Five days had passed, and the gangs of Los Angeles still hadn't realized I was hunting them. Of course, it didn't hurt that I went to Echo Park one night and Watts another, then over the hill to the Valley the next. But still, considering the amount of general confusion and hysteria in the news about the transformed, you'd think people would think twice before messing with someone wearing a costume. People were flying through LAX airspace in spandex. The occasional leaper landed on someone's car. I'd raced a speedster through a downtown traffic jam without getting his name. He was faster, much faster, but kept stopping to let me catch up.
That was interesting. No speed cap. Concept mattered. We were, to various degrees, freed from the limitations of the game engine. I could handle any weapon I picked up like an expert, though I still preferred the traditional boot to the head. That 'goddess of battle' thing.
Switching neighborhoods each night was as much an effort to make things interesting as a strategy. I was getting bored fighting guys with guns. It was fun watching them freak out when bullets couldn't stop me, but there was no real challenge to it. It was annoying not having a police radio and a network of contacts brimming with Things To Do. Where were the Outcasts and the Trolls, the Clockwork, the Sky Raiders and Council... and especially the whole Croatoa Halloween refugee crowd? I missed them.
I did seem to have a knack for finding violence, and impending violence. Could I learn to distinguish between supers and everyone else? That was a thought.
The other thing I missed was having a secret base to sleep in. But it didn't exist, as far as I could tell. Surely some of the others had changed, if I could find them.
Meh. Right now, I wanted sleep, a shower and something to eat, not necessarily in that order. I was still that human. I popped into a 7-11 and grabbed munchies, tossed on the counter a few bills some drug dealer had dropped when I kicked him in the head. I stopped at the next motel I passed and asked for a room.
The guy behind the counter stared at my chest. I snapped my fingers a couple of times. "Hey! Up here."
"I was looking at your, um, insignia thing." He kept swallowing as he talked, causing gulping pauses. "You're--one of them, aren't--you?"
I glared and gave him my best evil grin. "The mask wasn't enough of a clue? I am, in fact, one of them. So I don't have ID, or a credit card, but you're going to give me a room key anyway."
"S-sure thing!"
"What's your problem?"
"Your eyes...glowed just now," he stammered.
"Really? What color?"
"G-green."
"Cool." Strange. I'd been looking forward to particle FX when I hit level 30, but I hadn't gotten there yet. I cleared my throat. "The key..?"
While he dithered over the keys I unwrapped some gum and chewed. Maybe there was a little of Badb's human side in me, after all. Gum hadn't existed in Celtic times, and I wasn't a fan. But I'd been craving bubble gum all night.
I blew a big, pink bubble. I'd never been able to do that before, either.
Motel Guy gave up a key. He was staring at my ass as I walked away, so I turned around and gave him the old skull-eye, and he jumped back, bumping into the wall behind him. He looked like he'd nearly peed his pants, and it made me laugh. Who says the Presence Pool is useless?
I'd forgotten I'd finally gotten around to taking those powers.
I found my room, showered until I felt human again. That was disconcerting. I felt less comfortable in my skin, started remembering things hadn't been like this a week ago. Badb's human aspect wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the pissy beserker goddess.
I looked at the phone, and realized I couldn't remember any phone numbers. Not one. I closed my eyes and started hitting buttons. Why did muscle memory work when they weren't, technically, muscles that had ever dialed that sequence?
The phone rang several times, then I heard my wife's voice, panicked and hung up before I realized it was just the answering machine. Right. I'd forgotten about those. I wondered where she was. I couldn't expect her to just sit at home, hoping I'd call, wondering what had happened to me. Maybe she was at her parents. I couldn't remember their number. Could I run to San Diego? Maybe later. I ate some peanut butter cookies and drank a can of Guiness and crawled into bed.
When I woke up the sun was setting. I thought about calling home again, but I didn't know what to say. I should at least try to explain that my memory was falling apart while I still could. What if I was stuck like this? Could I stop using my powers and keep things from getting worse?
I got back into my costume. The patent leather smell was losing the battle against stale sweat. I needed to find some real clothes and get this thing dry-cleaned or something. At least Motel Guy hadn't called the cops on me.
As I walked outside, I realized he'd called someone else. The guy was huge. Eight feet tall, what looked like half a ton of muscle and armor. Tattoos, wife beater shirt and camo pants. No neck. When he saw me he flashed what I took to be some gang sign and a big stone mallet formed in his hand, out of thin air.
Sweet, another brute! I popped some gum in my mouth, rolled my shoulders and stepped out into the parking lot. OK, hit him hard and fast. If he starts getting stronger, back off, let the fury fade, then try again. I didn't want to cause as much property damage as my brawl with the Catgirl had created. Although it'd been the most fun I'd had since this started.
A burning sensation staggered me while my mind was still registering the laser beams from his eyes, too fast to dodge. What the hell? He leaped across the parking lot.
I pushed the pain away, started wailing away at him. It didn't seem to make much impression on him. He was yelling something, but all I heard was my pulse in my ears. I knew I should back off, instead of going toe to toe, but I was holding my own, so far.
And then a bone spike erupted from my chest, and as much as I tried to force the pain away, it kept growing and growing, blood erupting as the impaling spike was ripped back out, and I dropped to the pavement. I couldn't feel my pulse any more. I tried to breathe. Nothing happened.
Too bad there weren't any magic hospital transporters in the real world. Shouldn't my life be flashing before my eyes? All I could see was my blood spreading across the pavement as my vision dimmed around the edges. I could hear them laughing, high-fiving each other, but the sound seemed to get farther away every moment.
Big guy was a Tanker. Had to be, with the eye beams. Working with a Stalker? They ganked me! Fucking PVP griefers ganked me! Stupid way to die. I shouldn't still be conscious. Lost so much blood, no oxygen to the brain for... how long now? A minute? More?
Fuck, I'm really dead. I want to go home. I'm really dead. No, no, no... this is a stupid way to die. They're just walking away. Still laughing.
NO.
I feel my heart beat again. I inhale, a breath thick with the scent of my blood. I take my time standing up. Blood and sweat vanish from my costume, along with the hole, by magic. There is no 'as if by' here.
As much as I'd like to scream a challenge and charge, I'm not stupid. Fool me once, but we're not going to do the 'placate and taunt' song and dance. So I watch them walk away, the big guy with his mallet and some spikey, ninja-lizard guy in black samurai armor. Yeah, whatever. Keep cracking jokes.
I let my anger build to fever pitch, but I don't make my move until I see the distinctive auras of their defenses fade. By then, I have space to accelerate to full speed on the way in.
My boot catches the stalker in the back of the head at what feels like a mile per minute. The kick sends him flying into a parked car, and I stay on him, pounding him before he can get up, until the only movements he's making are caused by the impact of my fists.
The tanker is just staring at me, blank terror on his face. His eyes finally move, tracking a drop of blood as it falls from my glove. I strike just as he registers it's not my blood.
It takes me most of five minutes to systematically take him apart. He's tough as hell, but I caught him with his toggles down and the outcome is never in doubt. I feel like Batman. By the time he drops, I can hear sirens approaching again.
This time I decide to wait for them.
That was interesting. No speed cap. Concept mattered. We were, to various degrees, freed from the limitations of the game engine. I could handle any weapon I picked up like an expert, though I still preferred the traditional boot to the head. That 'goddess of battle' thing.
Switching neighborhoods each night was as much an effort to make things interesting as a strategy. I was getting bored fighting guys with guns. It was fun watching them freak out when bullets couldn't stop me, but there was no real challenge to it. It was annoying not having a police radio and a network of contacts brimming with Things To Do. Where were the Outcasts and the Trolls, the Clockwork, the Sky Raiders and Council... and especially the whole Croatoa Halloween refugee crowd? I missed them.
I did seem to have a knack for finding violence, and impending violence. Could I learn to distinguish between supers and everyone else? That was a thought.
The other thing I missed was having a secret base to sleep in. But it didn't exist, as far as I could tell. Surely some of the others had changed, if I could find them.
Meh. Right now, I wanted sleep, a shower and something to eat, not necessarily in that order. I was still that human. I popped into a 7-11 and grabbed munchies, tossed on the counter a few bills some drug dealer had dropped when I kicked him in the head. I stopped at the next motel I passed and asked for a room.
The guy behind the counter stared at my chest. I snapped my fingers a couple of times. "Hey! Up here."
"I was looking at your, um, insignia thing." He kept swallowing as he talked, causing gulping pauses. "You're--one of them, aren't--you?"
I glared and gave him my best evil grin. "The mask wasn't enough of a clue? I am, in fact, one of them. So I don't have ID, or a credit card, but you're going to give me a room key anyway."
"S-sure thing!"
"What's your problem?"
"Your eyes...glowed just now," he stammered.
"Really? What color?"
"G-green."
"Cool." Strange. I'd been looking forward to particle FX when I hit level 30, but I hadn't gotten there yet. I cleared my throat. "The key..?"
While he dithered over the keys I unwrapped some gum and chewed. Maybe there was a little of Badb's human side in me, after all. Gum hadn't existed in Celtic times, and I wasn't a fan. But I'd been craving bubble gum all night.
I blew a big, pink bubble. I'd never been able to do that before, either.
Motel Guy gave up a key. He was staring at my ass as I walked away, so I turned around and gave him the old skull-eye, and he jumped back, bumping into the wall behind him. He looked like he'd nearly peed his pants, and it made me laugh. Who says the Presence Pool is useless?
I'd forgotten I'd finally gotten around to taking those powers.
I found my room, showered until I felt human again. That was disconcerting. I felt less comfortable in my skin, started remembering things hadn't been like this a week ago. Badb's human aspect wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the pissy beserker goddess.
I looked at the phone, and realized I couldn't remember any phone numbers. Not one. I closed my eyes and started hitting buttons. Why did muscle memory work when they weren't, technically, muscles that had ever dialed that sequence?
The phone rang several times, then I heard my wife's voice, panicked and hung up before I realized it was just the answering machine. Right. I'd forgotten about those. I wondered where she was. I couldn't expect her to just sit at home, hoping I'd call, wondering what had happened to me. Maybe she was at her parents. I couldn't remember their number. Could I run to San Diego? Maybe later. I ate some peanut butter cookies and drank a can of Guiness and crawled into bed.
When I woke up the sun was setting. I thought about calling home again, but I didn't know what to say. I should at least try to explain that my memory was falling apart while I still could. What if I was stuck like this? Could I stop using my powers and keep things from getting worse?
I got back into my costume. The patent leather smell was losing the battle against stale sweat. I needed to find some real clothes and get this thing dry-cleaned or something. At least Motel Guy hadn't called the cops on me.
As I walked outside, I realized he'd called someone else. The guy was huge. Eight feet tall, what looked like half a ton of muscle and armor. Tattoos, wife beater shirt and camo pants. No neck. When he saw me he flashed what I took to be some gang sign and a big stone mallet formed in his hand, out of thin air.
Sweet, another brute! I popped some gum in my mouth, rolled my shoulders and stepped out into the parking lot. OK, hit him hard and fast. If he starts getting stronger, back off, let the fury fade, then try again. I didn't want to cause as much property damage as my brawl with the Catgirl had created. Although it'd been the most fun I'd had since this started.
A burning sensation staggered me while my mind was still registering the laser beams from his eyes, too fast to dodge. What the hell? He leaped across the parking lot.
I pushed the pain away, started wailing away at him. It didn't seem to make much impression on him. He was yelling something, but all I heard was my pulse in my ears. I knew I should back off, instead of going toe to toe, but I was holding my own, so far.
And then a bone spike erupted from my chest, and as much as I tried to force the pain away, it kept growing and growing, blood erupting as the impaling spike was ripped back out, and I dropped to the pavement. I couldn't feel my pulse any more. I tried to breathe. Nothing happened.
Too bad there weren't any magic hospital transporters in the real world. Shouldn't my life be flashing before my eyes? All I could see was my blood spreading across the pavement as my vision dimmed around the edges. I could hear them laughing, high-fiving each other, but the sound seemed to get farther away every moment.
Big guy was a Tanker. Had to be, with the eye beams. Working with a Stalker? They ganked me! Fucking PVP griefers ganked me! Stupid way to die. I shouldn't still be conscious. Lost so much blood, no oxygen to the brain for... how long now? A minute? More?
Fuck, I'm really dead. I want to go home. I'm really dead. No, no, no... this is a stupid way to die. They're just walking away. Still laughing.
NO.
I feel my heart beat again. I inhale, a breath thick with the scent of my blood. I take my time standing up. Blood and sweat vanish from my costume, along with the hole, by magic. There is no 'as if by' here.
As much as I'd like to scream a challenge and charge, I'm not stupid. Fool me once, but we're not going to do the 'placate and taunt' song and dance. So I watch them walk away, the big guy with his mallet and some spikey, ninja-lizard guy in black samurai armor. Yeah, whatever. Keep cracking jokes.
I let my anger build to fever pitch, but I don't make my move until I see the distinctive auras of their defenses fade. By then, I have space to accelerate to full speed on the way in.
My boot catches the stalker in the back of the head at what feels like a mile per minute. The kick sends him flying into a parked car, and I stay on him, pounding him before he can get up, until the only movements he's making are caused by the impact of my fists.
The tanker is just staring at me, blank terror on his face. His eyes finally move, tracking a drop of blood as it falls from my glove. I strike just as he registers it's not my blood.
It takes me most of five minutes to systematically take him apart. He's tough as hell, but I caught him with his toggles down and the outcome is never in doubt. I feel like Batman. By the time he drops, I can hear sirens approaching again.
This time I decide to wait for them.