Possessive Behavior

The night air was freezing, snowflakes slowly falling to the ground around me. Luckily my costume kept me from the worst of it. This was the first time in a while I wore the full outfit. Well, except the staff. It felt nice. The staff had to stay in the waist bag since my hands were full. In my right, I carried a large plastic jug full of a transparent liquid. The inner side was coated so the fluid didn't melt its container. In my left, I gripped a knife.

Neither of these were for Souto. I had other plans for him. This was in case I came across someone else, and I had a hunch that I would.

The Memorial Hall of Legacy was a large, opulent building, (because of course it was) usually illuminated even at night. But on Sundays as well as holidays the place was off-limits past 8PM. The only people present were the night guards. A perfect time to strike. It was when the very top of it came into view that I was stopped.

"So you showed up. Figures. How'd you get out?" There was someone behind me. I knew his voice, though I only heard it once. It seemed my hunch was right.

"Merry Christmas, Smear. Jolly good to see you. So you've been put on guard duty, I take it?" I turned around to face him. His hoodie kept his face obscured as usual, but he was sporting a new style. Before, his hoodie was a bland, regular old rag you could find in any clothing store. The one he wore now was covered in a rainbow coalition of paint smears and blots. The only organized ones were in the middle, crudely spelling out Petite.

"Yes. To guard against one very specific person. Just in case." His tone was gruff and unamused.

I let out a laugh. "For me? I'm flattered. But this doesn't have to happen, you know. Just let me through. It's that easy."

"Same to you. Stay away and I won't do anything. But I have a feeling neither of us is going to back down here."

I shook my head. "You're right about that."

"You didn't answer my question. How'd you get out?"

"Your little cell was hardly what I'd call secure. There were so many vectors of escape I practically just waltzed right out. Try better, next time."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Cell? We stored you in Souto's bedroom. As if we had cells. We aren't EATR or Freakshow. We don't make a habit of keeping people locked up."

His bedroom? Sleeping every night in a doorless room surrounded by stacked supply crates? I could never.

"But I take it you're not going to answer, then? Fine, have it your way."

He took a step back and pointed at my hand.

"A knife? Really? You think you can just go in there and stab him to death?"

I chuckled. "I mean, why complicated when simple is an option?"

"And what is that? Water? Gasoline? Acid? Planning on burning the whole building down?"

I set the jug on the ground. "That's not important right now. The important part is that you are trying to stall me."

"Heh. That obvious, huh?"

I shrugged. "I've seen subtler stallers, but believe me, there are many who are quite a bit worse than you."

"How reassuring. Now that the jig is up, I guess it's time then, right?"

"So, there is no way at all you'll let me pass?"

He shook his head. "None."

"Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you." I lunged forward with the knife but he jumped backwards to dodge.

"Nice try." He reached inside the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out. I took a defensive stance, assuming it to be a weapon, but instead, he produced....a sheet of rolled-up paper?

He unrolled it revealing a drawing of a cartoony lit bomb. It had a giant grinning mouth but no eyes, and from its side protruded one arm that held the pointer finger in front of its smile, as if to shush someone.

"My Power may seem to not be useful as a direct weapon at first glance, but I assure you, it can be quite explosive." With a dramatic gesture, he reached inside the paper and pulled his creation into the real world. It looked....strange. The fuse, while lit, did not seem to go down, and the thing was wriggling in his grasp. The weirdest part however was that it retained its texture as a drawing, despite being three-dimensional. It didn't belong here.

I moved backwards a few steps, readying to dodge. "You know, blowing shit up may not be the best strategy to avoid drawing attention. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Typical Master Controller, unable to comprehend art when she sees it. These are quiet bombs. Let me demonstrate." He threw the giggling ball in my direction. I had just enough time to grab the jug and jump out of the way before it went off. I was knocked the the ground painfully. Seems I misjudged the blast-radius. Parts of the pavement were about, but nothing made a sound. When I looked back I saw a cloud of penciled-in smoke at the point of impact, the word "kaboom..." lazily floating in its center.

"There's more where these came from!" He pulled out more and more bomb-sheets, removing their payload and chucking them at me. The ground splintered and cracked with each burst, beginning to resemble a war zone more than a modern-day city street.

This wasn't my first rodeo with a mad bomber. Every now and then there would appear villains who thought wildly throwing around explosives was an unbeatable strategy. They usually learned the hard way. And so would he.

Between bombs, I set the jug down and speed away. This was a gamble. I counted on him focusing on me solely. He didn't even stop to think, mindlessly throwing in my direction. Good. Over the course of my career I found that If a villain went into a fight with a simple, one-trick-solution strategy, they were unlikely to deviate from it in the heat of battle. He didn't even aim where I was going, just where I was.

I continued this dance until he slowed down. He must've been approaching the end of his little stockpile. I could've waited for him to run out, but I had a better idea. One that was more fun.

It wasn't long until he gave me the perfect opening. With an aimed kick I shot the smiling explosive back towards him, specifically slightly to his left.

"Got you." I grinned, changed my angle of attack to focus on his right and ran full-speed ahead, knife in front.. Moving backward would only save him a few seconds before I caught up. Moving to the left would leave him in the middle of one of his own poorly drawn bombs. Moving right meant giving me the perfect shot to stab him. If was a lose/lose situation. Or rather, a lose/lose/lose situation, I guess. Time for him to make his choice.

"Did you now? Don't forget...." Despite the situation, his voice appeared unbearably smug. "I'm a bit of a caricature myself." His body began rapidly sinking into the ground creating and extending a drawing of himself on the pavement. "This is the ultimate defense." Those were his last words before he fully flattened himself.

Perfect. Without hesitation, I grabbed the huge jug and poured a quarter of its contents out in a circle around Smear. The moving piece of street art seemed confused.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you. That's paint stripper. Industrial strength."

A big red exclamation point appeared above his head. The top of it reached the fluid and immediately dissolved. A number of sweat marks appeared on his hood as he looked at the lake that surrounded him, then at me, and tried to escape his prison. As soon as his fingers rematerialized in 3D I lifted my leg and crashed it down on the defenseless digits as hard as I could. The little appendages squirmed as I ground them under my heel until they finally retreated to safety,

.

"Oh no you don't. You made your bed. Now lie in it." I shuddered a little at my words. Not because of what I said, but how. I hadn't talked while wearing the mask for so long that I forgot how nefarious the voice scrambler could make me sound. Good stuff.

With a simulated yawn, I poured out more of the cleaning fluid, decreasing Smear's effective range of movement even further until the only safe spot was about the size of a bowling ball. He had shifted his position into a top-down view in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, and even that was barely working.

"Awww, is little Picasso scared? Don't worry. I'll make it a lot worse for you, just watch me." I held up the knife so it was in 2D-Smear's line of sight. "Did you really think I was planning on using this on you? No, the knife was never meant for you. It was meant for...." I set the now half-empty jug on the floor and began stabbing its top half violently. It was so cathartic when a plan came together. When I was done I picked it up again and, with a last stab, rammed the knife into the bottom. No leakage. Good. Gently, I set the now perforated jug right on top of Smear, half lifted up by the portruding knife-handle. The makeshift contraption was wobbly and looked like it could topple over at any moment.

"If you really try your best you might be able to remove the container by yourself and escape. Might. But I'd be careful if I were you. If it falls over, or the knife gets knocked loose, the paint tripper will be running out of all the little holes I made. What a dilemma."

His fingers surfaced from the little spot in the ground he still had available to him and attempted to move the precariously balanced jug, but when his touch caused it to shake he froze up and submerged again.

"If you're lucky someone'll come pick this up for you in the morning. Until then, though, have fun. I'm off to see your boss. I have some constructive feedback concerning his latest art piece. He's going to be thrilled, I just know it."

Without further delay, I turned and walked onwards. The Memorial Hall of Legacy had a certain presence to it in the dark of the night. I opened my bag to commence the final preparations.

Time to end this.