Chapter 22
- Location
- Indiana
Mandaloa Police Department
"Hello?" Himiko says into her phone, the device wedged between her head and shoulder as she digs through files in the dusty archives at the back of the police station.
"Wait, what? Inasa, slow down, I can't understand you." She says, taking it in her hand and holding it to her ear as her brow furrows.
"He's what?" The blonde girl says, expression shifting from confused to outraged in a flash.
"No I heard you that time, thank you for letting me know." She growls, jaw clenched tightly as she hangs up and dials another number.
"HONDA, WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ON TV?"
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Musutafu General Hospital, 35 minutes earlier
Once Chewie finally has some britches on we begin our walk towards the elevator, a confident sort of silence between us.Musutafu General Hospital, 35 minutes earlier
"So what's our play? Overwhelming force?" I ask, stretching my muscles in preparation for sudden and explosive movement.
"I'm thinking catch them and find out who sent them." Jurota says, cracking his knuckles violently.
"Sounds good to me. Camp em up here or charge dick first into enemy turf?"
"I'll let you make that call."
"Dick first into enemy turf it is!"
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"Alright idiots, next floor." Namune says, stowing her weapon as Mr. Rope and Mr. Liche fall into step behind her as she stalks toward the end of the hall.
"Alright, this is the last above ground floor. After this, we go down to the basement and head for our extraction." The masked woman says, looking over her shoulder at the pair under her command.
"Is that clear?" She says, turning to face them when they stop in front of the elevator.
A chipper "ding!" from the elevator cuts off any replies the pair might have had as arms reach past her, one burying itself in Mr. Liche's loose curls and yanking him forward as the other, covered in thick fur, tries to grab at Mr. Rope, the pale man jerking back out of its reach.
"Chewie, get the tanker! We can worry about greasy once these two are down!" A young man yells, and Namune whirls around, a nightstick sliding from the sleeve of her jumpsuit and clocking one of the wanna-be heroes.
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I slam the head of the man whose hair I have a grip on against the wall, stepping out of the elevator as the person in the flight suit swings their nightstick wildly. They've already clocked Chewie, which was a bad idea on their part because I can see cracks in his glasses.
I drag Curly's face down into my knee as I try to keep an eye on both Pilot and Greasy at the same time, but a blur of motion and a knife shearing flesh from the back of the hand I've got knotted into my opponent's hair forces me to focus on Greasy. It just had to be my fucking jerk hand too, didn't it?
I'm part of the way through throwing Curly at Greasy when I hear a thud off to the side, and I glance over and drop the man I'm lifting off the ground.
Jurota, unconscious on the ground with blood matting his fur at the temple.
Pilot, picking their bloodied baton off the ground as they stand glowering over my cousin.
"Who are you." I demand, eyes narrowing as I try and fail to hide the snarl climbing onto my face, teeth bared as I assess the situation.
Curly, bleeding from the face on the ground in front of me. A swift kick to the head puts him out for a while. Greasy, palming a triangular throwing knife as his eyes flit between me, Pilot, his partner, and Chewie.
And Pilot, with a look in their eyes like they've already won.
"Call me Ziz." They say, voice distinctly female, before she drops her baton and her hands shift into signs like two L's, thumbs out and index fingers pointing downwards.
I feel it almost immediately, the air thinning around me as she points, but I'm too angry to give a damn as I gulp down air and throw a wild punch. My fist connects with a crunch, part of the fiberglass pilots mask over her face cracking on impact. She stumbles a bit, and I wind up to throw another punch only for another knife to come flying from Greasy's direction. The blade buries itself in my upper arm, blood already beginning to stain my gray shirt.
The punch barely misses Ziz, and she dances around my haymaker swings as Greasy chucks more and more knives at me.
"What's the matter kid? No angry screaming about me cracking your buddies skull open like an egg? Honestly, he was kind of a wimp. One shot to the temple and me using my Quirk on him, that was it." She says, trying to rile me up.
What's worse than her badmouthing my cousin who might be permanently injured? The fact I'm letting it get to me. My swings become wilder and wilder, practically windmilling as what precious little oxygen remains in my lungs burns away.
She keeps dodging closer and closer to Greasy, and in my rage I follow, still swinging blindly. I take the proximity as a chance and slug the other man in the throat, but not without getting a knife buried in the exposed muscle ot the back of my hand.
It's always the fucking jerk hand.
Greasy drops, and I wheel on Ziz to grab the tube connecting her mask the bulky oxygen tanks on her back and yank her forward into a headbutt.
It's a move I've done a million times before, and like always it pays off perfectly. My hairline connects with the bridge of her nose in a sickening crunch as cartilage snaps, and she drops with a thud, clutching her maimed face with both hands.
I let out the air in my lungs, a sigh rushing from my mouth as the air thickens once more and get whiff of blood nd sweat in the air. God, why do fights like this always stink?
The elevator dings as I heft Chewie up, and I nearly drop him in shock when I see who exactly is stepping out of it.
He looks different this close, more human. He's not wearing the same outfit as before, denim coveralls exchanged for a pair of khaki pants and a white shirt, a pair of untied workboots clomping on the floor as he slings Ziz and the other two over his shoulder.
"Sheesh, kid, you did one hell of a number on them, didn't you?" Atomic Hate says as he slurps from his XXXL Slushee, genuine surprise crossing his face.
"Mmm! I knew I made the right choice with the blackcurrant flavor. You ever had this shit before kid? It's absolutely breathtaking, like, I thought they couldn't make a Slushee better and they did." The supervillain says, smiling as he takes another long pull from the cup.
"Wanna sip?" He says, holding the cup out to me before glancing at his watch.
"Shit, I'm late! Have a good one kid!" The hulk of a man shouts over his shoulder before kicking out a section of wall and jumping out of the building.
Now seems like a good time to pass the fuck out.
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Now
Now
"And that's the story. I think the greasy guy may have beat your record for how many knives can get stuck in me in a single go." I say, looking at the paramedic hovering beside me out of the corner of my eye.
"How many knife wounds did I have again?" I ask quietly, flinching and holding the phone away from my ear as Himiko lays into me for being a trouble magnet.
"Six. Three stab wounds in your bicep, one stab wound in your shoulder, a stab in the back of your right hand, and the entirety of the flesh on the back of your right hand being sliced off like deli meat." The woman lists off, voice as dry as the Sahara.
"Six stab wounds, you hear that hon? That's more than four, so it beats your record!" I say, doing my best to deflect from the fact I got stabbed 6 times and got offered a sip of Slushee by one of the most dangerous men on the planet.
"You are the biggest idiot I know and I'm not sure if I'm going to kiss you or kick your ass when you get back. Stay safe, Han."
"Don't worry, I'll stay safe." I say, giggling nervously at the end.
I hang up the phone and get up, stretching and yawning like a lazy housecat.
"So, two questions." I say, looking at the paramedic again.
"First, how's my cousin doing? He took a nasty shot to the head, and got that chick's Quirk used on him."
"He's going to be in the hospital for a couple more days, but he should be fine."
"Good, good. Second question." I say, raising my heavily bandaged right hand up.
"How long until-"
"Start learning to be a lefty."
"God damn it!"
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I have way too much fun writing Atomic Hate
