My days blurred together. At work, I skimmed through applications for hours. At home, I slept as much as possible. Between the two, I tried to make the city better.
Monday came and went. The paralegals returned with eager faces but nothing to work on. Lafayette flew back to Texas for an emergency at his branch. He left an objective that he wants to meet the newest partners of Pembrose & Lafayette when he arrives back, but every applicant is some corporate earwig that I refuse to fill this company with.
"Sarah?" I called out, glancing over the latest batch of resumes.
"Yes, Mister Vance?" she responded, looking up from her desk.
"Give this one a call," I said, walking over and placing an application on her desk.
She picked it up and read the name. "Emelia Walters? She hasn't even graduated yet."
"But she passed the bar already," I replied.
"She's only 24..." Sarah said, her voice trailing off in disbelief.
"I'm only 26," I pointed out.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're 26? You look 36!"
"Rough life..." I muttered. "I want to interview her this week."
"I'll dial her right away," Sarah said, reaching for the phone.
"After you schedule that, leave the paralegals a message. I want all cases related to Castle Doctrine, Vigilante Laws, Samaritan Clauses, and the Heliox Torts on Pembrose's—on my desk by the end of the week."
"Of course, Vance," she responded.
I noticed the lack of "Mister," but that was more comfortable than a title. Misters are great people who have done great things.
"That'll be all today. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, grabbing my things and heading out.
I waved to security on my way out and walked home to the Branstone.
"Mister Vance..." Nicky, the doorman, said with a worried tone, his eyes shifting to the right several times. "It's a... it's. It is your gym day, isn't it?"
"No?" I replied, puzzled by his behavior.
"Oh! I was confused. It is grocery day. Yes, grocery day. You are going restocking for some of your exotic ingredients! Have a good evening, Mister Vance."
"Nicky, please let me in my own building," I said, growing impatient.
"I will only... if.. you...." He kept searching for words, a tense tone kept through all his speech. "After you bring me some of Vinny's food! I would like some of Vinny's food, please."
"Nick, is there a problem?" a voice called out from inside.
"No problem here! Just a vagrant wanting to bum a night inside," Nicky responded hastily.
"What? Who is that? Nicky... get..." I stepped aside but he kept moving to block my path. "Please would you...."
I squeezed through him and the pole supporting the awning, exasperated. "Gosh."
I turned and faced the doorman. "Was that so difficult?"
The sound of a shotgun racking made the hairs on my neck stand on end. I turned and saw a fireball expanding from the barrel of a Winchester in the lobby of the Branstone. The small metal beads raced just in front of a sphere of distorted air. I dropped my suitcase and twisted, seeing Nicky behind me along with a stream of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
"Get down!" I shouted, lunging towards Nicky to shield him from the blast. The pellets struck my back, the impact pushing me forward, but the pain dulled by the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I spotted a figure in the shadows, reloading the shotgun with practiced ease. The fireball had left scorch marks on the walls, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt gunpowder.
Before I could react, another shooter emerged from the other side of the lobby, aiming a semi-automatic rifle at me. I darted behind a column, bullets whizzing past me, chipping the marble. I knew the bullets wouldn't hurt me, but I couldn't let them know that.
"Who are these guys?" I muttered to myself, peeking around the column to get a better look. They were clearly trained, their movements coordinated and precise.
"Stay here," I told Nicky, slowly standing up and moving towards the shooter.
My heart pounded in my chest, but I knew I had to act.
The shooter stepped into the light, revealing a masked face. He raised the shotgun again, aiming directly at me.
"Not today," I muttered, lunging forward with a speed just beyond normality.
I grabbed the barrel of the rifle, forcing it upwards as the shooter pulled the trigger. The blast echoed through the lobby, shattering the chandelier above us. Sparks and shards showered the floor as I struggled to disarm the man without exposing my powers.
Finally, I managed to wrench the shotgun free and toss it aside. He threw a punch, but I ducked, driving my shoulder into his midsection and slamming him into the floor, perhaps a smidge too hard.
Before I could catch my breath, a second shooter was upon me, his handgun raised. He fired, the muzzle flash blinding in the dim light. I sidestepped, the bullet whizzing past my ear and shattering a vase behind me. I closed the distance between us, grabbing his wrist and forcing the gun upwards. Another shot rang out, embedding itself into the chandelier. I twisted his arm, feeling the gun drop from his grasp. A quick elbow to his jaw sent him reeling, and I kicked the gun across the floor, well out of reach. I felt a few ribs snap beneath the heel of my shoe.
The third shooter tried to take advantage of the distraction, aiming his automatic rifle at me. I pivoted, using the second shooter as a shield, and the third hesitated, not wanting to hit his ally. I seized the moment, diving forward and knocking the rifle from his hands. The weapon skidded across the marble floor, and I followed up with a swift knee to his chest. He doubled over, gasping for air, and a final blow to his temple sprawled him out on the tiles.
The fourth shooter, seeing his comrades disarmed, opted for a different tactic. He aimed his pistol at the desk where a few people were cowering. My heart raced. I couldn't let him take hostages. With a burst of speed, I closed the gap, grabbing his arm just as he fired. The bullet went wide, hitting the wall harmlessly. I twisted his wrist, the gun clattering to the floor. He swung at me with his free hand, but I blocked it, countering with a punch to his gut that left him winded. A quick sweep of his legs, and he was on the ground, disarmed.
The men slowly grunted through their pain, reaching for a pouch on their vest. I could not make it out, but they each swallowed something. Their bodies spasmed before they climbed back onto their feet.
The fight was on. Four against one, each of them trained, coordinated, and deadly. They moved in sync, like a well-oiled machine, surrounding me with precision. I had to keep my strength a secret, had to fight like any other man. But I was far from ordinary, and I couldn't let them hurt anyone else.
The first shooter lunged at me with a combat knife, aiming for my ribs. I twisted my body, letting the blade pass harmlessly by, and delivered a sharp elbow to his face. He staggered back, blood spurting from his nose, but another attacker was already moving in.
A punch flew towards my jaw. I ducked, feeling the wind of the missed blow brush past my ear. I countered with an uppercut, my fist connecting with his chin, sending him sprawling to the ground. But there was no time to relish the moment. The other two were closing in.
One swung a baton at my head. I blocked it with my forearm, the impact stinging somehow but not breaking skin. I grabbed the baton and yanked it from his grasp, using it to deflect a kick from the fourth shooter. The baton splintered in my hands, but I tossed it aside and went on the offensive.
I parried a flurry of punches from the first shooter, my movements calculated and controlled. A well-placed kick to his knee brought him down, but the others were relentless. They moved with the precision of secret agents, each strike and counterstrike flowing seamlessly.
A glancing blow to my ribs reminded me that I couldn't take too many hits, even if they wouldn't leave a mark. I had to stall, had to make this look believable. The second shooter swung at me again, and I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past me. I grabbed his arm and twisted, hearing the unnerving pop of his shoulder dislocating.
The third shooter tackled me, driving me into a nearby column. The marble cracked under the force, but I rolled away, pulling him off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with shock, but I was already on him, delivering a series of quick jabs to his midsection.
The fourth shooter was the most persistent, his strikes quick and relentless. He managed to land a hit on my shoulder, and I barely flinched. I grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him to drop his weapon, then followed up with a knee to his stomach that knocked the wind out of him.
The fight became a blur of motion and instinct. I moved with a fluidity that surprised even me, my body reacting faster than my mind could keep up. Every punch, every kick, every block and counter came expediently, just like the ending of my fight with Ingenia.
I grabbed the arm of the first shooter again, using his own momentum to throw him into the second. They collided with a grunt, stumbling over each other. The third came at me with a wild swing, and I ducked under it, delivering a swift kick to his chest that sent him flying backwards.
The fourth shooter tried to capitalize on the distraction, but I saw him coming. I caught his fist mid-swing, the force of the impact reverberating through my arm. With a twist of my wrist, I flipped him onto his back, pinning him to the ground.
For a moment, the room was silent. The four shooters lay scattered around me, groaning in pain but otherwise subdued. I stood in the center, breathing heavily, my mind racing. They were skilled, but they were human. I was something more, and I had to be careful not to reveal it.