Paresthesia Pt. 12

I stamp down the wave of nostalgia as we peek through the open door to the second landing. The elevators should run through here and then we have our ticket down. Simple. It's all so simple. It can all be so simple.

Then a pair of voices start up and make decidedly less so. So, the plan's been foiled, but we planned to have our plan foiled, so we're still in good standing. Slight adjustment and we keep rolling.

The problem is the glass. So much glass. And all of it's clear. All of it. I can see down to the other side of the floor in the right angles. The corners help break up some of shapes, but the voices are loud enough to bend around them. I keep low. I don't think it helps, but it makes me feel better. Riot does the same and I think it actually works for her.

"Fine," says the glass, "Just fine. We'll come up with the money somehow. Just go out there and see what's going on."

"Understood. Just know that- "

"None of this was in the union contract you signed when Solar brought you on. I know. I fucking know. Deadman will accompany you. Azure said that he saw Violence out there as well. Just handle it."

A door creaks open and the glass shimmers. A white blob with a thick neck waddles away and the glass sighs loud enough to rattle souls. Tired, it seems tired. So tired. It needs a break. And a smoke. And a pair of shoulders to put her legs on as the rest of the body attached rails it into oblivion. Riot taps my shoulder and slithers her arm a bit back and forth. I nod. I think it's her and I don't know who else it could be.

Serpentor sighs again and slowly gets up, a dark shape more accustomed to the smoke and mirrors. It doesn't fit in this floor of light and clarity. I see her three babies slither after her, loyal little things on her heels. And they are all moving away from us. And towards the elevators. Another adjustment, just a tad. We go back to the stairwell and go one more down. Better to just let that whole thing live its best life and do our best somewhere else. A mulligan as it were.

The door opens to the situation room easily. No more locks inside, since anyone already here must belong. Like us. We belong here, snooping and peeping, shouldering surfing the wall of screens. Alizarin and Windstep seemed to have paired and started dancing. The army lines are clashing on the field. And there is an Azure Dream watching it all unfold, glancing down to a microphone to announce something grand once more. He reaches down for it. We crouch down and hide under a desk. It is a good desk.

"Don't even bother," Serpentor sighs, "They're already over the fence. Just let them tucker themselves out."

"They didn't disperse," says Azure. He seems genuinely confused about that little event.

"Of course, they didn't. It was a voice. And they had their own voice. And they're hopped up on their mojo juice. God, it's been years since I've seen that. Never quite figured out what it is. We've tested a few that we've nabbed and nothing comes back. Trace amounts of tobacco and more than trace amounts of alcohol, but it doesn't matter. They'll burn themselves out soon enough."

"The guards should have guns."

"For the last time, we don't have the money for that. We barely got them out there in riot gear. We're on a budget Will. Bringing them out to the casino and your little field trip racked up quite the little price tag."

Riot is tickling my leg. I shake it and she keeps doing it. She needs to stop.

"Azure, I'm Azure."

"Again? You're doing this again? I thought Tom was an ass about that. Fine. Azure. Just keep watch. See if you can spot a Doppel or two. They, he, whatever usually stays out of these. I'm going to check on Windstep. He doesn't seem to be doing so good now."

"What are you talking about? He hasn't been touched by the imposter."

"He needs help. Trust me."

"And what about the two traitors?"

I can feel the eyeroll wave off of Serpentor.

"Evan and Hannah are good people, Will," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Just have an alternate lifestyle. You'd know that if you weren't such an ass. I know you're still sore about yesterday, but let it go. And by the way, in order to pay for our goons today, we're selling your trike. Still not enough to give them guns."

"What? How dare you? How dare you? I have sacrificed, I have slaved for this- "

"Shut the fuck up. We sold my beautiful baby. We sold two of the spare squad cars. We had to cut Windstep's gyrocopter right out of his gimmick for next year. That guy deserves that. Don't put this up to a pissing contest. You'll lose. Just sit here and stay out of trouble. OK?"

Riot has moved to the small of my back, slipping under my shirt. I freeze. That is not a hand. That is not a finger. It is too cold and dry and scaly. A flicking tongue traces up my spine and I want to bolt. Although, there is something pleasant in its touch. A reminder of a more pleasant time.

"We wouldn't be like this if Captain Solar was here."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Stay here and don't do anything stupid. Babies, where are you? We're leaving. We need to go help Uncle Windstep."

I move a bit and the baby in question only starts to wrap itself around me tighter. I am apparently very warm and cuddly for the snake. Good to know if I ever decide to get a pet. I can't move. The damn thing is in the way. I crane my neck and get a soft flick of a forked tongue in my face for the trouble.

Riot attempts to get me unwound, but he's so heavy. I don't know which one this is. It is now my least favorite of the bunch. The others have disappeared in search of food or warmth or other things snakes want. I wish she would hurry up, I hear Serpentor searching for her babies and I don't want to be included in that search.

Riot starts the rapid thinking of trying to get me free, or to get me more time to get me free, or just to change the situation enough so that something else would happen. It comes to her in an instant and I don't know if I agree with the outcome. She takes a deep breath and pops up like a whack-a-mole from our hiding spot. Silence, all I get in response is silence.

"Hey guys," she says, "I think I found one of the babies. Do you want him back?"

---

Abbot flinched when the fighting started. It was hard to time it right with the soft buildup and knowledge of things to come. Really, it was the foreknowledge that was the hard part. Surprise, genuine surprise, works on the most precise delays. The thoughts have to react to the sensation, and then formulate a plan. And it always happens in such a precise manner. Very hard to get right. This particular time, he was a fraction too late. But since everyone else near him was also surprised and in the process of acting as such, he had a perfect little scapegoat. And now he had a perfect little spot under the table to hide and protect himself. The barista had her counter and the other guy seemingly vanished a little bit ago. And all the people on the street had formed a protective gawking barrier to contain the anarchy. Good for them. Such a responsible citizenry. Except for the ones filming themselves film the clash. That was a bit out of line.

He reached up to the table and flailed around for his cup. Still warm, still strong, and there was no sense in wasting a too expensive coffee. The collective saw fit to award this particular manifestation with a rather hefty allowance for this operation and he was going to get his money's worth. Maybe pick up a croissant on the way out. No one could stop him.

The idea was met with general approval in the back of his mind. But only if he got enough to share with the others that were assigned to this particular operation. That was only fair. He countered with the fact that he would need more money to do that, and the café probably wouldn't have enough anyway. The point was conceded. No croissants for any Doppel, no matter where they were or what they were doing. There would be a catered snack waiting at the casino with coffee and that would be adequate. This manifestation agreed, somewhat unenthusiastically. He still wanted a croissant. The coffee here was good though. Might have to submit a request to add them to the providers at some point. Not now. He stopped the request from trickling down to the others. That would only distract them.

His laptop was still open, still plugged into the Hall's systems. And now he just had to wait and see what all the hullabaloo would pull in. Really drew the long straw on this one. The other three assigned, not counting the looking glasses had their rooftops and their alleys where they could be spotted. This one closed his eyes and started to drift through their minds. Nothing better to do, really.

On the Wilcox Building, he watched the two lovebirds try to play grab ass. It didn't go all that long, this round. Finally managed to get through the honeymoon phase and see that living consisted more of pawing and rutting like animals. That manifestation, this manifestation, all manifestations shoved down that little jolt of black knot. Not important and the inner life was too complex to really experience with another. Maybe someday. Never mind all the days before that painted today as a probably someday. Not now, though. Job, business, the jump. They both landed flawlessly and maneuvered inside.

"Left flanks falling a bit," said this one to that one over there across the street.

"I see it," said that one to this one. A looking glass nudged a few of the more coherent Troubles to bolster that side. Not enough to crush it outright, but enough to keep the fight going. Time, they just had to waste as much time as possible. And they were doing a good job. The Troubles always dragged things out, making them more difficult than they had to be, actually having to talk things out and come to some failed agreement that no one individual liked.

"Alizarin's doing well," said the one in the back to this one and that one.

"Any assistance needed," said this one right here, "Might be able to spare a few Troubles for her."

"No. The looking glass is reporting that she has it covered. Picture's a bit fuzzy, but he's underground. I trust him."

They all trusted him. They all trusted one another. A body divided against itself cannot stand. A millipede with one leg not in the loop ends up going nowhere. One hand washes the other, and that hand washes the others in turn.

The walls went back up and the manifestation in the coffee shop shook his head and felt the shards in his mind rattle. Still connected, still waiting for the other side to come through. He had time. He just had to wait it out, sip on some coffee and let this whole thing blow over. He started humming, not really sure which mouth it came out of. It didn't matter. They all knew the tune and it all found its next note somewhere out there.

---

"I have to admit," Master Windstep said, "That when I heard there was another Alizarin poking about, I scoffed a bit."

The ruby carapace rushed a car, turning it end over end over end. He just strolled over it. He didn't' have a care in the world. Not his car. Probably one of the Thumb's. They all drove such nice cars and he took the bus like a schnook. They could have given Serpentor's baby to him. He deserved it. But bygones and all that.

"Legacy gimmicks are always so hard to pull off," he said, ducking underneath an edge of fire, "Expectations of the old, trying to inject it with something new. Rarely works."

"Shut up and take your beating," Alizarin said.

"No, I don't think I will. Because you're doing a really good job. Never met the first one, but from what I heard, he was less physical with his- "

He had to stop talking so he wouldn't take his beating. They worked in tandem, Alizarin and her wonderful bug buddy. He wanted to give it a hug. It seemed fun to touch, like a really shiny warm beetle. The jags and the spikes were a bit much. Those could take an eye out. He wove. He ducked. He flowed through the gale of limbs and flames, letting the two through their terrible tantrum of twisted metal and burning oil at him. He was the wind. A slight redirection, a push, a pull, a hop, skip and a jump and they couldn't touch him.

"-operations," Windstep continued, "Used more gadgets and gizmos. Heard he even forged blades, like a blacksmith or something. Was that true?"

"You are going to burn," she shouted. Such a temper. Kind of obvious really. People who played with fire often had those things. Must be a requirement. Whoever hands out tricks must pull the angry ones aside and give them a certain set. He probably belongs to a set. It must be a good one. He's in it, and any set with him in it must be a good one.

"Y'know, I honestly don't think I am. You've been trying for a good long while and you can't seem to do it. Put on a hell of a show, don't get me wrong. But it's just not clicking. Not collecting in anything really- "

The words had to stop as he dropped to his stomach. Another car rushed past him and ended up crunched like a soda can in the growing pile of them. The scent of oil and gasoline filled his head.

"-Solid. I think it's the follow through. You just kind of bat at the thing and let that do its work. I mean, I don't get it either. How can a thing you do after you make contact help at all? But it does. Swear on my life."

"That's not worth a lot. Your life is ending soon, jackass."

"There you go. You can put out some zingers if I set 'em up. Now try doing one where I don't give you anything."

She kept glancing to the shadows in their dance, and when he glanced there as well, he couldn't see anything. Not even the ones closest to him had anything. He saw a glimpse of the Doppel face in a corner, keeping tabs, but that was fine. Doppel liked to watch things, he figured. Hadn't talked to one of them in a while. Next time at the Roulette maybe, make an effort. The nightmare that Solar left them with had taken up so much time. He hadn't even had a chance to poke Hannah and Evan for another round.

"You should be Master Windbag," she said after a long moment, "You talk too goddamn much."

"I've heard better and I've heard that one before. So, solid C-. Getting there though. Keep at it. You can do this."

She turned to the shadows again and he saw something move. Nothing much, because that wonderful bug buddy tried to ram him and impale him and turn him into some sort of kebab. A delicious, delicious kebab. The food, too, that's taken a dive here. Granted, he was across the world recently and food across the world is so much better than food down at the corner or a block over.

The first little thing went wrong and that was a tire iron under his foot. That just sent him flailing and stumbling into a perfect cartwheel. And it even let the flame singe the ends of his robes. More of the budget down the drain. Azure's little toy could pay for that. And a new staff.

Then came a rolling tire that slipped by and caught his foot. The flames were advancing, growing higher and higher and higher with each second. Piled wrecks and twisted metal, spilling oil, and he realized that he probably did talk too much. So much destruction had to lead to something spectacular. He just happened to be in the middle of it.

The flames followed the spilled oil, spilled gas, and he was in the center of a vast web of ignition. He tried, he tried to pull the breeze, but it only fanned the flames higher. Windstep sighed and took in the wall of wreckage behind him that was about to blow him sky high.

"Tell me," he said, "Did you plan this out, or are you just fucking with me?"

He didn't get an answer. He just got a double assisted boot to the head and a fun little ride into the black dancing shadows.

---

Violence gave the old man a two count. He was getting gassed. No shame in that. It was taking a lot out of him. A lot out of her as well. But he didn't need to know that. Sunday's little boosty last night knitted back her spine and got rid of all the little glass slivers. Really, right as rain, bendy and loose and all sorts of fun. Touching her toes and full body bends, she could do it all. As it was, she just flipped to her feet and stretched out her chest for him. No matter the audience, it was always a fun thing to show off. Deadman wasn't the worst for this, really. Not her type, but there was an appeal there. Whole graying lion thing, a guy past his prime, but that momentum still carried him to the upper echelons of whatever ranking partners fell on. Still not as good as Evan. And Hannah. She was up there now too.

"Doing all right there, old man," she said, "Seem to be having some more trouble this time. I think the whole haunted house trick isn't working so much right now."

He growled and she felt a pang of fear try to settle in her. It just didn't stick. Little barbs, sure, a demon to face down, but the day was too bright. Very hard to be scared of a moonless sky and the graveyard smash when it was an open field on a bright sunshiney day. Her idea, and the ruby in her hand definitely helped keep her confidence up. So shiny and pretty and sparkly. She twirled the cane in her hand and let the light dance.

Deadman put up his hands again and lurched forward. Fast and big and strong, all the wonderful attributes someone needed to get over for the gathered crowd.

"Dead, man rocks," said the voices, "Dead, man rocks."

She wished they would be quiet, but a resounding boo came when she drove a knee into his temple. They cheered when he got back up. They booed when she buried him again. Such a simple call and response they all had. They cheered when a megaton fist collided with her gut and outrighted screamed as she was pressed into the grass. Very nice grass, as it was. Nice and soft and short, each blade hand cut with the daintiest pair of scissors that money could buy. She gave him another two, counted by the crowd. She was getting tired of them. Crowds were terrible when they didn't like her.

"Bury you," Deadman growled so low, so low, coffins quaked and bones rattled.

"Cremate you," she said, "And I do the thing where I send your ashes to be made into a coral reef. Or space. Do you want to go to space? Cause you're a good hit away from bang, zoom, straight to the moon."

Deadman took his thumb across his neck. She flicked her chin with the cane and let the flow start to rise within her.

It was the state she was in. It all came down to the moment, the exact moment when there was no delay. There was a reaction now, and the response happened now. Nothing so slow as nerves or thoughts or reflexes came into the equation. Action and reaction, together in one singular moment. Its will came from the simply act of giving in to the light. The body knew how to bend. The arms knew how to strike. The mind could think and process and come back with each and every alternative, and it would still lack from the simple visceral moment of the hand coming into a fist and connecting with a kidney. A knee to the other one, a kick the sternum and their brief collision parted with Deadman sucking wind. Violence let the cane dance again.

The crowd booed and the armies continued their chaotic scuffle. Some of the more ingenious Troubles had stolen the riot shields and now had a set of smashing boards to pummel and batter. It worked. Some of the Thumbs had taken the brass knuckles and used them in retaliation. A few of the Thumbs had even lost their wonderful helmets and they still looked like thumbs. Thick necks and bulging veins and a predisposition to brutish force.

She wove through the strikes. She ducked and moved and let her body do as it wanted. It knew better than her and it was her. Every moment precise and perfect, a sensory input output algorithm that didn't need something so pesky as conscious thought. Beautiful, she was beautiful, flawless, a being of pure energetic expression encapsulation ecstasy through exuberance. The crowd stopped their jeering and fell into a raptured silence at her dance, not even a peep as she drove a knee into a temple and rolled through the ensuing fall with a slow breach to standing. They did not clap. They should. But they don't. Shame on them. They're even worse than the people that stop and listen to a street band but don't put down any money.