1.7

“Hey… uh!” Ugh, this can’t be my opener again. C’mon, gotta follow it up with something witty.

Cook turns. His guards snap to attention, training their weapons at my face. Suckup scrambles a little.

“You — um, stop!” They stare at me.

I think it’s getting worse. I swallow my pride. “Don’t shoot me! Because, uh, because you’re gonna want to hear what I have to say.”

“Fuck off, bitch-tits, the boss doesn’t want —” Suckup starts. He doesn’t get to finish.

Cook nods, and I see Suckup’s jaw snap shut. “Alright,” He says, motioning for his guards to stand down. They lower their weapons, but they stay alert and in a tight formation around Cook.

I blink. Okay. Going well so far.

“I’m — I’m going to reach into my bag to grab something, okay?” I slowly raise my hands into the air. Very slowly

Cook nods.

I slide my duffel bag around to my front and dig around for my phone. An idea is starting to form in the back of my mind.

Once I find it, I hold up the phone in front of me. “That… that thing you did,” I say, motioning at the dead guy, “I caught it on camera.”

I hear Suckup spit a quiet “cocksucker” under his breath. Cook just stares. “And?”

“And —” And what?! “Uh, and I sent it to an offsite server; only I know the location!”

He looks skeptical. I think.

I huff. “Okay, so it’s not super believable, but are you really willing to take the chance? I’ve seen how you operate; you’re meticulous.”

Cook nods. “Sure. Then, continue.”

“Yeah! Yeah, um, I want —” What the fuck do I want? What would someone in this position be gunning for? “I want money.”

He sighs. Suckup starts turning a little red.

“How much?”

Shit, uh. “F — five thousand!”

He nods. “Acceptable.”

Fuck. He can’t leave.

“Hundred! Five hundred thousand,” I cut in.

For the first time during our conversation, Cook’s expression sours. “I would advise you not to test me, child. There’s only so much I’m willing to invest into preventing a chance at being exposed.”

I shrug. “Two-fifty?”

He glares. I check the time. Two minutes.

Good, almost there. Once the USMW arrive, I’ll take cover and let them duke it out.

Edging towards a nearby crate, I try to continue stalling.

“Okay, well, let’s work something out here. Exactly how high are you willing to —”

And then everything goes wrong.

A door near the far end of the warehouse bangs open, and in a blaze of sharp fire and shining orange light, a figure bursts into view a short distance from the guards, smoke curling around their form and in front of their feet.

The guards raise their weapons — three rifles trained on a haze of black smoke and dust. Before they can fire, though, the smoke moves; a limb strikes out from the darkness, flashes with a blast of heat and light, knocking the closest guard’s gun into the warehouse wall.

I jump for cover, and it looks like the intruder does too. Sharp cracks and bursts of light flare against the walls of the building, piercing holes in the smoke.

From my spot behind a crate, I watch Suckup pull a canister from his boot holsters. It’s about the size of a soda can, glass capped with some kind of metal ends. As he leans down to touch the concrete floor, it melts in his hand, emitting a harsh hissing sound and sliding up his arm before any of the liquid metallic substance inside hits the ground. Four crude steel walls sprout up to around waist height around them, growing up from the floor within seconds.

The guards crouch down at the walls, facing the now-fading cloud of smoke from the intruder.

A younger, feminine voice sounds out from behind a nearby car. “So, which one of you called the cops? Gotta know who I’m not allowed to blast, y’know!”

Oh my god. USMC Junior division. A high schooler is going to save me from a firefight.

“It was me!” I yell, just in case, and then yelp as concrete shatters next to me. They know where I am now, I’ll have to move soon.

An appropriate distraction serves itself up a second later. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cook dig a rectangular glass object out of his coat and toss it at the car. A sticky black substance splatters all over the exterior, immediately beginning to hiss and rapidly corrode the car’s chassis, spreading from the initial impact point. The guards raise their weapons.

The junior hero launches herself up from behind the car, trailing bright tongues of orange flame and casting long shadows against the warehouse walls, leaving thick trails of smoke behind as she soars over the guards’ head. She narrowly avoids scattered gunfire while the guards flinch away from the light. Cook takes a few steps back, rummaging through his coat again.

I catch a glimpse of her outfit. Black visor, cropped red leather jacket, undershirt and tight leather pants, durable-looking minimalist boots. A yellow logo, a sharp flame in a yellow circle, is plastered in the center of her shirt. The light she’s emitting shines out from flares of heat bursting from her hands and feet.

Jackie Jet, girl wonder. Fantastic.

Suckup rears back as well, but manages to get his wits together sooner. He pulls another canister, dissolving it to manifest a steel pike that shoots up from the ground at the junior.

She reacts, blasting to the side in a burst of heat and light. The waves of hot air wash over me, even under cover, and I can feel myself starting to sweat.

Falling behind Cook’s squad, and with them disoriented, she lets out another burst, shoulder-tackling a guard into one of Suckup’s steel walls. Something cracks and the guard screams, dropping to the floor as she flares up and bursts away again, leaving behind a thick cloud of smoke.

I take this as my cue to move, and in a split second decision, I stand and sprint over to the outside of Suckup’s walls, crouching right under it. Then, I slide my bat out of my bag.

Cook, hacking up smoke, smashes another vial on the concrete and the smoke disperses in a small bubble around him, Suckup, and the last remaining guard.

“Suckup! Pin her!” Cook screams, finally yanking his gun from his jacket, as well as splaying three separate vials of a new substance in his fingers. The guard snaps to position as the sound of footsteps echoes from somewhere nearby. He opens fire immediately, and I see heat flare up from the source of the noise.

Dammit, high schooler. I stand up and raise my bat.

Jet comes flying out from behind cover, darting to the side to avoid the last guard’s suppressive fire and beelining for Suckup. I take the opportunity, whacking the guard on the head, then turning to keep track of Jet as he crumples.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Suckup melt another canister and fire another steel spike at Jet, forcing her to blast sideways and come in from his left. Deftly, he palms another canister and pulls up a wall before Jet can reach him.

Jet stops before the wall and soars up and over, touching down behind Suckup and looking like she’s winding up for another shoulder-check.

Then, a crack, and the clatter of shattered glass hitting the ground, and the area around Cook is saturated with a murky orange hue. Jet drops instantly. Cook and Suckup are unaffected.

Shit.

Cook whirls around and fires his gun without hesitation, clipping my shoulder. I dip into my power for just a second to stabilize it, then drop back behind Suckup’s makeshift wall.

I hear the hissing of Suckup’s power, and metal walls start rising around me. I stand and dive out of the forming sphere, running to a nearby chunk of machinery while the crack of Cook’s gun sounds and bullets chew up the ground around my legs.

At the last couple steps one punctures my calf and I go down behind the machine. It takes about half a minute to stabilize with my power this time, And I can hear Cook start talking from over by the warehouse center.

“Girl! It is in your best interest to surrender! Our reinforcements will arrive shortly!” Cook shouts.

I stay silent, even as I hear Suckup muttering something into what I assume is a communicator of sorts. I don’t have many options.

I hear a series of mechanical clicks, and the sound of something dropping to the floor. Then, a slide racking. “If you do not show yourself within ten seconds, I will shoot the junior hero!”

Fuck. Why did they send a highschooler?

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

If I don’t stop them here, it’s over. If I get caught here, it’s over. The only way I get another chance is if I leave.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

She knew what she was getting into, right? I can’t give up on my goal, not yet. Is she worth sacrificing?

I feel sick.

“Four! Three! Two!”

I — I can’t —

I step out from behind the machinery. And then the roof caves in.

Dust and chunks of rubble rain down next to what’s left of Cook’s squad. I can barely hear them shout for just a moment before a whirlwind of light, sound and wind floods the warehouse. Blinding white spotlights roam the walls, pinpoints of blue flutter around behind them, and the only thing I can hear is the deafening drone of turbines.

Something does manage to pierce the maelstrom, though.

“All suspects: you are ordered to stand down immediately. Please drop any weapons or utilities, deactivate any powers and drop to your knees. Any resistance will be met with proportional force and absolute swiftness. Your actions during this time can and will reflect upon your time in court.” The voice is synthesized, cold and authoritative, but noticeably distinct. In fact, I’ve heard this exact speech before.

As the spotlights cease their roaming and center on us at the center of the warehouse, I’m able to get a clearer picture of our assailant.

A large platform hovers above us, boxy and heavily armored, with four inbuilt turbines adorning the corners. Lights along its sides flicker a deep blue.

Around the room, smaller drones drift along, aiming spotlights at all of us with perfect accuracy and stability. They’re similarly heavily armored, if a bit smaller, sporting only two smaller engines.

Two larger drones hover behind the figure standing on the platform. A tall, intimidating woman with a mechanical mask reminiscent of a crown. The circular goggles attached to the faceplate shine twin dark blue beams out at us. The rest of her outfit flows down her body into a dress built from circuits and steel, flaring out into something resembling a birdcage.

Her hands remain held behind her back as her platform lowers to hover just above the ground. Her smaller drones fly over and begin automatically cuffing us with arms that unfold from their underbellies. They aren’t gentle about it either.

This is Rook. Westpoint’s top hero, and one of the strongest heroes in the country.

It’s over. I let out a deep, shaky breath as the drone cuffs me and leads me over to the warehouse door. It's already been pried open to reveal some squad cars sitting outside. A couple guns are trained on me as I walk to the car the drone is leading me to, but I don’t let it bother me. Cook is getting it about ten times worse.

Three drones follow him into a separate vehicle, a large, heavily-armored police van that looks to contain multiple guards on the inside. I watch him step into the van, head held high and seemingly unbothered, and I don’t know how to feel.

I look back at the warehouse, towards the highschooler. Jet.

Smaller drones tend to her, retrieving medical supplies from their chassis and constructing what I think is an emergency stretcher. She’ll be fine.

That’s good. I step into the back of a squad car, and my drone escort closes the door and flies off. The police officers don’t say a word after that. The driver and his buddy slide back into the car and start the engine.

The ride is quiet, no sirens or anything. It gives me time to think about what I’m gonna tell my parents.