January 20th, 2011 - Thursday
Evening
Taylor had spent several hours today practicing with the salvaged batons. The swings were getting very intuitive now, but she wasn't certain just how much damage they'd do to a person, especially when her own strength would vary throughout a fight. Try as she might, she couldn't deny that the best way to learn that was live practice. Setting out towards Merchant territory again, she kept the baton hidden in her jacket just in case, but the few passersby paid her little mind. The night was almost suspiciously quiet, however, and she decided that if she didn't find any action for two more blocks she'd turn back.
She found it.
Halfway to her declared limit, she felt angry people off to the side. As she approached the crowd through a dark alley, she found dozens of people armed with knives and a handful with guns rallied in front of a black man in a blue outfit. The man's mouth was rotten, both in the literal and metaphorical senses. Skidmark.
"-these racist cumstains who's in charge here! ARE YOU WITH ME, MOTHERFUCKERS?" he shouted before his rallied followers. A disjointed chorus of "YEAH!"'s was the response, even the most lucid ones sounding at least slightly inebriated. Then they all started moving in one direction.
He's moving to take a piece of Empire territory. A part of Taylor wanted to just leave them to suffer the consequences of their stupidity, but something whispered in the back of her mind. The energizing feeling of her power coursing through her. I've only been around a few angry people at a time. What would a full-blown battle be like?
Warring with temptation as the Merchants marched towards Empire territory, Taylor realized that a full-blown battle in the streets at this hour would likely catch civilians in the crossfire. That was enough to tip the scales, and she followed, careful to keep out of sight, but unconcerned with losing them - they were making far, far too much noise for that to happen. The first half-hour was uneventful, only freshly-broken windows and upturned trashcans marking the Merchants' passage.
Another group of angry people showing up at the periphery of her senses and gunshots ringing out was her cue to move in.
Every step towards the fight had her moving faster, the stress of weeks away from home and worries about her father fading. She felt alive, and broke out in a sprint, feet hitting the ground in rhythm to the wardrum beat of her heart. Her baton snapped into her hand, then into a slowly turning Skidmark's elbow. First target down, Taylor surveyed the battleground looking for the next.
The several dozen Merchants were fighting a dozen skinheads and another dozen of armored ghosts. Realizing who that meant, Taylor spotted her target just as he looked towards her. They locked eyes.
"You again!?" Crusader called out, furious. Remembering their last fight, Taylor looked for Alabaster, but did not find him. Have to get to him before he surrounds himself in ghosts, then.
He only managed to create two ghosts and recall another two back to his side before Taylor got close enough, and being faster than last time let her knock all four down and bring her baton to his arm, but it broke against his armor. Shrugging, she discarded it and shoved him several feet, and he fell to the ground. She jumped on top of him and punched him in the head, the helmet making a dull thump against the sidewalk. As she was winding up another punch, she felt a stinging in her side. Looking in that direction, she saw an Empire thug aiming a pistol at her. Another shot hit her shoulder. The distraction was enough for Crusader's ghosts to close in again, so Taylor darted sideways, then charged forward and drove her fist into his stomach. He dropped the gun and collapsed on the ground, heaving. Taylor kicked the gun away and turned back to Crusader. He was staggering off the ground, six ghosts now standing defensively between them. Taylor used the pause to check where she'd been shot, only to find the bullets were stuck halfway in her flesh. She pulled them out and dropped them, the stinging replaced by a mild itch. Going after Crusader again seemed impractical - there were already nearly a dozen people on the ground, dead or unconscious, no longer feeding her power. She wouldn't break through his still-multiplying ghosts without somebody to use as a weapon, so she decided to go after the unpowered thugs. Most of the ones with guns had been shot already, so she decided to hit the Merchants - they still had a numbers advantage even with Crusader's ghosts, and she did not want either side to be able to call this battle a victory. She ducked beneath a baseball bat, wrenching the owner's wrist. Another Merchant trying to stab her received a punch to the opposite shoulder, screaming and collapsing.
"Everyone, get out of here!" Crusader shouted, voice pained. The skinheads looked at each other, then started falling back, a few grabbing their downed brothers in arms and trying to drag them away from the fighting. The Merchants backed off as well, showing no such camaraderie. The anger in the air was fading with every moment, her power with it. Taylor considered restarting the fight with her power, but the sight of bodies on the ground stopped her. Too many died tonight already. She turned back toward the ferry station, her enjoyment of the afterglow of adrenaline only slightly marred by the loss of the baton. Dumb idea to hit a guy in armor with it, anyway.