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Our Paranormal Chernobyl The creature at the far end of the aisle could never be mistaken for Stranger. In profile, the thing was about the size and shape of a VW Beetle, if the car was stood on end and mounted on two stubby legs. It’s great, humped back curved forward into a broad forehead and squashed nose. And almost the rest of the front of its body was a huge, gaping maw. From nose to kneecaps, it was all mouth, with teeth the size of dinner plates. When it turned toward him slightly, it resembled nothing so much as a giant rust-colored head on legs, naked except for what looked like ripped gym shoes on its feet. Two long, powerful arms jutted from the sides of the skull, busily scooping frozen foods towards its mouth. The boxes seemed to jump from its hands and disappear, like they were being inhaled. It still hadn’t noticed Crossfire. And evidently, nor had it noticed the teenage clerk halfway between itself and Crossfire. A corridor intersected the aisle at midpoint. The boy was crouched at the butt of the right-hand aisle, head between his knees and hands covering his head, rocking slightly back and forth like an autistic. Crossfire ducked back around the aisle. A few thoughts occurred to him just then. Why did he have to go in alone? Why did he assume it would just be Stranger? How could he get Ed in here without leaving the kid alone with the Candidate of the Year for Orthopedic Surgery? Aaron would not have been pleased. Nor would Darius. He’d limited his options to one, and made crappy use of available resources. Jonathan peeked back up the aisle. The torn up Nikes were a giveaway that this had been a normal person, until someone came along and decided a few "improvements" were in order. No matter what happened this was an innocent person, so Jonathan quickly fingered the arrows in his quill and made sure his taser arrows were grouped together. It wasn’t difficult to find him. The man had moved to the next aisle: bread and chips. Crossfire looked around the corner of the aisle and saw the giant-mouthed creature stuffing whole loaves into his maw. "Crossfire!" Waters called out, from somewhere near the entrance. Jonathan ignored the cop’s call and focused on what, no who, he had to remind himself, was in front of him. "Hey. You still want some burgers? There’s some coming, all you have to do is come with me." The meta popped a polka-dotted loaf of Wonder Bread into his mouth and turned toward Crossfire. "Burgers! Ol’ Jack would love some burgers!" He took two steps toward the archer, then stopped, his small eyes narrowing even further. "You lyin’ to me? And whaddya gonna do with the bow and arrow?" "Nothing, nothing now." Jonathan pulled the arrow away from the bow and placed it back in the quiver. The bow stayed in his hand. If necessary, he could pull it back up and be ready to fire, fast. Darius had him practice it a million times. "And I’m not lying about the burgers. You’ve got some friends outside going to a whole lot of trouble to get you as many as they can. All you have to do is come outside with me. Okay?" "Bring ‘em in when they’re ready," the man said. A distant roar accompanied his words, like a wind blowing down a mountain pass. It was amazing to watch that giant jaw shape the words. The space at the back of his throat was the inky black of space—and Jonathan swore that he could see objects moving in the distance. "Jack’s got some more eatin’ to do." And with that he turned aside to scoop eight-count bags of hotdog buns into his mouth. As Jonathan watched, he had a recollection from his high school days when he’d tried his hand at Dungeons and Dragons, a game he couldn’t understand anyone wanting to bother playing, and his ‘character’ had found a magic item. It was called a... bag of holding. You could put a lot of stuff in there and never fill it up. How much could this guy eat? "Listen, uhm, Jack. There’s a whole lot of people nervous about you being in here," Jonathan decided he was one of them, "I know you’re hungry but there’s people out there that can help with that. Besides, you wouldn’t want those burgers to get cold if you’re not there would you?" "Hmmm... big tasty juicy burgers." If appealing to Jack’s sense of reason didn’t work, at least he could try his sense of taste. "You know, with everything on them." Jack paused. "Everything?" Crossfire nodded. "Everything." He appeared to think this over. "Let’s see ‘em." "You got it, big man." Jonathan was trying not to chuckle, then didn’t have to worry about it all as a serious thought struck him. What if the burgers weren’t on their way? Waters did put the order out, but... Shit. Waters. "Hey Waters!" Crossfire shouted out, "I’m bringing a friend with me outside and he’s hungry. You better get going and make sure you get some of them burgers unwrapped and pronto!" There was no answer. Jack stepped forward, his arms flexing. "What’re we waitin’ for? I’m STARVIN’!" Outside in the parking lot, Ed had lost sight of both Crossfire and Waters when they moved deeper into the store. At least no more shelves had come flying through the glass. He heard the squeal of brakes behind him and turned. A black semi-truck and a blue van were entering the parking lot from opposite ends. The blue van had the big PRIMUS seal in white; the black truck had a gold stripe along the side and a gold star on the door: SWAT. The two vehicles pulled to a stop almost nose to nose. "Whoa," Ed whispered, eyes narrowing as he watched the vehicles pull up. "Shit’s gettin’ serious." He looked back towards the storefront, to see if Red had managed to send the weird guy out yet, but it was a no go. He’d never seen PRIMUS before, even though he’d heard of em. SWAT he’d seen once in Dallas. Drug bust gone bad, and they’d been pretty cool. Really organized and shit. He waited to see what would happen next. The trailer doors opened up in the black truck and a dozen men swarmed out. They wore gear similar to what Ed had seen in Dallas: goggles, helmets, thick vests that looked fireproof. And they all carried bad-ass assault rifles. A man stepped out of the front cab, glared at the PRIMUS van, and started scanning the parking lot—looking for someone he knew, maybe. The SWAT team members assembled in a line, like they were waiting to be inspected. No one got out of the blue and white PRIMUS vehicle. "I’m kinda hungry myself Jack," Jonathan said. He glanced around one last time, then waved a hand, "C’mon. Let’s go." He acted nonchalant, but inside he seethed. Left to the cops, Jonathan knew this was going to go to hell, and something just wasn’t right. Waters didn’t answer, not like he had much to say normally at all, maybe he’d seen him with Jack and went out ahead to make sure those burgers were there. "Listen, when we get there, let me go out first okay? No offense, but your... appetite startles people." They reached the front aisle, Jack trudging behind him. "Why don’t you just say it?" the big man rumbled. The air generated from forming his words was like a stiff breeze against Crossfire’s back. "I’ve turned inta a freak!" Crossfire stopped and turned to face Jack. "To them? Yeah, on the outside maybe so. But not inside Jack. That’s where it counts. You’re not alone in this, there are others just like you transformed by... by who were not sure. But count on this, you’ve got friends like me and others you haven’t even met yet who want to be your friend working hard to figure it all out. Just play it cool, okay? We’ll figure this all out together." Jonathan looked back out front. Beyond the cash registers was the wall of glass, one 8-foot wide pane shattered by the shelf that Jack had tossed out earlier. Waters was nowhere to be seen—but at the entrance, the automatic exit door was closing. Waters ran toward the line of squad cars. It was strange to see the man do something so energetic. He was looking beyond Ed and the cops, taking in the SWAT team standing by their black truck and the blue and white van parked in front of it. "Where are the PRIMUS agents?" Waters barked to the nearest cop. Movement by the store drew Ed’s attention. Beyond the glass he could make out Red’s bright jammies and the hulking figure that Crossfire had described. There were walking down the aisle behind the cash registers, when they suddenly stopped. Crossfire turned to face the big guy, looking like he was preaching again. That was Red, all right. And we have a winner! Ed thought to himself as he squinted at the large form behind Red. "C’mon," Crossfire said. "Everyone’s waiting outside, and there should be some burgers there too. But how about I head out first? Let them know everything’s okay." Jack suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Whaddya mean, SHOULD be? You said there were BURGERS! You said there was EVERYTHING ON THEM! You’re trying to TRAP me, AREN’T YOU? EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAAAAAAAY!" Jack’s mouth was wide open, as big as a doorway, and a wind came blasting out of the black void behind his teeth. Inside Jack, (where it counted, Crossfire thought to himself) was a vast open space. And far away in that space, many former sale items were rushing out of the void at great velocity, toward the single fire exit that was Jack’s mouth. That is to say, toward Crossfire. Jonathan weighed his options quickly. Right or left might dodge the incoming attack, as could up. But it was still only a might. But what about up and over? Jack could only fire anything at him one way. Crossfire leapt into the air, making a somersault that put his feet against the side of a long shelving unit, then jumped out again with another somersault. He landed directly behind Jack. Just in time. The place where the archer had been standing was buried under an avalanche of food and packages, some if it crushed and mulched, but most of it still whole: 2-liter Pepsi bottles, a plastic mesh bag of oranges, loaves of French bread in paper wrappers, jars of peanut butter, a two-pound block of cheddar cheese, dented cans of kidney beans, several heads of lettuce, a 9x12 baking pan, an entire spice rack, several ten-pound bags of sugar, a dozen cylinders of shrink-wrapped Jimmy Dean sausage... that was just the stuff that Crossfire could see. None of it looked even partially digested—it seemed like a bunch of food that had been tossed into a dumpster, then tossed out. Jack shut his mouth, and the food hurricane abruptly stopped. He put a hand to his lips. "Excuse me," he said. He looked around. "Where’d you go?" "I said ‘should’," Crossfire said from behind him, "because they will be there Jack, just maybe not exactly when we get out there. Calm down and don’t make things worse!" Jack turned around. "I really wanted those burgers. Now I’m hungrier than ever. Bring ‘em inside when they’re done." And with that he turned to start walking back into the middle of the store. "Hey! CANDY! How’d I miss the candy section?!" Jonathan wished he would get as excited around the pharmacy area—Pepto Bismol came to mind in particular. "Okay, I’ll let you know when they’re here, but you’re gonna have to come outside when they do. You can’t stay holed up inside of here forever. Besides," Blake indicated past the glass doors with his hand, "We still got some folks unaccounted for in here. You mind if some folks come in to escort them out?" But Jack wasn’t listening. He’d pivoted to face the glass windows, eyes squinting.
Outside, Ed had seen Crossfire suddenly flip behind the creature to dodge the avalanche of food that had spewed from the man’s gigantic mouth. The cop next to Waters said, "Ewww." It was time to act. Ed focused his talent on the big man. Hi. Ed’s voice rang in the newcomer’s mind. Just wanted to let you know that if you stay cool, we can help you out. The minute you start running or freaking out, there’s about a dozen cops out here that are gonna start shooting. They’ve been freaked out by a whole bunch of stuff that’s been going on in this city, and if you start throwing shit around, they’re just gonna get scared. You got a name? I’m Ed. Freaking out? the man thought back over the channel Ed had opened. Now I’m hearing voices in my head! Now listen, ‘Ed,’ IF you really exist, get on a damn phone and order me some Chinese food. Hu-Nan Beef. That Sezzy-wan stuff. I already got somebody workin’ on burgers. And if you don’t think I’m serious, get a load of THIS. It came down the mental channel before Ed could shut it off: pure hunger, distilled to a sawtooth edge that cut out his guts and hung them out to dry in a hot wind. Ed cut the connection. He stumbled back against one of the cop cars, hands clutching at his stomach. Goddammit! he thought, visions of Big Macs dancing in his minds eye, hunger twisting at his belly. You no-dicked, brain-fucked... the litany went on for a few seconds as he tried to shake the illusionary hunger the asshole in the store had slammed him with. "Fine, you want to play it that way..." he muttered as his thoughts scythed out towards the intruder. "Fuckin’ drop you like a three dollar whore." Jack roared. To Crossfire’s ears, it seemed twice as loud as his shout a few moments before. A jet of chewed and battered foodstuffs shot across the tops of the cash registers and shattered the glass panels in front of him. "GET! OUTTA! MY! HEAD!" A moment ago, Crossfire had Jack calmed down. It didn’t seem that way now. And there was only one person that could upset someone in their mind. Crossfire ran towards the front of the store, hurdling a shopping cart in one stride that barred his path. Diving through empty window that Jack had just created, he came up standing. "Ed!" he shouted, "Dammit, quit hurting him!" The SWAT team rushed to positions behind the squad cars. "Hold your fire!" Waters shouted. Then he slowly turned back to the young esper. "Ed?" he asked icily. What Ed was doing wasn’t right. Crossfire looked back at Jack, fists clenched and pawing at his head. This wasn’t his fault, nobody seemed to want to compensate for the fact that Jack didn’t ask to be like this, he was turned into it. Whatever had happened between Ed and Jack didn’t matter either, only the results because Ed wouldn’t back off, or maybe Ed just snapped. Didn’t matter either way, he decided, Ed needed to be stopped. Crossfire jerked his bow up, anger making him less focused than normal. He pulled a taser arrow from his quiver and sighted, trying to calm and relax his breathing, to gain control and just let the shot happen. He struggled with his breathing, his mind warred with what was best, did striking out at Ed accomplish anything? Jack’s painful shout echoed in his brain, and was soon joined by the cries of his father, of the dealers he’d cornered, of cops lying in their own blood, of Bethany taking her last breath after being shot by one of Guijarro’s muscle... Fuck it, he thought, the kid needs a spanking. Crossfire shut it down, shut it all down, his anger amplifying into a rage that somehow encompassed everything. Then the world slowed down, his anger became a burning pinprick of light, and the fog cleared in his eyes so he could see the shot with crystal clarity. He let loose the shaft. Ed was standing sixty feet away, only half his body visible behind the hood of a squad car. It didn’t matter. The shaft flew true, and struck him in the chest. The esper’s coppery force field flared, and with an ear-splitting _crack!_ the teenager was knocked backward. He flew twenty feet and struck the side of the PRIMUS van with a thud. Jack leaped out through the open window and landed next to Crossfire. His eyes were focused on where Ed had disappeared from view. "Tag!" he shouted. "Nice shot!" One second, Ed’s gaze was locked on Jumbo, his talent gathering. The next, he was lying on his ass, staring up at the sky, wondering what the fuck hit him. Ed blinked as the sun burned into his eyes, then closed them, coppery afterimages all but blinding him. "What the hell was that?" Ed said to nobody in particular. He wasn’t really hurt, more shocked than anything. "Who the fuck shot me?" He knew he’d been hit, and he had a really, really nasty feeling that Red had more than a little to do with it, but it had all happened to goddamn fast. Some woman had stepped out of the van, holding a pretty lethal looking piece, and Ed wandered if she was going to shoot him or something. He sat up, blinking rapidly as the sunlight hit him full in the face. "Hey lady, you see some big shithead standing next to another shithead dressed in red? And the shithead in red, is he holding a goddamn bow?" If Red had fucked with him, if Red had fucking SHOT him, there’d be hell to pay. He remembered Red screaming out for him to stop hurting Jumbo, like it was permanent or something. He waited to hear if the lady was going to respond. She did, and it was just what Ed expected from a cop. "That’s my concern, sir, not yours. Now just sit tight and watch your mouth." Without taking her sidearm off him, she produced a badge. "PRIMUS Field Agent Laura Pender," she stated, glancing over at the three others exiting the van behind her. PRIMUS, police... Ed thought. Close enough. Same shit. She called out to the uniformed men scrambling out of the van. "Ferraras, Grodenko—watch our friend here. Mehldau, you’re with me." "Oh fuck this," Ed said as he watched the bitch from PRIMUS walk away from him. He looked over at the two PRIMUS cops watching him and shook his head. "You ain’t cops, I ain’t broke no laws, and if either of you shoot me, you better fucking hope it kills me, ‘cause I’ll shoot back. Comprende?" This whole scene had gone to shit. Total shit. He’d played along, he’d tried to help, he’d even been shot at, and by one of the fucking good guys no less. He should have listened to himself. With the exception of Quickbeam, all cops and cop wannabes were assholes, to be dealt with only when you had to. He turned and began to walk away. Time he started looking out for himself again. And he had to frickin’ meet Iggy tonight, so he’d better find a hotel to stay at between now and then. Maybe get a paper and see about an apartment. He didn’t have much money left, that was for sure. And he wasn’t getting any fucking richer playing cops and robbers. He kept his shields up, in case Red decided he needed to be a man again and shoot him in the back. Pender, about to confer with the SWAT team, looked back at this decidedly unexpected and undesirable turn of events. Saying nothing, she merely nodded at her partner and turned back to the police. "PRIMUS Field Agent Salvadore Ferreras," the stocky, swarthy man shouted after Ed. "Sir, please halt immediately or we will be forced to contain you." This was followed by the ominous cocking of whatever high-tech armament Ferreras’s MCT had brought to bear on the teenager. Ed heard the asshole cock his rifle, and it pissed him off. Scared him a little to, cause he’d never really run into these pricks before. He stopped and turned around, his face devoid of emotion, eyes bright and almost luminous. "You shoot me, I’ll have your ass for breakfast. I ain’t done a goddamn thing to you, I ain’t broke no laws, and I was fucking invited here by the cops!" This last was all but shouted, and Ed could feel himself losing it. There was too much emotion in the air, too much tension and anger and fear. It was pushing in on him, hammering at his skull, making him want to run, or something... Ed squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenched at his sides. Man, this was bad. Fucking Red... Why’d he have to open his goddamn mouth in the first place? This could have been over by now! But no, everyone and his goddamn dog had to get involved. Crossfire saw Ed get up and start to walk away. The taser arrow didn’t drop Ed liked Crossfire had hoped. Jonathan had tried to be the kid’s friend, despite all the bullshit he’d caused him earlier. Ed had even begun to respond, but that just pointed to how unstable he must really be. A kid with all that power, able to touch the giant’s mind and help him, yet only to turn around later and hurt Jack. Jonathan was someone’s fool once. He hadn’t heard what Ed had said to the female agent, but the armed PRIMUS agent’s order to halt carried loud and clear. Which meant more people may be hurt soon, if the agent tried to enforce those orders. Crossfire considered his entangle arrow, but that wasn’t enough. Ed’s powers came from the mind, and with his coppery field, Blake wasn’t even sure that the entangle would hold. Crossfire notched another arrow, and pulled back on the bow. Ed wasn’t going anywhere, and he was going to regret telling Jonathan what he had about his powers. It was hard to walk away when you couldn’t see. It was just as hard for Ed to use his powers blind. Which suited Jonathan just fine as he fired the arrow. Let’s see how cocky he is now. Nobody was saying a damn thing, and that pissed Ed off even more. He opened his eyes, and was just about to tell them all to fuck off and die when there was the sound of something going pop, and the entire goddamn world went white. It felt like someone had lit about a million candles behind his eyeballs. "Goddammit, you sons-of-bitches!" Ed practically screamed, his hands uselessly rubbing at his eyes. He was well and truly fucked now. He couldn’t see anything, and if he couldn’t see, he couldn’t defend himself against whatever bullshit the bastards were going to pull next. Ferreras fell to the ground, stricken and muttering obscenities on such wide-ranging topics as punk kids who don’t listen, PRIMUS’ bad habit of understaffing and under-equipping a certain branch office, and unruly metahumans in general. Out of instinct, Grodenko raised a hand to protect himself, but quickly regained his composure, assessed the situation, and turned his helmeted head this way and that in an attempt to discover the source of the explosion; Mehldau, however, having seen the crimson-suited archer fire an arrow only a split-second before, fully riveted his attention on Crossfire. "Jesus!" Pender exclaimed, instead of carrying through with her initial intention of consulting with local law enforcement. The officer she’d approached jumped back slightly at her sudden change in tone. "What the hell is going on here?!" Her anger had a variety of sources, but the fact that someone else—namely, a metahuman—had co-opted her authority on the scene was not the least of them. The last thing she or anyone wanted was a free-for-all between these two (and possibly three) metas, especially with her and her agents caught in the middle. Ed fumed. Running would be pointless—he had no idea which way was up at the moment, and he’d probably run smack into a goddamn cop car. So he did the only sensible thing he could do: He sat down and fucking waited. "If you pricks have burned out my eyes, so help me God I'll make you pay. I’ll find a way, I’ll find a fucking way," he muttered, keeping his shields tweaked on and his hands over his eyes. It was obvious to Ed that there wasn’t a single person in this town he could trust. Not the cops, not the pajama crowd, and definitely not those PRIMUS fuckers. The fireman guy was cool, and those shitheads at the bar had seemed ok, but fuck.. where were they when he needed help, huh? Sure, they counted on him to fucking put his ass on the line, but where were they when he was getting dicked over? And still the emotions of the growing crowd kept hammering at his skull, stretching his nerves out to the breaking point. And to top it all off, some goddamn dog was barking it’s ass off across the street, announcing to the whole world that if it could only get over here, it would rip out somebodies throat. A tiny voice in his head was trying to tell him to calm down, but everything else kept it muted and small. Ineffective. Like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt bottle. Fucker sounded like a terrier. Terriers were the mouthiest fucking dogs on the planet. Ed felt like crying... Crossfire took in the scene by the PRIMUS van. One agent had taken the hit, Jonathan felt bad for him, but it wasn’t permanent. One was looking for the source of the blinding flash, but another had found it. Crossfire’s eyepiece whirred as he zoomed in on the expression. Not good, he thought. But you couldn’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs. He turned his head to regard Ed. With the magnification, Jonathan took some time to study his face. What was Ed, seventeen? Eighteen? He could see the spotty areas a shaver would need to work and decided he certainly wasn’t any older. The kid looked angry sitting there, but he also looked like he’d start crying at any moment. The face looked familiar, similar to one that had stared back at him from a mirror just over a year and a half ago. The image retreated back, the eyepiece taking in the scene from normal magnification, as Jonathan looked away. The kid had no right to do what he did, but Jonathan couldn’t help but feel there might have been another way, as the adrenaline rush from the rage began to fall away. Maybe, he thought, Maybe not. It might make Ed think twice about the next time he tried something like that, maybe the kid just panicked, but you had to accept the consequences of your actions. Jonathan doubted Ed would see it that way, and hoped they wouldn’t be spending much time together in the near future. That wouldn’t be pretty. At least now, he might have the chance to just sit and cool off, think about what he’d done. Jonathan shrugged and looked around, deciding he wasn’t the kid’s mother. That’s when he saw the lead PRIMUS on the scene, she’d just finished shouting something that Crossfire didn’t take as being a good omen overall. "Hey Jack, he said to the recently mutated man beside him, "I think tag is over for now, okay?" Hungry Jack roared like a happy steam engine. "WOO HOO! Not by a longshot, Crossbow!" The huge meta ran toward the line of squad cars, straight toward Waters. The detective had turned to see where the flash had gone off, but at the sound of Jack’s roar he whipped his head around again, gun out. Jack leaped right over the man’s head and landed on the roof of the police car, shattering the bank of lights and denting the roof considerably. "Hey Glow Boy!" he yelled. Ed’s head whipped around, facing the direction of crunching metal. He could also hear one of the PRIMUS assholes swearing, and that cop guy telling everybody to not shoot. He had a nasty feeling that the freak from the store was getting ready to pound his ass, and thanks to Red there wouldn’t be fuck-all he could do about it. At least until the freak laid his hands on him. Then he’d bleed. Fear and tension were pouring off everyone nearby him, and he was fighting like hell to keep from curling up into a little ball right there in the middle of the fucking street. The police were shouting warnings to each other. Every cop who didn’t already have a weapon out was reaching for his or her holster. The SWAT members swiveled their rifles to target the big meta. "Hold your fire!" Waters yelled. "You’ll shoot each other!" This situation’s getting out of control, Jonathan thought. It was all thanks to Ed, but he couldn’t let Jack just beat on the guy while he was helpless. With lightning speed, Crossfire brought his bow up to bear and notched another arrow, something to keep Jack in one spot. "Hey Jack!" he shouted to get the big man’s attention, "The name’s Crossfire. And I’m still IT!". The bowstring thudded against his wristguard as the shaft flew straight at Jack. The arrow struck Jack between his massive shoulder blades, and exploded. White liquid enveloped him and instantly congealed. Even his great mouth was filled with the substance; Jack’s furious roar came out muffled. What in hell is happening? Ed wondered, scooting backwards. He knew there was a van behind him, cause he’d been knocked into the damn thing by Red. He was pretty sure at this point that the bastard had shot him earlier. Whatever... There’d be payment for that later. Now he just had to try and stay the hell out of everyone’s way. Pender crouched defensively when the giant leapt atop the car, but it took her only a moment to recover her wits. Her first thought was That glue won’t hold forever. Her second was Even if it does, I don’t want to deal with that thing while it’s conscious. Her third would’ve been concerned with finding out what was happening, but she didn’t have time to think about that just yet. "Hit it, Mehldau!" she barked. The MCT nodded and opened up on Hungry Jack with his sonic stunner. The white substance covering jack cracked where the beam struck. Jack shouted in anger, but he was still muffled by the glue. Two cops had been behind the car that Jack had jumped onto, and they had ducked reflexively when the big man came down on the roof. When the sonic stunner went off, one officer stayed down, but the other lifted his .357 and fired point blank, hitting the Jack in his right thigh and knocking chips of the white substance into the air. Like everyone else, except for perhaps the blinded Ferreras and Ed, Grodenko whirled to face the commotion when it occurred, but seeing that Pender and Mehldau seemed to have things well in hand for the time being he decided to tie up a loose end—literally—but making sure the blinded teenager didn’t try anything funny, sightless or no. "Never can tell these days," he muttered, firing his netgun nearly pointblank at Ed. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. One minute he was crouched down, waiting to get hammered by the fucker with the mouth. The next, something snapped around him and knocked him on his ass, tied up like a goddamned dog. He was blind. He was trapped. And nobody was doing a fucking thing to help him. He thought about screaming, about using his extensive (and colorful) vocabulary to voice his displeasure. But that hadn’t fucking worked, now had it? He thought about motives. He’d come out here, he’d trusted the damn cops and that fucker Red. He’d played ball. He’d done everything he said he’d do, and no more. And what did he get? Shot. Twice. Then tied up like a fucking thug. Nobody listened to him. Nobody respected him. He was just some kid, something that got in their way. Fine. No problemo. Nope. Ed lay there and waited for his sight to return. Waited to see what else they might do to him. Maybe they’d throw him in jail. That would be fun. At least it would give him a fucking place to sleep for the night. And something to eat. He realized he was hungry. And wasn’t that kind of funny? Here he was, trussed up like somebodies fucking Thanksgiving dinner, and he worried about food. Har har har. There was no use in struggling anymore. No use in even fucking trying to explain things. He’d just wait for them to cut him lose, then leave. He wanted to fucking cry. So he lay there, and just concentrated on shutting them all out. Waters ran to the squad car and scrambled onto the hood, standing next to Jack. "I said hold your fire!" he shouted. Jack threw himself off the top of the car and struck the pavement; layers of the hardened glue shattered and popped off his body. There was only a thin layer of the stuff holding him now. Not good, thought Pender, and quickly stepped away from the scene. Crossfire wondered when Jack had gone from being the victim to the victimizer. Ed’s actions had triggered a series of events that made him wonder why he ever bothered to work with others. Even Darius had moments that sent Jonathan out onto the streets to hunt alone, not out of his normal desire to avenge the wrongs of others, but just to seek some peace. Too many folks were taking pot-shots at Jack when he was down, all Jonathan wanted to do was restrain him from attacking Ed. He wondered why it’d been worth it. Jogging forward, he leapt onto the car hood that Jack had stood on, traces of the glue hardened on the metal top. Seeing Jack laying on the ground, Jonathan pulled another arrow from his quiver and aimed it carefully near his face, but not at it. I hope this earns you some rest, Jack, Crossfire thought as he increased the tension on the bowstring gently before its release. The smoke from the gas arrow roiled around Jack’s head, but if the big meta noticed it, he gave no sign. He was twitching on the ground, trying to break out of the shell of glue. Waters, standing on the hood next to Crossfire, brought his gun hand up and aimed it squarely at Crossfire’s head. "When I say ‘hold your fire’," Waters said in his dead man’s voice, "that is generally understood to mean do not fucking fire." Despite the noise of Jack’s thrashing and muffled roars, Jonathan distinctly heard the click of the hammer cocking. Grodenko chuckled, just once, quietly to himself. "Now drop the bow. Or are you going to go psycho on me too?" "Shit. Sorry Waters. I missed that command, in fact I just wanted to knock Jack out before he kept causing more problems." Crossfire lowered the bow, but didn’t relinquish his grasp on it, "So I’m hoping you’ve got some good ideas before Jack gets free. He’s still pretty pissed at Ed back there." "And I’m sure Jack appreciates you helping him out in that department," Waters said. He pointed to the armored PRIMUS agent a few feet away. "Grodenko—I’m OIC for this op. Now where’s the broad who’s been ordering you around?" "Over here," Pender said, striding back to the scene with yet another of PRIMUS’ meta containment weapons. It wasn’t as imposing as those carried by Grodenko and Mehldau, but it still had more than one cop wondering just what else was in that van. "PRIMUS Field Agent Laura Pender, Acting Silver Avenger. If you’ll just step aside," she added, "I’ll shoot the monster." Halfway between Pender and the car Waters and Crossfire were standing on, Jack got to his knees. Suddenly he flexed his huge arms, and the last of the white shell burst away from his body. Jack roared like a wind tunnel. He was free. The big meta was directly in front of Pender, his huge mouth wide open. She couldn’t see the back of his throat. Behind his great teeth was nothing but the inky blackness of space—and there seemed to be things floating back there. "Waters, can I stop holding my fire now?" Jonathan asked. Waters lowered his gun. "You’ve done enough. It’s PRIMUS’ show now." He hopped down off the car so that the vehicle was between him and Jack. "Now get down before you get caught in the crossfire." Jonathan wasn’t sure what surprised him more; the fact that Waters had spoken more than three words or that he’d told a joke. It hadn’t been funny, but it did make sense. Crossfire jumped down to join Waters, but stood poised to move again, even to take Waters with him, if it got real ugly. For Pender, things suddenly downshifted into slow motion. She saw Grodenko and Mehldau trade a look and a nod, then she hit the deck, knowing full well what the protocol here would be, considering the weapons with which they were armed and the situation they were facing. First Grodenko would fire the sonic stunner—there. The high-pitched whine of the thing followed on the heels of her thought with military precision. Then Mehldau would immobilize him (or try, anyway) with his netgun. It was important that their volleys proceed in that order, and she found herself preoccupied with the logistics of the event. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism on her part to avoid thinking about the presence of an actual honest-to-God-damned giant bellowing not nearly far enough away from her. Whatever the case, she knew from her training and from experience that the sonic stunner had an adverse effect on the netgun’s entangling cords; it was even quite possible that the former could completely destroy the latter, were they to be fired out of sequence. She’d seen it happen herself, and she wasn’t eager to witness it again with Jack here. However, she trusted that Grodenko and Mehldau knew what they were doing, and as expected, she heard the shotgun-like pop of the netgun after the stunner like a pair of eighth-notes. Childhood piano lessons. More denial, or sublimation, or whatever the PRIMUS pyschs were calling it these days. The beam from the sonic stunner hit Jack in the side, then the net struck him from the front. The bundle of cords hit him in the left shoulder and discharged, most of the net falling uselessly to the side. Jack was wrapped up for now, but judging from the way he’d gotten free of the glue, it wouldn’t hold him long. As Pender looked up to witness the effectiveness of the MCTs’ work, a somewhat irrelevant thought flashed into her head: I wonder how Ferreras is doing.... Jonathan approved of the sonics tactic. As a sign of appreciation, he pulled a screamer arrow out from his quiver and brought it up to bear, all the while on the move. He moved around the car (left? right?), until he found himself positioned properly. Unlike Waters, Crossfire had nothing to prove to himself or PRIMUS. It wasn’t about one-upmanship, it was only important to end this quickly. He flicked the micro-trigger that sat nestled between the quills and let loose, hearing the familiar whine start to reach its crescendo. The arrow struck Jack between the shoulder blades and went off; the cords of the PRIMUS net burst apart across the man’s back. "God dammit, Crossfire!" Pender yelled, truly angry. "Stay out of this!" What is it about a fancy weapon and a Halloween costume that make any yokel off the street think he’s some kind of hero? This was precisely why PRIMUS was needed here. It had been statistically proven—every aspiring agent learned this—that the average well-intentioned yahoo in pajamas ended up causing more problems than he solved, because he lacked the training and know-how to do anything but make matters worse. Nothing irritated Pender more than a rogue meta who somehow felt he had the right to interfere in PRIMUS business—and almost all of them did. At best, they were an annoyance; at worst... well.... Jack shouted in pain. He ripped away the last of the net and clapped his fingers to his ears. "DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT! ALL I WANTED WAS A FRICKIN’ BURGER!" Pender rolled away from the enraged giant, brought her weapon to bear, and ordered simply "Again!" Once more she heard the whine-pop of the stunner and netgun as Grodenko and Mehldau did their duty, but this time it was accompanied by the soft "phoot" of her rifle as it launched an incapacitating gas shell at Jack. Combined with the blast from Mehldau’s stunner, odds were—she hoped—it would drop him like a sack, and with any luck she could find a better way to deal with him while he was down. It was theoretically sound... assuming some "hero" didn’t come along and free him again. So much for theory. Jack threw himself to the side as the group fired. Mehldau’s stunner caught him square on the butt, which made the big man grunt but didn’t seem to hurt him much. Grodenko’s bundle of cords whistled past Jack and struck one of the cops cowering against the squad car behind him. The officer fell over sideways, thoroughly ensnared. Pender’s canister struck Jack in the leg and went off. The gas billowed around the man, but the strangely cohesive cloud didn’t seem to slow him down. Waters stood and started shouting instructions. "PD! Get the civilians out of the lot! Pull back now!" The Jewel employees and former shoppers had been kept at the rear of the lot, behind the SWAT truck and PRIMUS van. More bystanders had joined them. And until thirty seconds ago, that had seemed like a safe distance. But now Jack had been drawn out of the building, then enraged by the series of attacks and the distinct lack of burgers with everything on them. Crossfire did a forward somersault, landing in front of the cop ensnared in the netting. Nice job of PRIMUS to create a sitting duck for Jack’s frustrations. Screw them, he thought, deciding they could sort out the details later, but they sure as hell better start with Ed. This whole situation had quickly snowballed out of anyone’s control. All that remained was to get Jack down and out. Jonathan would seek his own forgiveness in this mess later. He hoped retribution wouldn’t be further necessary first. As he landed he pulled another arrow from his quiver, seeing the head blossom outward as it streaked to impact with the small of Jack’s back. The big man made a big target, and Crossfire didn’t miss. The blunt arrow thunked into his back with frightening force. Jack staggered and almost fell down. "FUCK!" the meta roared, turning to face the archer. He didn’t look too steady on his feet. The thought of firing another arrow at this range seemed too lethal to Jonathan. As Jack turned, Crossfire leapt into the air, bringing his whole body around in a circle. His right leg shot out and the ball of his foot caught Jack square on his big bony chin. The man’s eyes crossed, then uncrossed. "YOU KICKED ME," he said in a hurt voice. Somehow, getting kicked in the face was more personal to him than being shot by all these exotic weapons. His voice was still too loud, though; he was still deaf from the screamer arrow. "YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KICK ME." It looked like he was going to cry. Pender signaled for the MCTs to hold their fire for the time being, and wondered just how much weirder this was going to get. She didn’t want to kill this meta if she didn’t have to, but it was starting to look like nothing was going to work against him but the heaviest of equipment in the van. Jack wiped at his eyes. "OKAY THEN." He looked down at Crossfire, his eyes narrowing. "FIRST OF ALL, NO MORE SHOOTING." Jonathan realized that Jack was staring hard at his bow. "I’LL TAKE THAT," he said. And inhaled. It was like an airlock opening in a bad sci-fi movie. Everything within fifteen feet of Jack began to be sucked toward his enormous mouth. Then just as suddenly, the big man closed his mouth and clapped his hands across his lips. "Oops," he said. Jack had just eaten Crossfire. "Well, you don’t see that everyday," Pender muttered. It was times like this, she reflected, that made it difficult for PRIMUS to pick sides. Jack seemed repentant, and she had some confidence that Crossfire could fight his way out, if need be, so she decided to give the whole situation a moment or two to resolve itself before she and her team resumed their assault on the imposing brick of a man. Jack, hands still holding his mouth shut, looked around at the assembled crowd, most of whom were pointing guns at him. Several long seconds passed. "What do I do?" he said in a small voice. "Just keep doing what you’re doing," Pender replied, suddenly forced into actually talking things through with him. "Nobody wants any trouble here. Behave yourself, and there won’t be any." A wisp of gray smoke escaped from between his fingers. "And open your mouth," she added. Jack did as he was told. He dropped his hands and stretched open his great maw. The inside was filled with gray smoke, as if he’d just sucked on a smokestack and hadn’t yet inhaled the stuff into his lungs. Ferreras rubbed his eyes a final time and looked up. The world was still bleary, but it seemed to jive with what he’d been hearing for the past few seconds—apart from Crossfire’s absence and Jack’s rather unusual condition. Other than that, it didn’t look like he’d missed much. The smoke began to drift out and up, and Jack’s small eyes, set deep into his skull, went wide. "Aaahh??" he said. It sounded like the worried query of a dental patient who couldn’t bite down. "Crossfire?" Pender called. "Jack, let Crossfire out, before he lights anymore fires in there." At this, Ferreras blinked and took a few steps towards Pender and Jack, reconsidering exactly how much he’d missed while blinded. Crossfire found himself floating in space, like a planetoid in a crowded asteroid field. Groceries were spread all around him, in every direction—ruptured cans of frozen orange juice, polka-dot bags of WonderBread, boxes of Ritz crackers, frozen waffles, packages of hotdogs—everything Jack had inhaled for the last half hour. Inhaled. He realized that he’d automatically held his breath when he’d been sucked into Jack’s mouth. Was there air in this place? Around him, he could see that the flotsam and jetsam covered a sphere the size of a barn. Beyond all the junk, the emptiness seemed to stretch on forever. There were no stars, but a silvery ambient light made everything visible. Maybe there was air, maybe there wasn’t. But Jonathan realized he needed to get out of the void that was Jack’s stomach pronto. He reached back into his quiver for a smoke arrow and fired through the swirling mass of foodstuffs Jack had consumed. The shaft struck the 10-pound sack of Idaho potatoes he’d been aiming for—he’d needed something solid enough to trigger the arrowhead—and a dark hazy smoke billowed forth. Jonathan hoped it would make Hungry Jack sneeze or belch, hopefully carrying Crossfire to safety. The cloud expanded and enveloped him, and he readied himself for a wild ride out of the void. Nothing happened; the smoke hung around him as it would do on a still day. He was still holding his breath. Suddenly the smoke began to move past his face. He held a hand in front of his face and realized the smoke was flowing upwards. If the smoke was moving, Jonathan realized that meant air currents of some sort swirled around him. He fanned the smoke with his arms in a swimming motion, thrusting his hands down forcefully but bringing them back up close to his sides. Even his legs worked in the same motion one would expect from being in the water; it seemed instincts carried the actions throughout his body. It cleared the air about him enough for him to gulp a breath, his vision was starting to blur from the oxygen starvation. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened the again he’d be breathing and following the smoke upwards. Air. Tinged with the acrid smell of his arrow’s smoke, and flavored with something else that might have been the collective odor of a grocery store loading dock, but air nonetheless. It was breathable. He seemed to be moving through the smoke—or at least, the smoke seemed to be moving past him. He kept up his swimming motions. The smoke suddenly went from charcoal to silver; a light was shining just ahead. Crossfire kept up his strokes, trying to make headway as best as possible. And if there was air... "Can anyone hear me?" Pender heard Crossfire’s voice; it was coming from somewhere behind the gray cloud in Jack’s mouth. Jack pursed his lips slightly and exhaled. It was nothing like the gale-force blow that had knocked out the store windows, but the smoke streamed out into the parking lot and dissipated quickly. When the smoke cleared, they saw Crossfire crawling out over Jack’s broad tongue and foot-tall teeth. When Crossfire was completely clear, Jack said, "Sorry ‘bout that." |