This chapter depicts an active shooter situation, though not with intent to kill. I realize this is sensitive subject material, more now than ever. You have been warned.
Chapter 1: The Road to Hell
"This is insane," Carlos said as he sat in the driver's seat of a beat-up minivan, looking at himself in the mirror. "You have no plan, no backup, and you're gonna fucking die." His reflection completely failed to acknowledge the comment.
The teen shook his head. It didn't matter. He knew that no matter what he said, he was still going in there. There was only this one chance to fix everything, and if he let it pass him by…
Carlos turned off the ignition, got out of the van, and pulled on a ski mask as he walked to the courthouse. He checked his bulletproof vest then drew a pistol as he opened the door. Raising the weapon as he strolled through the metal detectors, he shouted, "Everybody on the floor!"
He saw the officer a moment too late.
Pain lanced through him as the buckshot hit, like fiery knives plunging deep into his chest, the bulletproof vest proving itself wholly useless. He collapsed, and the officer turned away, talking into a radio while civilians stayed low.
Then he sat up, torso soaked with blood. Somebody screamed, but the warning came too late. The officer's right shoulder erupted in a spray of red, and he collapsed with a yell, shotgun skidding just out of reach.
Carlos moved in carefully, picking up the gun and relieving the officer of his nightstick, each disappearing into thin air as the next was picked up. It was still weird to see that- no, to feel that, as they slotted into place in his head.
"Put pressure on the wound," he advised, feigning calm as he walked away from the groaning BBPD officer.
"This isn't a game, you son of a bitch," the cop growled.
Carlos ignored the cop, touching the wet holes in his shirt where the buckshot had punched through his ballistic vest, feeling the unbroken skin underneath. Too close. He should have checked if it was legit instead of trusting some banger his schoolmate had mentioned offhand. He should have experimented with his powers more.
He should have stayed home.
Carlos took the stairs two at a time, pistol in hand. A female officer peeked out from top of the flight and sent a bullet whizzing past him, forcing him flat against the wall as he returned fire. She retreated.
"Give yourself up and we'll go easy on you!" she yelled around the corner.
He scoffed. "Yeah, right. How about you give up, and let me walk by?" A small change of pitch betrayed his fear. Just because he could apparently heal bullet wounds didn't mean getting shot at wasn't terrifying. "Please, I have to do this."
She responded by edging out and firing at him. The bullet slammed into his vest at the stomach, and he gripped the railing hard to avoid yelling in pain as he fired back. His shots went wide, and he started running up the stairs as the pain faded. Fuck this. He had to move.
The cop edged away from the corner and fired on him as he rounded it, the pain sharp between his neck and shoulder as he felt a bullet ricochet off his now-shattered collarbone. He let out a scream of pain and shot through her right leg. She collapsed, gasping and cradling her thigh. He took her gun with one hand, holding his shoulder with the other while the wound healed. The second pistol might be useful. Ignoring the woman's scream of anger, he moved down the hallway and rounded a corner… and dived back.
A wall of buckshot peppered the wall behind where he'd just stood. Three officers, two shotguns, one pistol. No cover he could see, and thirty feet of hallway between. Backup incoming soon, presumably, and his target wouldn't stay in place forever.
He could only think of one option.
He reloaded his pistols and ran around the corner, shooting for limbs as he sprinted towards the trio. A bullet caught his thigh, a blast of shot grazed his shoulder, and another slammed into his stomach; but he kept running, kept firing until the guns clicked. One of his bullets hit the center shotgun officer, another hit the one on the right in the shoulder. Then he was among them, nightstick appearing in his hand.
Carlos lashed out. He took all his pent-up frustration, all the adrenaline and pain and emotion he was feeling, and he struck them again and again. He hit them until they stopped trying to reach for their guns, until he couldn't stand it anymore. He dropped the nightstick and took one of their tasers, leveling it at the three broken, bloodied men and women. "Stay down," he said, his blind rage fading into panic, "Please, oh fuck, just stay down. I don't- I didn't…" His hands were trembling. He turned away and started running. They would be fine, if he just left they would get help. His sister could fix them up, fix the arm, fix the ribs, fix the teeth and fingers, and then they'd be okay again.
He was so caught up trying to quell his emotions that he walked right past the courtroom. He cursed, doubled back. He needed to get his shit together. On the other side of this set of double doors was the entire reason for this insane suicide mission; Johnny Gat, the most dangerous unpowered man on the East Coast.
They say that when Lung came to town, he fought the entire Protectorate team and won. A few days later he walked into Gat's neighborhood, declared him a member of his new gang; Gat understandably disagreed, and fought Lung to a draw. Lung got up first, and ever since, Gat had been his lieutenant.
Johnny Gat was currently accused of over three hundred counts of murder, and nearly a thousand lesser crimes; after six months of incarceration on a minor charge, they'd finally gotten enough evidence together to have him stand trial for most of them. Experts speculated he would get death row, or a few dozen life sentences at least. If Gat had any powers (they'd tested him every way possible to be sure) he would have had a kill order on his head, and he'd already be in the Birdcage.
Even so, Carlos didn't expect him to stay in prison very long. Not if Lung wanted him back.
A single shot from his shotgun unlocked the doors, and he kicked them open, both pistols leveled. Inside, a man in cuffs was yelling about his rights while a pair of officers were dragging him towards the witness stand and the door behind it.
"Let him go!" he yelled, running up the aisle. They dragged Johnny behind the witness stand, and yelled from out of sight, "Give yourself up, kid, the building's surrounded!" Carlos swapped to his taser, hopped the dividing wall, and headed for the stand while the man talked. He heard the click of a pistol being pulled from a holster. "You're just going to get people hurt."
"I know," he said, rounding the corner and pulling the trigger. A shot hit his left arm, but the needles found the gunman's body, his muscles jerking as the electricity flowed through his system. That left only the officer restraining the prisoner. Carlos swapped to a pistol, intending to threaten the officer, but it turned out to be unnecessary. The surprise from the officer at the sudden change in weapons gave his hostage a moment to act, and he took it. Gat bit down on the cop's muffling hand hard enough to audibly snap the bone, then scrambled away while the officer yelled out in pain. The teen leveled the gun anyway. "Back off. I'm not going to hurt you if you don't try anything."
The officer nodded, scrambling back. The prisoner searched the downed officer for a key, unlocked himself, and retrieved the officer's handgun.
"You're never going to make it out of here, you know. The PRT are here, and the Protectorate. The building's surrounded."
"That's our problem," the freed man said, aiming the gun at the cop. "Now shut the fuck up before I shut it for you!"
"Gat," the teen said, "I don't want anyone dying today."
"He's gonna tell them I'm free, and it'll be that much harder!" he said incredulously. "We should at least knock him out."
Carlos began to glance toward the downed officer, searching for a taser cartridge or pepper spray. He saw movement from the officer out of the corner of his eye, yelled, "Stop!" a moment too late. Gat fired, shooting out the man's kneecap.
"There. No killing, just good old wholesome maiming," Johnny said over the man's pained scream. "Cura will probably fix him good as new after this." The teen shot him a look, but Johnny had already started heading for the door. "Let's fucking go, kid."
He caught up to the convict, taking the lead. Gat started chatting. "So, I gotta say, I was expecting ABB to come bust me out. Correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked Lung doesn't recruit Latinos. You with the Sons?"
"No," Carlos said, distracted by a shudder in the floor. "You feel that?"
"So, Coil's men then? Some kinda kid commando? Don't tell me Empire gave up on racism while I was in the slammer."
"No," Carlos said again, frustrated. "Look, can we focus on getting out of here, then talk details? I don't exactly have an escape plan."
Gat laughed a little. "That's the easy part. You know how I said I expected the ABB?"
The distant, muffled cracks of gunfire began echoing up the hall. A moment later there was a loud squealing impact that Carlos recognized as a car crash.
"Yeah, you're just lucky you got here before them. Let's go." He gestured with his gun and led the way down the hall. "They've probably evacuated the building by now, but keep your eyes open."
Carlos walked past the spot where the three cops had gone down, the blood still fresh on the carpet and streaking off towards a nearby door. Trying not to think too hard about it, he said, "So, you don't sound too thrilled about the ABB breaking you out, Gat."
"Yeah, there's no love lost between us, if you know what I'm sayin'. Figure Lung got tired of my," he put on a deep mocking grumble, "'constant disloyalty'. He probably decided to let me sweat things out awhile before saving my ass from the chair, make me owe him or some shit," he said derisively. "Fuck that, I ain't going back. Question is, what do you want little old me for, if the ABB didn't send ya?"
"Later. For now, we need an exit plan. Back door? Less foam, less people, right?"
"Man, you really don't know what you're doing, huh? Look, we're talking cape pursuit here, whether it's ABB or Protectorate. We need transportation first and foremost. You got a car?"
"I, uh, hotwired one out front."
"Good. We'll go out the front then, see if we can make it out." They arrived at the stairs, and Gat took the lead. Halfway down, the front window came into view, revealing a few glimpses of the fight outside. Unfortunately, the back entrance came into view at the same time, revealing a PRT squad that was in the process of entry, kitted out with several foam sprayers and riot gear. Both groups paused for one very pregnant moment, broken only by the sound of clanging steel from the front lot.
They took off at a sprint for the front entrance at the same moment the squad leader barked a muffled order. A stream of foam hit the ground in front and to the left of them, tracing a line from which there would be no escape; they both managed to leap over the area, and before anything else could be done, burst out the doors.
The parking lot was a mess.
A barricade had been deployed, thick steel pillars emerging from the pavement surrounding the parking lot. Emphasis on had been; several of the pillars were now in chunks, strewn about by the entrance of a blockade runner in the form of a pickup with a wedge front, which was smoking off to the side. Oni Lee, Lung's faithful right hand, was keeping the assembled troopers in total chaos, appearing, stabbing or slashing or striking, and puffing into ash, always in two or three places at once. The Protectorate had fielded Armsmaster, the imposing armored cape fighting a four-armed, four-sworded samurai who stood a head over him, and Miss Militia, who was currently firing a burst of bullets at a woman who blocked them with a pair of giant paper fans.
"Over there!" the teen said, pointing at the minivan.
"What, behind the van?" Gat said, still sprinting. The doors burst open behind them as the squad pursued.
"I needed something that didn't scream 'stolen vehicle'! Everyone drives vans!" He could feel himself tiring out as they reached the van, and quickly climbed in, pulling out his shotgun and shooting out the window while Gat got in the driver's seat. He fired a second shell into the shield of one of the lead pursuers, making him stumble and slow the group down. The van's engine roared to life, Gat stomped down on the reverse, and the next shot went wide.
"Hang on, kid!" he yelled as he spun the vehicle to face the gap in the barricade and floored it.
Carlos braced himself, the shotgun disappearing as he grabbed for handholds. The van slammed into the gap; they rocked wildly as it drove over the rubble and barely scraped through. Carlos looked back, and for a moment saw Oni Lee watching the van. Then Gat rounded a corner, and they were gone.
"Next stop, my girlfriend," Gat said.
…
Gat's girlfriend lived out in the suburbs, so Gat's declaration was quickly put on hold while they stole a fresh vehicle to throw off pursuit. Their minivan wasn't exactly subtle with long scars down either side.
Of course, the car they stole was almost worse.
"Did we really have to take the guy's muscle car?" Carlos said as they tore down the neighborhood road at highway speeds.
"You're kidding, right? You gonna high horse me?" He patted the leather dashboard. "I just spent six months in prison awaiting a death sentence, then only got out by taking on another death sentence. I've earned this."
"This thing's already reported stolen by now. We're gonna have to switch cars again."
"Relax, enjoy the ride, live a little. Sheesh. Not like the cops are gonna track down a stolen car the same day, even if I did rough the guy up a bit. We'll get it repainted, new plates, maybe do some work under the hood, you know?"
"I'm just saying, we're trying not to draw attention."
"Says the guy who shot more than a few cops today and therefore has bigger things to be worried about." He pulled over. "We're here. If you can stand with that stick up your ass, come inside and wash up while I talk to her. She ain't gonna like this."