CHAPTER TWO: Combat Ready
I bounced back onto my ass, cupping my nose and checking for bleeding. Finding none, I looked up at the metal monstrosity that had decided Fuck this girl in particular. It was a bulky, heavy thing, leaving ruts in the pavement as it drove along double-wide treads, with a reflective black surface and evil-looking glowy red lines tracing the exterior. A rectangular barrel was mounted on top, red lines pulsing along its length, as it swiveled to point directly at me. It took up most of the intersection we'd found ourselves in, surrounded by low-rise buildings and empty storefronts. And then the tank spoke in a voice only slightly less obnoxious than the previous squealing and engine sputters.
"Did I hit something? Shit, check the cameras!" It was a high-pitched, nasally whine that emanated from the vehicle, the kind that wormed its way into your skull and gave you tinnitus. Like an alcoholic aunt. The mounted weapon swiveled here and there before pointing directly at me, and I hastily backed up before it could shoot a massive hole in me. "Huh. The fuck're you doing here, kid?"
"Running?" I replied honestly. If she's not looking for a fight, I can get out of here and go tell Amy.
"What, and you ran face-first into my Reich-wheeler?" Wait, Reich-wheeler? Reich... Nazi... Empire Eighty Eight... Vehicle Tinker...
"Wait, Panzer?!" Not good. She was infamous in Brockton Bay for both arming the neo-Nazi gang with Tinkertech getaway vehicles and weaponry, as well as being the single most easily pissed off cape in the city.
"Damn right I am. Are you gonna apologize for smearing your greasy face all over my shiny chrome or what?" The barrel of the weapon glowed dangerously, red light building up inside. Apologize? She ruined my morning run, and she's on Marche territory. I'm not rolling over for anybody. I scrambled up to my feet and tried to strike a pose: white mane billowing heroically, scarf flapping in the wind as I raised my chin defiantly, eyes glowing like twin beacons of danger! My scarf flapped directly into my eyes and I hastily readjusted it.
"No," I firmly stated. "But you can fuck right off... or try apologizing to Biohazard for being here through a mouthful of tumors."
"A Marche flunkie, then..." The ear-splitting voice sounded disappointed. "Another race traitor in this fucking town! I'm doing a favor for Kaiser every time I kill one of you shits." I could have engaged in a debate on the flawed logic of the extremely racist rhetoric used by the Nazi party, but chose instead to leap out of the way of fiery death as a thick red beam lanced out of the mounted laser gun. My ears popped as the air was explosively ripped apart by the super-heated beam. The ground where I'd been standing was instantly turned into a meter-deep crater with glassy walls. Talons scraped along the asphalt as I hit the ground, finding purchase and launching me closer. "Stop tailgating me, bitch!"
Think, Taylor! I was fighting a tank. A Tinker-built tank, which meant it could likely do things a tank really shouldn't be able to. As long as I stayed close, I could out-maneuver that gun and search for a weak point. If it has one, I noted, seeing the densely layered plate armor covering every inch of the vehicle. The cannon revved up for another shot, trained directly on my chest. I dashed in a circle around the vehicle as the explosion rocked the earth beneath my feet, but lost my footing as the concussive shock of rapidly displaced air hit me. I tumbled to the ground, catching myself before I smashed face-first into it, and launched myself back up before the damn thing ran me over. The tank was now dashing around unpredictably, massive exhaust ports belching blue flames as the death contraption rocketed itself up and down the alley, making hair-pin turns and at one point going up a wall rather than through it.
The multi-ton monstrosity made an impossibly tight twist, turning 180 degrees in the blink of an eye and now heading right for me. I leaped upwards, high as I could, and crashed into the roof of the tank. "Think you're safe up there?" That nasally voice dropped into a low croon. With a pneumatic hiss, the gun in front of me detached, and a pair of rotors sprang out from its sides, making the thing airborne. It darted away and twisted in the air, pointing directly towards me and the tank. My eyes widened and I flopped to my side off the tank, hitting the ground rolling. Shit, what can I do? I'd started this fight, and I had to finish it. She wouldn't let me surrender at this point. There's no vulnerabilities on the surface, it's too well-armored. As I was forced to dodge the blunt, crushing force of the careening tank and the pinpoint accuracy of its airborne laser cannon, an awful, suicidal idea hit me. Do I have any other options?
The Tinker-tank made another rapid turn, once more heading right for me, and I enacted my plan: jumping straight under the undercarriage. I quickly rolled onto my back and seized anything I could hold onto with a death-grip. The tank spun about in a panic, trying to dislodge me. "Are you fucking dense?!" The weapons-grade screech from the pilot blasted from a speaker right next to my ear. Why does she have speakers on the bottom of the tank?! I almost lost my grip to the urge to cover my ears. "Get the fuck off before you die for real!" What, she cared? I ignored the advice of my opponent and sunk claws and talons and fangs into whatever exposed bits of machinery I could. Eventually, I was rewarded with a thick black piece of rubber tubing coming loose between my teeth. Viscous, smelly liquid poured out of the tear I'd left directly onto my face. Gasoline! I spat out the tubing and gagged, releasing the undercarriage and rolling out from beneath the tank, a trail of the shimmering fuel leaking out behind me.
"You really are dense," Panzer mocked once she caught sight of me again, rising to my feet. "Should have stayed on the ground like the worm you are. If you like crawling in the dirt so much, I'll fucking bury you in it!" The cannon charged up once more, and I smiled viciously in the instant before it fired. Just before the concussive blast was loosed, I dove away from the tank. Behind me, a massive explosion rocked the alley, shattering windows and blasting open doors, catapulting me through the air. I crashed through an abandoned store front, splintering a wooden beam before painfully landing on my back. I groaned and struggled to get back to my feet.
Through the broken glass, I saw the tank had been rocked back off its treads, falling helplessly onto its side. The undercarriage had been torn apart, a massive hole ripped through the chassis. She isn't dead, is she? My worries- mild as they were- were quickly proven pointless as the side- now the top- of the tank split open, a hatch opening up. An armored hand gripped the rim, followed by a figure clad in sleek, black and red powered armor, covered in exhaust ports and turbines belching blue flames and black smoke. The figure's head, covered in a cross between a motorcyclist's helmet and a fighter plane's cockpit, swiveled to stare balefully out at me. "You... absolute fucking bitch.." The voice growled dangerously low, the previous nasally tones nowhere to be heard. "Break my ride, make me fucking walk home... I'm going to turn you into little- you're on fire," Panzer pointed stupefied at me. I am? I twisted my head around and saw that the ends of my scarf and tail of my jacket were quickly being consumed in flames. I hadn't felt a thing, but these were some of the few clothes that still fit me, and I'd rather not walk home naked. I quickly dropped to the ground and started rolling, patting out the flames.
"Pffthahaha!" She burst out into laughter, doubling over and gesturing with a mocking finger. "You're fried chicken!" I'm what? She gestured to my oddly-bent legs and unnatural feet, repeating herself. "Fried fucking chicken!" I broke into an angry blush and quickly got back to my feet. They don't look anything like chicken legs!
"Keep talking," I grumbled. "It'll make punching your teeth in much more satisfying."
"What, you think you can hit me? You can't even see me." The sound of her voice had barely reached my ears before she was standing in front of me, fist buried in my gut. I was launched off my feet, unable to breathe. When did she move?! I hadn't even hit the ground before she was once again standing over me, heel raised. A small turbine shot out flames on top of her foot, and it crashed downwards into me, pinning me to the floor. A piercing pain in my chest told me something was definitely broken. "Can't keep up, Chicken Run?" She was poised over me as I writhed on the floor, clutching my stomach. Her fist was poised over my face, ready to pop my skull like a watermelon. Please don't let that be the last thing I hear, I prayed.
As her fist descended, a trail of fire and ash in its wake, I saw it all in slow motion. Is this my life flashing before my eyes? The hand of death was inches from taking my life, consuming my entire field of vision, before it suddenly deviated in its path. Rather than rendering my face into cranberry jam, her elbow seized before fully extending, and her arm continued downwards- straight into her own knee. With an awful crack, her knee was blown out, bent backwards at an angle that just looked wrong. "FUCK!" She screamed in pain, clutching the horribly disfigured limb and rolling onto her side. I scrambled backwards before whatever miracle had saved my life decided it had changed its mind.
Through the shattered window, several heavy, monstrous figures crashed to the ground. Crosses between dogs and crocodiles, massive enough to make Kujo look like a guinea pig. Astride the monster dogs were four capes. To the left were a lanky, effeminate boy in tight leather pants, a loose white shirt and a tragedy mask with a crown, riding behind a butch girl in a bomber jacket, worn jeans and a dollar-store dog mask. On the right was a tall, lean man in a chest-baring black silk shirt, an open teal waistcoat, dress pants and a full face mask in black bearing a wide blue arrow pointing upwards, stretching from chin to brow. And leading the party was a foreboding girl in a flowing black dress with sickly green filigree and a plague doctor's mask. The Marche.
Biohazard- Amy- ran a finger along a potted tree by the storefront, keeping one hand on the massive dog she rode. The plant exploded in size, vines ripping through the pottery to twine around Panzer, while the dog rapidly deflated, looking like an extreme liposuction that didn't stop at just removing fat. When the monstrous dog was reduced to a fur throw rug, a significantly smaller puppy crawled out of its mouth, running and hiding behind one of the much larger animals. Panzer clutched at the tendril encircling her neck, just barely loose enough to allow her breath.
"Panzer. You're a long way from home." Hazard's voice never broke the tone of polite dinner conversation. "You're quite close to my home, however. I don't recall inviting you."
"B-it-ch," the Tinker choked out.
"That would be my friend here, actually," she nonchalantly gestured at the canine Master. "I strongly suggest you leave. You can willingly follow that suggestion, or I can infest your brain with a mind-controlling fungus. Which do you believe is the smarter choice?" Panzer's eyes widened comically, realizing that the cape before her was fully capable of following through on that threat. When the vine constricting her rapidly decayed, the villain scrambled backwards on her hands, dragging herself up a wall before hobbling away on one foot. Before she'd hopped more than a dozen feet, a small pebble zipped through the air, impacting her in the shoulder and sending her crashing to her knees. Vector called to her through the howls of pain.
"You can crawl home," he simply stated. My ears twitched at the muttered, hateful curses that escaped Panzer as she did exactly that.
Once she was out of sight, Hazard sharply turned on one heel and punched me in the shoulder. "What the hell were you thinking!" She seethed, shaking in anger. "We're going back to the base, and you're going to explain exactly what happened." Despite being nearly a foot above my little sister, I felt very small at that moment.
"So you just happened to run face-first into the Tinker with the highest body count on the East Coast outside of the Slaughterhouse," Amy deadpanned.
"...yes?" I wished dearly to be my old self at that moment. I could have curled up in a ball and hidden from the world. Instead, I hunched in my shoulders and ducked my head in the vain hopes that I'd look pitiful enough to be left alone. "I swear I didn't go looking for that fight."
"I believe you," she said at length, and I relaxed slightly. "You were just stupid enough to jump at it when it found you!" She was shouting at me now, alone as we could be in the warehouse basement.
"Why are you so angry!" I shouted back. "I won, didn't I? One broken rib, and she has a busted tank and a broken leg."
"You think that's what this is about?" Shit. Her voice had dropped to an angry whisper, and I already missed the yelling. A quiet Amy was never a good thing. "You didn't win, Taylor. You were about to die, before Regent saved your ass! She's going to go back to Kaiser and tell him about the new Marche cape who she almost killed before being outnumbered and forced to retreat. You didn't accomplish anything."
"Well, what was I supposed to do!" I threw up my hands helplessly.
"Run away and tell me?"
Yelling at each other wasn't helping anything. I bit down on my anger and frustration, and tried again from a different angle. "Ames, I know you've gotten used to protecting me since my trigger," I started.
"And you think I should stop? If I hadn't protected you, you'd be dead. But please, tell me how I'm wrong." She leaned back against a stack of crates, gesturing at me to continue.
"No, you're right." I sighed, and she looked mildly put out that she'd won so easily. "I needed you there today. But there's a better solution than you running after me to fix my mistakes."
"...I'm listening," she answered, leaning forward.
"I officially join the Marche, and we do this together. I don't run off on my own, you don't keep me locked up at home."
"I don't keep you locked up!" She protested. I raised an eyebrow at her. "You're welcome to come here any time you like."
"And outside of here? I haven't been just Taylor for over a month, now. I haven't seen any friends outside of you and Adam when he visits. I want to go out in the public."
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Eventually, I'm going to be forced to live full-time as a cape. I won't have a civilian identity to fall back on, like you and the others. I need to get ahead of that, and show people who I am before I turn into some kind of monster."
"You're not a monster!"
"Will you be able to say the same in a year, if this keeps up?" She went silent, searching my face.
"This is... a really dangerous idea, Taylor," she eventually said, carefully eyeing me for my reaction. I dipped my head in agreement.
"I know. But do you have a better idea?"
"...no," she eventually answered, looking put out. "Fine, you join the Marche and make your cape identity public. I'll... try not to lock you in a tower to keep you from doing stupid things." Under her breath, I caught her mutter, "how can you be so clever but so clueless?" Louder, she continued. "If you're going to be part of this shindig, I can't have you running around in sweats and a scarf with a stupid name. What are you gonna call yourself?" I scratched the back of my neck, looking anywhere but at her.
"Um... Vanguard?" She cocked an eyebrow.
"Vanguard? Why? What's that have to do with anything?"
"Well, I figure I'm a Brute, right? So I'll probably be going in front. To keep you from getting hurt." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I know, I know, you totally saved my ass today. But I can take hits you can't. Or, I will eventually." I sighed in exasperation. "Fucking slow-ass power," I cursed, not for the first time. Amy's grumpiness finally wore off, and she rewarded me with the smallest of smiles.
"Alright, Vanguard. Let's introduce you to the gang."
"Hi, Vanguard," everybody said at once. It felt like being introduced at a new school. I poked Amy in the side and bent over to whisper in her ear.
"Dumbest tradition ever," I muttered.
"It's not so bad!" She rolled her eyes at me.
"You're just saying that cause you never had to do it!" Mycroft called from her seat in our little circle. Rachel seemed content just scratching her puppy behind the ears, while Adam tried to remove Alec's feet from his lap, only his hand kept missing. Eventually he just laid down a shimmering blue field on the couch, and Regent frictionlessly slid to the floor, where he remained.
"It's pretty bad," he called from the floor. "I've had less awkward family reunions."
"I've had less awkward mornings after," Adam chimed in. "And that's considering her dad walked in."
"Fine, I'll do it too. Pussies," she muttered. I quietly gasped at the rare use of language from my typically polite little sister. "Hi everybody, I'm Biohazard." She gave a jaunty little wave.
"Hi, Biohazard," came the monotonous droning reply. I caught the little twitch in the corner of her eye. She sat down bonelessly, and raised a hand to her face.
"Scion, that's really bad," she soullessly intoned. I placed a hand on her shoulder in reassurance.
"To be fair, you came up with it when you were thirteen, and Dad thought it was hilarious."
"I should've known right then. His sense of humor was awful."
"So does that mean we never do it again?" I tried to keep the hope out of my voice.
"Nope," Amy immediately replied. "Now that I know how bad it is, I realize what a valuable bonding experience shared trauma can be! The tradition stays." She was met with a chorus of groans from around the room.
"So, Vanny's a Marcher now!" Mycroft cheered.
"We're not calling ourselves Marchers," Amy immediately objected. I gave her a side-eye. "And Vanny sounds adorable." I elbowed her in the side, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Uh, which means only I can say it! Little sister dibs."
"Damn," Mycroft muttered. "You win this time. So is it my turn?" After a nod from Amy, Mycroft stood up. "Hi everybody! I'm Mycroft, and I'll be joining you today. Please be gentle with me," she smirked in my direction, and I fought down a furious blush.
"Hi, Mycroft," we droned. When she didn't collapse into a socially awkward puddle, we all stared in amazement.
"What? I love being the center of attention!" I looked on in stunned awe. A real life extrovert. So they do exist! "So, V-G, you have a costume?" Her eyes shone with a dangerous twinkle.
"Uh... no?"
"Perfect! That means we get to design one!" She clapped her hands with glee, tapping her feet. Why do I feel like I've unleashed something awful on myself?
