Killing Olympia

I've spent nearly two hours breaking my back under the sun, but for the first time in weeks, it means a water main can be turned on in Lower Olympus. I'm sweaty, filthy, and my eyes sting when I climb out of the formerly rubble filled hole I'd cleared out, but I get to my feet, stretch my back and get it to click, and wave at the pair of guys with heavy-duty wrenches on the other side of the street. A small crowd had formed, standing on the pavement, all of them filthy, none of them really clean. Almost everyone I'd come across in Lower Olympus looked homeless now. The fires had taken a lot. But the bouts of Kaiju attacks and turf wars of scraps wasn't doing anyone any favors.

The pipes underneath the city had all warped and melted and bent during the attacks. What people drank was boiled over and over on large drums and passed out in old plastic water bottles. No more soup kitchens. Just not enough food to dish out, and whenever someone did try to work something out, they'd get rubbed at either gunpoint or by a Supe wanting a quick meal. Me being here meant the street was at a standstill. Kids sat on top of piles of rubble. Adults bounced their babies on their hips, quietly praying under their breath. I'd found a group of guys trying to dig through the rubble to get to one of the larger water mains, and figured, What the hell? The stones were the hard part, and then came the part where I had to figure out how to straighten pipes without breaking them.

I'd heated my hands and bent and shaped and done my best to make them look at least a little bit like what they used to. I wasn't smart. A few of these guys had already done the math and figured out the rest. My job was to put the pipes back in place, strong-arming it until I was using my electricity to weld things together. I didn't even know I could do that. Not well. But you get what I mean. I massaged my aching neck and waited like everyone else.

The bolts had all turned to slag, effectively shutting off the water. I'd done my part in loosening them.

But I guessed the people who actually lived here should be the ones to wet the streets again. And just like that, with a loud groan from three guys working a heavy bolt, did it finally give. A cheer went up along the street, followed by loud whistling and rags getting waved from the tops of buildings that were still somehow standing.

But no water came gushing out of the fire hydrants along the street or the hastily put-together pipes attached to the main. The guys near the bolt glanced at one another, then at me. The cheering died down. The flicker of happiness fizzled out. A baby started wailing against its mothers chest, and then they all looked at me.

I didn't need to say anything. I could hear the pipes groaning, leaking in some parts, then came the first sputter out of a hose just a few feet away. Eyes darted toward it. I put up my hand, stopping people from lunging. It came out brown and filthy first, directly from the waste stuck in the old pipes. The pipe flailed, vomiting sludge and silt, and then came the water, not clear, and then very clear. It spilled onto the pavement, wetting feet and shoes. Then, slowly, one after another, the hydrants, the hoses, the faucets in nearby buildings, all sprung into wet life.

And this time, they didn't stop cheering.

Kids got first dibs, then mothers and finally everyone else. Once it had been bottled and gathered in dishes and pans, pots and even plastic bags and layered pieces of cloth, was when a kid grabbed a hose and sprayed me.

His dad grabbed his wrist and yanked him away, dropping the hose. He silently scolded the boy as the people around me slowly got quiet. "I'm so sorry," the man said, heavy rags draped over an old, torn-up fireman uniform. "He didn't mean to do that." He grabbed the boy and shoved him toward me. "Apologize, Samuel. Now."

He looked up at me, the joy that had just been on his grimy face now replaced with pale fear.

I glanced at the faces around me, and boy was everyone frozen stiff. That's what you get for having dodgy PR, superhero. I got on one knee in front of him, then grabbed the hose and sprayed him down. He broke out into a fit of laughter, trying to run away. I flew a little higher and followed him until he was so wet his clothes were nearly dragging him down. I tossed the hose to someone else, and gave him a hand onto his feet and ruffled his wet hair.

His dad ran up to me, face bright red. I spoke before he could. "It's fine," I said. "Kids being kids."

He nodded once, then lifted the kid onto his shoulders. "What do you say, Samuel?"

"Thanks, Olympia!" he said, grinning.

"Thank the brainiacs who figured out how to fix the pipes. WIthout them, this place would still be bone dry," I said, lifting off the ground. "You guys stay safe, alright? Don't waste what you've got. See you around, Sam."

They both waved as I left, but I wasn't going far. I found the group of men who'd been working on the water issue before I got any of this started. They all sat on piles of cracked bricks, one of them with his wife beside him, another carefully pouring liquid into the mouth of an old, slightly shaky man. I landed beside them, jogging to a stop as the shade of a building stood over us. I watched as drums of water were thrown on top of fires to at least clean it a little more. The water tasted kinda metallic. According to these guys, it wouldn't do any long-term harm.

"Kid!" a dark-skinned man said, thumping his palm on the stack of cinderblocks beside him. "Sit right here, best view in the house. We'd have offered you somethin' to eat, but all we've got is some suspect water."

I waved my hand and smiled. "I've gotta go soon, anyway, so—"

They collectively booed me, then one of them said, "Come on, Goldie. Just a couple of minutes."

"I really wish I could," I said, but I was already being pulled along and forced to sit down with them. If you're wondering what getting the water back on has to do with filling the sky with Capes again, that was simple: you've got to have people around to see something like that for it to mean anything at all. Villain hunting would come in the night when Becca and I would go looking for that cartel. For now, though, I was wearing a costume too colorful and too clean to go covering myself in gore and blood. "You guys drive a hard bargain, but sure, why not?"

"That's the spirit!" a huskier man said, slapping me on the back. He winced, then flexed his fingers. "Man, they weren't joking 'bout you, your body is like steel. All this time playing Cape, and you never played football?"

"He's right," the man pouring water into the older man's mouth said. "The Olympus Eagles needed you on their D-Line. There's still a few weeks before shit hits the fan and we don't make it through the playoffs again." The old man choked. The other man quietly cursed and rubbed his back. "Easy, dad. Not all at once. I know it tastes like shit but this is the best we can do." The old man cleared his throat, then smacked his cracked lips, now a little wet.

"Is he gonna be alright?" I asked.

"Ah, my old man's a fighter," he said, patting his father's bony shoulder. "He's been around so long that he stood right behind Peacemaker when he got the boardwalk named after him." I quietly whistled. Old timer had some miles on him, tell you what. He'd been around long before dad was ever on the scene. "Thanks for your help today."

"About time I actually did help," I said. "But I needed to talk to you guys about something."

"Anything," the huskier man said. "We owe you that much."

"Just know we've got bad knees and backs," another man said, smoking a cigarette almost to its filter.

"It's about the water," I said, lowering my voice. They nodded slowly, because we were all thinking the same thing. The sun lit up the entire street, turning it a bright shade of yellow. Kids played with hoses, running after one another. Teenagers lounged on rocks, drinking from metal cups and quietly flirting with one another. There was an energy here, a quiet, timid sort of energy, because every once in a while, a gunshot would echo through the city, followed by a bellow, or a shriek, or a thump as something fleshy hit the ground. It wasn't perfect. It wouldn't be. But they could pretend to be, and that's what mattered, at least for a little while. "How bad has the violence been?"

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The huskier man sighed, then sat forward. He took off his trucker's cap and used the back of his hand as a rag to get the sweat and grime off his cheeks. "Worse everyday," he muttered. "Can't walk around alone anymore."

"More gangs?" I asked. A group of kids squealed as an older lady doused them in a bucket.

"Not only them," the smoker said. "Kaiju."

I frowned a little. "What's going on with them?"

"Everyone's afraid," the old man said. All heads turned to him. He had a cane clutched in both his hands, his greying eyes resting on the crowd in front of us. "The Kaiju. The thugs. The gangsters. The Supers. Everyone." His head slowly turned to face me. "Don't blame just one group. We're all at fault. The only way this changes is if we stop trying to kill one another for what little we've got left. Our homes are gone. We can't lose one another, too."

"Yeah, Earl, but…fuck," the huskier man said. "Those damned animals eat our boys alive."

"Only because we don't tell our boys to stop going out at night."

"Someone needs to guard the apartments, the women and the kids and—"

"Oh, don't start with that," the old man grumbled. "We're all so paranoid we'd kill our own shadows."

Even when I do something good, there's something else right around the corner. I stood up and dusted myself down, then said, "People are gonna try to steal the water or push you guys out. I don't need people killing one another, because things will get better. I promise. The bad guys are on the other side of the river, not right here."

"You said it, Goldie," Smoke said, flicking ash off the end. "Fuck those pansies."

They collectively grunted.

"You know my line," I said, hovering. "Call me if de-escalating doesn't work, but only as a last resort."

I knew it was just one street, I knew it was barely one block that had enough water to keep them going, but it was a start, and maybe… Look, I knew exactly how these people thought sometimes, but if a handful of them could just see that things were going to get better, then I'd be fine with that. I wanted to have faith, but I'll focus on actually getting some work done without trying to conjure something less-tangible than hard work and dirty sweat.

I flew into the sky, skimming the ruined skyline and assessing the rest of the damage. The heavy black smoke from the factories had a bad habit of sinking through the air and resting on the streets, dirtying windows and leaving everything a little filthier. If I could, I'd have multiple versions of myself flying around and taking care of this place whenever I couldn't. Rhea and the others were doing better, according to the last time I texted Ava, but I wasn't going to risk them getting hurt again. They were full-blooded Arkathians. What they could do for this city would be unlike anything I've done in the handful of years I've been active. But they've gotten hurt one too many times because of me. Can't let that keep happening, and with Lower Olympus in this state, that was begging for it.

"Thief!" a woman screamed. I paused mid-air and spun. A kid wearing a hoodie was sprinting away, head hunched as he barreled into an alleyway. She kept screaming, kept pointing, but people only moved when she yelled, "Kaiju! The fucking Kaiju stole from me!" I swore. A group of men grabbed bats and one stuffed a gun into his waistline, followed by another group of kids armed with sticks and stones they were pelting at the Kaiju boy. I fell through the air, flying over their heads and following the kid into the alleyway. Dead end. A wall of stones towered over him. He tried to climb them, slipped, and cut his leg open as he fell onto the ground. Then came the gang of men and the kids that followed, standing at the end of the alleyway and blocking the light behind them.

A messily done spray painted mural of a glowing fist was to his right, punching upward to the sky. An old spray can got kicked out of the way, darting toward the little Kaiju and making him flinch when it hit his chest.

I landed between the group and the Kaiju, lowering myself through the air and putting up my hands. "Easy," I said, as the kid behind me quickly grabbed the food that fell out of his hoodie. I glanced over my shoulder and gave him a small nod. That cut was ugly, but he was on his feet, wincing, hood still tightly pulled around his face. I turned around, then said, "How about we all relax a little, alright? Put down the guns and the rebar and—"

"You're siding with them?" one of them spat, using a baseball bat to point at the kid.

"Those freaks have their lanes!" a slightly older teenager yelled. "We don't go there stealing from them!"

The kid winced as one of them threw a rock. I let it smash against my chest, splintering into gravel that fell to my feet. I tensed my jaw and slowly stepped backward until I could graze the kid's small shoulder with my hand without looking at him. He was tense, like a rabbit ready to run. His heart was so fast it almost sounded like it was trying to do the running away part for him. The gang of Normals got closer, but hesitated. A part of them knew deep down I wasn't going to hurt them, but at the end of the day, their eyes were ringed with the same exhaustion, anger and frustration the rest of Lower Olympus was wearing. It had been a powder keg before Dennie died. Now it kept going off every time two people glanced at one another the wrong way. But I kept both hands up, kept my eyes from glowing and my shoulders from rising. I slowly stepped toward them and lowered my hands, looking at each.

"He's a kid," I said, my voice echoing between the destroyed buildings. "Just a kid."

The one at the front of the group, a burly man with a thick beard and glimmering, hateful blue eyes, scowled and hooked his thumb onto his belt, letting the studded bat rest on his shoulder. It was already dented and blood, just like his knuckles. Tough streets, tough times, tough people. Hard cycle, but the one that's been here ever since my old man got killed. The man spat on the ground, then snorted. "What does that change?" he asked, voice heavy. "One day it's a kid. The next it's two. Before we know it, they're all coming here like goddamned rodents."

The men and boys around him grunted and cheered in agreement. Another brick came flying, but flew over both our heads and smashed apart on the stones behind us. The kid cowered behind me, whimpering and shaking.

My gut turned, and I had to swallow the kind of emotion that made most people want to kill.

"I'll get you more food," I said to the man. "Just let the kid go. He was desperate."

"We're all fucking desperate," he snarled. "It's the only thing we've got left."

"And those animal-fuckers aren't taking anything else from us!" a kid shouted. Must be the same age as the Kaiju, wearing a vest and carrying a piece of metal far too big for his scrawny arms to really lift off the ground.

"They're not—" I sighed through my teeth. "Just leave, alright? He's a kid, leave him alone."

"Half-blood!" one screamed, then came the terrible explosion of a handgun.

The slug slammed square into my chest, the impact almost as loud as the gun itself. The bullet fell. The sound echoed. I stared at the man who'd fired the shot. Bald and angry, covered in tattoos up to his crooked jaw. The gun shook in his hands. His eyes widened with rage. Two more shots fired. One ricocheted off the stone at my feet. The next whizzed past my ear and dug itself into the rubble behind me. The Kaiju cried out and fell to the ground, wrapping his arms around his head. I didn't blink. I watched him squeeze the trigger over, and over, until the gun went click. The sour scent of gunpowder lingered. Shells clattered to the ground. I finally, slowly, blinked.

"What was that?" I asked him quietly. The man fumbled for a new magazine. I let him. It slipped out his hand and fell. He got to his knees, scrambling for it, then froze and looked up at me—because there I was, right in front of each of them, so suddenly they reeled back and raised their bats, but none of them dared to even get closer.

The guy at my feet backpedaled, tripped, then landed hard on his ass. He gasped for air, staring at me.

"I asked you a question," I said. "Answer it."

His mouth moved. Nothing came out.

I looked at the rest of them. "Anyone wanna speak for him?"

None of them spoke.

My eyes landed on the sorry excuse for a skinhead at my feet. "Say that again," I said, turning around and walking toward the Kaiju, "and I'll break the one rule I've got and kill a civilian." I stopped, then turned. "Got it?"

"I– I was just kidding," he said, voice quaking. "I didn't mean it. It's just a phrase. Like—"

"Leave, before you find out the hard way what concrete tastes like. All of you."

And they did, except for one. The man who'd been carrying a bat stared at me, his eyes dark and jaw hard. I watched him, and he watched me, neither one of us moving. Something crinkled inside his jacket pocket, and his hand slowly slid toward it. Sweet, smells like burning sugar. I narrowed my eyes and made them flare a soft golden light, daring him. Slowly, his hand drifted away from his jacket, then he spat a wad of saliva onto the ground and turned.

I sighed, then looked down at the Kaiju. "Hey, little guy," I said, crouching to meet his eyes. He cringed a little as I held his leg, but I gave him a smile and let electricity pulse through his leg. He tensed, then the wound stopped bleeding so badly. "There," I said, patting his shoulder. "Not good as new, but it'll get you by." I paused, then looked at his face. He turned his head and tugged the surgical mask he was wearing a little higher up. Cat eyes. His tiny fingers had nails sinking deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, and heck, he smelt like one, too. I stood up, then looked around. He wouldn't get far injured, especially if the Normals had pushed the Kaiju into their own street, like one of those fuckers said. I scooped him into my arms, almost making him flail and run. "Hey, hey, easy," I said, because I've already gotten my face fucked up by one cat in the past few days, I don't want another dose of that either. "I'm gonna take you home. If you walk around here, you'll get hurt on your own. Plus flying is cool."

He stopped moving, then glanced at me. It took a moment, then he reluctantly nodded.

I lifted off the ground as he pointed past the mound of rubble. I took off at barely a jog, partially because my mind was so far away from here that I'd admit. Half-blood. How many Kaiju had those guys hunted down? They had all stank of alcohol, dust, grimy weeks of waterless, sweaty days, and blood. Maybe normal, maybe Kaiju. It didn't matter, not as long as they weren't making trophies out of them. Half-blood. My mouth got even more bitter.

Lower Olympus' damage wasn't just cosmetic. That I could deal with any day.

I didn't know where to start with the rest of it.