My muscles stiffened and my body froze. I couldn't help it. Slowly, I brought the phone down from my head and moved my other hand to hang up. As I was doing so my ears strained, trying to hear a hint of somebody answering the phone. Anything. But my finger made it's inexorable way to the phone and I pushed the big red button on the screen to hang up having not heard anything but ringing.

"Now drop it." Voltaic whispered in my hear.

I started to protest. Not even sure what I would say I stammered "but..." but even before I finished speaking his had tightened to something painful around my neck. The adrenaline coursing through my system had me taking short shallow breaths and I could literally feel my hair beginning to stand on end. It felt like time had slowed down, I saw everything happening in slow motion, and yet it was all happening far too quickly as if time had sped up. I dropped the phone. As I was doing so I moved my arm slightly, trying to angle the phone toward my body so it didn't shatter on the pavement. Perhaps it was foolish to try to save something as replaceable as a phone and risk my own life, but it just wasn't in me to destroy it.

Whatever my motivation, the phone angled toward me just enough to catch the edge of my shoe before clacking loudly on the pavement. Some small part of me hoped that that was enough to keep it from shattering. The larger part of me didn't care. My mind was grasping for answers. Voltaic had shown no restraint in his spree of crime and destruction the previous year; he showed no compassion earlier with Echolocate; and I had a strange hunch that he wouldn't suddenly develop a conscience when it came to me. I thought about trying to play it off like I was a civilian, there was a good chance he hadn't seen my use my power at all...but then I remembered what I was wearing. The getup screamed 'amateur cape on their fist day out'.

Moving his arm from around my midsection to rest lightly on my lower back, then violently pushing on my neck, Voltaic made it known that he wanted me to start moving. "I can fly." He said. Just as my mind began to reel at the non-sequitur, he continued, "right now, you may be useful enough to make me walk. Make sure that I don't change my mind about that." Obediently, I began to walk in the direction he indicated. It seemed like there was something I was missing. Something about the whole situation that didn't add up. He actions when he was fighting Echolocate didn't quite make sense. Why hadn't he shot lightning at her again instead of feigning being injured? As my hair style began to go from "conditioned this morning" to "hottest most humid day imaginable" it finally clicked.

Had it been a short enough time since he had used his ability? It felt like longer, but between the time I had heard the scream and started helping Echolocate to now...yes, it had probably been long enough for him to do to me what he had done to her, I couldn't risk it. I sighed audibly (Fortunately, there were no immediate repercussions for just that from him). I needed him to not be able to make a circuit with my body, or to wait for him to expend his electrical reservoir before making a play.

As we made it to a street intersection, my hope began to come crashing down. Now that he wasn't fighting anyone, he had no reason to shoot lightning bolts. Without him shooting lightning bolts whenever he could, who was to say that he couldn't store several bolts worth of charge? Looking up and down the street, presumably for incoming threats, he wrenched on my neck again to make me turn right. The hoodie and long jeans were having an effect on me in the heat. My face being covered certainly wasn't helping, but while I had to walk, I could still think. What if the reason the power was out to this part of the city was because they didn't want him getting a direct link to the grid so that he could drain it? That would probably mean that they could track Echolocate's movement! Unfortunately, I hadn't heard any yells or indication that she was even still alive...and we were moving away from her. We could come to a powered section of the city at any moment, and then I would have no chance of escape.

As we continued past the next intersection, his voice interrupted my train of thought. "What's your power?" He asked bluntly. As I was working out if I wanted to answer truthfully, and how exactly I wanted to explain my abilities, I felt a jolt course through my back, seizing it up as though I was connected to a live wire. Though the power expenditure lasted only a moment, my back and hip continued to have a deep raw ache. "No surprises, just answers." He said gruffly.

"Uh, well I-I make things go away, and then I can make them come back whenever I want." I stammered. It was a sloppy bare-bones explanation, but it seemed to be enough for him. His willingness to hurt me and his curt attitude had cowed my defiance rather quickly. It was embarrassing, actually, but I really didn't like to be hurt, and I had all but seen this man electrocute a hero to near-death.

After a few more silent moments of walking, he stopped me and said "show me."

"Uh..." I shrugged, looking around. "I need something to show you with."

Exasperated, he bent over to pick up a piece of rubbish sitting on the street next to me, removing his hand from my neck to do so.

With barely a thought, my right hand slapped his metal outfit and bagged it, leaving him nearly naked, while my other hand had formed an empty fist in which the kitchen knife appeared facing downward even as my feet were pivoting and the hand had begun to travel backward to lodge the knife into his back. The knife was mere inches from his back when my right side exploded with renewed pain. The agony made the previous suffering of a minute ago laughable in comparison. My right arm shot out in a spasm even as my right leg buckled from a spasm of its own.

Fortunately, the momentum of my spin and the stab carried my thrust through, but my leg falling lowered the point of impact to just a little above his waist-line. Kitchen knives aren't really built for stabbing, and especially not stabbing a person as hard as you can in a combat situation. The wide angle of the blade meant that the point sunk less than two inches deep, but Voltaic screamed in sheer agony, his voice going ragged in seconds from the abuse before he vomited from the pain. Which was fortunate, because it took me several seconds to compose myself as my body refused to cooperate and instead decided to flop on the street uselessly.

Finally, I managed to gain enough control of my limbs to push myself into a kneeling position and assess the situation. Even that small effort sent waves of agony coursing through my body, seemingly focused on all of my joints. Voltaic was lying still in a puddle of his own vomit, somewhat scared to touch him, I used my foot to push him out of the puddle so he wouldn't suffocate before tapping the knife to re-bag it. Then I turned my examination on myself. Big mistake. Sometimes it seems like the brain ignores pain signals until it has visual confirmation of the damage. That's what happened to me. As I examined my side there were burn marks from about my upper hip to my mid-calf. I doubled over with a very unladylike grunt as the pain washed over me. I knew I would have easily died had the electricity completed a circuit through my body.

I would say I regained my composure, but really there was no composure; there was just an instinctual drive for survival as I staggered back in the direction we had come from. The two-and-a-half short blocks we had walked before stretched before me into an agonizing journey filled with lurching movements and unstifled moans of pain. My vision blurred several times as I had to wipe the tears from my eyes. I wasn't even really sure why I was crying. The fact that I had been so stupid that I almost got myself killed on my first day out? The fact that I may have just killed a man? No, actually the real reason was the screaming abrasive pain as every touch of my pants and shirt rekindled the agony anew.

Finally reaching my phone I picked it up and pressed the side button to turn the screen on. Good, it still worked. A hint of worry flickered across my mind that uncle Jason hadn't even acknowledged my call yet, but it quickly got lost as I dialed 9-1-1. And got a prerecorded message. "We're sorry, Chicago Emergency Services is experiencing an unusually high call volume. Please stay on the line. Estimated wait time is 'ten' minutes."

Unleashing a scream of pent up pain and frustration, I almost threw the phone at a wall. I restrained myself, and used my phone's internet connection to look up the PRT's number. Maybe I would have more luck there.

As it turns out, plenty of people had the same idea that I did. I spent far too long in a throbbing agony as I navigated various menus saying single-word responses. On the bright side, the PRT had much more efficient ways of siphoning their call volume. On the down side, despite the pain I managed to feel completely ridiculous attempting to get medical attention for a hero and myself while wondering if the man I had stabbed was bleeding out or had regained consciousness and would come to kill me at any moment, and I was standing on the side of a street saying short-answer responses to a tinny voice. "Yes." "Yes." "No." "Criminal Parahuman Activity." "No." "Yes." "A member of the Protectorate or Wards requires medical attention." "Yes."

Finally I was connected to a real operator and, wonder of wonders, I didn't have to repeat everything that I had just told the machine. "PRT Emergency Mobile Medical, this is Michelle, what is your location?"

"Uhm..." I articulated as I looked up for a street sign. The surprise of suddenly speaking to a person instead of a machine didn't help. "North Park and Evergreen."

"Okay ma'am, we're dispatching an ambulance and a PRT escort right now. Who was the injured hero?"

"I think it was Echolocate. She's suffered some pretty bad burns and electrical damage from Voltaic. I tried to patch her up but I think she was in too much pain and teleported away before I could do much." I said, fighting to keep the panic from my voice.

"Okay, are you in any danger? If Voltaic's active, I strongly recommend you get underneath something and near a metal sign or light post. Keep a low profile until the PRT gets there." Michelle said.

"No, I stabbed him. I think he's unconscious. He's bleeding a lot." I looked up and down the street I had come from, and then actually looked up, searching the sky. I was pretty sure he was unconscious...but I really didn't want to be wrong. The fact that his body was around a corner meant that I couldn't visually alleviate my fears.

"Okay ma'am, stay on the line with me. I need you to tell me what's happening around you." Michelle said. Part of me was really impressed. She was good at getting me to calm down. I could start assessing where I would go from here.

Eventually I heard sirens quickly approaching. I stayed on the line with her until the ambulance arrived.

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Well, I've managed in almost a week and a half to write almost as much as Wildbow writes two and a half times a week. I have no idea how he does it. Anyway, I've found that I enjoy writing a lot. It's basically sucking away almost all of my free time. I don't really know if any improvement in writing can be seen yet, but I do know that it's becoming easier for me on this side of the screen. Let me know of any problems or flaws you see!