Taylor pressed the ball of her thumb to her temple and shut her eyes, trying desperately to ease the throbbing headache and ringing in her ears. Her legs felt like jelly, so she stumbled to the nearest pillar and braced herself against it. Almost immediately after she'd finished her speech, the headache had been steadily worsening—a dull, throbbing pain that was crippling her senses. All of Taylor's focus was on the pain; it wasn't like she could focus on anything else when she could barely hear or see.
The distinctive bang of a gunshot tore through the haze, and Taylor nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. She shifted so that she was leaning her shoulder against the pillar and forced her eyes open; Ollie was facing her way. For a second, the terrible thought that he'd shot her crossed Taylor's mind. She wasn't given the chance to linger on that thought for long, though; a wall of the bank exploded inward, and Taylor caught the movement of something in the dust cloud.
Her headache was subsiding now. Taylor pushed off of the pillar onto unsteady feet, but managed to keep upright long enough to be confident she wouldn't fall. As the dust settled, soft light was cast on the figure emerging from the cloud: a young girl in a pristine white dress trimmed with gold holding Ollie—a grown man—off his feet and by his throat.
"Hey!" Lisa barked. Taylor turned sharply to her right, where Lisa was standing above another girl: a brunette hugging her leg to her chest, quietly crying. There was a small pool of blood spreading along the lines between the floor tiles beneath her. Ollie had shot that girl. Taylor's attention returned to Lisa, who had pulled her pistol and had it trained on Glory Girl. "Didn't anyone teach you to knock?"
"Fucking get her—!" Ollie's choked words were cut off as Glory Girl strengthened her grip on his throat. The glass of the teller station cracked under the stress.
"Quite." Glory Girl ordered as she turned her attention to Lisa. "Here's how this goes. Surrender, or I'll break his neck like a twig."
"You wouldn't—." Lisa began.
"Try me." Glory Girl interrupted, briefly squeezing Ollie's throat to emphasize her point, eliciting a choked gasp from her captive.
"Fine. Your sister has less than five minutes to live. Hitman clipped her femoral artery, and she'll bleed out in record time."
Taylor froze at that, looking from Lisa to Glory Girl to try and gauge what Lisa was trying to do. If she was honest, Taylor was terrified before she'd made the connection that the crying girl on the floor was Panacea—and she was dying. Now? Taylor might as well have been petrified. She didn't know what to do, but she had to do something. So, Taylor followed Lisa's lead and pulled the pistol that Ollie had given her at the Loft from her utility pocket. It took everything Taylor had just to keep her hands from shaking too visibly as her fingers closed around her grip.
"You're lying."
"Vicky!" Panacea cried, her voice hoarse. "She's not fucking lying!"
Glory Girl's grimace was simultaneously pained and enraged. Taylor had never thought she'd see a moral conflict that clearly broadcast on someone's face in real-time.
"Four minutes." Lisa added. Taylor spared a glance at Panacea, and she felt a bit lightheaded at the sight of the blood. Panacea had her hands clutching either side of the bullet wound, but blood was steadily seeping through her fingers and onto the clean, tiled floor.
"Company!" Brian yelled from the front of the lobby, followed closely by the dogs' barking. Taylor turned her attention briefly to the front of the lobby, where Brian, Rachel, and Rachel's dogs were barreling through the doors. Alec was close behind, sprinting into the lobby with his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, leaping over the line of teller stations, and out the doors. Glory Girl didn't make any moves to stop them.
"Three minutes." Lisa said it smugly.
Glory Girl didn't waste any time dropping Ollie and crossing the lobby so fast that Taylor could only process her as a white and gold blur. She knelt and lifted Panacea into a bridal carry, a vibrant crimson quickly staining the front of Glory Girl's costume, and then she was gone—the only evidence of her arrival being the hole in the wall. Lisa shook Taylor's shoulder, grabbing her cheek to turn Taylor's face to meet hers.
"Hey, are you still there?"
Taylor took a second to register the question before nodding.
"Good." Lisa lightly slapped Taylor's cheek. "Let's get out of here."
Lisa ran behind the teller stations, and Taylor made for Ollie. He was kneeling on the floor, and as Taylor closed the distance, she noticed he was subtly shaking, and his breaths were quick and shallow. Taylor picked up Ollie's rifle and practically slid into a kneel next to him, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Jesus; fuck." Ollie muttered, his eyes wide—scared. "She's gone?"
Taylor pressed Ollie's rifle into his arms. It was sobering to her to see him this shaken when she'd been building this image of a stone-cold killer. It kind of made sense, though, when Taylor thought about it. Ollie was an assassin, chiefly, so he likely wasn't used to going head-to-head with Capes like Glory Girl—better to engage at a distance. Not just that, but Taylor had to assume that Glory Girl just moved too fast for him to react, regardless of his powers.
"Yeah."
"Thank God."
"Let's move!" Lisa called from behind the teller station. Ollie's hands closed on his rifle, and he followed Lisa out the door. Taylor brought up the rear.
Outside, Rachel, Brian, and Alec were making short work of the Wards. For a proper hero team, they seemed surprisingly disorganized; Clockblocker—or someone in Clockblocker's costume—was being thrown around like a ragdoll by Butch—a hulking monster of twisted muscle and bone that sounded more like a chainsaw than a dog, thanks to Rachel. Galant was missing, or maybe he was in the cloud of black smoke that blanketed half the street. Come to think of it, Taylor couldn't see half of the Wards—likely in the cloud of Brian's smoke—and the other half were struggling to stay on their feet—like they'd forgotten how to walk. All the while, Angelica and Judas were terrorizing them.
It was almost embarrassing. Brian turned his attention to Taylor and the others at the sound of the bank's door.
"Great, let's get—ah!" Brian cut himself off as a crossbow bolt sank into his upper arm, just beneath his shoulder pad. Taylor found the shooter on one of the lower rooftops on the opposite side of the street: a tall, lean figure hidden beneath a dark purple cloak; Shadow Stalker's face was hidden beneath her cowl and a thick scarf the same hue as her cloak. Ollie must've seen her too since a burst of shots rang through the air and Shadow Stalker ducked beneath the parapet.
"Move!" He ordered, laying down and suppressing fire at Shadow Stalker's last location. Rachel helped Brian onto Brutus' back, Alec and Lisa took Judas, and that left Taylor and Ollie to take up the rear with Angelica.
Brian blanketed the entire street with his smoke, and Taylor held tightly onto the bones that jutted out of Angelica's spine, afraid that she'd be thrown off if she didn't. Ollie's arms were wrapped around her waist, and, as much as she wanted to be uncomfortable with that, she wasn't exactly in a situation to condemn him when Angelica didn't have any saddles or anything of the like. If their roles were reversed, she'd be holding on to him for dear life.
It was exhilarating, though, riding Angelica. She tore down the street alongside Brutus and Judas for a while, the wind rushing through Taylor's hair—and into Ollie's face. The adrenaline rushing through Taylor was unlike anything she'd ever felt, and she was loving it. Angelica broke off from the pack and down an alley, and that was the next half hour, in a nutshell. Angelica was bounding down alleys and forgotten ways until she came to a stop at the end of the beach—just a few feet from an old storm drain.
Ollie pulled himself off of Angelica's back before Taylor did, his boots crunching on the sand.
"Christ." He swore, marching towards the storm drain. Taylor slid off of Angelica's back and watched her run down the beach. The sound of rustling debris caught her attention, and Taylor spun on her heel towards the storm drain. Ollie pulled a black backpack from beneath the debris and unzipped it.
"What's that?" Taylor asked. Ollie pulled his balaclava off—his hair and face glistening with sweat—and cocked an eyebrow at Taylor.
"A change of clothes."
Taylor didn't think about the words she said next until they'd already left her mouth.
"Well, what am I supposed to do?"
"You didn't bring a change?" Ollie asked. Taylor shuffled and folded her arms, not willing to look him in the eyes after realizing how stupid she sounded. "You didn't bring a change." He repeated a condemning statement rather than a question. "What're you wearing under that?"
Taylor hesitated before answering:
"Shorts and a sports bra."
Ollie sighed.
"Fine. Here." He shoved the backpack toward Taylor. "Wear my change."
Taylor gingerly took the bag and watched as Ollie turned his back to her, unstrapping his equipment and letting it fall to the sand. Taylor took the opportunity to change, keeping a close eye on Ollie to make sure he wasn't watching her.
It was a new experience for Taylor: wearing a man's clothes. It wasn't unpleasant; she'd expected them to smell like wet garbage after seeing the debris that Ollie had hidden the bag in, but she was surprised to find they smelled somewhat fresh. And faintly of lavender. It was a comforting scent.
Though Ollie's clothes didn't fit her properly—the legs of the jeans were too wide, and his shirt hung loosely on her frame, giving the impression that it was bigger than it was—they worked for the time being. She hid her costume in the backpack—finding the culprit responsible for the scent: a portable air freshener—and tapped Ollie's shoulder. He cautiously looked over his shoulder before turning fully to face her.
"It'll do." He said this as he took the backpack from her and shoved his own equipment into it.