Chapter Thirty-One

Hostis Humani Generis

I banked hard.

Down, down I went, trying to shake them. I was small, I had maneuverability to my advantage, but I didn't have rockets strapped to my back, so I was going to have a hell of a time getting rid of these guys. How did they even find me? Did I fly too high?

The drones, robots in perfect sync, followed, engines whistling. I felt my ears pop as I went down, felt distance growing between me and the planes — only to be bridged by gunfire.

Bullets the size of my head shot past, blazing red bolts straight out of a sci-fi film. I gasped, before doing a barrel roll to the right, metal wings slicing through the air, curving through the currents.

I couldn't let them get a lock on me. I flapped hard, throwing myself upwards, then dropping down again. I caught a draft and it carried me wide.

I glanced over my shoulder, saw the drones banking hard to keep me in their line of sight. I had no idea where these came from, or who exactly was controlling them, but I was going to give them one hell of a time.

More bullets shot past. One pinged off my left wing, knocking my arm forward and down. I cried out as I was suddenly spiraling out of control, my flight pattern thrown into complete chaos.

I dropped for maybe ten seconds before I was able to right myself again. The wing smoldered from impact, but I was surprised to see, after the smoke faded, that the feathers were hardly damaged.

Well, damn.

But I was a lot less bullet proof than my wings, and I wasn't about to give these drones a second chance to shoot me down.

Spinning around so I was flying on my back, I faced the drones still coming after me. They were a little farther away, perhaps thinking I was dead after that first hit, but the closest one was in for a surprise when I threw out my hands, wings shielding my torso as I summoned a powerful gust of energy that landed right on its nose.

The drone shuddered slightly just before impact — then it was ripped apart, nose to tail, as the force of my blow ruptured the metal of its nose, bisecting it, before rendering apart the mechanics inside.

BOOM!

A wave of heat washed over me, a split second before the blast caught my wings and sent me upwards. I watched as the remnants of the drone fell, pieces of metal and sparks spiraling into the endless forest below.

Then I turned around and kept going.

The last drone still hot on my tail, I zig-zagged, trying to throw it off. Less than a hundred meters away, it was too close, and getting closer. If one of its bullets hit me from here, I was going to be in a lot of trouble.

Weaving back and forth, I hoped the basic tactic of avoiding gunfire on ground might work up here in the air. But I failed to account for the extra dimension of height — the drone was above me, bigger, and had the ease of being the one with more guns.

I didn't have the space to turn around and deliver the finishing blow on this drone as I did the last one. Any wrong move and I was going to be filled with holes — I had to focus on just avoiding the gunfire, with barely enough time to even consider retaliating.

It couldn't maneuver as well as me, though. If I had that, at least, I might as well use it.

Another hail of bullets came for me, and I twisted my body, now flying perpendicular to the ground as the bright hot bolts shot past me. I veered hard to the left, angling downwards as more fire went over my head, before going right again, just barely staying out of the line of fire.

I was making a slow descent, and luckily the drone was going for it. The tree tops below me were starting to thin a little — through the thick fog appeared a huge stretch of water. A Great Lake? It must be Lake Ontario. I was getting close to Detroit now. I had to lose the drone before I got there, or otherwise be cause an international incident. I wasn't really known for those, and I'd prefer to keep it that way.

The water was a great sheen of empty gray glass below me, stretching out as I flew over. Looking down, I could see my reflection, as well as that of the drone, like ghosts of an old dogfight.

As the drone let off another volley of gunfire, I nose-dived. At this height and velocity, if I hit water, it'd be just as bad as getting hit by an oncoming train — or worse. Nonetheless, I tucked in my wings, narrowing my form as I picked up speed.

With me suddenly falling out of range, the drone had to follow, its nose following my direct line of flight.

The water was getting closer. I could hear the engines of the drone behind me, whistling against the wind. It lowered in pitch as the drone got closer.

Just as the lake was starting to look like the pavement of New York City, I unfurled my wings, and the backdraft launched me up and backwards.

I flipped in mid-air, timing it just right so I went over the top of the drone following me. My feet landed on its back, and I pushed off to give myself that extra push to get myself out of range as the engine screamed and the nose of the drone made splashdown.

A geyser exploded beneath me, fire and water combined, as metal crunched against the surface tension of the water. I couldn't help but smile as I spiraled back up into the sky, looking down at the wreckage of the last drone. Lake 1, Drone 0.

But I before I could think of celebrating, something exploded behind me.

I cried out as I was blasted forward, head over heels and nearly lost all flight capabilities before I right myself again. Spinning around, I located the new threat.

A lone fighter jet, already firing another missile at me.

"Ugh, I don't have time for this!" I shouted at no one in particular. The missile was big enough and slow enough for my to catch with my mind — I meant to direct it away from me, of course, but I was so angry I didn't really consider the new direction I slung it in.

So of course I threw it back at the jet.

The pilot, panicking at the sight of his missile seemingly redirecting itself of its own accord, banked hard, trying to avoid it.

He was a little too slow.

The missile clipped the tip of the jet's right wing — barely a scratch, but enough for the missile to explode and send the jet into a wild tailspin.

As I watched it fall towards the Lake, I was just about ready to call it a day and head for Detroit, finally. But as I started to make distance, it occurred to me that something was wrong.

The pilot hadn't ejected from his cockpit yet.

I paused. There was no way that jet was going to survive the fall into the lake. We were thousands of feet in the air, and he didn't have much air to begin with if he wanted to live via parachute.

I really wanted to go. I was so angry, so frustrated with whoever these guys were, thinking I was a threat, nearly destroying me and the medical supplies I needed to deliver. I didn't even know what happened to that plane I was supposed to meet with — I lost track of it ages ago.

The pilot had only a few seconds before his fate was sealed. And I knew, as much as it pained me, that the lives saved with these medical supplies wouldn't mean anything if someone else died because of me.

So I heaved a sigh and turned around.

Zipping back towards the falling jet, I slowed down enough to get close to the window — the jet was still spinning, wings on fire, and pilot unmoving inside the cockpit. The glass was cracked. It seemed the explosion must've knocked him out. Red lights were flashing inside the cockpit, along with a high pitched siren that even I could hear, outside. But none of it could wake the comatose pilot.

I slammed my fists into the windshield. The cracks widened, but it wasn't fast enough. I found the edges of the glass, and with as much force as I could muster, ripped it off its latches. The concave shape caught the wind and I didn't even need to use my powers to let the wind rip the glass away. It spun into the sky, forgotten.

I first went for the straps keeping the pilot in his seat — I had no idea where the eject button, or whatever it was called, was located, and I didn't have the time to look. Instead, I took the seat wholesale out of the cockpit, the metal bending and breaking easily under my will; it certainly helped when I had my anger fueling me.

There was a loud crack as the pilot was finally released, and with a strong grip on the seat, I kicked the jet away, sending it spinning into the Lake. Still plummeting, I grabbed the handle on the side of the chair and yanked as hard as I could, releasing the parachute.

I threw myself away from the pilot as the sheets unfurled above him, and his velocity decreased dramatically. Now he was making a slow, wobbling descent towards ground.

With my wings, I directed the winds and pushed him over to a fishing boat a quarter of a mile away. There were fishermen waiting, pointing at me and the wreckage I left. They had probably seen the whole thing from the deck, a nice little change in their average fishing day.

I was glad they didn't protest as I helped direct the still-unconscious pilot to their boat. When he was close enough, the team of about half a dozen men reached up and brought him aboard, cutting the strings of the parachute and pulling the man out of the straps of his seat.

Maybe it was the smell of the fish, or the subconscious notion he was no longer in danger, the pilot finally woke up; blinking about blearily, he shook his head and looked about. He yelped and nearly fell over when he saw me. With a shaky finger, he pointed, saying, "Y-you — you're not —"

"Stop trying to kill me!" I shouted, dropping down on the boat and storming right up to him. Maybe it was unnecessary, but I had had enough of this madness, and at least I had a face to put to it. "I'm American, I'm not a threat! I'm just trying to help people!"

"You were flying in international airspace!" the pilot said, stumbling away from me, the fear in his eyes apparent. A few fishermen snickered — it must've been a funny sight, seeing a grown man, a government-trained pilot being cowed by a tiny girl with a loud voice. Some had even taken out their phones, snapping pictures. "We couldn't make radio contact with you. General Ross ordered to take you out. What else were we supposed to think?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Ripping the backpack off, I presented it to him, jabbing a finger at the symbol the back. "What does this look like to you?"

"It's – it's…" the pilot blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing in speechlessness. "It's a Red Cross. I…I didn't see it. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well!" I said, whipping the bag back on. "It's for some sick people in Detroit. It's from New York City! The storm's cut off roads and I was the only one who could help. Contact Metro-General, they'll tell you everything."

That's when I heard a distant plane engine. Fearing that the Airforce had sent back-up, I looked up, only to see a bi-plane coming out of the clouds over the treetops. It spotted the fishing boat and tipped its wings at us, before making a soft turn left, towards Lake Erie. A clear sign for me to follow.

"And that," I added, pointed at the plane. "Is my escort. Make radio contact with them, if you want. And tell your boss to stop shooting at me!"

I turned my back to the pilot, unsheathing my wings in preparation to take off again, when the pilot said behind me: "He doesn't trust your kind."

I glanced over my shoulder at him. "What? My kind?"

"Yeah, you know," the pilot shrugged, making air quotes with his fingers. "They call you 'Gifted'. People with superpowers. You're a danger to everyone. It's just a matter of time before someone gets hurt."

"Really? Because it looks to me I just saved your life." I said, scoffing. "Maybe tell that to General Ross. And if I come into any more trouble on my way to Detroit or back, I'll raise all the hell you're afraid of."

And before he could reply, I took off, feeling slightly more vindicated. As the Lake became smaller beneath me, I let out a huge breath, letting myself relax a little.

Man, maybe I just really needed to let those feelings out.

OoOoO

I made it to Detroit with time to spare.

The plane led me to a landing strip on the West side of the Detroit. Waiting there was also an ambulance, of which the occupants of the plane got into — not waiting for me to land, they directed me towards the hospital, which took me mere minutes to reach, while for them nearly half an hour.

The hospital was located in downtown Detroit, which was surprisingly full of traffic. Snow was still falling, but no one seemed particularly bothered — or at least didn't care enough to stop what they were doing. Ambulances were coming in and out of the emergency care center, and I could tell from the looks of the nurses waiting for me that today had not been a good day for them.

I landed, delivering the closest the package. Thanks were exchanged, another picture taken for posterity, before the paramedics remembered they still had lives to save. They disappeared into the hospital, relaying messages on their radios, my presence immediately forgotten.

I turned around, ready to take off again, when a black car drove up to the curb right in front of me. I paused, watching warily as the door opened. There was something too leisurely about the car's speed and the man coming out of the vehicle — as well as the type of car, which was expensive, to say the least — that said that this man was not in need of immediate medical care.

The first thing I noticed about him was his uniform, a blue suit with golden pins and bars. The man was also tall, middle-aged, but built like a brick wall. He had a severe look about him, all white-haired with a small beard. He seemed vaguely familiar, like I might've seen him on TV once, but I had a good feeling who he was nonetheless.

My suspicions were confirmed when he approached me, flanked by two other men in green uniforms (and guns), and held out a hand to me. "You must be the Falcon. What a pleasure to finally meet you."

I looked at the hand, then back up at him. "You're General Ross."

"Well, someone's been paying attention." He said, withdrawing his shunned hand and tucking both behind his back. There was a tension in his voice that said that he was having a hard time remaining civil like this; I wasn't sure why. Was it because we were in front of a hospital? Because we were in public? I could see civilians out of the corner of my eye, watching this strange scene unfold before them. "You blew three of my planes out of the sky."

"To be fair, they shot first."

General Ross tilted his head at me, shifting slightly on his feet. His stance was entirely too formal, back straight, almost painful to look at. He looked like he had a stick up his ass. "You made quite the headline today. Superhero Braves Snowmaggedon to Help Hospitals. I don't think even Spider-Man's ever done something like that before. You must be proud of yourself."

I could hear the thinly veiled contempt in his voice. Man, that pilot wasn't joking when he said Ross didn't like us. I crossed my arms and said, "Just doing my job."

"Your job?" General Ross smirked, like he thought that was funny. "How cute. But you don't really have an employer, do you?"

"I work for the people," I said, turning my head as General Ross stepped around me. He seemed to be taking in the scenery, but he could've been staking out the place for all I knew. "I protect them. Like you do."

"Oh, no," General Ross chuckled, his back to me as he shook his head. He faced me again, saying, "My job is to protect the nation from things like you, Falcon. Things that pose a threat, that scare people. Do you know what I do to things like you?"

I really did not appreciate being called a thing. "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Hmph," General Ross made a face — I guess backtalk isn't very well-respected in the military. He glanced at his watch before meeting my gaze. "I'm going to tell you the story of a man I used to work with. He was a scientist, a brilliant man, charged with changing the very idea how wars will be won in the future. But he was also a man who thought he knew everything. His name was Bruce Banner."

I remained silent as Ross spoke, stunned. He knew the Doc? They knew each other? This was starting to feel an awful lot like déjà vu, and I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it.

"I must admit, I didn't much like this scientist, this Dr. Banner. He didn't care for the service of his country, of its needs, of it fears. He just wanted to see how far it could go, what he could make. A regular Doctor Frankenstein. Well, I don't have to tell you how that story goes, do I?"

"Frankenstein creates a monster," I said, my throat going dry. I knew where this was going. Was he saying Dr. Banner created the Hulk? How? Is that why he was in hiding? "You're talking about the Hulk, aren't you? How he destroyed Harlem?"

"Clever girl. You know what you and the Hulk have in common?"

I thought about it, but didn't find much. The Hulk was a superstrong big green buy, and I was a tiny girl with psychic powers. "Uh, not really."

"You lose your temper," General Ross answered, pinning me with a cold look, as though accusing me of some terrible crime. "But unlike normal people, who just yell and punch walls when they're upset, when you do, entire city blocks are destroyed. A wall can be fixed, but lost lives can't. Innocent people always get caught in the crossfire, and then the rest become afraid. But it's not like you can control yourselves, can you?"

"I am in control!" I snapped, my fists clenching. I took a step forwards, but heard clicking behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Ross' guards had raised their guns. At me.

"Really?" Ross snorted, smirking at me as he took out a cigar and lit it, before taking a drag. "Is that what you call control when you endangered the life of my pilot and those fishermen? When you sent debris over the heads of innocent Americans? Ripping apart entire buildings with just your mind?" He smiled when I jolted in surprise. "Oh, yes, I know how your powers work, Falcon. You're not the first psychic I've met, and you probably won't be the last. You see, people like that scientist and the Hulk, they deserve to be locked up. They deserve to see justice for their actions. You believe in justice, don't you?"

I didn't answer that. He already knew the answer.

"You walk a very thin line, Falcon. You break the law to serve the law. You bring criminals to justice, while hiding your ownself from it. The hypocrisy is truly outstanding — how do you even live with yourself in that mindset? How can you even call yourself a hero?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I wanted to refute Ross' point, but I couldn't find the flaw in his argument. I was avoiding the law, I couldn't let myself get caught. I hid my fact to protect my family, but I did this because I thought it was right. Because I thought it was the only way. What else could I do?

I thought I was helping people — but what if I was making it worse? I knew some people were afraid of me, it was unavoidable. But I didn't think it was bad enough to earn the attention of the military. Of people like General Ross, who probably had bigger fish to fry.

I guess that was the point of being a vigilante. I sure as hell wasn't going to let Ross know he'd won this battle. "Well, nobody's perfect."

General Ross laughed, a puff of smoke escaping his mouth. "Ah, right, the go-to excuse for people who know they've made mistakes but don't want to fix them. Why am I not surprised? Dr. Banner said something like that to me just before he created the most dangerous creature on this planet."

He just shook his head again, turning back towards the car. "I hope you don't end up like him, Falcon. The only worse thing than being a guilty man behind bars is a guilty man on the run. I'll catch him one day. I'll hope you'll be there to see it."

"Wait, that's the end of the story?" I asked, just before General Ross could disappear back into his car. "Are you saying Dr. Banner is like Frankenstein?"

"Oh, no," Ross paused to appraise me with glittering eyes. "You'd know the truth if you read the story. The doctor didn't just create a monster; He is the monster."

The car door slammed shut, the guards put away their guns, and then they were gone, taking General Ross and disappearing into the snowy streets of Detroit.