Built Different [Cyborg Superhero ProgFant]

A web of concrete and steel lay before me. All I had to do was level my fuck-fist toward the fractal spirals as it blossomed and twirled in my eyes. Fragments of stairs. Slim chunks of brickwork. Wiggling pipes. Reality was a pulsing bad dream, every color and texture turning slow circles, narrowing to the point of destruction. My final mark upon this world, spoken with the click of an invisible trigger.

Or so it would have felt, but someone had vetoed that part of my plan. Not that I could really remember who had been so bold, or what my actual plan even was. Something to do with violence and spiders.

The replacement plan had slotted into the side of my head like an antiquated game cartridge. Something simple. Binary, almost. Load up a few shells. Wait for the signal.

Door wasn't trapped. The metal hinges squealed anyway. Announcing our presence. Our intention. A small landing greeted us, with a dim light to guide us to the top of a metal stairway leading down. It was a terrible chokepoint for both us and any other rat seeking cheese.

The trap was sprung. They were waiting for us, and any further metaphors shook out of my skull as the metal bar came down on us.

We weren't the only ones who had found the anti-superpower metal. Thankfully, whatever the Government had managed to procure and fashion into weaponry was meager. Unfortunately, one such instance of their limited armory was the high-powered sniper round currently coming up the staircase.

Against me alone… I'd be sporting a brand new hole through my chest. It wouldn't necessarily have stopped me, depending on how long I could go on without my internal organs. The Natural Disasters surrounding me would have made the shot something of a very brief shish kebab. If only pierced by empty air and gore. Reasonable filling, although the cheese wouldn't fit.

As luck would have it, whoever had painted over my unintelligible plan had seen fit to detail our arrangement just for this exact scenario. Perhaps not that prescient. Clara had run some simulations, and this was one of the most likely problems we could encounter. Or at least, that's what I imagined her saying. I just played my part in this.

Roxy was at the front, as was her right. Her hands held a riot shield made of thick molten rock. Pulsing with fresh layers of lava. Liked a stacked melted cheese sandwich. In front of that was the densest shield Belle could conjure up. Even with my mind bouncing between fictional nonsense and sharp focus, I could sense the amount of magic and power the two pooled into their defensive line.

Still, the bullet pierced through.

After the initial burst, my turn to act came up. Overcharge and Triple shot fired the three loaded Flash shells down into the beyond. Clara advised that it might cause permanent eye damage to anyone foolish to keep their eyes open for the duration. I was tempted.

White light filled the basement just as Ren's arrow slammed through the attacker. Even with the ear protection and goggles, I was disoriented. Maybe that was another contributing factor.

With everyone in ranged blind and deafened, Roy zipped to the front, the crack of his lightning steps bouncing from wall to wall. Three shells ejected from the chamber of my gun arm, and I…

Had no need to load anything further.

Roxy slumped down, sitting on the stairs. Her shield crumbled and fell away to reveal the long metal bullet sticking out of her sternum. I reached over and pulled it out. Discarded it on the ground. Fresh lava bubbled in the wound before Belle kneeled down to administer some first aid.

It was almost a joke, really. As if the Government had run out of budget. Inefficiencies made manifest. The dust cleared, with only the Captain standing at the ready on the floor of the basement proper. Aside from the singular man bent over backward with an arrow through his forehead, there were barely a handful of other guards present.

Not plant people, but their gear was rather basic. Similar tactical gear to the Fading Storm, but of a higher grade. Roy had knocked them all out. Aside from their weapons lying idle on the floor, Clara's drone was also inert over at the side. I couldn't gather my attention to ask her what had happened, because my full focus was on the figure in the center of the room.

The cheese. Ripe for the plucking.

A male figure sat on a chair, just as the video had shown previously. Arms tied behind his back, in restraints that covered his hands. A bag over his head, as if they had to meet a certain quota of cliché.

Something felt uncomfortable. Out of place. Not just the wavering shadows and creeping dread emanating from my imaginative mind. There was a heavy silence, anticipation as spider eyes turned to me once more.

The grand reveal was mine to enact. I took several steps across the stage and reached for the curtain.

Boss shook and twisted as if trying to escape me. It was too late. I had burned through every last drop of my physical energy to meet him face to face, finally. What came after that was untrodden ground. My words would be as sloppy as my fists. His ears boxed either way.

I took hold of the bag and pulled it away. The audience gasped, and for several long seconds my brain froze up.

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[Am I hallucinating this?]

The others moved to stand around me. I held the bag limply in my hand as I looked down at the gagged man. A tired and panicked look in his eyes. Familiarity did not breed contempt in this instance. My hands relaxed, and the steam engine started to lose power.

Director Kingston.

I lifted up the bag, as if it might hold an explanation. It didn't, but the cable—previously unseen—that connected to the back ran all the way to the wall where the drone had crashed brought up further questions.

Kingston coughed as Roy took out his gag. His eyes followed mine. "Thank the heavens you disabled the bombs before pulling that off. Or we'd all be dead."

My brain was still several steps behind. The block paneling on the walls wasn't just the electronic boxes for the hospital. It was enough plastic explosives to level the building. Superheroes or not, the chances of all of us living through that were slim. Even if Belle could emergency teleport us home in a split second, Kingston would have died.

[Were they… framing us?]

"Uncertain. I'm not sure why I've been used as bait and potential collateral." Kingston grunted as his hands were freed. "I'm thankful you all survived."

I looked back at Roxy. Some blood down the front of her suit that was hers for a change. Exhausted, but okay. I turned back and gestured to the cut cable.

[You can direct a lot of that appreciation toward Clara and the dog.]

I glanced down at the half-spider hellhound eagerly awaiting praise. It hadn't really sunk in that Boss wasn't here. Either he was somewhere else, or it had always been a ruse. Unless the Director was Boss, which didn't seem likely.

The man stood up from the chair and stretched out. His brow furrowed at me. "Is he okay?"

"Not exactly," Roy replied. "I'll get you up to speed, but we need to move you out of here."

Kingston nodded. "Most Directors have probably feigned concern over my disappearance. One or two might have conspired with the World Government. I need to get back to the League and start pulling on some threads." He flexed his fingers and eyed us one by one. "There are few in the city I'd trust in this city more than you five. As of this moment, I am assigning you as my personal bodyguard. While accompanying me, you are authorized to use any force necessary to keep me safe."

A little voice in my head whispered in my ear that this was a specific protocol any Director could enact in emergency circumstances. Although the voice was probably Clara's , and my ear was instead my eyes. It was becoming more difficult to pair the right senses with stimuli. My internal monologue was still trying to understand the fact that Boss wasn't here.

I wavered slightly as a warm hand held my shoulder.

"Dubs won't be able to come along," Roxy said. "He is basically running on fumes after the attack on the Arena."

"The Arena was attacked?"

Those with more brain cells currently functional filled the Director in on everything that had happened since the morning. On the way to the stairs, I picked up the bullet that had been shot at Roxy.

I could feel that it was the same material as the Sanguine stakes. Slightly thicker and several inches longer. Reinforced tip. There was no way I'd be able to fit this in the chamber on the side of my arm. Front-loading looked possible, but I wasn't about to make a fool of myself given my currently abysmal hand-eye coordination and try. My foot-eye, head-neck, and brain-dog coordinations were also out of sync. Against all odds, I managed to slip the oversized ammunition into a pouch.

Killing supers was in my blood, after all.

Being closer to the daylight made me feel better, as did being further away from the densely packed explosives in the basement. Kingston assured us he had a cleanup team on the way, so we needn't worry about the group of unconscious mercs down there. Seemed a little sloppy, but I wasn't really one to judge.

I caught snippets of the conversations, with Roxy and Belle taking the lead while Ren and the Captain had their eyes on our surroundings. The Director had been caught out leaving his house this morning. He wasn't expected anywhere, so his kidnapping hadn't been announced until the mercenaries put the information out at the same time as the Arena attack.

The cuffs had elements of the anti-super material, so he couldn't use his powers. His captors hadn't told him much, but were clear in bragging about the amount of explosives around them. Sounded a little short-sighted to me, but the idea was that it was a backup plan for if they had all died already, alongside instilling some fear into the Director.

I tuned out the rest of it, more enamored by the bright sunlight as we left the front of the hospital. The Disasters were rather heated in whatever exchange they were having. Eventually, Roxy stepped over to me and held my head in her hands, her face close to mine. It had the intended effect of focusing my wandering thoughts.

"Dubs. We have to take Kingston to a secure location. You need to go home so that Clara can put you in an induced coma. Otherwise… it won't be good for you." Her brow furrowed, the fire in here eyes dampening slightly. "We're saving the last of Belle's energy for now, so you'll be going in the Meteor. I'll come back to you as soon as I can."

[Things aren't over.]

"I know." She glanced to the side, stealing away the flames. "Kingston says there's a report that Chevalier has left the city, but we don't know if we can trust it."

Between a rock and a hard place. I had burned my candle until there was nothing left and hadn't found Boss or killed my brother. Now I was a living paperweight. Without Clara's help, a corpse. Kingston was about to dive into his own third act, and I didn't have the stomach for political drama. Even standing up was a miracle at this stage.

[If this is the way it has to be. Let's get it over with.]

My bard senses could pick up that nobody was particularly pleased with the plan. Leaving Kingston to the wolves wasn't exactly an option, however. We broke the rules, but it was through his grace that we did so. He was our lifeline within the city. Our caged freedom.

[Just let me say goodbye to the dog first.]

I didn't get to. The last thing I remember was being pushed unceremoniously into the familiar interior of the Meteor. I felt the inevitable pushing me toward the edge. No use fighting it. Sleep hit me like a bullet through the skull.

Then I dreamed of shadows. Swirling mists obscured my view. So close to seeing the clear shape of something beyond, but the dense horror persisted. It stifled me. Suffocating.

My eyes snapped open.

Dim light across a plain ceiling. A familiar shape to my left side, a figure. Green lights looked down on me, although they were muted. The lingering taste of smoke in my re-breather. A needle in my neck.

Brow furrowed. I lifted my left hand up carefully and cupped the side of Clara's face.

[Is everything okay?]

"Just something to fix your updog, Gunquake." Her voice was soft. Pained.

I was still bleary, half asleep. Confused. My fingers came away from her hairline, sticky crimson clinging to my digits.

[What's updog?]

She removed the needle and leaned closer to me. Partially because she was unable to hold herself up. Partially to tell me those three little words to stir my heart.

"Chevalier is here."