Chapter 44: War Zone (Part 3)

A gun barrel was the last thing Blaine needed to face, and knowing who aimed it made the morning even worse. "Kyle?" he asked. "Wh—what the fuck are you doing?"

"Unfortunately for you, she talked," Kyle answered. So simple and carefree—he sounded unlike any normal person who watched two impaled coworkers bleed out. In fact, his handgun remained level and his legs sloshed through the ankle-high water towards the bridge's center pillar as if he were strolling through a park.

Blaine squinted through the daylight behind the ex-detective for a clearer view of his stoic expression. "You tried to kill them. Seriously?"

"Only because a couple of PDs couldn't keep their mouths shut." Kyle sighed then scratched his eyebrow after a snide scoff. "Should've shot them sooner."

"You mean the PDs? Or Donna and Noah?"

In a split second, Kyle's pale eyes landed on the blonde. "I never shot Donna. Just Noah, when he was distracted. Although it would've saved me some trouble if the bullet had hit her as well."

"Would've been easier than tossing them at a cyborg, right?" Blaine shifted closer to Donna and soured at the warm blood he felt smearing against his arm when she coughed.

"It needed to look like an accident. If more than one of my bullets were buried in their backs, I'd be a prime suspect."

"You're really going to let them die like this?"

Kyle's pistol rose a little further through the moist air, thickening its tension. "She knows something she shouldn't. And her mouth's always been too big."

"Kyle—"

"I planned on killing you anyways. This just speeds things up."

"Me?" The blonde shook his head for focus, despite how still Noah remained behind Donna. "What the hell did I do?"

"Do?" Whatever button Blaine had pushed, it contorted Kyle's pale face, his stray hair swaying with his pacing motion. "You and Reese destroyed my life!"

"How?"

"With the Little Red Robberies."

"Dear, Lord." Blaine almost rolled his eyes, but wouldn't risk taking them off the loaded weapon. "You're still harping over that?"

"I—it's not a simple matter," Kyle said through clenched teeth. "I—it was a pinnacle point in my investigations, a chance to show Father how missing persons do, in fact, impact our society in profound ways."

"While true in select cases, that doesn't justify murder."

"Wh—whatever does?" The brunette laughed, which did anything except lighten the mood. "After so many years and transfers and fights, I was wearing on him. Nearly had him convinced. Then you and Reese entered the picture. You used me!"

"A cop isn't in the force for fame's sake, Kyle."

Bang! The blonde jumped along with Donna, flinching at the cool spray that beat against his cheek when Kyle's pistol buried a bullet into the red-tainted water.

"This isn't about fame!" the brunette cried. He aimed his gun again. "I staked everything on that case—my name, my pride, my title. And I lost it all because you and Reese found them. Not me." Here, Kyle paused to snarl, an action that threatened to fire another bullet.

"My father was so ashamed, h—he had me demoted to a beat cop. He said—he said I had too many privileges, that I needed to relearn some humility."

"And maybe some humanity."

Bang! Another shot fired, only this one stopped inside Blaine's calf. The blonde cursed out loud, clenching a hand over his burning wound as the handgun cocked again.

"Don't patronize me," Kyle started in a wild, deep voice. "You both made a promise to help. Y—you broke it."

"M—matters were more difficult than you'd think," snapped Blaine, hissing.

"All you had to do was call."

Now, Blaine's eyes rolled. "I was a little preoccupied being concerned for my daughter!"

"Just a call. Then this could've all gone differently."

"You're fucking crazy!"

Bang! Kyle's gun fired again. It grazed Blaine's shoulder as opposed to piercing it.

"You sound just like him!" the ex-detective screamed. "But I'm not crazy! I'm not. I…I just make a better villain than a hero, it seems."

"As if." Donna's weak voice carried over the trickle of filtering water below the bridge, earning Blaine's gentle gaze. She struggled to keep her bloodied face away from the basin, but the task was obviously difficult. "You recruited Hun for the dirty work."

"And where do you think Hun got all the clues he needed to plant at the bombings?"

Hugh's missing badge. The odd, grainy substance on his desk. Misplaced notes. Noah's stolen spare uniform. These memories and more rushed into Blaine's mind as Kyle's wide eyes met his hostages.

"For months I've been stealing under your noses. You were none the wiser. I'm doing the force a favor by shooting you."

"Don and Noah"—Blaine steeled himself when his voice cracked—"they aren't part of your grudge. They don't deserve this!"

"No, they don't. But they've made the connection. And once I'm done here, I'll find Reese."

"You son of a—"

A fourth bang sounded. It rang under the bridge in a series of echoes that froze Blaine within the slow-moving water. Breathless, he caught Kyle's slack-jaw expression. The brunette's eyes fell to his chest and he raised a trembling hand to wipe it across a dark patch over his dress shirt.

It spread like wild fire—much like the blood from the impaled glass through Donna's pelvis. A second passed. Then, Kyle fell.

Blaine's baited breath left him in one shaky exhale as the corpse pushed waves against his folded legs; however, the relief was short-lived. No sooner did he glance up did he met another raised gun: the one responsible for Kyle's demise. He stared down the round Hispanic holding it, not quite confident in his self-control to speak yet.

Of all the people who could've saved them, why Luis Eckley? That man had hated Hugh even longer than Kyle. If he heard Hugh had been set-up…would he keep alive the only witnesses who could prove otherwise?

Guess the next few moments would tell…

"Hugh, stop it," Raphael said towards his lanky friend. He caught himself before they tripped over a pile of bodies, although Hugh refused to slow down, his elbow pit tense at the base of the mutant's Nightwatcher helmet.

"We—we're at the top. You should have a signal now."

"Dude, seriously." Pulling the man's arm further over his shoulders, Raph stopped by a busted automatic door at the Earth Protection Force's obliterated main entrance. "Maybe ya should'a gone wit' Donny ta the Battle Shell. Ya're already—"

"No." The detective's stern injection tore Raph's gaze away from the wrapped stub Hugh called a left arm. "Let him focus on pinpointing Michelangelo's location. As for me, I got my friends into this mess. I—I should be here."

"I can track 'em. Alone. Besides, this courtyard's the last place we wanna be. It's practically teemin' wit'—"

Raphael's next word faded under a savage roar. It shook the foundation. Or maybe that's what it seemed like since adrenaline jolted the mutant. He glanced up as darkness blocked the sun then pulled Hugh sideways to avoid being hit by a meteorite made from two powerhouses. Hugh and Raph rolled towards a collapsed pillar, just shy of the deep impression Melody and Leatherhead made in the entrance patio.

The half-blonde rose in seconds—without pause—and heaved before meeting the croc's claws with a snarl. "Let me finish it!"

"You have been fortunate, my friend," Leatherhead snapped in return. But despite his bulging arms and thighs, he slipped backwards along the cracked ground's rubble, pushed by the cyborg's rage. "While his EMP capabilities have been damaged, the news crews will only grow. We must leave!"

"Not before he's as dead as Tabitha!"

Raph flinched at how hard Melody tossed Leatherhead aside, as if her backhand rivaled a moving train. The crocodile mutant spiraled away as the cyborg dashed ahead to hit her target again, and Raph cursed how close their fight neared him and Hugh.

"Holy shit," the detective whispered. "W—was that Melody?"

Raphael loathed answering such a question; he could already picture Donatello's pained expression. So he kept quiet, focused instead on mapping a clear path around the danger.

"There's a Channel Six News copter too?"

Raphael sent Hugh a dry look behind his visor then glanced at the colorful sky. A helicopter hovered over the war zone like a loud vulture seeking ripe meat. It seemed very interested in the way Melody's fist indented Hunt's twisted arm. Nonetheless, Raph pushed Hugh further against the doorframe behind him.

'Least we're outta the limelight. For now.' But he knew a decorative awning wouldn't cover their asses for long, especially if Melody continued her rampage. 'Turtle Luck likes ta push things from bad ta—'

"Pull up!"

Worse.

Raph guarded Hugh as the helicopter's whirl intensified. He watched it swing towards the EPF building in full preparation for action should its propellers knock down any dangerous debris. They only grazed the third story, though, straightening before zooming away.

With good reason, too.

A noise like rocks beating against one another drew the hero's attention to the road. Over the pillar he used as cover, he spotted a tall arch that served as the courtyard's threshold from the sidewalk. It crumbled bit by bit under the immense pressure of Melody's attacks, spraying stone chunks in all directions when she threw Hunt right, left, up, and down—until little remained.

The male cyborg stumbled backwards, yet stayed upright. Raph couldn't imagine how; his legs were bent inwards and his head sparked like the robots built in Don's childhood. On top of that, he could barely move what was left of his metallic arms since they were twisted into spirals.

One would think that'd be a warning sign for retreat. So why was he standing still?

"Mel, I got the controls! Do it now!"

'Sven?' When he climbed further over the pillar, Raphael caught a glimpse of bright orange hair. The teen cyborg held something as he raced towards Melody, prompted by the EPF agent hot on his heels. 'Barrett. 'A course.'

"Controls?" Hugh huffed by Raph's boots. "What the hell's—"

The mutant helped his friend stand, just in time for Sven to toss whatever he held. The black box soared through the morning light to meet Melody's hand yards away, and when she squashed it, Barrett whirled in the opposite direction.

Well, that couldn't be good news. Yet neither Sven nor Melody paid her any mind.

The duo encroached on Hunt with the half-blonde leading the way like an army general. She paused by the twitching figure, panting. Then, she screamed. Not some docile girl-like scream or an aggravated snarl, but a downright psychotic yell that accompanied her final act.

Her hands squashed Hunt's skull until her palms almost met. Gross bits of organic matter, synthetic liquids, and wires spurted out the top in an oozing mass—a nauseating sight—and it added to nerve-racking uncertainty that weighed Raphael down.

Hunt's shakes worsened to the point where his misshapen body convulsed. Something was wrong. Head or not, the EPF doll still posed a threat; Raph could sense it.

"Melody! Sven! Get back!"

"On it, Raphael!"

Raph blinked when a green mass darted by. Leatherhead's massive form moved with surprising grace across the war zone, so Raph pushed Hugh down to keep him protected, in case LH failed.

'Come on, Man,' the hero thought, swallowing. 'Donny would be a mess...'

Yes! LH's claws captured Melody's arm. She glared, but maybe she was too tired to act on rage anymore. Or maybe the high-pitched cry Hunt's body emitted finally woke her. Leatherhead had just enough time to toss her into Sven, then fling them across the courtyard.

With an animalistic growl, LH spun so his massive tail hit the male cyborg like a hockey puck. However, the metal and skin hardly touched before an immense force landed Raphael on his carapace, leaving his ears ringing and his lungs tense.

A sudden boom behind Blaine was enough to rattle him from the inside out, and it begged for attention as he braced his shoulder against a chain-link fence to keep pressure off his wounded leg. "W—what now?" he asked.

"Bomb?" a paramedic answered. Such disasters must've been commonplace for her because she continued cleaning Blaine's leg while other responders used their van's to radio in more recruits.

"I gotta get up there," Blaine said, shifting.

"What you need is to have this bullet removed."

"Later!" Blaine pushed aside the woman and returned her glare with his own.

"Any infection isn't my fault," she noted with a huff. She then left the blonde to join a group of paramedics. They spanned from the road riddled with blinking lights into the back lot behind EPF headquarters, traveling around the war-torn area to attend victims.

"Where are you going, Williams?

Blaine pushed off the high fence then sent Eckley a stern look. "To find Hugh in this mess."

"He's in a basement cell."

"Unless something happened."

"You think he got away?" The Hispanic quickened his pace to catch up with Blaine's gimp along the paved hill that met the main courtyard.

"I'll mind my business, you mind yours."

"But you won't forget our deal."

Eyes set on the grip Eckley held on Blaine's arm, the blonde grimaced on the inside. "I know what my account will be, Doughnut. And if Donna and Noah survive their surgery, it'll make you look even better."

"Good."

"Now"—Blaine removed Eckley's fat hand—"didn't a few paramedics ask for your…muscles?"

"Oh, right. Catch you later, Williams." The puffed-up Hispanic flashed a smile Blaine wished he could punch. Since he left without a fight, though, Blaine let the matter slide. The supposed bomb was a more pressing matter, anyway.

'Just gotta make it up this hill.'

Going down hadn't been such an issue. Going up felt like a tedious battle. Blaine's leg gave out on several occasions; however, its bruised, scraped nature wouldn't deter him from his goal. He reached the summit with a wheezing sigh of relief then rounded the building's corner. Several upturned stones sought to unsteady his advancement, but those were less distracting than the putrid scent that burned his sinuses. Blaine twirled, wondering where it came from. Then, he paused.

It emanated from the obvious circle around him. The bomb's epicenter had formed a crater that cleared away debris and bodies from the patios, leaving it silent, smooth, and clear—save for a harsh scorch mark under Blaine's shoes. The cop jumped because it looked like a figure reaching towards him, and he fell backwards against the sloped ground with a gasp.

'Please, tell me Raphael didn't take Hugh this way…'

Beep, beep! Beep, beep!

Blaine fumbled for the cell phone buried in his pocket. He swiped his finger over its sensitive screen then pressed it against his cheek, unable to keep a squeak from his tone. "Raphael? Where are you? What happened? Why is this place—?"

"There's a point where almost bein' blown up gets old," the mutant grumbled over the phone line.

"Blown up?"

"Ya seen that black spot by what was the arch yet?"

Blaine's throat tightened when his eyes fell on the mark he avoided. "Yeah."

"That was Hunt."

"Shit. Y—you were here?"

"A lot 'a us were."

"Hugh?"

"Him too."

"So"—Blaine tugged at his dusty hair, short though it may be—"you're all okay?"

"Okay would be stretchin' it." Raphael paused for some angry snarl the blonde couldn't decipher, but it remained in the mutant's voice once he returned to the call. "Channel Six's got more shots than I care for. Sven 'n Melody are missin'. LH was hit, bad. I'm decent, but Hugh's…"

"Where are you?"

"In the Battle Shell, camouflage mode. Barely had time to load everyone in when Donny rolled up just after Hunt went nuclear."

"Hugh shouldn't go far."

"Why not?"

"I…I set up a deal. It's with someone I hate, but it benefits us both."

"Hugh says no way," Raphael replied after a pause. "He guesses ya mean Kyle."

"It's not. It's Eckley."

"Fucking Doughnut?"

Cringing at Hugh's cry in the background, Blaine pulled himself out of the crater then glanced around as choruses of sirens intensified. "Kyle's dead. I'll explain later. We have a lot to go over, so let me pick him up."

"Ya sure, Blaine? Ya risk him goin' back ta that cell."

"He's not going back."

"How are ya so sure?"

"All Doughnut's ever wanted is to be glorified and not have to work for it. Clearing Hugh's name and exposing Kyle gives him the chance."

"Still don't like it."

"Me either, but it's what we got. A fugitive husband would only make matters worse for Marina. It's…not what she needs right now. So tell me where the hell you are!"

There was a sigh followed by a soft bang. "East Fifteenth. We were gunna pick up my Shell Cycle I hid in a pocket alley at Stuyvesant Square then drop Hugh off at April's. After that, we head for Mikey."

"I'll grab my cruiser and swing your way then," added Blaine as he gimped towards the sidewalk. "How's Michelangelo? Have you spoken with him?"

"Not yet. An' his GPS went dark not long ago."

"Think he's still with Hun?"

"Gotta be. Unless he somehow aced a boat, sub, or plane license, there's no oddah way he could be travelin' over water."

"Water?"

"He was headin' down Lower Bay, between Raritan 'n Sandy Hook, but Don's sensors ain't pickin' up anythin' around there. Lord knows what he'll find…"

Oh, God. Sophia felt like hurling. 'The Exorcist' sort of vomit, too, not the 'I brushed too far back on my tongue' kind. She moaned, wishing the spinning blurs in the white-washed room would vanish if she closed her eyes. They stayed, and taunted her as she writhed against the gurney that kept her captive.

"M—Marco?" she called to a surgical table. The Italian man wiggled his head. Otherwise, he remained still, his breathing labored as if the straps across his bare torso were too tight.

"Come on, M—Marco," she added in Italian. "D—don't leave me alone."

"I have no idea what you said, Lovely, but I doubt he's listening."

Suddenly, Soph's urge to vomit increased. She choked it back as a well-built man rounded her gurney, his cleft chin raised. He would've looked like a perfect gentleman to any lady—handsome, even—if it weren't for the condescending smirk across his tan face. Oh, and the white scrubs that made him look like psychotic butcher.

"You again," Sophia grumbled with a sneer. "Let us go before I…I…"

"Still dizzy, huh?" The man clicked his tongue then jotted something down on a clipboard the blonde swore was animated. "I had hoped the nausea would pass before we started. Maybe this is for the better."

"St—start what?"

"Clarke!" The man ignored Sophia, pointing towards elsewhere. "Bishop said he wants them prepared before he arrives in a few hours."

"Is this really what you want to use, Sean?" A short pause followed before Clarke's voice strengthened. "I liked what we applied to the Hispanic better."

"We were testing then," Sean replied, hooked nose scrunched. "This time, I want a theme. It'll make the splicing look more…elegant than what that beast turned into."

"I think he looks amazing."

"You would." With a curt scoff, Sean abandoned the clipboard, strolling beside Sophia's gurney. His finger tips grazed her naked skin, from her toes, up her leg and hip, to her elbow. They stopped there, near her inner forearm, and he grinned, eyes a lit with anticipation. "Forget claws and scales, this skin will sprout beautiful feathers, like an angel."

"What if she winds up with stumpy ostrich legs instead? Or a Barn Owl's beak?"

"Well"—Sean's grin grew—"those could look beautiful too."

.

A/N: Everyone is having a bad day...