Chapter 17: The Real Thing

Kaitlyn's POV

Saturday comes quickly, and I emerge from my bedroom with a packed bag and shoes already on. I've been holed up in my room since early Friday evening, not because I felt I needed to hide from any torment from the infestation or Miller, but because I needed to hide my near-permanent ecstatic grin from them. As it is, when I walk smartly to the front door, ignoring Haley and Miller in the dining area to the left, Haley fumbles to pick up an apple from the nearby fruit bowl and hurls it at me. To her credit, her aim is impressive; it flies quickly straight towards my face. But my reflexes are sharper nowadays, and I catch it easily in one hand, spinning around to absorb the impact more effectively, the apple already between my teeth by the time I face them again. At their shocked and almost indignant expressions, I force myself, with great effort, to keep my expression neutral and say "Thanks" as sincerely as I can, rather than smirking and sassing as I want to. I'm already heading towards the door again before Haley starts to scramble off her chair, clearly intent on at least stalling me, if not assaulting me too. Though I'm outside before she reaches me, I know she'll easily catch me if I don't delay her somehow, so I pull the door closed and discreetly seal it with a small amount of ice so she can't yank the door open before I have a chance to lock it. I know for a fact she won't have her keys on her, so she will have to hunt down a front door key before she can chase after me, and I'm already running from the property, an exuberant and exhilarated grin on my face.

About a block away, I slow to a walk with a joyous chuckle, throwing the apple in the air once before taking another bite out of it. I've nearly finished it by the time I'm at Warren's house, and I ring the doorbell cheerfully. Warren opens the door and welcomes me in, struggling to push Qīng back into the house as the dog excitedly jumps and pants behind him. I laugh at the husky's antics and scratch his neck, ears and head as well as I can with one hand while he trots around me, unable to stay still.

"Hey, sweet boy!" I coo at him. "Hello to you, too! What's up? Did you miss me, huh?" I laugh again as I hold the apple higher, out of reach of his curious nose. "That's for me, Qīng, not you."

Warren frowns at the apple as he closes the door. "Please tell me you've had more for breakfast than that."

I nod at him. "I have, don't worry. But you're sweet for caring."

He shrugs gruffly and pushes past me to the stairs with red cheeks, which makes me grin.

"Hey, Michelle!" I call through to the kitchen as I make my way there.

She leans back from the countertop to beam at me from around the door frame. "Hey, honey! Don't bother taking your shoes off; we're just gathering a few final things. You want a snack before we go?" Her eyebrows pull together as she sees me disposing of the apple core in the bin beside her. "You've had a bigger breakfast than just an apple, right?"

The similarity between mother and son makes me chuckle as my chest glows. "Yes, don't worry. This was just a bonus I grabbed as I was leaving. So I'm fine without a snack, thanks."

She smiles then turns back to the countertop, eyes flicking over the bread-and-spread products around her. "I'm sorry, I should have got these sandwiches ready last night. I'll be done as soon as I can."

I tilt my head. "Sandwiches?"

"For our lunch and snacks. There are food stalls at the fair, of course, but…. Well, this way saves money." The smile she gives me would look normal to a passing stranger, but I can see the tightness and shame within it.

Sympathy for her position gives me the courage to speak up. "You know, I really don't do a huge amount with my wages – anything nice I buy runs the risk of being stolen or trashed at Daisy Bank, and it's not like Miller would act in a guardian capacity to help me open a savings account. Why don't I pay for the food for today at the fair?"

Michelle sighs wearily, already shaking her head with closed eyes. "Kaitlyn…"

"Please," I insist, grabbing her wrist. "This isn't about anyone owing anyone else, and I don't want it turn into that either. A gift should be something that's given without any expectation that something will be given in return. Same with receiving a gift; that you shouldn't feel like you have to give anything back. And that's what I want to give you two: a gift. You've both done so much for me, and I want to show my appreciation. If one way I can do that is just buying some candyfloss and overpriced but delicious burgers…" I laugh once, and I'm glad when Michelle does, too. "It's almost no cost to me whatsoever, with all the benefit that I get to see you both happy, and no expectation that anything will be given in return."

Her eyes boring into my own, she sighs again, but it sounds more like amused resignation. I give her a hopeful smile. She laughs once through her nose, her eyes lowering.

"You're much wiser than you should be at your age, xiǎoxīng," she says, shaking her head. "Alright, you've convinced me. Using the temptation of candyfloss and burgers was a dirty move."

I giggle before throwing my arms around her shoulders and squeezing tightly for a moment. She holds me just as close, then we both gather the sandwich stuff together to return to the fridge. Warren walks down the stairs just as we're in the entrance hall.

"You ready to go, honey?" Michelle asks him.

He raises his eyebrows in response. "You made those sandwiches quickly."

Michelle gives a dry smile and glances at me. "Actually, we're not having sandwiches. Kaitlyn is going to pay for the food for the day."

His eyes land on me for a split second before he closes them in a weary expression startlingly similar to his mother's, shoulders slumping and head shaking. "Kait–"

"No arguing," I interrupt sharply, glaring at him haughtily.

He blinks in wide-eyed shock. I deliberately pick up the backpack Michelle had put some water bottles in for us, slinging it over my back and gesturing for them both to walk out the door. Warren's face softens into surprised amusement.

"Yes, ma'am," he mutters as he walks past. Michelle chuckles and ruffles his hair affectionately, and he bats her hand away, scowling as he pats his hair down again.

We all fuss Qīng on the way out of the door, hoping to soften the blow of leaving him at home. On the half-hour drive there, I happily listen in silence to the excited chatter between Warren and Michelle. Meanwhile, I contemplate my behaviour this morning. That sharp victory against Haley and Miller was out of character for me; even if I've been better than them for a good few weeks now, not long ago I would have let that apple hit me, just so they would get their win and I would stay off their radar. But that little stunt was the opposite of keeping my head down. And yet it was so much fun. I liked it. I liked standing up to them. And then with Warren, telling him to just shut up and accept that I'm paying for food today. I was confident, assertive, and as a result, I can now provide more happiness to two of the most important people in my life, which is a win for me. This is a heady power I have access to now; the ability to not only bring joy to people, but to protect myself – maybe others, too! – from harm. It's thrilling.

Before I can delve further into these thoughts and emotions, vibrant pop music fades into audibility through the open windows, as well as cries of delight (and fear, if the Peaces' description is accurate). Bright colours of the stands, the attractions, the lights and various prizes patrons are treasuring, beckon me into a world of carefree fun, spanning maybe two football pitches. Through the entranceway, I can see games, bumper cars, carriages attached to multiple pivoting beams weaving among each other, various wheel rides moving at different speeds, to match any adrenaline need. But the thing that grabs my awe is a horizontal disk with what looks like swing seats suspended below, rotating them around with just enough speed to be exhilarating, but also gently rising up at least three storeys in the air. My wide eyes remain transfixed on it as Michelle pays for our tickets.

"First things first," Warren announces as soon as we're through to the main event. "Snacks."

"How are you already hungry?" Michelle despairs as he marches us towards the food stalls.

He grins over his shoulder. "I'm a growing boy."

"Outwards!" Michelle laughs as she slaps him good-naturedly in the stomach. He pushes her hand away, but remains smiling as we arrive at our destination. After what looks like careful consideration, he approaches a candyfloss vendor, pulling his wallet out. I grab his hand, scowling at him.

"Put that away, moron," I scold him, pulling out my own wallet.

He acquiesces, holding his hands up in a surrender. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice in time."

"Not a chance," I narrow my eyes at him with a smile, which he returns.

As we walk closer to the vendor together, he mutters under his breath. "You don't have to do this, you know."

I meet his serious expression with one of my own. "I know. But I want to. That's the point. I'm not paying you back for anything, and I'm not expecting anything in return. This is just a gift, from one friend to another."

It's an odd but familiar mix of shame and gratefulness that lies in his eyes as he gazes at me, but he nods in understanding. I smile gently at him, walking the final steps to the vendor. Then stop dead, my fists in front of my open mouth.

"They have blue candyfloss!" I squeal in delight.

Both Warren and the vendor laugh at my excitement, and my face burns bright red.

"I think that's the most excited anyone has been about my stock this month," the vendor chuckles. "I'll happily hand over a bag to you rather than a spoilt screaming eight-year-old."

I beam shyly, still blushing, as he hands me a bag of candyfloss the colour of the sky. I turn to Warren. "You want one?"

He grins. "What, you're not going to share?"

I can't stop the look of confusion and disappointment that flashes across my face. He gives a high-pitched laugh, shaking his head.

"I'm joking," he reassures me. "You keep your bag; Mom and I will share our own blue one."

I nod happily, and hand over the amount needed to buy two bags. The vendor nods in thanks and grins at us both.

"I hope you enjoy your day," he says. "I recommend the Ferris wheel at some point; it's perfect for a couple of kids like you."

I joyfully smile and thank the vendor, so Warren's red face, awkward expression and mumbled goodbye confuse me. Nevertheless, the excitement of having candyfloss – actual candyfloss! – outshines any suspicion. My anticipation is electric until we reunite with Michelle, then the awkwardness of unfamiliarity kicks in as I inspect the bag and its contents.

"So, uh," I begin, "do you just tear off a piece and eat it with your fingers?"

Warren snorts. "You looking for a knife and fork?"

"Or chopsticks, maybe?" Michelle giggles with an impish smile.

I glare at them lightly, then, more confident, carefully pinch off a small piece and pop it in my mouth. My eyes widen at its light, airy texture, and how it immediately dissolves in my mouth into a burst of pure sweetness.

"Oh, wow," I say, mouth already empty. "That is amazing, but has no substance at all."

"I know," Warren grins, eyes wide. "Pure sugar, but also mostly air. No nutritional value, only hyperactivity."

Michelle slaps his hand away as he takes what I think is his third huge handful from the bag. "And you're going to barf it all up on the roller-coaster if you don't stop."

He waves aside her concern, but seals their bag up anyway. I swallow my second mouthful, my throat suddenly tight.

"Roller-coaster?" I ask nervously.

She points to a small rickety track not far away. It barely goes higher than eight feet off the ground at its highest point, and it has a very simple route with simple turns and drops, but the speed of the carriages currently running a circuit makes me gulp. Warren snickers, tying his candyfloss bag closed and putting it in the backpack.

"Come on," he gestures with his head. "At least give it a try?"

The gentle dare in his eyes – in the absence of any judgement – coaxes bravery out of me. The knowledge that, if I really didn't want to, I could tap out and wait while they both went on it with no judgement from either of them gives me the encouragement I need.

"Okay," I say with a tentative nod and smile.

The queue is short, but Michelle has enough to ask, "You've really never been to any kind of fair, have you?"

Lowering my eyes self-consciously, I shake my head, but she chases away any self-deprecation before it can take root by smoothing her hand over my hair affectionately. We reach the front of the queue quickly, and I gulp again as I take a look at the worn carriages and rickety safety bar. Michelle nods to me and Warren.

"Why don't you two kids take a cart together? It'll be less of a squeeze if you two share than if one of you goes with me."

"Uh, sure," Warren stutters, jerkily gesturing for me to get in ahead of him. I stiffly sit down, taking a deep breath as Warren sits beside me, and I grip the safety bar tightly as it is lowered over us. He grins and nudges me with his shoulder.

"Don't worry; I've never felt unsafe on this one."

My laugh is more of a breathless cackle, but I have only a second to gather myself before the ride begins. I let out a cry as the carriage darts forward, pushing me into the hard backrest. As the carriage speeds its way around the track, I slide around in my seat, pressing into the back, the safety bar, the cart side and Warren at various points. I'm sure I would feel embarrassed about how much I press into Warren if this experience left any brain capacity left beyond the sensation of movement. Almost as if from a distance, I can hear Warren and Michelle both laughing and cheering out. When we pull up to the exit again after two laps, it's probably been only two minutes, but I feel like I've been on that track for half an hour. I stare forward, eyes wide, and would probably have stayed like that for a while if Warren didn't nudge me again.

"Uh, Kait? You need to let go of the safety bar so he can raise it."

Turning to him, it's another few second before I can focus on him and his words. "Oh," I breathe. "Right." Concentrating on my fingers, I slowly get them to uncurl from their death-grip on the rubber. Warren raises an uncertain eyebrow at me.

"You okay? You're really pale."

I swallow thickly. "I don't think I can move my legs. I also don't think I'm going to ever do this again."

Warren's concerned look relaxes slightly at my second sentence, and I give him a shaky smile.

"Okay," he chuckles, then looks over his shoulder at Michelle, who is standing on the gangway. "Uh, give us a second, Mom."

"Oh, dear," Michelle gives me a sympathetic look.

Warren easily stands up, then squats down on his haunches and reaches out towards me, still in my seat. "Gimme your hand."

Unquestioningly, I reach out, grasping his hand and giving a small noise of surprise as he pulls, sliding me across the plastic bench until I'm in what was his seat. He then turns around so his back is to me and taps both of his shoulders.

"Put your arms around my neck. Try not to put me in a headlock though."

A little more uncertain this time, I haltingly wrap my arms around his neck, as if I were hugging him intimately from behind. The thought makes my face burn, but the thought it jarred out of my head quickly as he starts to stand, pulling me upwards until I'm hanging from his neck with my feet off the floor. I instinctively cling on as if for dear life, burying my face in his broad, leather-scented back against the trail of "aw"s and sympathetic chuckles that follow our exit. Warren stops a short time later and bends down slightly.

"Okay, Kait, let go," he says. "There's a bench under you."

I force my stiff arms to release him, and drop to the seat in short jerks. He crouches in front of me, examining my face, half-amused, half-worried.

"Damn, you've gone so pale," he chuckles. I throw him an unsure smile, trying to calm the light-headedness.

"I'll get her a drink," Michelle suggests. "Would you like a tea with sugar, Kaitlyn?"

"Yeah," I nod slowly. As she starts to walk away, I call after her weakly, fumbling as I unsuccessfully try to get into my pocket. "Wait. Michelle. Take my…. You're not supposed to be paying –"

"You have the weirdest priorities, silly, sweet girl," she rolls her eyes. "Pay me back later. You just focus on feeling better for the moment." She walks off to some refreshment stalls again.

Warren frowns at me. "Kind of feel bad for pressuring you into going on the roller-coaster."

I laugh and shake my head gently. "You didn't pressure me; you suggested it and I agreed because I wanted to try it. I'm fine, really."

"Say that again when your laugh sounds less hysterical and you don't look like you're about to pass out."

I laugh again, this time less weakly, and he shoots me a relieved grin.

Michelle returns with my tea, and we take a short break on the bench while I get my strength back. The rest of the day passes like a dream. After about ten minutes of random chatter, tea, and candyfloss, we head over to the games stalls, where the guy behind the ball-throwing counter greets Warren and Michelle with familiarity. Warren completely aces the challenge, toppling every cup tower with practiced ease and a confident smirk. The stallholder shakes his head good-naturedly, shaking Warren's hand and asking him what prize he wants. After a few seconds, Warren points to a baby-blue teddy bear. The guy blinks in surprise but suppresses a smirk as he retrieves the bear and hands it over. Warren thanks him, then holds it out to me.

"A souvenir," he explains as I blink at him, "from your first fair visit."

The stallholder winks at Michelle, smirking over Warren's shoulder, and my face burns with joy and embarrassment. I hug the bear to my chest, luxuriating in its softness and light candyfloss scent. When I remind him that he'll have to keep it, because it would get ruined or stolen at Daisy Bank, he shrugs easily and says, "I'll hold onto it until you move out of there then." It's not the offer of storage that almost makes me weep, but the casually confident declaration that I will have a life after Daisy Bank, that it won't forever rule my life, that a prison break is not just possible but inevitable.

We mooch around the games stalls for a short time, all of us significantly less successful at the other games but enjoying ourselves just as much. After a joyful lunch of burgers for me and Warren and a hot-dog for Michelle, we then head to the giant wheel with swings – Warren insists it's called a "swing-a-muh-jig", but I think he's messing with me – because Michelle says she could see me staring at it in the entrance. It's much gentler than the roller-coaster, and I bask in the feeling of flying. My arms outstretched in an expression of freedom, my heart feels light and warm, a gentle but powerful rejuvenation thrumming in my veins. By the time we climb into a carriage of the Ferris wheel – Michelle facing one way, Warren and I sat next to each other facing the other way – I'm very confident that this has been the best day of my life.

We all take a breath as the Ferris wheel starts to ascend, seeming to collectively bask in the peace of the atmosphere. I sigh happily at the sun on my face as we rise up. The wheel doesn't take us very high, but we still enjoy the view of the surroundings from our vantage point. Until Michelle murmurs: "Oh, shit."

Startled by her use of language, Warren and I both whip our heads to stare at her, but her focus is elsewhere, looking to the rest of the fair as we descend. As we follow her gaze to try and identify what could have worried her, the sound of the fair fades back into my awareness, and I realise with a start that some distant screams are starting to sound distinctly not joyful. Panic rising, I share a concerned look with Warren before glancing at Michelle for guidance. Luckily she already has a plan as she waves us to stand up.

"Come on, kids, we need to get down."

"What, climb out?" Warren frowns at her even as he moves.

"I know you both can do it," she replies, uncharacteristically serious, "and I don't want us at this height right now."

"What's going on?" I ask, voice small.

The hand she smooths down my arm has the skill of a person experienced with crisis management: deep, effective comfort mixed with urgency. "Down first," she says.

Swallowing once, I nod shakily, but grip the railing of the carriage confidently as I look over the side as Warren is already making his way around the outside to the frame of the wheel. I swing my leg over the side and feel my way down, lowering myself to the wheel frame even as it continues to spin us slowly towards the floor. Already on the ground, Warren holds his hand out to me as I close in on him.

"Easy, Kaitlyn, I've got you," he promises as I prepare to jump slightly towards him. He catches me then quickly offers the same help to his mom.

"You two head for the exit, I need to check this out." Michelle begins to walk away. Warren grabs her wrist, his eyes blazing.

"Not a chance, I am not leaving you."

"Me neither," I agree firmly.

Her expression hardens like she's about to argue, but another wave of screaming captures her attention, and she sighs irritably before shaking her head.

"Fine; quickly now, stay with me but keep low," she ushers us forward, against the moderate but steady stream of people hurrying away from where I had heard the screams before. We quickly make our way through the fair, with the sounds of fear getting louder and beginning to be accompanied by groaning metal and crashing. Taking cover behind a trashed souvenir stall, we peek over the top and around the sides of the counter, and my eyes widen.

Most people have evacuated the area by now, but a few stragglers are scrambling towards us, dodging around games stalls and attractions that are all crumbling and toppling to the floor. A few people are desperately trying to free themselves from wreckage. And right in the middle of the chaos is a woman in her late thirties, a satisfied sneer on her face, strolling casually in heavy boots and a white calf-length trench-coat with some print covering its length. Her short black hair is gelled into spikes, with the tips dyed platinum blonde. In any other situation, I would have found her very nineties appearance funny. But any capacity for amusement is completely quashed when she walks up to part of the roller-coaster track and runs her hand almost lovingly along one of the supports; under her touch, rust creeps up pole, months if not years of neglect taking root in a matter of seconds before it crumples in its weakness, a section of the track crashing to the floor among the woman's delighted giggles that make me want to hug my knees and pray she never finds me.

Michelle swears softly again before turning to me and Warren. "You two stay hidden; I need to do something about this."

Warren grabs her arm again. "Not yet, you're not; you're waiting until other heroes show up."

She glares at him and gestures angrily in the woman's direction. "She's sweeping through this place way too quickly, and there are already people getting trapped. She won't care if she tramples them on her rampage. I need to at least delay her so they have a chance to escape." Seeing the desperate expressions on both my face and Warren's, she sighs and points to a nearby wreckage. "If you want to help, make sure people get out while I keep her busy."

"Mom…" Warren whines quietly, his eyes begging.

She smiles at him gently before gathering him in her arms briefly and kissing his head. She does the same to me, and my heart twists.

"Keep each other safe," she urges with her hands on the sides of our faces before slipping away from us quicker than either of us can react. She dashes around another smashed stall then out of sight. Warren starts to run after her, but I grab his hand and pull him back down.

"You can't!" I plead at his furious face as he turns to me. "That woman is looking this way now; she'll spot you if you move, and those trapped people will absolutely get hurt in her pursuit of you."

"Shit," he hisses at the ground, jaw clenched.

Still holding his hand, I squeeze it until he looks back at me. "I don't like this either. I don't want her to fight. But we have to trust her."

Seconds pass before he nods and clutches my hand, too. His eyes envelope me, comforting me in the communication that he's just as scared and frustrated as I am.

"That's enough, Chrona!"

A voice like Michelle's but with a reproach I've never heard before cracks proudly and resolutely through the air like a thunderclap, and Warren and I gasp and scramble to peer carefully over the top of our cover.

The villain – Chrona, presumably – has paused in her gleeful destruction of her surroundings and is smirking at a new woman, who stands near our hiding spot with her back to us. Padded biking leathers in the blue of a tropical sky and sunflower yellow wrap the frame I thought I knew so well, that I have never seen taking a stance of angry disapproval. A yellow neckerchief peeks from under her jacket and bunches loosely around her neck, and a bandana of the same hue ties her thick brown hair away from her face. Her gloved hands are clenched into fists, and the lines of copper on her attire in a mimicry of a nervous system glint sharply in the sunlight.

I've known Michelle Peace for a while now. I've even known she was the secret identity of Shellshock. What I never expected is how different they are as people. Gone is her gentle, child-like nature; her warm, accepting hugs are nowhere to be found. The only way I know without a doubt that this is her is the familiar undeniable swell of safety that washes over me as I stare at her back.

"Shellshock!" Chrona cheers with a bright smile. "God, it's been years!"

"I'd thought it would be a few more," Shellshock snaps back coldly. "Your parole isn't for another eighteen months."

"An old friend decided to help me increase my daily exercise potential," she shrugs casually. "How have you been, anyway? I've been hearing a little bit about you from friends on the inside. Oh! How's your boy?"

Warren stiffens beside me, his face stony as he no doubt theorises exactly what 'friends on the inside' could have given Chrona that sort of information.

"He…" Shellshock growls lowly before a thick, jagged bolt of light cracks across the expanse from her hand to strike over Chrona's left shoulder, "…is none of your business."

Somehow Warren and I have unconsciously huddled closer together with his arm pressed against our cover on the other side of me, cocooning me. So when he exhales, his breath trembles directly past my ear. I don't dare study his face this time, remaining facing forward to protect his privacy and dignity. But I understand his reaction; in whatever identity, Michelle's incessant and unfaltering protectiveness, especially of Warren, is emotional to witness when I'm not even the current target of her protection. I lean back a few inches to deliberately press against him, and reach over my shoulder to clasp the edge of his jacket in some small gesture of support. His right arm curls around my shoulder and across my chest to grip my left shoulder, pulling me back more firmly into his chest. My face burns at the intimacy of our position, my pulse thundering in my ears in time with his heartbeat pounding through my back.

Back on the battlefield, Chrona responds to Shellshock's strike over her shoulder with merely a victorious smirk, and I hate her for it. Shellshock doesn't react though, instead begins calmly walking sideways, eyes focused on her opponent. Chrona matches the movement, with the pair circling each other until they've swapped positions. As Chrona now faces away from us, my eyes widen and I nudge Warren.

"She's given us a chance," I whisper. "Come on; we can help those trapped people now that Chrona's facing away from them."

We carefully scramble from our cover, keeping our footsteps as light as possible. As we approach the couple trapped under a collapsed metal frame, hidden from the fight behind an intact banner, their eyes widen. I gesture for them to stay quiet, then murmur to Warren to go round to one edge of the frame. Bracing our hands on some sturdy-looking poles on the frame, we heave upwards after I mouth a countdown. But the metal simply creaks, not raising enough to free the people. We're both panting as we let it go gently, and I shake my burning hands. I swear softly in frustration as I realise that I could lift this easily by making a few poles of ice that push it up as they form, but I can't use my powers so openly in front of the couple. Warren shoots me a knowing look, nodding in sympathy. I bend towards the couple.

"I'm going to need you guys to push up from underneath as well," I whisper. Though obviously afraid, they nod resolutely.

Sharing another nod with Warren, we haul the frame up, and I feel it raise a few inches more with the help of the couple. I strain to support the weight as the couple desperately pull themselves free, my strength fuelled only by the thoughts of how disastrous it would be if I dropped it now. As soon as the people have escaped, I lower the frame as gently to the floor as I can, so as to not make noise and risk attracting Chrona's attention. I double over once I'm able, huffing and hissing as my fingers and palms throb. A hand squeezes my shoulder, and Warren grins at me, also out of breath, as I look up.

"Come on, you two, we need to head for the exit while we can," the man beckons.

"We're staying here," I insist. "There might be other people to rescue."

"Don't take too long," the young woman warns. "You don't want to be around supers when they get fighting."

We nod to them as they leave. As Warren and I hunker back down to make our way to another cover spot with view of Chrona and Shellshock, he murmurs to me: "So when you said there might be other people to save…"

"I obviously meant your mom," I confirm quietly. "I'm not leaving her either. I'm waiting here until more heroes show up to help."

A grunt echoes over our cover, and we peer over the top towards the battlefield. Shellshock is holding two separate cables, knees slightly buckled, her gaze unfocused and shoulders tight as her breath hisses heavily between her gritted teeth. Chrona casually skips over to a nearby generator, grabbing one of the cables connected to it. As the plastic casing disintegrates in her hands, she tosses it in Shellshock's general direction before it becomes dangerous to her but just in time for her power to snap the cable loose from its connection. The live cable flies through the air towards a pile of collapsed metal, and my eyes widen as I can just make out another civilian trapped under the rubble. If the exposed cable touches any of the frame, they'll be fried. Shellshock knows this, too; with seemingly great effort, she leaps and grabs the cable, holding the exposed wire so it's not dangerous to anyone else. But she staggers as she lands, gasping as her knee crumples against the ground while Chrona laughs.

"No! Shit!" Warren hisses, anguished, beside me, his gaze tormented as he stares at his mom.

I frown at her, confused and dazed in my concern. "I thought she could absorb electricity, too, not just make it."

"Yeah, but even she has her limits!" he snaps at me. "She can't take much more. Dammit, why are there no other heroes here yet?!"

My eyes wildly flit around the surroundings. There must be something here that can help! But we can't go and help that trapped person without drawing Chrona's attention, and we can't shut down the generators without risking being spotted either. Not without a distraction, at least, and there's nothing around here except snapped metal and the strewn merchandise from a destroyed stall that evidently used to sell dress-up stuff. I stare at a rigid plastic Mardi Gras-themed eye-mask near my feet, baby blue with the edges in frosted white and rimmed with silver sequins.

Wait a second….

"There are other heroes here," I whisper.

Warren follows my gaze then meets my eyes as I look up at him. His incredulous expression almost overshadows the terror and uncertainty in his eyes. Almost.

"Kait, you can't be serious…."

But I'm already grabbing a length of elasticated blue ribbon and threading it through the eyelets either side of the mask. "If I draw her attention," I say, tying the mask behind my head, "you can sneak to the generators and switch them off so they won't be a danger to anyone." Realising that people might recognise me by my hoodie, I hurriedly take it off and hide it under a piece of wood from the collapsed stall. "With any luck, other more official heroes will have arrived by then or Shellshock and I will have managed to subdue her. But if not, you can join in."

He grabs my forearm desperately. "Please, don't do this. This isn't like what we've practiced; this is the real thing. She will actually want to hurt you, and she will have experience on her side."

I cover his hand, hoping he can only see my resolve and not my fear. "We don't have a choice. Shellshock needs help right now."

Warren exhales angrily, his hand clenching my arm almost painfully. I've never seen him so lost or so scared, and the wrongness of it slices straight through me. I pull him close roughly, squeezing my arms around him for a few moments, then drawing back and holding the back of his head with one hand. He begs me with wide eyes.

"Be quick," I command before dodging out of his grasp and vaulting over the top of our cover.

As I'm running, it suddenly dawns on me that I made no plan on how to be anything more than a minor annoyance to Chrona. My thoughts dart around in a panic, scrambling over each other in a poor attempt to organise themselves into coherence, until I witness Chrona grab another cable and toss it lazily towards the trapped civilian. My vision sharpens and my mind clears; there is only movement. I power myself a few more steps before leaping forward, a sheet of ice already forming in front of me. I slide on my back under the soaring cable and shoot a spear of ice upwards, encasing the exposed end of the cable safely high in the air. At the end of the ice sheet, I slam my feet into the ground, propelling myself into the air in a spin, and slice my hand downwards as I turn. A curved blade of water propels itself towards Chrona, who only just manages to dodge it, eyes wide.

Just behind the mental clarity as I land, as if through a veil I can feel surprise at my actions, but I revel in how effective it was and how it caught Chrona off guard, using that fuel to add heat to my glare at the villain and to the fire in my blood.

She whirls towards the source of the attack with narrowed eyes, but stops as she sees me. Her eyes quickly assess my appearance, and her face relaxes as the corner of her mouth quirks upwards.

"Fairly minimalist costume you've got there, newbie, but I'm guessing that's not the planned finished product," she snickers. "Points for the entrance – totally badass, ten out of ten – but you're punching a little above your weight, kid."

Dismissed, once again. Outrage and indignation flare inside me, and I flick the fingers of my right hand. A pole of ice springs from the ground at an angle, and Chrona's breath is satisfyingly pushed out of her as it catapults straight into her stomach, forcing her a step back as she bends over slightly.

"Anything else you want to say about my punches?" I growl at her.

Finally, she loses her amused look as she glares at me. Baring my teeth, I sweep my hand from the side, and a wave of water rushes to force her back another step. But she sticks a hand out to meet it, and my wave vanishes as it reaches her fingers. I blink in shock.

What?

Chrona smirks at me, then swings at me with a metal pole that she suddenly has in her hand, snapped off from a nearby wreck. It hums as it sails past my nose as I flinch back, but the surprise of the attack makes my dodging untrained and wild. By the third swing, I trip over a stray piece of rubble and fall to the floor, scrambling to get my arms up to block any other incoming attacks. Luckily for me, Chrona pauses as she laughs at me.

"That's right, kid! I can age anything I touch. Including any fancy water tricks you throw at me; they all just turn into harmless vapour."

Time slows like it did earlier as she swings the pole at me again, and I scowl and grit my teeth as I brace my hands against the floor, snapping my foot upwards and intercepting the pole. The impact is luckily mostly absorbed by my sneakers, but it twists the pole right out of Chrona's hand, and as she is distracted by her shock, I take the opportunity to stand again, holding my fists out in front of me as Warren taught me. She cradles her wrist for a few seconds, flexing it slightly, before glaring at me with bared teeth.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"One of my better qualities," I spit back, thankful my voice is only slightly breathless.

"This is getting annoying now," she scowls. "You're interrupting my fun."

"I'm sure many people here would say the same about you. What say we just call it even and you go back to your cell?"

In lieu of an answer, she steps forward and swings her fist towards my face. My reflexes are quick enough to block her attacks, but Warren was right; she is actually trying to hurt me – unlike when we've practiced – so I'm not used to the power she is putting behind her punches, and my hands and arms start feeling bruised after just four hits. Just as I'm wondering how much more punishment my arms can take, she grabs my wrist and twists it behind my back. I can't help but cry out at the sharp pain, but more than the pain is the panic; she'll start ageing me if I don't break free! But there's nowhere for me to wrench that isn't obviously a bad movement for my arm. She pushes me to the floor from behind, and her other hand presses my face into the ground.

"You want to play with the big leagues?" she hisses in my ear. "You'll get the full treatment, then."

Pain, humiliation, fear, regret. They all sear through me as my half-baked and stupid idea backfires in my face. But just as tears begin to form in my eyes, a roar hurtles towards me. The roar collides with something solid above me in a blaze of light, and Chrona shouts as her grip is pulled away from my arm. I roll over to inspect my wrist, panicked, but frown in confusion as I see nothing different about it; no wrinkles, no discolouration, no age-spots. The joint underneath feels sore as I flex it, but not brittle or stiff. It's my normal wrist. Why didn't she age it?

Before I can speculate, a voice snarls from near my right: "Stay the hell away from her!"

Four feet to my left, Chrona pushes herself to her knees, her coat slightly singed and soot lightly marking the left side of her face as she glares in a new direction. Defiant in the face of her disdain, a broad-shouldered figure stands, flames snapping around his clenched fists to partway up his forearms. His legs and feet are covered with heavy-looking jeans and combat boots. His T-shirt exposes his impressive biceps, which bulge as he tenses menacingly. A black sleeveless hoodie covers his hair, and the lower half of his face is obscured behind a red bandana. But his dark eyes blaze with as much fire as his hands as he glowers his fury at Chrona. His dangerous and threatening demeanour doesn't dull the feeling of pure relief at the sight of him.

Warren.

I manage to stop myself just before I cry out his name. Taking advantage of my sudden freedom, I scramble off the floor and over to his side. He doesn't take his eyes off Chrona as I move, but his shoulders seem to relax ever so slightly as I take my place next to him.

"It is so good to see you," I murmur.

"I told you she would be different," he hisses back, his voice tight.

"And you can gloat all you want later." I glance around. "Where's –?"

"Recovering. Reluctantly," he answers.

I sigh in relief. "Knew you'd come through."

He doesn't answer, but flicks his gaze to me, the tension in the corners of his eyes dissipating minutely as he exudes aura of warmth, pride and achievement.

A jubilant laugh from across the battlefield draws our attention; Chrona grins widely at Warren.

"I know those eyes!" she cheers. "I was looking at them not a few minutes ago!"

Warren's knuckles crack as his fists clench tighter. She smirks in response.

"That scowl, though," she chuckles darkly. "That's from someone else, isn't it?"

"Shut the f**k up!" Warren spits before flaring up and hurling two large fireballs at her. She sidesteps one almost leisurely and thrusts her hand out to meet the second. She sneers through the blaze as it scatters around her fingers and fizzles.

"Needs to be hotter to burn me before I make it die, kid."

"Challenge accepted," he growls, and I take an automatic step to the side as my skin prickles as he flares even more intensely than before. His eyebrows twitch in surprise as he glances at me, his flames sputtering for a brief second. That second is all Chrona needs though; she springs forward alarmingly quickly, her fingers passing straight through the flames around Warren's hands, dissipating them, before grabbing his wrists. His eyes widen briefly before quickly hardening, and before I can even shout in alarm, he heaves his wrists towards him, up and over his left shoulder, while simultaneously twisting on his left leg and jabbing his right foot out. Chrona is pulled forwards by her own grasp, and Warren's foot propels into her stomach, forcing her breath out of her lungs and doubling her over as her grip slackens. As his foot hits its mark, he kicks off her, pushing her back and performing some sort of twisting flip in the air to put even more distance between the two of them again. He glares at her as he lands again, shoulders pushed back menacingly. Disorientated by the speed of the manoeuvre, I scramble to his side again.

"What the hell was that?" I cry, laughing breathlessly.

His eyes flick to me momentarily before crinkling just slightly at the corners. "What, you think I've taught you everything already?"

"You're definitely teaching me that next!"

"I'm already terrified," he jokes.

Grabbing his hand, I inspect his wrists. "Did she age you? Do your wrists feel different?"

He waves me off gently, his eyes never leaving Chrona. "I'm fine."

I sigh in relief, then frown in confusion again while I study her as she recovers. Another wasted opportunity to age one of her opponents. Why?

"Fancy moves, kid," she spits, wiping her mouth as she straightens. "This might actually be an interesting fight after all."

"Screw you, bitch," Warren glowers back. "I'm putting you back where you belong."

"Want me to pass on a message to someone?" she sneers.

Warren throws a few more fireballs in response, all of which she either dodges or meets with her hands. She ducks and winds her way to a supporting metal frame and brushes her hand casually along it. It immediately starts buckling, and a creaking sound from above us catches my attention; the beam of some attraction is tumbling straight towards us. Instinctively, I sweep my arms in an arc, and a small dome of ice forms around me and Warren. The beam falls heavily but harmlessly on our protection, sliding off to the side as I glare at Warren.

"Simmer down; she's just trying to get a rise out of you! And attacking her one at a time is a stupid idea. She only has two hands to stop the attacks with our powers, and limited mental capacity to keep track of both of us. We have a better chance of taking her down if we attack her together."

He glares back at me but relents with a nod. "Fine. Let's try to get her from both sides. On your mark…"

I nod back, turning my body to face the opposite direction to him but keeping eye contact. After a few seconds, I nod and shout, "Now!", dropping the ice-dome instantly and springing forwards. I race around to the right of Chrona, hurling blocks of ice and waves of water as I circle her while balls of fire roar towards her from her left. I stop running just before I'm opposite Warren – we don't need a situation where we hit each other as she jumps out of the way – and keep pressing the attack. But Chrona is too used to this game; she outright nullifies an infuriating number of our projectiles and dodges the rest. As I'm trying to wrap her in ice again, my mind returns to the fact that she didn't age me or Warren when she had the chance. She's obviously not sparing with her powers, and she would be all too aware of the advantage of doing so. So why?

With a gasp, I finally figure out the answer, and I can't help the bright grin from beaming across my face. Warren barely has time to frown at my expression before I shout to him.

"Follow my lead!"

Then I rush directly towards Chrona. To his credit, Warren hesitates for less than a second, swearing once, before copying my admittedly insane actions. Chrona is grinning easily as we advance while still throwing attacks with our powers. As I close in, I summon a wave like a circular saw between my hands, preparing to launch it towards Chrona. She smiles lazily and pushes her hand out to meet it. I grin. The wave drops before her hand touches it, and her eyes widen and smirk drops as she meets the palm of my left hand instead. I grasp it boldly, spinning as I do to absorb its force, and I hold her right arm out, manoeuvring to her right side and punching twice upwards into her exposed tricep. Warren grabs her other wrist to pull it behind her back. However, she pulls her right arm in, yanking me towards her, and drives her knee up into my face as I stumble forward. Fireworks spark behind my closed eyelids as the pain spikes through my nose, and I'm completely disorientated until my breath is knocked out of me as my back hits the floor. A hand on my shoulder alarms me for a brief second before I realise the blurry figure in front of me is too dark and imposing to be Chrona, and Warren's concerned eyes come into focus after a few seconds.

He steadies me as I sit up and my vision swims. I press a hand to my nose as the bridge throbs and something streams over my lips. Sucking my lips into my mouth, I grimace at the rusty tang, then glare at Warren – or where I estimate him to be given he keeps doubling.

"You should have kept hold of her," I berate him, nasal and muffled.

He glares back. "You got kicked in the face; I wasn't just going to leave you to deal."

I grin ruefully at him, and the tension around his eyes eases slightly. He supports my shoulder as I stand up, and I nod to Chrona, fifteen feet away.

"Good hit," I smirk, wiping the blood from my nose on my sleeve, even as it is replaced by more, "but that was the spike of someone panicking."

"As if, little girl," she scowls. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Because you know I've figured out that you can't age anything organic."

Warren's head snaps to look at me as he says, "Wait, what?". Chrona narrows her eyes and stays silent, so I smirk wider at her, ignoring the fact that I probably look like a horrifying mess.

"B+, but not quite, smartass," she eventually sneers. "I can't age anything alive. But your clothes still count even if they're all natural. And while before I felt forced public nudity was harsh on you, now you've pissed me off."

My breath catches as the scene already haunts my mind; the sudden chill, the embarrassment, the laughing and pointing fingers or the leering and greedy eyes –.

A broad back blocks my view of Chrona's threatening smile.

"One of the many reasons you're not touching her again," Warren declares boldly.

Chrona chuckles. "Would have thought you'd be on board, kid."

Warren's fists clench. "F**k. You."

I shrink at his spat words. Did he have to sound so disgusted at the thought of seeing me naked?

"Alright," Chrona allows, jovial again, "I won't pry for now. Let's finish this, shall we?"

She dashes forward and snaps a metal pipe off a fallen frame nearby, swinging it towards us. Warren and I both dodge out of the way, but her experience is her advantage yet again. The pipe whistles past Warren's face as he darts out of the way, but at the end of its arc Chrona flips it in her grip to quickly strike in the other direction. It clangs as it strikes him on his right temple, and while he doesn't give her the satisfaction of crying out, his face twists in pain. Acting on instinct, I sweep a wall of ice between the two while simultaneously dashing over to his side. Before she can nullify the barrier, I grab his shoulder and launch us both forward along a luge-like ice ramp to curve us safely away from her and behind cover. Chrona laughs mockingly as we press our backs against the wooden stall.

"What, not so keen on hand-to-hand combat anymore?"

Mindful of if Chrona starts approaching our position, I quickly glance at Warren's wound. The outer corner of his eyebrow is already bleeding a fair amount, but he gently tugs his chin out of my loose grip.

"Worry about that after she's dealt with."

I shake my head. "There must be some way to deal with her power. If her hands were only touching something she couldn't age with no chance of her grip being loosened, then it would be a simple matter of tying her down."

"It's way too hard to keep a hold of her hands using only your skin and without letting them anywhere near anything else."

My mind strains to push through an idea I feel forming in its depths. "No, we need to submerge her hands in something. If it were anyone else, I would just put her hands in ice blocks and pin her to the floor."

"But it's not anyone else," Warren scowls at me briefly as he glances over the top of the stall, "so unless you've got some way to make it so she can't nullify your water, we're out of luck."

I growl in frustration and desperation, swiping angrily at my face as my nose continues to trickle blood. I freeze, staring down at the red on the back of my hand.

What if…?

Grasping at my T-shirt, I gaze in bizarre satisfaction at how much blood stains the material. Warren must see my delighted smile, as he raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

"What miracle have you thought of this time?"

I grab his arm, breathless and exhilarated. "If it's fresh enough then surely it would –!" I pause, regarding his injured eyebrow. "Do you trust me?"

No hesitation: "Yes."

I nod gratefully, revelling in the gravity of that one word, then pat his shoulder gently. "This may sting a little."

Forcing my power to focus on the watery aspect, I connect with the blood on the side of his face, lifting it off and drawing a tiny bit more from the wound itself. He hisses but otherwise holds still. Then I focus on the blood on my face and clothes, gathering it into a ball in mid-air. This is not the water I'm used to commanding, and the sensation of viscosity fills my mouth even in the absence of any liquid, but I push down the waves of nausea as an alien fluid is forced to obey my will. Pushing further, I seek any blood left by bystanders on nearby rubble, beckoning it closer as subtly as I can. Five agonising seconds pass but we aren't interrupted by Chrona, and I have a spherical glob of blood spilt in the last ten minutes hovering between us. Warren and I lock wide eyes.

"This should be enough to cover her hands," I gasp, "and I can make the rest to tie her down just water." I bend my legs underneath me in preparation. "Give me an opening?"

His face sets in a grim expression as he nods. Sparing me one final leaden glance, he vaults over the top of the stall, already flinging flashes of fire.

I peek at their fight from my shelter, almost shaking with tension and restraint, hating the fact that for now I just have to watch Warren take her on alone. I tune out their grunts and her taunts, focusing only on the position of her hands. But she's aware of our knowledge of her weakness now, so she's not letting Warren grab her hands or arms, and she's moving too much for me to take a clear shot.

Suddenly, the air cracks and blazes for a split second, illuminating Chrona's surprised expression beautifully as a line of light streaks past my right straight into her. Her body spasms and tenses as electricity darts through her body, and her hands still for half a second. It's enough. Vaguely aware of Shellshock leaping back out of my line of sight, I shoot upwards, flinging two balls of blood towards Chrona's hands like spearheads. They are enveloped and brought together in a cross over her heart before she can regain herself, but she snarls as she recognises the sensation. A brief moment passes before she gazes in shock down at her hands.

"What –?"

With a shout of effort, I condense two ropes of water to attach to either side of the blood ball, and yank Chrona to the ground, freezing all liquid now attached to her. As she falls to the ground, so do I, catching myself on my hands and knees as all is heaving breathing and stunned silence.

Wow. So that's a hell of a chapter, if I do say so myself! Sorry it's taken me so long, and sorry it's so much longer than my usual chapters! Anyway, please do let me know what you think. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!