October 31, 2010

12:08 AM

The Docks were burning.

Admittedly, this wasn't an infrequent occurrence. Construction codes were shoddy enough that fires broke out regularly even without criminal mischief, of which there was also plenty. Still, tonight the neighborhood seemed more brightly lit than the flickering streetlights could manage alone. Our drones had picked up groups of people crossing into the Docks from the south and west, a mix of fanatics and thugs looking to crack some skulls and opportunists seeking a payday amid the chaos. They were setting fires, smashing windows, looting, generally doing things unruly mobs tended to do. Most of the younger heroes, together with a decent chunk of the PRT plus the actual cops (however useful they might be) had been dispatched to keep that situation under a semblance of control.

Yet that all was mere distraction. A distraction we had to respond to—it wasn't very heroic to ignore the neighborhood burning down around us, after we'd just pacified it no less—but a distraction nonetheless. No, the real threat was the eleven or so costumed killers rampaging around town. How fitting that the calendar had just flipped to Halloween, except this would be all trick and no treat.

The local residents were in for an interesting time, in the Chinese sense. Anticipating Kaiser's revenge, an advisory had gone out to the parts of the Docks nearest Empire territory, but few here had the means to evacuate elsewhere on short notice. Whatever guilt I felt for my role in all this, it was for them. These were my people, after all. They hadn't asked for their homes to become a battlefield, nor did they care what parahuman overlord ruled them. They wanted to make rent, put food on the table, get their kids into university and out of the slums. They wanted to be left alone to enjoy what little they had in peace.

And yet, they never were.

My earpiece buzzed. "We have a target." Armsmaster said over the our small group's channel. "Crusader spotted, estimated intercept in two minutes fifteen. Patching the feed."

By the looks of it, Kaiser had spread his capes into strike groups of one to three. A single unified force would have been more impressive, but also riskier—especially since with three Nazis out of commission, our side outnumbered theirs however you counted it. So instead it was a piecemeal attack with unpowered support to fill in the gaps. In answer, the heroes had split up as well. Armsmaster was in charge of our group, the lights of his bike leading the way. Miss Militia rode alongside him, while I shared a van with Vista plus our PRT escort (the same four who'd accompanied me against Fog). This was our team for Operation Barbarossa, as we'd code-named it.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but an ill-advised invasion had been the downfall of the original Nazi-in-chief. Why not his wannabe successor too?

"No one else?" Vista asked.

"Not as I can tell. Crusader's tended to work alone, ever since Purity left. And he's not exactly lacking support, as you can see." The problem was, Crusader's power let him be his own backup. One of the van monitors showed drone footage of a man wearing a medieval knight's armor. Dozens of ghostly duplicates drifted down the street alongside him, and as I watched a couple more budded off from his main body. They fanned out in all directions, clipped through walls, and even flew up in the air. I remembered reading that they were Manton-limited to only interact with living things. In practice, this 'limit' made Crusader one of the more dangerous capes in town. No weapon could harm his clone army, and no shield or armor could stop them from striking at bare flesh. So long as he had time to prepare, he could surround himself with a kill zone that none but a high-level Brute could safely enter.

Well, high-level Brutes or me. We only had one of those. "I'm going to have to get close to him, aren't I?"

"That would be ideal." said Armsmaster. "Carefully, of course. Anything happens to you, the Director will have my head. We'll provide support and distraction."

"Right." I was pretty sure I had enough motivation to be careful already, but kept the comment to myself. It was somewhat surprising Piggot had let me participate at all, given her general caution.

Then again, one's calculus for acceptable risk could change quickly, as I could attest.

12:13 AM

If there was one common point between a neo-Nazi gang and high school, it was the cliques.

There were Kaiser and the twins, the big man on campus and his girlfriends. There were the delinquents, Hookwolf and his pit fighters. There were the Herren clan folk, those inbred hillbilliies whose family relations he could never keep straight. And Gesellschaft—the debate nerds who argued about world affairs all day, as if a bunch of schoolkids' opinions were worth a damn.

That last group wasn't doing so hot lately. Just went to show what too much philosophy did to a fellow.

And then there was Justin. His parents weren't cousins, he didn't have a PhD in Aryan Studies or whatever, and he hadn't spent his childhood wrestling stray dogs in an alley. At Empire Eighty-Eight High, that made him the weird normie kid who didn't fit in anywhere. Not that he was bitter. The company of himself was all he needed, literally. His army of Crusaders was pushing a hundred and still growing; a bit more, and maybe they'd be up to conquering Jerusalem. The outermost drifted through the walls of the neighboring buildings; through their limited senses, he was dimly aware of people fleeing in their wake, and took some half-hearted swipes at the swarthier-looking ones. An early Halloween trick for those riff-raff. Heh.

But the Empire hadn't invaded the Docks just to terrorize a few hyphenated so-called Americans and call it a day. To claim the win, to really send a message to the PRT, they'd need to hurt people who actually mattered. Namely heroes. Personally, Justin was really hoping to get his ghostly hands on Armsmaster. All those fancy Tinker gadgets would be useless against the Manton limit, and then...oh man, if he was the one who took the high-and-mighty Protectorate leader down a peg, it'd do wonders for his career. That might, to continue the analogy, finally get him a seat at the cool kids' table.

Avenging Fog would earn some nice credit too, although he was less eager for that opportunity. Fucking with a man's powers was like fucking his wife. Justin didn't care for it, and he was sure 99% of capes felt the same way. Some said powers reflected personality; if so, he could only wonder what manner of twisted creature the PRT's Hatchet Face knockoff was. The first thing that came to mind was a sinister yellow face, with a mustache like Fu Manchu and cruel, inscrutable narrowed eyes—

There was crack in the distance. Something struck him in the leg, ricocheting off the plate with a loud ping. Justin stumbled and cursed. Unlike the actual crusaders, his armor could stop a bullet, but it still stung like a bitch. With a thought, he sent a few ghosts towards where the sound had come. They were still in flight when a second bullet clipped him on the right pauldron. A spot of pain bloomed from the point of impact. He was spun around in a quarter-circle before he regained his footing. This was officially getting irritating.

He cast part of his consciousness into his flying ghosts. Dimly, the contours of an image appeared, overlapping his regular vision. He could see the outlines of many rooftops. A prone figure lay atop one of them, clutching a cylindrical shape. The ghosts went charging at them, spears out, only for the lines to twist and meld together. When they returned to normal, the figure was no longer there.

Damn it. Justin thumbed his communicator. "Miss Militia and Vista here. Taking fire, but—" The third shot was a direct hit to the helmet. Fuck! The resultant clanging reverberated through every cubic inch of his skull, and for a moment he could think of nothing else. At least whatever gun she was firing wasn't enough to seriously hurt him; Militia had always been soft like that. He needed a new bearing—that one sounded like it was coming from further down so—clang! Justin grit his teeth and pushed more into his ghost-sight, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. What was she even trying to accomplish? Pester him into retreating? Slowly give him a concussion? Buy time for reinforcements—

Struck by a premonition, Justin withdrew back into himself and spun on his heel.

He found a PRT van speeding towards him.

12:09 AM

Even allowing for my increased risk tolerance, the prospect of confronting Crusader on foot was pretty borderline. His costume looked quite resistant to tasers and batons, plus I doubted that ten-foot lance was merely for show. "Hypothetically speaking," I began. "could he survive being run over by this van?"

Vista twitched. "You—you're not planning to kill him, are you?"

I frowned. "Uh, no. That's why I asked if he could survive." Besides, Piggot had directly ordered me to try and not kill anyone, and I wouldn't disobey my boss so cavalierly. I did strive to be a model employee, after all.

"Right, okay." Vista said uncertainly. "But, um, you do realize it sounds kind of bad if you say it like that...?"

"That is a relevant question," Armsmaster cut in. "and the answer depends heavily on how fast said van is going..."

12:14 AM

There was an instant of confusion as to how Justin could have let a heavy vehicle sneak up on him, before he remembered his temporary deafness. No matter. He sent ghosts swarming around the van, spears aimed at the driver's seat. Another bullet hit him in the back. No matter. The PRT put a lot of armor on their vans, but his power could bypass it. Take out the driver first, then deal with the other occupants—at least that was the plan.

Instead, the van simply plowed through the spectral horde, popping them all like so many soap bubbles.

Justin's brain damn near short-circuited at the sight. Impossible! There wasn't anything in existence that could bust his ghosts like that! Then the circuit completed again, just in time for him to realize oh shit, there was still a van barrelling towards him. He leapt to one side, only to find the narrow city street suddenly as wide as the interstate. He tried to run, but got nowhere on the flat black expanse of distorted asphalt. Even when he desperately formed a ghost to lift himself, the sidewalk curbs grew taller than skyscrapers. And then, it was too late.

If Justin had paid attention in the final moments, he might have noticed that the patch of he street he stood upon had returned to its regular dimensions. Quite understandably, he didn't.

The van slammed into Crusader with a wince-worthy crunch. Despite having braced for it, the impact sent me pitching forward in the passenger seat. In compliance with New Hampshire state law (for minors only), I had buckled my seatbelt, and as such avoided smashing my face into the dashboard. Crusader didn't come away so well. He was a bulky man, made bulkier by his costume, but he couldn't compete with a multi-ton armored vehicle traveling at 40 mph. The force of the collision sent him flying several feet, before hitting the ground with a sound like a cupboard full of pots and pans falling.

Deus non vult, I guess.

Trooper Ortiz whooped. He was the one at the wheel, not me. I mean, I didn't even have my license; it would have been illegal not to mention horribly unsafe. Instead I sat shotgun to shield him with my power, while everyone else had cleared out. With practiced hands he braked and swerved, contriving to line up the front wheels on either side of Crusader's prone form and trap him beneath the undercarriage.

As soon as we came to a full stop, we both unbuckled and jumped out. Crusader's spear had jarred loose from his grip, but it was still lying a little too close to his hand for comfort, so I snatched it up just to be sure. It was surprisingly light for something so long. Up close the point looked very sharp indeed, which made me glad I hadn't fought him the honorable way. "Crusader down." I radioed, rather redundantly. Our takedown had not exactly been quiet.

Meanwhile, Ortiz was struggling to pull off Crusader's left gauntlet. The Nazi feebly groaned and tried to push him away. It was hard to determine his precise condition through the armor, but his movements were clearly impaired. Still, I continued hovering over him. No matter how grievously injured, so long as he remained even semi-conscious he was still dangerous. That was the trouble with Masters. Honestly, he was lucky we were heroes and thus duty-bound to try and keep him alive. It hadn't been simple, setting up that whole scenario with the van, trying to hit him at a speed both incapacitating and survivable. It would've been far easier to have Miss Militia obliterate him with an artillery strike, but that would most definitely be lethal. And, despite my unfortunate track record in this area, I did understand we weren't supposed to do that.

More importantly, it would've caused significant damage to public property. The city's finances weren't in great shape as it was.

The gauntlet finally went clattering away. Crusader's bare hand was, unsurprisingly, white. "There we go." Ortiz muttered. Producing a syringe from one of his uniform's many pockets, he plunged it into the villain's arm. We waited a minute until Crusader's struggles ceased, then waited another minute. Again, you had to be careful with Masters.

"Step away." Armsmaster ordered. I nearly jumped. There he was, dismounting from the bike, while the other PRT agents jogged to catch up. Somehow it always surprised me how quietly the man could move—that, or I needed better situational awareness. Obediently, I moved aside and Armsmaster approached, halberd leveled at Crusader's neck. He dragged him out from under the van and crouched down for a closer look. He peered intently through the eye-slits of Crusader's helmet, even shining what looked like a doctor's miniature flashlight inside, before straightening up in evident satisfaction.

"Armsmaster to Aegis. Need a medevac at Woodland and Attucks." Aegis, still healing from his run-in with Night, had been relegated to search and recovery duties. "Copy. Vista, warp him over. He'll be coming from the northeast."

It wasn't long before I spotted the telltale refraction of light that marked Vista's power. One second Aegis was nowhere to be seen, the next he was hovering over the roof of the nearest building. He came halfway down, then paused to take in the scene. I realized it must look pretty bad—Crusader was sprawled lifelessly in the middle of the street, and I was still holding his spear too, like some sort of hunting trophy. "Is that Crusader? What happened to him?" he blurted out. "Is he...alive?"

"Yes, he was hit by a van, and yes." Armsmaster said impatiently. "Now get down here. He won't bite."

"Uh, yes sir." Aegis touched down reluctantly, as if the ground was lava. He cast me a brief look, to which I shrugged in reply. What did he want me to say? "Uh, what should I do with him?"

"Take him back to PHQ. Have Panacea take a look, but tell her not to heal him too much." Hopefully she had more common sense that that. Holding a conscious Master villain in the middle of our base sounded like a recipe for disaster. "Life-threatening issues only. Let's not make it easy for him to escape." That comment sounded a tad bitter; I wondered if they'd learned this the hard way. Honestly it might even be a good idea to un-heal him a little, if Panacea could even do that. That probably violated whatever version of the Hippocratic Oath she held to, though. "Under no circumstance—"

Miss Militia's voice crackled in my ear, its owner still on overwatch somewhere above. "Flier overhead. Probably Rune."

Rune, as I recalled, was the youngest cape on the Empire's roster and their highest-rated Mover (excluding the absent Purity). It was logical she'd be on recon; maybe Crusader had gotten some sort of message out and she'd come to check. Armsmaster's head snapped up, immediately focusing on a specific point in the sky. Even squinting, I could make out nothing save perhaps a tiny smudge against the nighttime clouds. The two veteran capes had sharp eyes. "Where?" said Vista. "I can pull her in if—"

"Already leaving. Let her go." Armsmaster cut her off. "We're hunting Empire anyways. If they come to us, so be it. Better us than a bunch of civilians."

There was no arguing against that. What was I going to do? Say that no, actually, I'd rather see a bunch of innocent normals get brutalized than do our jobs? Even I felt like a piece of shit just imagining saying it. "I'll stay and fight." Aegis volunteered. "I've just about healed up, really—"

Once again, I was struck by how little value my coworkers sometimes put on self-preservation. Fortunately for him, Armsmaster quickly nixed that half-baked idea. "No. Now get him out of here." Here he actually lifted Crusader from the ground, shoving his limp body at Aegis. "Remember my orders. And absolutely don't let him wake up."

With a grunt of effort, Aegis slung Crusader over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. From my first aid training, I knew this was not at all how you were supposed to handle an injured man, but having Panacea on dial let you cut a lot of medical corners. The building next to him tilted until the edge of its roof was touching the sidewalk. Aegis stepped on. A warp, then the roof was a normal roof again and he was a tiny red figure up high. Another warp—the building stretched towards the horizon, snapped back, and he was gone.

I considered myself an adaptable person, but damn, I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to that.

"All personnel, regroup at the van." Armsmaster ordered. "We're moving."

12:40 AM

"Picking them up on drone feed now. Hookwolf and Stormtiger on the ground, Rune flying. Six, no, seven unpowered on bikes. Heading northeast. Routing to intercept, estimated contact three minutes forty-five."

I was hearing an awful lot of Armsmaster's voice today, wasn't I? I exhaled deeply. The name of Hookwolf inspired more dread than perhaps any other cape in the city, if you were non-white that was. With a few battles under my belt, I was hardly catatonic with terror like I would have been before, but it was still a bracing prospect. "There's a vacant lot two minutes away, if I remember right." Miss Militia chipped in. "We can meet them there."

"And they'll just come to us?" I said skeptically.

"In this case, yes, actually." Miss Militia said. "They're looking for us, and we're looking for them. Doesn't happen often, but maybe more than you'd think." Huh. That was logical enough, but there something surreal about it. It injected a hint of ritual and honor into the proceedings, as if we were gentlemen arranging to duel at eight paces, that felt entirely unfitting.

Meanwhile, Armsmaster had already started to strategize. "I'll engage Stormtiger in melee. Militia, hit Hookwolf from long range. Vista, stay back and keep Rune off us."

Vista nodded, even though neither of the adult heroes were in the van with us. "Will do."

With my admittedly limited experience, that seemed to make sense. Armsmaster's armor was presumably tough enough to stand up to Stormtiger's winds. Miss Militia could blast Hookwolf with heavy ordnance and keep him from interfering, while Vista could easily prevent Rune from...flattening us with giant rocks. Seriously, the girl had telekinesis and that was what she used it for. That was a Nazi for you.

"And me?" I said.

"If everything goes to plan, we should be able to handle it ourselves."

"Yes. You've been...very productive for a new Ward." said Miss Militia. "but it's not fair, expecting you to do all the heavy lifting. That's supposed to be our job."

"But stay on your guard. That goes without saying, I hope." Armsmaster added drily. "If anything unexpected happens, we might need you. Same for you, Vista."

"Understood." Given just how little had gone as expected since Friday afternoon, I would most certainly be staying on my guard. Or maybe I was being too pessimistic. Maybe the people with actual combat experience really would win without me lifting a finger. That sounded nice. I might even learn a thing or two, sitting back and watching the adult heroes work. In the long term, I probably needed better strategies than charging at the enemy and hoping my power messed them up somehow.

12:42 AM

Our chosen battlefield was an abandoned lot like hundreds of others across the city. It was surrounded by a rusted chain-link fence that had long ceased to fulfill its purpose, with holes large enough for our van to drive through. Inside was nothing but an expanse of gravel choked with weeds. Whatever structure had stood here was long gone—stripped for scrap, or destroyed by nature and cape fights and run-of-the-mill looting and arson. You'd be hard pressed to find a location more emblematic of Brockton Bay.

We parked at the back of the lot. Vista popped open the rear doors to take point outside, with Troopers Clark and Brown following. I sat in the passenger seat and waited. And waited. I felt a bit silly. Outside the light level was low, our headlights and the waning moon providing dim illumination.

"Projectiles inbound. Vista, heads up." Armsmaster announced quite matter-of-factly. A cluster of dark shapes—I counted three—came arcing up into view. That had to be Rune. From the way they moved, it was clear some intelligence was controlling them. I couldn't really tell what she was throwing at us; suffice to say they looked like large, heavy debris, of which Brockton Bay had plenty. Even trusting in Vista, I couldn't help a twinge of nerves as the pseudo-artillery circled us like giant birds of prey. The stones would get warped away, swerve abruptly to come screaming in from a different angle, then get warped away again. It was uncomfortable to watch. Based on power testing, I thought the stuff should just rebound off my field, but man, did I not want to learn otherwise.

"I got this!" Vista reported, her voice slightly strained. "Had to do some juggling but it's getting easier—"

From the shadows up ahead, the beasts emerged.

Hookwolf's silvery form shimmered in the night. I had always pictured him roughly as a man-sized metal wolf, but what met my eyes was a monstrosity. It was a mass of spikes and hooks and barbs as large as our van, bearing only the faintest resemblance to any natural predator. Stormtiger floated next to him, buoyed by invisible currents of manipulated air. I could hear the sound of howling wind even from back here. A half-dozen or so hooded figures rounded out their party.

All was as the drone footage had indicated. But, there was still something strange here. For from the very first moment they appeared, the Empire group had been charging us at full sprint.

It seemed reckless. I knew Hookwolf was a bloodthirsty thug, but I hadn't taken him to be stupid; he'd avoided the Birdcage this long, after all. Miss Militia, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, immediately formed her weapon into some sort of rocket launcher. It looked gnarly. I wouldn't want to get shot by that, even if I was made of metal. There was a boom, a burst of fire, a trail of smoke. Hookwolf made no attempt to evade. It impacted him center of mass—and did absolutely zilch. The explosion was loud and bright, but no more effective than a firecracker. He didn't stumble even a millimeter off course. That was not normal. His Brute rating was respectable, but this was Siberian-level stuff.

"Othala's here!" Armsmaster shouted in warning. And with that, it all clicked into place.

Othala was a Trump who granted temporary powers—among them invulnerability. She must be somewhere close, probably disguised as one of the ordinary Empire members we'd seen on drone feed. No, Hookwolf wasn't stupid at all. He'd been far more cunning than I'd expected. I glanced sideways at Trooper Ortiz, still seated behind the wheel. "Ram Hookwolf!" I said.

Strangely, there was no hesitation, not even to wait for orders. Wasting precious seconds while an army of invincible Nazis threatened our lines wasn't cautious or pragmatic. It was dumb. He must have felt the same, because even though Wards technically couldn't order PRT around, he nodded. "Let's roll!"

The van roared to life. One armored colossus accelerated towards another. Outside, the situation seemed to be slipping into chaos. The light of the stars above briefly distorted and smeared together. Out the passenger window, I saw one of Rune's rocks slam into the street with an earth-shaking crash. Hookwolf's form drew closer, a mountain of metal rapidly filling the windshield view. Yet at the last moment he did another unexpected thing. He dodged. A leap to the side, one more graceful than something so large and heavy had any right to make, and we overshot. Ortiz swore. One of the hooded Empire members lacked Hookwolf's intelligence, and launched himself at the van with a rebel yell. He was cut off when contact with my power broke his visibility, followed shortly by contact with the van's hood which broke his bones. The brakes screeched, my seatbelt digging into my chest as we came to a stop.

Another of Rune's stones abruptly plummeted into view, right on top of us. I nearly had a heart attack. Luckily, my power held true. As it had with Triumph's baseball on my first day at work, it repelled the object acting under unnatural forces. The rock skipped off my field, now with Rune's telekinesis dispelled, and fell to earth—exactly where the Nazi we'd downed lay.

I winced. Surely Piggot couldn't blame me for that one? It had practically been a suicide!

Still cursing under his breath, Ortiz spun the steering wheel—there was a loud blast of howling wind, followed by a sickening crunch of metal. The van jolted sharply downwards and to the right. My head bounced off the window, and I sucked in a breath. That hurt. Didn't feel like it would leave any worse than a bump, fortunately. The engines whined, but we didn't move. "The tires—" hissed Ortiz.

Another, louder, crunch. The vain jolted even more violently. This time I was prepared, bracing myself with one arm so I didn't hit my head again. Trooper Brady, the only person still sitting in the back, yelped in surprise. He dove into the gap between the driver and passenger seats. "BLANK!" a voice roared.

I turned in time to see Hookwolf tear away the remains of the back doors with a shriek of metal. Shit. My power protected the front part of the van, but it was long enough that the back was out of range. With the rear wheels out of commission, our ride was good only for scrap. "Looking for me, boy? Here I am!" Hookwolf's voice sounded exactly like you'd imagine, harsh and guttural. He had shrunken down to the size of a man; I could see a human mouth sticking out from under a metal wolf's head. "Need to get closer, don't you? Well, come as close as you like!" He spread his arms out, teeth bared. Metal continued to recede from his body, revealing the shape of a shirtless, barrel-chested man. Every inch of his exposed skin seemed to bulge with muscle. "No powers. Do it like men. Come at me!"

I could swear his bare arms were thick as tree trunks. In comparison, the baton in my hand seemed puny as a matchstick. There was no way I was ready to fight that. He would break me in fucking half. Where the hell was everyone else? Hookwolf blocked almost the entire back of the van, and I wasn't about to take my eyes off him. The radio was silent. All I could hear outside was more wind, and muffled shouting, and bangs of unclear provenance. For all I knew they'd been driven into retreat, or been sucked up by a tornado, or were otherwise fighting for their own lives. No, I couldn't count on them. It was all up to me. The taser, I needed to use the taser. Had to hold my nerve until he was within two meters. Another Tueller Drill situation. I couldn't afford to throw away my shot. This was going to be tricky to time, but there was nothing for it. I had to go, had to go. I couldn't cower in my seat, waiting for for Hookwolf to pounce like a wolf upon a trapped rabbit. I became aware of my heart pounding uncomfortably quickly, but still, I managed to force myself into motion.

Unbuckling and twisting around, I leapt towards the back of the van. Hookwolf blocked the way. He grinned in response, then lunged at me as well. A meaty fist lashed out at my head, swift and deadly as a viper. I ducked aside. I had enough reflexes and common sense to do that at least. But, in my understandable haste to not get my skull pulverized, I didn't get the shot off. This was a moment I looked back on with some embarrassment, wondering if I should've done better. In the here and now, I had more pressing reason to regret it, because Hookwolf immediately followed up with his other fist. The punch caught me square on the chest armor. Fuck, he was strong! Even through the padding, I felt breath being driven from my lungs. My feet skidded on the floor and slid out from under me.

BANG!

A bloody hole appeared in Hookwolf's shoulder, his torso now entirely devoid of metal. He stumbled, letting out a pained grunt. I recognized the opening for what it was. I might be breathless, falling backwards, but you didn't need much oxygen to pull a trigger. The barbs pierced straight into Hookwolf's exposed abs. Thank heavens for villains who went into battle half-naked.

He took it better than either Lung or Alabaster had, I'd give him that. Hookwolf merely went stiff and twitched in place, rather than collapsing in howls of agony. Perhaps he'd built up a resistance. I had five seconds to act, at most. No time to lose. Sucking in air, I heaved myself upright, faster than I'd ever stood up in my life. The taser was discarded. I raised my baton in both hands and brought it down, full strength.

Crack. The baton struck Hookwolf flush atop the head. He swayed but didn't fall. Damn it. Crack. A wounded wolf remained dangerous. I had to finish this while he was still vulnerable, before he recovered and resumed trying to kill me. Crack. It wasn't fair. What had I ever done to him? Crack. He was the one who'd attacked first, just like Fog, just like Oni Lee. How many people had been minding their own business, only for Hookwolf to murder them because their existence offended him? I didn't know why that thought had flashed across my mind in that moment. Crack. He should have left me alone, should leave everyone alone, should just fucking die—

"Kid!" Someone grabbed me. I thrashed around in a brief panic, before realizing Hookwolf definitely didn't have a Hispanic accent. "Breathe! You got him!"

Blinking, I registered the sight of Trooper Ortiz peering at me, one hand grasping my shoulder. In his other, he wielded his service pistol. A wisp of smoke trailed from its muzzle. I breathed. Okay, that was definitely better. I didn't know what mood had come over me just now. I nodded gratefully. "Oh, sorry. And thanks for—"

I paused, awareness of the broader situation returning. Perhaps it was my frenetic mind working at a breakneck pace, but the entire battlefield seemed to freeze in place for a beat, letting me take in every detail. Hookwolf was face-down and motionless in the dirt, the baton in my hands slick with blood. With him out of the way, I could now see how everyone was disposed. In front of me, Stormtiger and the remaining Empire grunts formed a rough line. Stormtiger was still floating, surrounded by whirling gravel that delimited the range of his power.

Beyond them, separated from me by the line of Nazis, my coworkers were toughing it out. Armsmaster stood defiant, his halberd ablaze with blue energy. Miss Militia was covered in dust, bandanna askew and windswept hair sticking out in every direction, but she grimly brandished a strange-looking gun. White smoke billowed along the front line—tear gas, I guessed. Maybe that was a loophole in Othala's power; I wasn't sure. Vista was further back, somehow seeming both close and very far away. One of the PRT troopers with her was down, while the other remained at her side. She stood over a limp figure wearing a ridiculous wizard's robe, partially covered in foam. That must be Rune. I wondered what had happened there. Again, this moment probably only lasted a couple heartbeats in real time. But I felt as if the battlefield had fallen silent and still for an age the world, and that all eyes had fallen on me.

I hefted the baton, Hookwolf's blood still steaming faintly in the cold autumn night, and advanced.

sike this isn't dead yet

Decided to split this since it was getting long. So look forward to a Part 2 of Blank wandering around town committing war crimes (disclaimer: legally speaking, not war crimes).

Fun fact, this went through 2 rewrites due to finding the battle tactics (that I wrote) full of holes. If they still are, all I can say is that I never went to West Point or a similar school, and my real-life experience with fighting amounts to getting wedgies in 1st grade, so please understand.