there, fucking great, fuck everything, fuck.
She got almost entirely under the car when her arm jerked back. Her gun was stuck outside, unable to fit beneath. Okay, she would put it away for—
Something grabbed the gun and pulled. Sloan flew out from under the car, her body suddenly weightless. She sailed into the air and was yanked back by the Terminatrix. The air swirled around her as she slapped against the snow, relinquished her gun, and bounced into a drift.
"NICE GUN, BITCH."
Sloan sat up. The Terminatrix held the machine gun in both hands, lifting it with some exertion to inspect the length of its barrel and the shine of its metal.
In an instant Sloan was on her feet and running as the Terminatrix aimed and revved up. Vietnam levels of gunfire crashed against the landscape behind her, forcing momentous chunks of snow skyward. Sloan struggled through the ice to maintain her speed, legs and arms plowing wildly as the Terminatrix loosed a loud and metallic laugh, the same curt syllable looped in tune to the ratatat of the gun: HA HA HA HA HA HA.
From the corner of Sloan's periphery sailed a lacquered mirror. She jumped again (St. Paul, she realized, preferred to aim low) as the disc sailed under her. A silver edge clipped the spray of light and reflected it in a random direction before whirling into oblivion.
St. Paul sprinted along the top of the black iron gate, keeping pace with Sloan. She pointed her finger and three more discs detached from the ring around her to fly in Sloan's direction.
Oh god. Sloan thought she might actually have an idea.
Light nipping her heels, she jumped again—but not straight up. She leapt at the discs, hitting the smooth top of the first and bounding over the next two. She flipped through the air as she angled her body directly through the eye of the ring of discs, to where St. Paul's cloaked body stood undefended.
After a brief delay, St. Paul's face recognized the danger. St. Paul crossed her arms and the ring of discs closed in front of her, creating a solid and impenetrable shield. Sloan's reflection in the discs replaced St. Paul. Sloan's momentum had carried her too far to redirect. She hit the discs and bounced back into the snow.
All according to plan.
The Terminatrix's aim had followed Sloan's every movement. She raised her gun in tandem with Sloan's leap. Now, as Sloan dropped on her back in the snow, the spray of light passed over her and hit the reverberating discs.
The light, ignoring the laws of physics and instead obeying pretendland St. Paul laws of perfect reflection, sailed back toward the Terminatrix. Sloan stared upside-down as the light closed in. SURPRISE, she thought.
The Terminatrix dropped the gun and span the barrel of her revolver. Sloan's face switched to Delaney's face. Instants before the light struck her, a red bubble ballooned around the Terminatrix. The light hit it and bounced back the way it came.
ALL ACCORDING TO PLAN.
The light hit the discs. It bounced back and hit the bubble. It bounced back and hit the discs. An endless cycle of reflection and ricochet, the light gaining velocity, becoming almost a solid yellow bar between the barriers of both girls. The silver discs glowed orange, the bubble pulsed with pressure.
Sloan had always posited her light's power could break any barrier given enough sustained fire. The problem was that barriers tended to send light back the way it came. But now... but now...
Cracks spread across the discs. The bubble squeezed smaller and smaller.
Sloan tilted her head back in the snow and laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.
What is it, Sloan? What's going on...?
St. Paul's discs shattered in a spray of shards. The Terminatrix's bubble burst in a deluge of blood. Light shot out in both directions. St. Paul and the Terminatrix flew back as it pounded both of them. St. Paul dropped onto the other side of the fence, the Terminatrix dropped back in the snow.
The light dissipated with a flash and sparkle. Neither girl stirred on the ground.
Sloan pulled herself up and staggered for the Terminatrix. Her helmet had flown off and rolled far away. Beneath it lay a surprisingly human head, no circuitry or wires, a head of long black hair tied into a compact bun. Sloan dropped on top of the girl and pinned her down. She wrapped a hand around the throat and angled the face to stare at her.
The Terminatrix had but one eye. In the other socket was her Soul Gem, a hunk of pure onyx. Sloan hooked her fingers into a claw and dug them in, latching the tips around the precious stone. The Terminatrix moaned, her legs scuffled.
One forceful tug and the onyx popped out, slick with a gelatinous substance. Sloan clasped the gem in her hand and patted the Terminatrix on the cheek.
"Give me my powers back."
The Terminatrix blinked. A lazy eye rolled, glassy and dull itself.
"Give me my powers back."
The eye snapped open. It peered up at Sloan. The Terminatrix coughed.
"No," she said. Her voice was shrill without voice modification.
Sloan held the Soul Gem where the Terminatrix could see it. "Give me my powers back."
"You... are a dangerous girl, Sloan Redfearn."
"Did I ask for moral admonishment? No. I asked for my powers back. Give them to me." She glanced over her shoulder. St. Paul remained motionless.
"Do you know why Kyubey pays us so much to terminate girls like you, Redfearn?" the Terminatrix continued. "The things you do have more consequences than you even know."
"Demons, right?" said Sloan. "I've heard that one before. Give me my powers back."
"I know no demons," said the Terminatrix. "No demons but you. I can see in your eyes. You don't even care. You'll burn this whole city if you have to! You'll burn this whole world! I can see it! I can see it, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha—"
Her laugh ended abruptly as she spat into Sloan's eye. Sloan reared back and the Terminatrix rose, hands groping for Sloan's stomach.
Sloan tightened her fist. Like a thing of paper, the gem inside her grasp cracked.
The Terminatrix's eye went wide. Her hands and body hung half-raised, and then dropped into the snow.
Her costume, the sleek black bodysuit, disappeared. The mask, fallen some ways away, disappeared also. Instead, ragged scraps of patchwork cloth flapped in the wind against the Terminatrix's body.
Sloan opened her fist. Black dust trickled out and spiraled into the storm.
Some black specks remained in her palm. Had she... had she expected to crush it completely? Did she have that much power? When she tried to break Omaha's gem in Williston, she had failed... But her own gem was much more powerful now. She was much more powerful now.
She much more wanted to kill now.
She stood up, her legs shaky, her stomach stricken by a dull pang. She backed away from the corpse.
This isn't the first time you've killed someone, idiot. It was self-defense this time, too. You would have had to kill her eventually if you wanted your powers back. Stay focused.
She was just doing her job.
SHE NEVER SHOULD HAVE TAKEN SUCH A STUPID JOB.
Sloan turned away. Her powers were back. They had to be back. She summoned her gun and fired it into the sky. Okay, her powers were back. Then Ramsey's powers were back, too. And Delaney's.
Sloan? Sloan, what's happening? Please, tell me... I'm scared...
I'm fine. Stay put. You're safer in there.
Sloan wiped her hand on her coat. She walked past Lynette's prone form and through the open gate into Eden Estates. She walked to the dark lump of St. Paul in the snow.
St. Paul was full unconscious. She had transformed back into her regular attire, a rather plain sweatpants-sweatshirt combination. In her upturned palm sat her undamaged Soul Gem in its egg form.
No need to kill this one, Sloan. Pocket the gem, it'll render her harmless.
Sloan knelt, picked up the gem, and placed it in her pocket.
She had to kill the Terminatrix to get her powers back. That was the only reason. If the Terminatrix had not stolen her powers, Sloan would not have killed her. That wasn't an excuse. That wasn't to say it was the Terminatrix's fault she got killed. Sloan killed her. But that was the fucking reality out here, okay? The Terminatrix would have killed her all the same. She was just a fucking robot. Programmed by Kyubey.
Get it out of your head, dipshit. Think about Clair. Focus.
Sloan wandered down the road into Eden Estates. The suburban houses twinkled, warm and cozy inside. Families beside Christmas trees, families eating dinner around a table. Fireplaces, scented candles. Milk and cookies.
Ramsey no longer in the fight. Hennepin no longer in the fight. St. Paul no longer in the fight. Omaha no longer in the fight. The Terminatrix no longer in the fight. That left Bloomington, Woodbury, Anoka. And Clair herself. If she dallied, the dolls would catch up. Better, then, not to dally.
Houses passed. Sloan still remembered which one was Clair's. All the way at the end of the community.
It loomed into view: the Ibsen household. The mailbox read the surname. Sloan maintained her steady tread up the driveway. She kept her eyes open in the blizzard for goons waiting in ambush.
A face stood at the edge of the haze. Sloan stopped and aimed toward it and the face melted back, away from view. Sloan couldn't be sure, but she thought it was Bloomington's face.
Bloomington was the lowest concern on her list. Better not to chase her into the snow. If she wants to fight, Sloan will deal with her then.
She stepped under the awning above the Ibsen front door. The snow ceased its patter on her back and she shook flakes from her shoulders. Light filtered through the peephole and under the door.
Sloan placed her hand on the knob. It turned. The door opened. Sloan entered.
Note: Next chapter two weeks from now (November 21).