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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Stepping into the circular room felt like walking into some warped coliseum. The floor was cold beneath us, rough like stone, and the walls curved around, creating an unsettling sense that we were trapped in a cage. Across from us, slightly elevated on a second floor, sat the figure we had come for—Biz, shrouded in an oversized hazmat suit, tubes snaking from his chair into his suit like some twisted life-support system. The flickering lights cast deep shadows across his mask, and his eyes were just barely visible, glinting with amusement as he watched us. I'm not sure what kind of glass was protecting him, but it was probably covered in the same forcefield from earlier.
I nudged Alice, whispering, "Another madman in a hazmat suit. It's like they all graduated from the same psychotic university as the professor."
But she didn't respond. Her face was pale, her mouth set in a hard line, her eyes distant and glazed over. She looked like she was barely registering what was happening, and I could almost feel the weight of what she'd gone through pressing down on her shoulders. The grim look in her eyes was colder than I'd ever seen—a machine's indifference, the empathy drained right out of her.
"Ah, my dear guests!" Biz's voice crackled over the intercom, his tone smug and triumphant. "Welcome to my arena. I must admit, I wasn't expecting such an… enthusiastic response from my uninvited friends."
Alice's gaze didn't even flicker in his direction. It was as if she were staring through him, seeing something beyond this deranged spectacle. Her silence and the chilling look in her eyes were enough to make me uneasy. She had always been strong, steady, but now… now she looked broken.
"Come on, Alice," I murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "Focus. We're here to put an end to this freak show."
For a split second, her gaze snapped back to the present, meeting mine. There was a flash of something—pain, anger, maybe just exhaustion. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that hollow stare.
Biz leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne-like chair. "Oh, don't be shy. You're the main event! Let's see if you can survive a few rounds with my creations."
The floor hummed, and from hidden compartments, panels shifted open, revealing hulking forms of steel and twisted flesh—cyborgs, each one more grotesque than the last, their bodies a patchwork of metal plating and exposed, raw tissue. They lurched forward, their movements jerky, as if barely able to support their own weight.
Alice's hands tightened into fists, and I could feel the gravity around her start to shift, pulling the air inward, compressing it.
"You ready?" I asked, knowing she could handle this—but hoping, for her sake, she'd pull herself out of this trance.
Finally, she nodded, a slow, mechanical movement. Her voice was a whisper, almost hollow. "Let's get this over with."
The cyborgs stepped forward, their metallic limbs glinting with eerie precision, each one a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sleek steel. Their eyes, lifeless yet focused, locked onto us as they spread out in a calculated advance.
One of them lunged at Alice, a bladed arm slicing through the air with a speed that would have decapitated her if she hadn't reacted in time. She ducked low, twisting to her right, and with a flick of her wrist, increased the gravity around the cyborg just enough to throw it off balance. It staggered, gears whirring in protest, as Alice backed up, her breathing heavy but her focus unwavering.
Meanwhile, another cyborg closed in on me. Its face was half-human, half-machine, with the skin stretched taut around steel plating, and one eye glowing a dull red. I pulled back just as it swung at me with a heavy fist, the blow skimming past my head and leaving a faint ringing in my ears. I retaliated with a kick to its chest, the impact jarring but not enough to knock it back. These things were built to last.
"Hold on," I called to Alice, dodging another strike from my opponent. The cyborg let out a metallic snarl, pivoting to come at me again, this time with both arms raised like blunt sledgehammers. I ducked under one arm and drove my elbow into its side, aiming for a weak spot between two plates. It jolted, the impact sending a tremor through my arm but achieving little more than a dent in its armor.
Alice had her own problems. A second cyborg had flanked her, catching her off guard as it extended a spike-tipped arm toward her. She twisted, and with a determined glare, doubled the gravitational pull around it. The cyborg's limbs began to shake as it struggled against the increasing weight, and then, with a sickening crunch, its body began to buckle inward, metal and flesh imploding. It let out a mechanical shriek, collapsing under its own weight, a twisted heap of shattered metal and crushed flesh.
I felt a pang of something—worry maybe—as I saw Alice's expression. She looked almost hollow, detached, as if each of these kills was sapping something from her. But before I could focus on that, another cyborg charged forward. I barely sidestepped, feeling the brush of its arm across my shoulder as I reached out, grabbing its exposed wiring. I yanked hard, sparks flying as I severed a crucial connection. The cyborg jolted, its movements faltering, and with a final pull, I tore the cables loose. It collapsed, convulsing, the red light in its eye fading to black.
But there was no time to breathe. Another one emerged from the shadows, larger and more reinforced. It had a tank-like bulk to it, with armored plating that gleamed even in the dim arena light. This one moved slower, but with a ruthless intent, and as it lumbered toward us, I felt the weight of every previous fight bear down. My body was worn, my mind stretched thin.
"Alice!" I called, nodding toward the last cyborg. She looked over, her gaze flickering with a glint of exhaustion, and then stepped forward, her hands raised. With a grim determination, she amplified its gravity field, doubling it, then tripling it. The cyborg tried to move, but its own weight was too much, and it sank down, its legs snapping under the force, its frame folding like paper. A final whir of its motor, and it slumped to the ground, motionless.
The silence that followed was thick and heavy. The air was filled with the stench of burnt metal and flesh, and all I could hear was the sound of our labored breathing, echoing off the walls.
But our reprieve was short-lived. Biz's laughter crackled over the speakers, mocking, triumphant.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
As the last cyborg collapsed in a tangled heap of metal and gore, Biz's mocking laughter echoed through the chamber. From above, two thick, glass tubes descended, their surfaces gleaming under the dim lights. Inside, suspended like twisted trophies, were Superior Woman and Chen, both unconscious.
"Are these really the top of the heroes?" Biz sneered, watching us with smug satisfaction. "Pathetic."
I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore his taunts, but Alice wasn't even registering his words. Her eyes were locked on Biz with a fury so intense it seemed to burn away whatever exhaustion had claimed her before.
"The game's simple," he continued, his finger hovering over a console. "Each of these lovely tubes contains one of your friends. Pick one, and the other will be filled with a delightful neurotoxin—a guaranteed kill. Superior Woman might be resilient, but trust me, she isn't her cousin. Ten minutes to decide… or they both die."
I felt a chill settle over the room. This wasn't a game—it was a trap, a twisted choice to test just how far we'd go. The thought gnawed at me, and I could sense that the doctor's words had hit Alice even harder. Her fists were clenched, her breathing shallow and fast, yet her eyes stayed fixated on him with that simmering wrath.
"What's the catch?" I asked, forcing a calm I didn't feel. "What's your angle here? What do you get out of this?"
Biz grinned, leaning back into his chair. "No catch. Just the satisfaction of seeing UltraMan's grand ideals pushed to the breaking point. You're supposed to prevent all loss of life, aren't you? So go ahead—prove you're willing to let one of them die to uphold that perfect, noble morality."
It hit me then—he wanted to make a mockery of heroism itself, to make us complicit in a death and prove that even we couldn't uphold these spotless ideals. There was no moral high ground here, no clean outcome. Just the slow, ticking countdown that would force us into a corner. I understood that the real game was finding some way to save both of them. Say that was the ideal he spoke of. But that was impossible, at least to me. I had no such power.
"Alright, let's think through this," I murmured, turning to Alice, but she didn't respond. She was still locked in that vengeful glare, her body stiff, her gaze narrowed into a piercing focus on Biz, almost as if she could crush him with her stare alone.
"Come on, Alice," I said, trying to shake her out of it. "We need a plan. Something, anything to break this." But she was lost, her thoughts consumed with a loathing so profound that I wondered if she even knew I was there.
"Tick-tock," Biz chimed, his grin widening. "Any moment now, heroes."
We didn't have much time.
Honestly, it was hard to give any fucks when she was so apathetic. Is this how people see me? I don't think so because I at least fake some sort of emotion. I am socially proficient enough to know that acting like a psychopath only gets you being treated like one.
So was she breaking inside or was this her real persona? I was honestly annoyed at not knowing the answer.
Feeling frustrated, I sat on the ground and try to think of something more interesting to doing the meantime. I honestly didn't care or about the fate of my supposed leader.
How exactly did that desert story end?
I remember it was quite gruesome...
*___*
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DATE:4nd of May, the 55th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Dunes of Salvia
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We returned to the insurgent camp under the cover of the relentless sandstorm, executing the captain's plan with quiet precision. I think it was already the next day if we were to keep track of the time, but the sun still didn't show itself. The bike, now strapped with every last explosive from the crate, rolled forward on its last journey. Barry and I crouched low as we approached, each of us gripping our weapons tight. His face twisted into a wild grin, one hand clutching the detonator.
At the last second, we jumped off, tumbling into the sand as Barry slammed the button. An eruption of flames consumed the bike and the area around it, screams piercing through the storm's howl. The blast threw everything into chaos, sending insurgents scrambling. They weren't ready, didn't even see it coming.
My heart pounded as we picked off the sentries, one by one, Barry still grinning like a madman as he fired beside me. Meanwhile, the captain and Paul flanked the other side, their gunfire a steady rhythm. Every pull of the trigger felt heavier than the last, but with each enemy that fell, the fear gave way to something colder, something that matched the captain's steely focus: the mission was simple, brutal, and clear. Leave no one alive.
As we cut our way through the insurgent camp, a strange thought struck me. They were foolish—brave, perhaps, or desperate, but undeniably foolish. Fighting for their people, their land, their ideals; it was a noble cause on paper. But who did they think they were up against? These weren't local hired guns or sloppy militias. No, the administrators weren't just faceless bureaucrats—they were part of the Bufato Syndicate. A network with roots so deep in Ventia that, in some areas, even the Unified Kingdom's rule felt like a distant memory in comparison.
Bufato didn't hire ordinary mercenaries. They took in the most proficient killers, people whose minds had long since twisted to fit this brutal life. Men who, like me, lived only for moments like this. Each one of us was trained to sow terror and death with precision; we weren't burdened by ideals or dreams of liberation. This was survival, plain and simple.
A team of six could dismantle an insurgent cell of dozens, especially one this under-equipped and under-trained. They had numbers, but we had skill and experience, that dark talent for taking lives without a second thought.
At some point the irony settled in. After everything I'd endured in those Bufato camps—seven brutal years of drills, bloodshed, breaking bones and spirit alike—I thought I'd left that life behind. I thought I'd escaped their iron grip, paid my dues. But here I was, still under their thumb, fighting another one of their damned battles. Sure, they called me "independent" now, but who was I kidding? Just because I didn't wear their insignia didn't mean I wasn't carrying out their dirty work, still bound to them by circumstance and survival.
If I made it out of this hellhole tonight, maybe it was finally time to make a real break. I'd heard Normandia had work for someone with my skillset. I could almost imagine the quiet streets, the calmer life, far from Ventia's constant bustle and violent politics. Normandia didn't have this cycle of betrayal and shifting alliances. At least there, I'd be a weapon for hire on my own terms.
But those thoughts were for another time. Right now, five insurgents had me cornered. Their suppressive fire pinned me down behind a pile of sandbags, rounds ripping through the thin fabric of my cover, barely missing me. Each shot sent dust and dirt flying, and I felt the vibrations through the ground, hearing their shouts as they called out positions to surround me. My pulse hammered, every second dragging as I scrambled to find an escape route. Then I heard Barry's voice cutting through the chaos.
"Hey, look over here!" he yelled, a wild grin stretched across his face. He held up a grenade, giving me a mocking salute before tossing it in their direction. It was one of those specialized explosives he loved—he called it a "shaped charge," always boasting how it directed the blast with brutal precision. I barely had time to duck back before the explosion hit.
A deafening blast tore through the air, and when I looked up, the aftermath was a scene straight out of a nightmare. The insurgents… they were barely recognizable. Shrapnel had sliced through them with horrifying accuracy, twisting limbs at impossible angles, hollowing their bodies out with precision. One man's face was split open, a bloody crater where his cheek and eye had been. Another lay with half his torso blown apart, and the others were just—pieces, scattered across the sand like debris, the dust turning red with their blood.
Barry's laugh rang out behind me, mad and unfazed. He looked at the carnage like it was some kind of twisted art, shaking his head with a smirk. But me? I could barely tear my eyes away from the disfigured bodies. A chill went through me, nausea twisting my stomach. This wasn't a fight; it was a massacre. And the worst part was, Barry was loving every second of it.
My mind was still reeling from what I'd just witnessed. Barry wasn't just a guy who knew his way around a shaped charge. He was a genius mathematician, one of the scariest kinds, the type who could calculate not only where each piece of shrapnel would land but also exactly how much of his mind he was willing to lose to make sure it did. And that knowledge—that he was capable of perfectly calculated violence without blinking an eye—left a cold knot in my stomach.
As we advanced, we passed by several large, rusty cages. I caught a glimpse of movement inside—women, children. They huddled close, eyes wide and empty, clinging to each other like shadows in the dim light. Human trafficking. I couldn't think of any other way the insurgents would even have money to fund their raids. It added a twisted new layer to all this. I felt bile rise in my throat. All these people… forgotten, trapped in the middle of the sandstorm like commodities on the market.
Ahead, I heard raised voices and gunshots. The captain's deep growl cut through the commotion, locked in some kind of shouting match with their leader. In the near distance, the insurgent leader was firing off rounds from the captain's own revolver, each shot ringing out and slamming through the crates around him. I ducked as splinters flew past my face, instinctively pulling back as bullets cracked through the air.
Just a few meters away, I spotted Paul, tangled in a furious scuffle on the ground with a massive brute, each blow heavy enough to rattle even someone as solid as Paul. The man was an immovable wall, and the brute didn't seem to let up, grappling with him in a rough, almost feral lock. It was chaos, each of them locked in battles that felt as personal as they were brutal, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and sweat.
This place… it was a slaughterhouse, and we were right in the middle of it.
Paul looked like he was struggling, pinned down beneath the brute, his movements becoming frantic. But before I could even think of helping, Barry barked an order, his voice echoing through the chaos: "Support the captain!"
The shout gave away our position. A bullet tore through the air and slammed into Barry's shoulder, staggering him. He gritted his teeth, cursing, but waved me off. "Damn, go! I'll help Paul."
I ducked low and pushed ahead, my eyes set on the crates scattered through the chaos. Just as I reached one, a flash of light reflected off metal—a Ventium round, fired from the captain's own revolver, tore through the air beside me. My body moved on reflex, diving to the left and pressing against the side of another crate. The revolver's sound was different, like thunder cracking the air itself, and the force behind each bullet turned every object in its path to splinters. I barely caught my breath before another shot blasted through, narrowly missing me as I darted behind a different crate. My heart hammered as I weaved between the cover points, each jump keeping me barely ahead of those lethal, glowing rounds.
Suddenly, I caught sight of the captain himself lunging at the insurgent leader, his silhouette dark against the chaos. He closed the distance in an instant, grappling for the revolver with both hands, his teeth gritted in raw determination. Seizing the moment, I turned my focus to the other insurgents surrounding them. My fingers tightened around my rifle, and I fired—each shot precise, each one finding its target. The insurgents fell before they could even register what was happening, clearing the area around the captain and his target.
But just as I thought the captain had the upper hand, the insurgent leader twisted, shoving the revolver into the captain's chest and pulling the trigger. The explosion echoed, the force sending a shockwave through the air. I froze, watching in horror as the captain's chest erupted, flesh and bone blown apart in a gruesome spray. But somehow, impossibly, he didn't go down.
With an inhuman display of resilience, he gripped the insurgent leader's arm, crushing it until the bone snapped. The insurgent's scream was drowned out as the captain lifted him by the neck, holding him suspended. He muttered something in that foreign dialect—a growl, almost animalistic—and then, with a sickening crack, he snapped the insurgent's neck.
As I approached, I was almost afraid to get closer. The captain turned slowly, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, as he staggered over to sit on a crate, a hole the size of my fist gaping in his chest. He looked up at me, calm and almost... serene. "Guess this desert will be my grave," he muttered with a hint of dark humor, his voice raspy.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he raised a trembling hand, cutting me off. "There are tunnels," he whispered, his voice faltering. "Under the camp. Insurgents… sleeping…" His eyes glinted with a deadly focus. "Must… complete the mission…" He sucked in a shallow breath and held out the revolver, his hand steady despite everything. "Take this…"
The weight of the revolver was heavy, almost alive with the residual Ventium coursing through it. I looked back at him, and he seemed frozen, like he was made of stone, still standing somehow despite the gaping wound. He didn't move again.
My captain—inhuman to the end.
I made my way back to Barry and Paul, stumbling through the half-destroyed camp. As I approached, I found them standing over the brute—the massive insurgent was sprawled on the ground, his skull caved in, the ground around his head dark with blood. I didn't ask questions; it was enough just seeing the unsettling grin spreading across Barry's face, his eyes lighting up with some twisted excitement.
"Interesting," he murmured, a glint in his eyes that sent a chill down my spine.
I didn't have the words to tell them about the captain, and Paul just shrugged when I mentioned he'd fallen. No sentiment, just a cold nod. "Saw something that might be an entrance," Paul muttered, jerking his head toward a trap door hidden in the sand. Barry's grin widened, and I could see he already had a plan in mind, one that held no regard for honor or mercy.
In silence, we gathered every barrel of gasoline we could find, dragging them to the trap door. Barry worked methodically, like he was setting up a twisted science experiment. When we finished, the rancid smell of gasoline clung to the air, thick and stifling, saturating everything in a suffocating haze.
As we were turning to leave, one of the slaves—a young woman—snatched up a discarded rifle, her hands trembling but her aim steady. She shouted something, her eyes fierce. Barry cocked his head, that same twisted smile never leaving his face as he flicked a switch on the fuse. The fuse hissed, a low crackling sound barely audible over the building winds.
The explosion ripped through the ground beneath us, shaking the entire compound. Smoke began to belch from cracks forming in the sand, and then fire—fire that licked up through those crevices like the claws of some infernal beast. The blaze spread faster than I thought possible, swallowing everything around us.
The fire crept across the sand like a living creature, slithering its way toward the slaves, crawling under their cages and wrapping them in its fiery tendrils. I watched, helpless, as they realized too late what was happening. The young woman who had threatened us dropped her rifle, eyes wide with terror as the flames reached her. She clawed at the bars, desperate to escape, but the fire was relentless, curling around her ankles, then her legs, rising higher with each passing second.
Her skin blistered instantly, the heat so intense it turned her flesh red, then a sickening charred black. Her screams were nothing short of primal—a shriek that started deep in her chest, forced out through gritted teeth, then tore free in waves of sheer agony. I felt the sound physically, like knives piercing my brain, and I knew I'd never hear anything like it again. The smell of burning hair, of seared skin, mixed with the gasoline fumes, creating a toxic stench that clung to the back of my throat.
She wasn't alone. A child no older than ten huddled next to her, his small fingers clutching the bars as the fire licked up his back. He screamed, a high-pitched, helpless wail that echoed into the storm, his body contorting as the fire consumed him. I couldn't look away, no matter how much I wanted to. His skin began to peel, thin patches curling and flaking off to reveal raw, red muscle, which then blackened as the fire chewed its way deeper. He was nothing but pain—a small figure trapped in an inferno he couldn't comprehend.
My whole being froze in horror. Every scream carved into my mind, branding itself there. I felt something vital in me wither, shriveling up, just like their bodies in the flames. Each flicker of the fire felt like it was burning away at my own soul. I knew I should look away, but I couldn't. I just stared, helpless, as each second of their agony passed, a moment that stretched into eternity.
And then, cutting through their screams, I heard it. A low, guttural laugh, creeping up from behind me. Barry. He watched them with a grin, his eyes shining with some dark pleasure as he took in the scene. The sound of his laughter was sickening—a coarse, horrible noise that mingled with the cries of the dying, mocking them in their final moments. That laugh reverberated through me, slashing across my conscience like a blade. Each rasping chuckle tore through the last remnants of my humanity.
This was no longer war; this was hell, and I was damned just for standing here.
The sandstorm raged around me, driving dust into my eyes and mouth, adding another layer of burning that felt fitting somehow, as if nature itself was exacting some small measure of vengeance. The grit tore at my skin, whipping past me, but all I could see were their faces, trapped in a silent, blistering hell....*
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DATE:5th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Even that vague memory made my skin curl.
How...
How could I have forgotten this?
Was this the moment I broke? I'm not sure.
But what was clear was that Barry had to knew something. In turn, I needed to get to him.
But that is for another time.
I had about a minute before the heroes in front of me died and Alice was proving to be useless.
I thought I couldn't do anything about this...
Except...
I still had that caffeine supplement in my pocket. Sure the professor advised I shouldn't take anymore, but would he really be happy with having Superior Woman die? Of course, I am not doing this for her, but it seems like if someone were to die here Alice really wouldn't recover, and I for one don't want to find out how she would act as a villain.
I took out the vial and drank the whole thing in one go. It didn't take long for the effect to start.
One beat, two beats, the room started to shake with my body's movement. It took 3 seconds or so for the slowed time to start when I emptied my lungs. Seeing how the room shaped repeatedly by the unnatural heartbeats was a strange event. Of course, Alice wasn't affected at all. I don't think she even came in contact with the floor so no wonder.
Someone that can react in such a short time frame... Really scary. Let's hope I do the right choice by 'saving' her.
Technically the forcefield over the glass would still be too strong for me cuz I don't actually get any super strength. The most damage I can seem to do in this state is through friction.
But this is the catch. A force field works by repelling molecules in certain frequencies. It isn't a physical material. This is a gamble but I believe I am too fast for it to register my own body. So I should go right through it and the glass no matter how bulletproof won't react well to the shock of a punch or perhaps repeated sweeps with my hand. The thing with glass is that you either make it resistant to one type of damage or the other.
And I did just that. I jumped at the precise moment. My heart beat and found myself much higher than I realized. Was this the effect from me pressing my boots onto the ground? When my heart beat again I was beginning to fall so it seems like my presumption was correct. My body only works in real speed when my heart beats and the blood is being moved around. When I reach the ground I jumped again but in the direction of the mad doctor. When I was getting close to the glass I clenched my fist and sent it towards it.
I was surprised to have been right. When the feast made contact with the glass it instantly broke. Not only that glass but a large patch of its surrounding the zone of impact. I went right through that. Scarily enough, I would have been impaled if not for the Hao suit. I drew my pistol and waited in front of the doctor for oxygen to be absorbed.
When time started again, I could see blood coming out of his eyes. I wasn't sure if that was because of the quakes from how close my heart was or perhaps the shock of the glass breaking.
"Let's play another game doc'. You release both of them right now or I pull the trigger. How about it?" It seems like he didn't like my humor.
"Ah! But, I can just kill them both. What would be the point of you shooting me." He was really grumpy. I suppose a game master doesn't like to lose.
"No point? I don't care if you kill them. In fact do it. I dare you. But this also means " I" pull the trigger in return. Don't you like this game?"
"No! What?...." He was shaking in that mobile armchair of his, a distressed expression etched on.
"W- weren't you here for my inventions? You won't kill me."
" I don't think you get it, you ugly piece of shit. Perhaps SuperiorWoman came here with a great ambition, but for me? This is just a mission. I really don't care if she or you die."
He stood there, Frozen. Such an old bitch. I hate people who act arrogant for no reason. I press the pistol to his hazmat suit just to emphasize the point.
"Tick tack Bitch. Why aren't you acting so pompous from above? You have a minute."
Of course, it didn't take him so long. Not even 10 seconds later and he pressed a button on the chair's pannel. Both of the tubes opened and the figures inside dropped to the ground.
But I wasn't done. I gripped him by his chest and pulled him out of his chair, tubes of liquid or whatnot disconnecting from the hazmat suit.
" Wait! You said you were done!"
" Consider it payback for this awful house tour." I glanced Alice, who was still not moving from the spot where she was glaring at the doctor. She didn't bother to look at the other heroes. The only difference is that now she was shaking, and her glare turned more into distraught. But when our eyes met, they got back to wrath and she jumped to us.
She grabbed the limping doctor from the ground, ready to impale him with her hand, but I grabbed it. She growled so was to scare me off, but I didn't let go. She was aware that if she wanted to she could impale the old man even with my own hand. There was just that much of a difference in strength between us.
But something within her eyes sparked.
" Why would you let him dirty those beautiful eyes?" She was caught off guard by my remark, the hand I was holding shaking abruptly, but still finding its way back in the position.
" Why would you waste your life, for him of all people?" I was surprising myself with how philosophical were my words. I really needed her to be on my side.
"He... Killed so many. How could I just let him go? Prison is no punishment for these people..." That's it! Get back into your cliche dialogue trees! But I needed to hit her with a bigger revelation.
" What are you talking about? He was going to be taken to government facility to give out his inventions. There would be no prison for him. No punishment." Her eyes flared even more and her open hand caught mine through the shape of a fist. It was beginning to hurt.
"Then why-why stop me!?" She almost put her thoughts into action, but she slowed down at the final moment.
" Why are you doing? It's so... Out of character for you."
Wow, I didn't think about that. It is possible that she sees me way more gritty than I am.
" Didn't you say you are here for me? That you will share my burdens? Wasn't I supposed to also share yours?"
"I..."
"Let go of this man Alice. He is not the first, nor the last criminal in Concord." She didn't let go of the man, man but at least she let my hand free. I thought I was going to lose it. I raised her face to look at me, but with a quick swing she sent me metres away.
I thought she was actually going to kill him, but before driving her hand through his chest, she stops when touching the rubber of the hazmat suit. She glances at the frail man inside and those cold, calculating eyes return.
"I... Didn't realize you were so pathetic." She lets go and he limps on the ground beneeth her feet, clutching his chest in pain from having it grabbed.
" Aionis is right. Life is a much worse suffering for you." I get what she means, the old man Is in a life support mobility scooter, or was, but it's still an out of place line.
Whatever.
She comes to me and offers her hand. I of course don't decline and get back on my feet.
We took the doctor downstairs and slapped SuperiorWoman into waking up. She was surprised that we succeded, but Alice went into an outburst fantasizing about how I used my powers to break through the glass. She was back to her usual self, at least on the surface.
But in the end we have won.
We let Superior Woman and Chen deal with the fallout and got to the car.
You'd think we would both be depressed that night, but barely after we entered the apartment, Alice pulled me into a wet kiss that lead to a very wild kind of woo. I never saw her so animalistic. Was it coping? If so, a strange way of doing so. I won't pretend I hated it.-*-*-*