Paresthesia Pt. 12

The machine opened up for her like a flower. It laid out all the intricate patterns that it could make, and she uncrossed them all, rearranged them and made them even more beautiful. Laid out in colors and slipping power, the engines rumbled and slipped into life with stutters and starts. Someone approached her and she sighed.

"I need you to check something under the hood," she said to the wires. They relayed the messaged.

"That's not how this works," said the Droog, "Engine's actually in the back. Front has storage space and counterweights. Makes it easier to ram things.

"How do you know that?" she asked, pulling herself up from her lovely wires.

She saw a young man in gray robes, somehow fluttering in the nonexistent breeze, a simple staff of dark wood across his shoulders. He smiled at her and she glared back. The wonderful writhing in her arm started to pull the sinew and separate bone with skittering legs and burning heat. Before it could free itself from her, a sudden storm gale came from her back and knocked forward onto the pavement.

"Simple answer," said Master Windstep, "I'm one of the guys who's allowed to drive it."

---

Ultra-Violence cracked her knuckles and kept her eyes peeled. The Troubles didn't know how to be subtle. They didn't even try. They just milled and mulled around the front fence with no sense of blending in. Every single one of them was probably tagged the moment they stepped on this block. She at least had a rooftop to sit on and press down into. She could at least pretend that the cameras did not see her. A trio of them were even taking pictures down by the front, obscene gestures and everything. If one of them mooned the damn building she would scream.

A guy at the corner was thinking about it. She could feel it. And the scream was ready. It was so ready. She missed her Droogs. They kept quiet and did the job and then left her alone to do what she did best. Never again, no more Troubles. Just her and Droogs and maybe Riot and Beat. Beat and Riot. Maybe not Riot. She could tag along if she wanted, but only if she kept quiet and didn't say anything.

That was mean. She could say some things. They could talk and that was fair. That little pit in her stomach, that dark knot that always twisted and pulled her mind, she tried to unravel it, let it all flow down and out like oil. Dr. Sarver said that was healthy to let things like that flow out and down the drain. She really needed to schedule another appointment. Been a while and now that something's changed it could mean there was another tool in her kit to process the bottle so that it didn't break. She didn't like his metaphors, but still, it was all worth the price of admission.

"Doppel," she said to nothing at all, "Are you close to getting set up? The boys are starting to get stupid. Well, stupider."

"Let them have their fun," said the looking glass piercing reality to her left, "It's been a while since they've been this stimulated. They need their enrichment."

"They're people. Not polar bears at the zoo."

"Still, they need something. Can't just be drunk and sing songs. Need to get out and actually stretch their legs. Let 'em run free. You ever take a dog to the park? You take the leash off. You just do. Doesn't matter if they get into the trash or bite a kid. They are just the happiest things ever."

"Well, they're about to be the happiest little inmates. Alizarin's still circling the back. Beat and Riot are in their love nest. What are we waiting for?"

"I'm coordinating this whole affair," the face of blue glass sighed, "And there's only so much of me to go around. See that café by the corner? One of me is there, connected to their Wi-Fi. Trying to at least. He's the first node in the transfer. Once he's in then we can start."

A small café held a mostly empty room, save for a man working on a terrible novel. There was also a Doppel slowly pushing up his glasses and frowning at a laptop. He tapped at the keyboard and the lights didn't do what they should.

"Has he tried restarting the damn thing," Violence said.

"Yes, he's tried restarting the damn thing. And he's moved tables, looking for a better signal. And he's tried his phone. He says shut up by the way. He's the newest one. Cut him some slack."

"Relax, Doppel. And tell that one to relax. He's doing great. Just a bit of a snag. Kind of a problem, but not worth a dressing down. He knows and he'll learn."

The Doppel on the street smiled and pumped his fist, putting up his thumb to no one in particular. The other patron sighed and closed his laptop. He couldn't work like this. He had a deadline to meet and if he didn't then all the people who gave him money every month would stop giving him money.

"And we're good," said the Doppel to her left, "Your call now. But take your time. No rush. Want a coffee? That Doppel can get you one."

She ignored him. Not important. It was time. The spotlight was on her and her alone. Just a signal from her and it would all be simply perfect. She tapped the brim of her hat and the Droog on the other skyscraper started the endless chain of relaying message.

The Doppel started humming and Violence tuned him out. Wasn't important. She was important. The most important thing. The flow from her muscles, her joints, the way she bent, the way her entire body flowed like oil down the fire escape, that was all important. She just had to let it come through her, let the mind stop thinking over everything little thing. It would align. And if it didn't, then she just had to line it back up and push it back into place. Simple, it was all so simple.

She came to the ground with a lazy roll and a jaunty pop to her feet. The Troubles pulled themselves from their revelry and tomfoolery to fall in line behind her. It was nice. It was nice being out in the sun, a shield wall of lead pipes and brass knuckles and pulled up masks. A fun little rumble to get the blood pumping. Wild eyes a little too bloodshot to be reasoned with, cracked smiles that would only look better with a few missing teeth, tensed muscles only aching for more action, it was intoxication. She didn't even touch her own little gift from the old man. She wouldn't even need it.

The crowd was slow to respond. And then they started murmuring to one another. Like she thought, it was showtime. Phones came out and started recording, little pin pricks of light that sang her name, called for the option of Violence. She stood and waited right in front of the wrought iron gate.

And still, the ants in the nest did nothing at all.

No scramble for alarm, no lines of coppers in riot gear with shields and batons, no colorful crew of costumed crusaders to come out and slam her back to her right place. It was just an empty green lawn, stretching out to a building of white glass tantalizing and begging to be shattered. Violence sighed. The curtain's up and only half the cast is out on stage.

She rummaged around the little pockets she made in the air. A collapsible baton, a spare hat, a bottle of champagne, her wallet, and she couldn't find the thing she actually needed. Always got lost in the shuffle. She really needed to find a way to organize all the empty space, but she never could think of a system. It came to her, eventually. She held the bullhorn to her lips.

"It's kind of a shame," she said and the megaphone made her words echo up to the heavens, "I'm out here with all of my friends and the doors still locked. Thought you all would have rolled out the red carpet. Guess we'll just have to knock a bit louder."

She signaled again and the crowd of hooligans and thugs pressed around, forming like the tide over a rock. She still had her megaphone, waiting patiently for the moment. They screamed and roared at a chance to actually give in to that little primal voice that says destroy. Despite all the little and large quibbles she had with the group, they are very good at this part. The right balance of organized and ad hoc, embodying water with no conscious effort. They crashed against the gate and simply pushed.

Violence continued her harassment of the people inside. They were cowards and cads, bullies and thieves. Simply unable to do anything effective to the world around them. Reactive, simply a reactive force that was always one step behind. No wonder such roguish elements could simply waltz up to their front door and start breaking things. And even then, their wall was falling.

The metal creaked and groaned, the worn concrete turning to dust and letting the fence fall away. It was so easy. The simplest bit of resistance and it all crumbled. She waved to the cameras. They took their pictures and rolled the film. Some smartass in the back told her to show her tits. Maybe. Not the worst idea, really. Kind of a shot in the foot for her authority, but it would be fun. If he was still around when it went down, then maybe. That level of balls deserved something.

"Attention good citizens," boomed the voice of absolute authority, "Disperse. Repeat, this is a hostile action taken by an unlawful gathering disperse or you will be met with force."

"Fucking bite me, asshole.," she shouted back, the megaphone making her louder than the voice of commandments, "Why is that fence still standing? I thought you were good at bringing ruckus."

The rhythm started picking up the pace, back and forth, rocking the metal from the foundation. Some of the bars were giving way. As soon as one fell, the ones around them started to fall too. It was all so flimsy.

"Heroes," she shouted, "Come out to play. Heroes, come out to play-e-yay! Come on. Its fucking embarrassing. Sing a song. Do a trick. You're fucking useless."

"This is an unlawful gathering," said the voice of a judgmental god, "This is your last warning. Disperse or we will have to use force."

"Say disperse again. I dare you. I double dare you, motherfucker. Say disperse one more goddamn time."

"Disperse- "

And she stopped caring about that particular thing and the one word it liked to say. She slipped the megaphone back to the endless expanse of up her sleeves. Interlocked fingers and a skyward stretch, a round of cracked joints, and then she started running. Bodies, she had bodies as a platform and they all did their part in springing her forward. The last one she hit stood and let her jump all the higher. Just because she could, she tucked and flipped and stuck a perfect landing. No one clapped. They should have. A good flip always deserved a round of applause, even if it was only in her mind.

The Troubles appreciated it at least, even if she couldn't hear anything other than maddening howls of man's bestial nature. She rummaged through the little spaces of her will and pulled a short walking stick topped with a bright red ruby. Took up a lot of space, that little present, but it was worth it. It was heavy and it twirled as she walked up the lawn. The world crashed behind her and the stampede finally echoed after her. Always at the front of the charge, always at the center stage, it's where she belonged. Showoff, certainly, but she had the audience for it. And they all could match the pace.

Finally, fucking finally, the little ants inside started to stir and run amok. The doors opened and a line of heavily armored figures, pure white, with shields and batons to beat back the flowing tide. And right in the center, stood an old man with a wide dark hat and a rictus grin.

"Come on, old man," she shouted, "I want another go. You got lucky last time. I'm better than you and you know it."

Even over the start of the rumble, she heard the gravestones start to laugh. It sent chills up her spine. She smiled back and laughed just the same.

---

I squeeze Riot's hand as we wait on the roof of the Wilcox Building. No funny name for this one, just a normal office building with normal offices and normal people in them. Must be kind of boring, really. Stuffed in starch suits, looking at screens, taking calls, using words like template and spreadsheet and efficiency, dealing with a boss that looks over your shoulder and clucks their tongue and does reviews. Such a waste of so much time. I'm sitting on a skyscraper with my girlfriend waiting for a fight to start and then we're going to ransack a palace. That's a much better way to spend an afternoon.

Riot squeezes back and she points to the milling crowd of Troubles. They're being stupid again. Good for them. They're having fun and doing things that so many others want to do. Mostly just flipping off the established authority. More people should do that. More people should do that all the time. I should do that right now.

Riot's still, back ramrod straight and eyes focused, hand calmly placed on the ledge and feet crossed at the ankles. Everything is where it should be, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and strike. It's all perfectly aligned, perfectly set up, perfectly slotted in to where it should be.

I reach over and pinch her ass.

She does not jump or yelp or even look at me.

"You do that again," she says, "I will tackle you to the ground and rip off those panties with my teeth."

"Do you want me to do that again, then," I say, "Or what? I kind of think we both want that."

"No shit. But job. We have things to break. We can break each other later. So, you better keep those on. Me, I'm the one who can take them off. Only me. No one else."

"Can I put the other parts on first, though? Kind of make the whole deal."

She smothers some little noise deep in her chest.

"I forgot there were other parts. Fine. You can put them on. Then I take them off and start doing things to you."

I smile and squeeze her hand and for a moment, she looks to me. Blue eyes, sky blue, ice blue, clear water blue, every blue that can be shimmered in her and shone from her. There is still that primal hunger for me in there, but it's just a part of the whole. That hunger moves and slips away for a moment and all I have is a warm pool to dissolve the world and hold it still.

"You have beautiful eyes," she sighs, "I don't think I tell you that enough. But you do."

"I think yours are better," I say. I lean forward and press my lips softly to her.

"Anything you want to change?" I ask.

"No. I like it here."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

I hear Violence start yelling obscenities and that pulls the moment away. That's fine. We have other things to do than stand on a ledge all day and stare into each other's eyes. Shame, but I get to be a fun backpack again and that's something. Fingers locked and legs circling, holding on for dear life. I wait for the moment when the world shatters.

And it does.

We are free falling into slip space, wind rushing past and reason snatched away. I can't hear anything other than the roar of reality assert itself and insist that we will perish. The heart tries to hammer, the palms slowly grow sweaty and nervous and that nagging bit of fear that actually will cease to be enters my mind as a worming sliver.

It's over before any of it can actually do anything. We are rolling together across the helipad, scuffing leather on the tarmac. That's fine. Leather can get scuffed. Some of Riot's studs might need a bit of polishing, but that can be done later. I squeeze her again, as all good backpacks should, then untwine myself from her, and giving my lovely slugger all the room it needs to romp and play. And I sling my bat across my shoulders. That needs wide open spaces too.

She takes a moment. I take a moment. Big tumble from so high up and I don't even think about it. The first rush of adrenaline is already fading and we have to keep moving. There are cameras up here and that means there might be eyes on us. So, we run along, give them nothing to see.

Our borrowed ID gets us inside and the hairs on my arms stand on end. It's weird being back here. It should not be. I should not be. This is for Minuteman, Adagio, not Beat Down. The halls reflect me, the glistening white and smooth marble seem to flake away at my touch, my mere presence spreading rot and defilement.

"Wow," Riot says, "I don't remember it being this bad."

"Ok, what?" I say, "It's just old paint. Needs a new coat, or a good dusting or something."

"Yeah, but those used to happen pretty regularly. And look, scuffs on the floor. That didn't used to happen."

"So? We always knew this place was a sinking ship. I just got shanghaied early."

"I don't know. It's just weird is all. Like going back to your elementary school and seeing the cracks in the gym mats. That sort of thing just gets filtered out after a while."

I shrug. A fun little distraction, sure, and the ugly joy I feel at the good thing being bad certainly is pleasurable. I let my bat thunk against the wall as I walk, marking it up. That feels weird, though. It should be something more noticeable, but it just fades away in the little bits of dirt and dust and flaking paint.

"It could just be no one uses this corridor anymore," I say, "I mean, Solar took his bike everywhere, right? So, he must not have used the helipad."

"That man with his ass stick would not let this fly," she says, "Unless something was up. I don't know. Servers are in the basement. We just get there and do the thing and leave. Maybe do a run in on whoever's out front. But that's it."

She's right. Important, but only as a little nagging distraction to pull my focus from the now. I have the moment with her, skulking through halls and it feels right. We shouldn't be doing this. That's all the more reason to actually go through with it all and do something. Cameras and guards, locked doors and firewalls, all of them really only exist to be circumvented. Or torn down if time's an issue. So, we keep bashing through, every step slowly ratcheting down the tension. No one. There is no one here. No Thumbs, no good guys, just spiders and dust bunnies.

"Are you still not worried," she says, "Cause I'm a little worried."

"Not really. Makes our bit easier."

"Well now I'm worried about the good guys. They should be out here, y'know? Doing stuff. Stopping us. Wonder if they all got sick or something."

"Doubt it. We're not that lucky. I like the luck we're at right now. Makes it seem like something really bad is about to happen. It's fun."

We eventually stop all pretexts of stealth. A casual stroll through a touristy building. Doors that lead to storage, doors that lead to some sort of workshop I don't remember being there, doors to offices for the suits and the marketing team and all of the other nonessential workers. Lots of doors that really don't interest us. There is one that goes to a barracks that hasn't been used in ages. The door is gingerly shut on that one. Weird musty smell that I don't like. Probably hasn't been opened in a good 20 years.

"Ok," Riot says, "Now, I'm really worried. But like, general worried. Horror movie where there should be a jump scare but there isn't worried. And there's one coming around the bend worried, but I don't know when or where or how."

"See? I was right. But I don't know, either. Might just be this floor. Next one down has the conference rooms so there might be people there. I don't know if we want that."

"I kind of do. It would at least be something."

The stairwell carries our sound much too far. Dead echoes from dead stone and cold metal, roof to floor, there and back again in a moment. We go back to creeping and skulking as best we can. I have my mohawk to alert any and everything and Riot's new jacket might as well be decked out in sleigh bells and holly for all the noise it's making. Doppel and Violence would have been a better duo, in some regards, but we're the ones that actually know our way around.

The map starts filtering back to me. Conferences and Solar's office on top, just under our ghostly attic. Then the situation room with monitoring station, emergency rally supplies, then training and actual real barracks, then lounge and workshops, then lobby and whole touristy thing. On certain days the public got to see the situation room, but only if they paid a fun little ticket upcharge and nothing bad happened that day. I hated those days. I always snuck off the lounge and watched the news celebrate Solar and occasionally Deadman. Only saw Serpentor on maybe twice. Riot and I never got on and Windstep was shuffled around too much to really be a staple here.