January 21st, 2011 - Friday
Afternoon
Taylor decided she'd be better off avoiding fights for at least a few days after managing to offend two major gangs in one night. Charging into the fight that recklessly was a bad idea in retrospect - her power made it feel so good, but she didn't even want to think what might have happened to her if the Empire defense had been led by, say, Hookwolf. Thinking back on the fight and the bodies left on the ground, she came to a realization. She'd been lucky enough when interrupting muggings before they got too far, but what if the next victim she found was already wounded by the time she showed up? What if she herself went too far in a fight? If she had to call an ambulance, she'd have to rely on someone else on the scene having a phone she could find quickly enough. That could cost someone their life. As much as she hated the idea, she'd have to get a phone of her own. That meant a trip to the Boardwalk.
The Boardwalk was as crowded as she'd expected it to be on a Friday afternoon, but this worked to her advantage. People were too occupied window shopping or chatting with their friends to pay much attention to her, even the enforcers' eyes did not linger on her. She picked out an old Nokia phone - cheap, simple, and, according to the cashier, usable for self-defense in a pinch. She doubted the cashier accounted for superhuman strength, though. As she left and turned back toward the station, she did not notice a would-be pickpocket stop and stare, realizing just who he'd nearly picked for a mark, nor did she notice him trail her all the way to the station's fence.
~o~o~o~
January 21st, 2011 - Friday
Late Evening
Taylor was pulled back from the edge of sleep by anger at the edge of her senses. A whole crowd of people, one of them a blazing beacon of fury unlike anyone she'd sensed before. Who the hell is it this time? Creeping out of the security room to look out a window, she saw a crowd of Merchants rallied around the bastard child of a tank and a jeep, Squealer leaning out one window of it. She was the angry one, though Taylor had no idea why it would be her and not Skidmark, who seemed to be missing. A whirring sound drew Taylor's attention back to the mechanical monstrosity, and she saw what was unquestionably a minigun emerge from the thing's hood.
Pointed at the ferry station. The weapon started spinning up.
Taylor hit the floor as a hail of bullets started taking chunks out of the building - fortunately enough, the thing's accuracy was terrible, and for every bullet that even punched into the lobby she was in there were three gunshots. One shot punched a hole in the floor a couple of feet to her left, but the shards of floor tile that hit her were the only damage caused by the time the gun started clicking empty, Squealer's furious wailing becoming audible over it.
"YOUR FAULT HE DIED, YOU BITCH! HE'S GONE AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Skidmark's dead? I couldn't have... Taylor was certain she hadn't hit the man that hard. He couldn't have died to her strikes, it was impossible!
The Merchants' cannon fodder charging forward by the dozens was more important right now, however. Taylor felt empowered by their anger, but if she fought them she'd eventually take down too many to be able to escape Squealer's vehicle. She'd have to get past them instead, but they weren't angry enough for her to be confident Squealer wouldn't pull out another Tinkertech gun to shoot her with. Unless...
Taylor didn't want to use her anger power on such a scale again. What happened at Winslow was bad enough. But it's me or them now. She reached into her rage, the buzzing coming to her mind with but a thought.
More.
It grew louder with every breath, like a wasp nest being kicked. When half the Merchants were across the fence, she pushed it at them.
They howled as one, and charged her.
Then one of them, in his rush, shoved another out of his way.
The one shoved retaliated and knocked him into another.
Seconds later, the Merchants were no longer focused on her, clubbling each other with their weapons - even the ones not meant for clubbing. Taylor moved, crossing the distance in a second and being next to Squealer's vehicle in two. But that took her out of the range of the furious crowd, and she slowed down. The pile of scrap accelerated in reverse, headed straight for her, before doing a sudden, skidding turn to face her. Taylor ran, before she heard the minigun spinning up again. She dove for cover in an alleyway, but the bullets did not seem to be deterred by only one building - but it threw off the frenzied cape's aim enough that instead of being torn apart by the barrage, Taylor got hit by one bullet right below her left rib. She howled in pain and fury, but managed to keep on her feet. At least when the gun clicked empty again, Squealer found herself unable to squeeze her vehicle into the alleyway. Taylor took that as the stroke of fortune it was, and ran to the other side and turned a corner to make sure Squealer didn't have a line of fire if she reloaded faster than the last time. Hearing the pile of scrap roar its way down the street, doubtlessly to come back through the nearest path it would fit, Taylor cursed and tried to think of a way to outrun a car on foot. She came across a manhole cover. Lifting it made her wince at the pain and blood coming from the gunshot wound, but she climbed down the ladder, pulling the cover over on the way down. Pausing to take a breath, she tried to think of a place to go where she would be safe again. Nothing came to mind, and in the meantime the engine's roar passed overhead and kept going.
I can't keep going like this alone. I've already got two gangs that want my head, and I doubt the ABB would object to having it either. Hell, I don't even know if this wound won't get infected or something, and I can't even go to a hospital.
The Wards were out ever since her trigger. The three gangs weren't even an option. Taylor's fingers clenched around Webweaver's card. Let's see if the Elite live up to their promises.
Taylor dialed the number, using the phone's screen as a light, but received no signal. Oh, right. Slightly embarrassed by her mistake, she climbed to the top of the ladder, carefully listened, and after deciding the street was cleared, lifted the cover and climbed out. Webweaver picked up on the third ring.
"Hello, Eris. Changed your mind already?"
"Yes. Can we talk? Face to face? I... I need your help."
"Very well. Can you be at the warehouse in thirty minutes?"
Taylor hesitated. It would be close, what with the pain still in her side, but she thought she could make it.
"I hope so. Forty minutes, tops."
"See you there, then. Good luck."
Taylor set off towards the warehouse, moving as fast as the bullethole allowed. The pain wasn't getting worse, but she felt so... tired...
When her destination was almost in sight, her vision swayed and she found herself leaning against a wall to support herself. After a few seconds, she stood back up and almost bumped into a teenager in a red bodysuit, black lines tracing across it. His face was hidden behind a red balaclava.
"Eris? That you? Shit, what happened?" He even sounded genuinely concerned.
"Who... who are you?" She couldn't remember ever seeing him.
"Jigsaw. I'm in Web's squad, she saw you coming and sent me out to meet you... come on, let's get inside."
Taylor didn't have it in her to resist. Coming in, she found herself face to golden helmet with Webweaver herself again.
"Hello, Eris. I presume you'll want to take care of that before getting to business?" she asked, holding up a first aid kit.