Just two months after the weird alien Prodigy summoned us to this empty fuckin’ warehouse inna middle of the slums, or as Henri had already corrected me several times, the “economically underdeveloped..” Whatever the fuck pretentious academic terminolgy she wanted to use, the place was a shithole. I think she thought that meant I disliked the people, which again would be a typical response by an egghead. I liked Henri, she was just an insufferable know it all about everythin’ that came out of a book sometimes. On the other hand, I really liked Rook. Badass and hot in a scary eat your mate way.
I didn’t want ta be here. Of course I hadn’t wanted ta help Bryce during any of his crime-fightin’, it was just going ta get us caught by the Project. He didn’t care, so of course as his older brother, I needed to keep him from doin’ stupid shit as much as possible, to at least avoid him actin’ a right wombat. I hadn’t wanted to babysit when he was an ankle biter before I left for the army, I sure as hell didn’t want ta do it when he was old enough to know better. When was he goin’ to grow up? Probably about the same time the sun made a fair go of not coming up in the east. We should be hidin’ in the fuckin’ shadows, but no, now we had formed a damn club because some fuckin’ space alien who could see through time told us we should. Fuckin’ what was next? Magic? I mean, we already had another fuckin’ kiddie alien on the club. No matter how old Henri was, not very, it was like the fuckin’ Mickey Mouse club those singers had been part of. Fuck, about all I could remember is one of them had a hot body.
As much as I hated it, we needed to be a bit smarter about it. So, that meant working with teams and while I’d rather back up Bryce, Silver Spyder. I mean, yea, we needed to communicate in code, but what was this, a bloody rootin’ cartoon special? So that meant learnin’ to work with the others. So this week, I had Shawna, I mean Gleam Shimmer. Patrol at night, work on the base the rest of the time. I’d finished the last demo job a month ago, so didn’t quite resign, but told them I was only comin’ in for somethin’ big with a big paycheck. Good demo guys were hard to find, and I was good, really good.
Besides, apparently William, or Titan, was richer than most countries, so he had bought this shithole warehouse, and I guess I was rebuildin it from the ground up, with the piss-poor assistance of my bloody knob of a brother. Actually, the girl helped occasionally, not without lots of sarcastic bitchin’ and earbashin’, but, for certain things, she’d be willin’ to ride in the truck with me. As long as the music was blaring rock of all kinds, and as long as we stopped at the boozer for whiskey, a case of tinnies, and plent of durry. How she knew where ta get the hooch and when, I didn’t know. I didn’t say no. Didn’t matter ta me, I went through several packs a day, of whatever we bought. It didn’t do me much good, at least without a continuous stream of it. Genetics suck apparently.
Thursday night. Its been stuck in my mind ever since, years now. We intervened in a weapons sale that really dropped in the fuckin’ dunny. Based on the languages I heard, some version of the Triad, a Mexican cartel, and fuckin’ white supremacists. I don’t know if we ever found out, but one of the members of one of the gangs was an undercover jack.
The kid was good. Brave, but stupid to be here with only her teleportation plats to get in or out. Two qualities that often end up in brave, heroic, deaths. So, I had my attention split too many ways. I wasn’t goin’ ta let her end up being one of those brave and stupid deaths, but she was stubborn and so I found her a good spot ta watch, ta come get me if she needed ta, but that was out of way on one of the upper catwalks.
Of course, brilliant plans and all that. SWAT snuck up on her. She screeched when they grabbed her, so I crushed the knee of the Nazi in front of me, turned. Fifty feet above, she was strugglin’ with the officer ta avoid the cuffs. When he butt-stroked her with the gun, there was really only the one choice, so I faded into the shadows, drawin’ my sidearm. Rapid shots right into the officer’s assault rifle. When he swore and turned, he knocked her from the catwalk. She wasn’t too stunned ta scream. I may have cut it a bit fine, but I caught her. She wasn’t heavy at all. Of course, everybody else saw it too, so hidin’ in the shadows didn’t really slice it when you catch someone with bright pink hair, mask or no mask covering her pretty face. So I pulled her behind me, and took the shots. A lot of them. I’m pretty tough, and I heal pretty well, but it wasn’t goin’ to matter at that point. Firin’ at SWAT, never a good idea. I felt, more than saw, and tasted the energy resonance, as the pulled my bullet riddle body onto one of her platforms.
When people react in stressful situations, they either completely bloody panic, and then its really goin’ cockeyed, or they react with muscle memory. The brain is a great big bloody fuckin’ muscle. Most people forget that. Oh, its way more than a muscle, but its still a muscle. So when I flopped to the pavement on the other side, I had not bloody clue where we landed.
“Bag a dicks, fuck shit….” which was not what I was expectin’. Anger.
Whatever it was, I wasn’t goin’ to go down layin’ on the ground at the feet of some teenage girl who fuckin’ cursed more than me, and in more creative ways frankly. I slowly stood, drawing my gun, absently through my own muscle memory and years of trainin’ changin’ the clip for a full one. All a matter of seconds and I let my senses seek the threat.
Trailer park, darkened for the most part, whatever safety lights there should be were broken or off, a few flickered down the street, a couple over the houses a few doors down. Plenty of light for me to see. A darkened trailer in front of us, rusted swing set outside. Wind tinkling through a million chimes on the trailer next too it, way too many cars and thumping music in the one on the other side from where I stood.
Maybe thirty seconds passed and she just stood there, which gave me time to bleed all over the dessicated yard, but I wasn’t dyin’, it just hurt like fuckin’ hell.
I scented people, but just, normal’s not the right word, but nothing that stank of threat.
“Gleam?” I murmured softly. Most people don’t realize whispers carry further, attract more notice.
Most people rely on seeing a person’s eyes for expression. Oh, sure they use the body too, but they are confused often enough if they can’t see the eyes as the primary. I have advantages most people don’t have. In some ways, the best way I can describe it is a ripple. Its just subtle changes, but the ripple passed through her in such a way that I would describe as panic, relief, pain, anger, and then, loss.
“Nothing to see here, is there, Target Dummy?”
“Target Dummy?”
“Really? That needs explained?”
“Guess not. That was a bit of a boil-over. RTB?”
“Boiling Raging Twat Balls?”
I just look at her like she’s insane. Sighing, she says, “What the fuck did you just say? Try again in English?”
“Return to Base. It is English.”
“Not that, TD. Boil-over? English, English, you illegal immigrant.”
“Uh, unexpected event? You know – the clusterfuck at the arms deal.”
“Oh.” I can tell she’s distracted, usually she’s much more sarcastic and well, teenagery, I guess.
I gave her another minute, before promptin’, “So, RTB?”
“Sure, why the fuck not,” she said in a resigned, pain-laden voice.
As we step off the plat into the empty area designated for it at the base, I say, “Home?”
She flinches for a second, “Was.”
“Moved?”
“Kind of.”
I’m a past master of not saying shit when I don’t want too. So I shut up.
I finished Shawna’s room first.
Last Dreams 