Chapter 20: Crane
STAY WITH ME: A Superhero Novel
A steel barrel rolls across the parking garage floor. A foot swings out and stops it with its heel.
A deal is going down on an upper floor to a defunct parking garage in the Oven in broad daylight. A large crane hangs over the edge, left behind from an abandoned construction project.
Nightmare perches on a rooftop overlooking the parking garage by about two stories. She’s crouched down to her haunches, her hands resting playfully on bent knees.
Clancy stands tall, flanked by four of his cronies. At least one of them she recognizes as a moonlighting pig.
“We got a deal?” Clancy asks in a dark tone.
Across from Clancy’s posse is a tall woman. She wears a lightweight leather jacket and gray turtleneck. Her head is wrapped in a ski mask that leaves a slit for her striking olive eyes. Those eyes are calm and observant. Watchful like a cat. A raven ponytail hangs halfway down her back.
She retracts her foot from the barrel. Hands resting on her hips, she says nothing. Merely nods at Clancy with approval..
“You got anything on her, Boss?” Nightmare asks.
“No,” the Old Guy says, “Facial recognition isn’t picking up anything, but if you can get that mask off her…”
She scoffs. “I can do that. She looks like a poser.”
“Talk about women versus women,” he remarks, “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Tread lightly into the unknown.”
“Speaking of the unknown…” she says, “...it’s time for some camouflage.”
She releases an armada of Nightblades into the sky, each carrying a smoke bomb. They quickly gain a perimeter around the parking garage, and at the snap of her finger, the blades all drop their bombs at once. The bombs tumble into the parking garage and erupt. Smoke floods the seventeenth story of the parking garage from all sides, escaping past the rickety pillars that somehow manage to still support this facility.
Clancy grits his teeth. Whips around to search for the Nightmare, only to get consumed by a tidal wave of smoke. He braces himself, throwing his arm over his eyes, and shrieks loudly with fear.
The tall woman stays perfectly still as the smoke passes over. She shakes her head with aggravation. “Is this not the first time this has happened to you? Calm down, you ape.”
Her voice is chilling to the bone.
Clancy glances over his bicep. “But it’s scary…”
Two tinted lenses slide over Nightmare’s eyes, allowing her to see through the smog.
“Uh oh!” a goon cries out, “It’s the freakin’ Nightmare!”
“Ah…” She soaks in the chaos and shrugs back her cape. “...that’s what I like to hear.”
She swings off the rooftop and glides down into the smog. Lands gently, her cape shrouding her. She extends herself to her full height and searches through the smoke. In the distance, she sees five lumbering silhouettes flailing about. They’re armed, and she doesn’t know most of them. Doesn’t know how much of a challenge they present. Still, she feels a strange calm. Everything feels under control.
Nightmare rushes the gang. Fires a grappling line into the ceiling. The claw embeds itself into concrete. The line pulls her into the air, and she swings across the platform. Releases the line, careens forward, and crashes into one of the gunmen. She body slams him into the floor, rolls over his body, and flings him hard. He flies across the parking garage like a ragdoll, strikes the wall back-first, and falls down to the floor in a heap.
She quickly rolls back up to her feet as the shadows close in on her. A quick sweep kick sends three of the men tumbling down onto their backs. One figure pushes through and aims a swift punch to Nightmare’s face.
“Oh no!” Nightmare cries out in a faux-panic, “Not the mooks!”
She ducks the blow. The fist retracts, and she bounces back up.
The goon grimaces. He rears his fist back. “You know Nightmare, I—” He swings. She dodges. “—respect you and all, but to be the hero this city needs—” He lunges forward in an uppercut. She backpedals out of the way.
“—but doesn’t deserve right now?” she suggests.
“Exactly,” the goon says, “To be that person, you gotta get your etiquette right.”
Nightmare furrows her brow. Stops fighting. “I’m sorry, did I mess up?”
He nods. “It’s goons, man. Not mooks.”
She pats the side of your head. “Aw man, I keep forgetting. Sorry.”
The goon flashes her a thumbs up. “Not an issue, unless—”
“Unless it happens again,” she cuts in, “Thanks for the help, chief.”
“Anytime, Nightmare.”
The goon goes for another punch, just as Clancy barrels in. Nightmare smirks. Grabs the goon’s fist, stopping it with one hand. She twists his arm, grabs him by the waist, and flips him into a belly-flop. As he falls down to the floor, she whips her leg outward and smacks Clancy right across the jaw. She’d go for another, given that it’s Clancy, but that blow seems to be enough for the moment.
Nightmare promptly rolls backwards onto the prone form of the belly-flopped man. Swiftly nails him right in the jaw. She looks up just as two of the other goons get back to their feet. They dive towards her from the left and right. An idea strikes her. She gets a quick running start then bounces high into the air. Kicks her legs into a split and knocks the two goons in their heads. They collapse, and she lands.
Clancy glares at her, his body swaying while he looks for an opening. Meanwhile, the last standing goon does the same.
Nightmare smiles. “Well, one of you has to make a move.” She gives it a patient second. “No?”
Clancy growls.
Nightmare grabs her cape and holds it up high, imitating a matador. She waves it back and forth.
“Toro! Toro!”
Clancy roars and throws himself into a rage-fueled charge. His subordinate makes a break for it, fleeing for the exit. It makes her snicker.
Clancy comes in with a punch that would make Donkey Kong proud. She ignores it and instead swings her cape at him. Ensnares him with it, throws him to the side, and unfurls him, sending him spinning. She turns away from Clancy, aims her wrist at the fleeing henchman, and sends a grapple line to the back of his coat. The line catches onto him and with all her strength, she whips the line back, rapidly retracting it, causing the goon to soar towards her. She turns on Clancy. Looks him in his beady eyes. Playfully, she swats him on both cheeks.
Slap slap!
While Clancy recovers, she spins into a corkscrew towards the incoming goon. Her legs meet his lower back, and she clotheslines him. He crumples, and she lands on her feet, using her arm to steady herself.
Clancy rubs his jaw, fishes for his gun, and mutters, “Where the Hell is she?”
“Look at Quickdraw McGraw over here!” Nightmare snarks. “Think fast!”
She makes an underhanded throw with a Nightblade. It strikes Clancy’s wrist, and the gun soars backwards. He clutches his wrist, snarling.
She motions for him to come closer.
“C’mon,” she taunts, “You want this just as much as I do. I’ll even go easy on you if you’d like.”
Clancy gnashes his teeth at first, but then he seems to notice something in the smoke. He leans back confidently, his eyes half-lidded. Slowly, his snarl rises into a smirk.
She blinks. Glances over her shoulder. Sees nothing in particular and turns back to face him.
“Smug Clancy is my least favorite Clancy,” she mutters to the Old Guy, “You see anything?”
“No,” the Old Guy replies, “I don’t know where that woman went off to.”
“Well,” she huffs, “maybe he’s just trying to psyche me—”
“Katrina! Behind you!” the Old Guy shouts.
She whirls around. Sees a sharp silhouette quickly gain definition. The masked woman appears and strikes Nightmare across the face. Nightmare’s head jerks backwards. She stumbles back. The woman launches herself into a flying kick to the chest, knocking Nightmare further back. The woman lands, her knees bent and her arms splayed out. She leers dangerously at Nightmare, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
Nightmare steadies herself. Rushes the woman without a plan. The woman dives ahead. Rolls into a corkscrew. Snaps her legs around Nightmare’s waist, flipping her hard onto the cement. The woman climbs onto Nightmare’s prone form, raises her fist high, and sends it crashing down.
Nightmare feels a sharp pain sink into her chest, worse than a bullet, and her nerves scream. She glances down and sees the handle to a knife sticking out of her breast plate. It’s not deep enough to physically pierce her flesh, but still she hurts. Instinctually, Nightmare reaches to pull the knife free—just as the woman pushes down hard on the blade. The pain reignites like wildfire. Nightmare falls back against the floor, writhing. The woman props her knee up on Nightmare’s chest then withdraws the knife. Holds it over her head, angling it at Nightmare’s face, then goes for the fatal stab.
Nightmare winces, but the pain never comes. When she opens her eyes, she sees the knife mere inches from the bridge of her nose. The woman stares at the tip of the knife in amazement. It takes Nightmare a moment to process why; the knife isn’t bloodied.
The woman blinks. “Either you’re some kind of ghoul from the undead or—”
Nightmare tries to rush herself back up. The woman promptly elbows Nightmare in the throat, knocking her back. She uses one hand to hold Nightmare’s head against the ground, and her other hand to nick the gauntlet with her knife. Though a mere tiny stretch, Nightmare still hisses in pain.
The woman rears back. “—or the Nightmare’s Achilles Heel is pure, simple pain. Too bad for you.”
There’s a twisted look in the woman’s eyes. Insatiable. She backs off of Nightmare, sliding the knife back into its sheath. A wicked grin creases her mask.
Nightmare slowly gets up, instinctually clutching the spot where the knife pierced her.
“It’s not real,” Nightmare mutters to herself, “The pain is not real.”
“I’ve read about your endeavors,” the woman says casually, “It’s cool. Shame someone ordered a hit on you. Would’ve been nice to see someone clean up this city, but hey, sounds like you pissed off the wrong person.”
Nightmare blinks. “Welles… ordered a hit on me?”
The Assassin shrugs lightly. “I wouldn’t take it personally, you’re just in their way.”
Nightmare draws back, a bewildered look in her eyes. Already, Welles has broken their vow. She thought she was protected. Not so much anymore.
“Don’t focus on Welles, focus on controlling your pain,” the Old Guy chimes in, “Remember, it’s a function of the mind, and I’m here.”
She nods. Mutters, “Thank you.”
The Assassin casually steps forward. “You should be delighted, Nightmare. I just told you that you’re about to die. Now you can at least savor your final moments.”
Nightmare leans back. “I appreciate the concern, lady, but I think I’ll be just fine.”
The Assassin cocks her head to the side, mildly impressed. “Look at you and your minutes of experience. I suppose I could grant you the advantage of the first blow, if you’d like.”
Nightmare smiles back. Holds up her cape daintily with both hands and bends her knee in a curtsy.
“Take your best shot,” Nightmare taunts.
The Assassin’s smirk creases her mask further.
“Gladly,” she says.
The Assassin darts in. She moves so fast that she becomes a blur of motion. She flows into an aggressive series of kicks that guide her forward. Spins into a kick at the shoulder. Nightmare goes for a block, but the Assassin stops her assault an inch away from impact. She retracts her foot immediately, gracefully twisting into a high kick to the chest. Again, Nightmare blocks, and the Assassin retracts just before impact. Effortlessly, she slides into her next play. She moves with an agility unlike anything else Nightmare has ever seen. The Assassin strikes like a viper, course correcting anytime Nightmare tries to block her. It’s exhausting.
With each kick, the Assassin strides off to the side, sticking to a tight perimeter. Nightmare barely keeps up. Pivots in quick, panicked turns. She turns and thrusts her elbow out for a block only to find herself staring at empty space. A sharp pain in her ribs. The Assassin strikes her in the side and doesn’t relent. The Assassin slides into her next move and bashes her fists into the Nightmare repeatedly. Nightmare catches her, only for the Assassin to slip away again.
Sweat sticks to the inside of Nightmare’s helm. She breathes harshly. Completely loses track of the Assassin again then catches a quick glimpse of her on the rear-view cams. The Assassin darts in, and Nightmare kicks backwards.
But the Assassin dodges merely by leaning off to the side.
“Hmm,” she hums, “so you got eyes on the back of your head? Cute.” She slips out of sight, bowing low. “Can you see me now?”
Nightmare furrows her brow. Whirls around recklessly, unable to get eyes on the Assassin.
“Okay!” the Assassin says cheerfully, “You’re boring.”
A tug at Nightmare’s cape. She whirls around, but the Assassin sidles along with Nightmare. The cape coils around itself, becoming taut as rope. The Assassin tugs on the cape hard. Nightmare lurches backwards. A foot jams into the small of her back, contorting her body violently. All the while, the cape tightens around Nightmare’s neck. Another tug, and Nightmare hits the floor.
The Assassin crouches on top of her, still pulling back on the cape.
“Move a muscle,” she says, her voice as light as glass, “and I’ll snap your neck.”
Nightmare squirms, her mind racing. She gazes into the Assassin’s eyes, unable to detect a hint of remorse or fear. Usually, she finds some hint of humanity when she gazes into the eyes of a villain, but there’s none here.
This is happening too quickly. It’s all crumbling away.
“Carefully angle your wrist onto your chest,” the Old Guy says calmly, “Fire the scallops into the cape.”
Nightmare hears him, but it doesn’t process. She can’t stop staring into the Assassin’s eyes. She tries to inch away, but it’s no use.
The Assassin reaches into her jacket, pulls out a revolver, and aims it pointblank at Nightmare’s forehead.
“Now, to be clear,” the Assassin says, “I think you’re a good person, and I have a rule about that.”
“Katrina,” the Old Guy tries to get her attention.
“What?” Nightmare rasps.
“You need to fight back,” the Old Guy urges.
“Welles will make it look good on your end,” the Assassin says calmly, “Some heroic sacrifice that can be remembered for years to come. And your father will be compensated for his pain and suffering.”
This can’t be happening, Nightmare thinks. But it is. It’s real. Everything’s about to go black, and she’ll never feel again.
The Assassin stifles with some discomfort. “Is there anything you need your loved ones to know?”
Nightmare’s eyes are wide and still.
The Assassin rattles her. “I said, is there anything you need your people to know?”
Nightmare thinks about Char. About Lucius. About Estreya. Her face falls into a serene calm.
“Yeah.” Her voice comes out strangled and weak. She nods for the Assassin to draw closer.
The Assassin rolls her eyes. Leans in.
Nightmare makes more raspy sounds, gibberish to the Assassin’s ears without getting closer. The Assassin sighs theatrically and leans in as much as possible. Until her ear is besides Nightmare’s lips.
Nightmare whispers. “...Rosebud.”
And kicks the Assassin square in the stomach, the force flipping the Assassin over Nightmare’s body—until the cape snags, sending the Assassin crashing back down besides Nightmare, causing her stranglehold on the Nightmare to tighten.
Nightmare chokes. She manages to squeeze out a strained, “What was your idea again?”
The Old Guy exhales, clearly worried. “Angle the gauntlet—”
“Right!” she rasps.
She shimmies her gauntlet onto her chest while the Assassin attempts to re-wrangle the Nightmare. Aims the scallops towards the cape. Releases them, and the blades tear into the cape, severing it in two. Nightmare rolls onto her feet.
“Thank you,” she says quietly to the Old Guy, “Good idea.”
“I got it from a movie,” he says.
“I know the one, you dork,” she scoffs.
The Assassin gets to her feet and discards the torn cape. Slides the revolver back into her jacket, a smile creasing half-moons under her eyes.
Nightmare narrows her eyes in response. She releases a flurry of Nightblades that surge ahead then bows low and charges the Assassin. Nightmare splays her hands out wide, powering up fast.
The blade storm meets the Assassin. She pirouettes, once again a blur of motion. Dodges every last blade that comes her way. Nightmare reaches her. Moves into a punch to the face, but something stops her midswing.
Nightmare looks and sees her own Nightblades in the Assassin’s hands. They’re caught against the scallops on her gauntlets, like swords crossing.
The blades run against each other, dragging the two close together. They leer at each other. Nightmare struggles to break free, but the Assassin keeps the blades hooked. She drags Nightmare closer. Sends her knee into Nightmare’s stomach repeatedly. Though each blow glances off, Nightmare still feels a sharp pain in the gut. It pinches repeatedly, causing her to withdraw more and more. Then, the Assassin kicks high, nailing Nightmare right in the jaw. She falls back, only to get pulled in again. The Assassin follows up with a powerful kick to the side of Nightmare’s head.
Static blasts across Nightmare’s feed, briefly crackling her sights into a mosaic. She rubs her head, wincing.
“What the Hell is happening?” she mutters.
The static clears up.
“Mild interference,” the Old Guy says, “The new helm is still in its experimental phases. Be careful.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grunts.
The Assassin charges her. Nightmare growls and comes in swinging. She clenches her fists, and the gauntlets vibrate, causing the air around them to distort. Nightmare swings in desperation. The Assassin keeps her feet planted, merely swaying to the side to evade the blow.
Nightmare follows up with another swing, only managing to again pummel the air. She swings again. Left. Right. Kick to the mid-section.
The Assassin leaps over the kick, her knees nearly rising past her arms. She lands.
The force of Nightmare’s kick spins her a quarter turn away. Her boots slam into the concrete, fracturing stone. She quickly follows up with a high kick to the nose.
The Assassin contorts backwards, ponytail reaching the floor. Before the foot can retract, the Assassin rolls backwards, then springs ahead, barreling under Nightmare’s outstretched leg. The Assassin bounces back to her feet. Leans forward and brings the Nightblades to Nightmare’s neck from behind in scissor formation, the sharp of the blades just barely scraping Nightmare’s exposed throat.
Nightmare goes still. Her mind races.
The Assassin perches her chin on Nightmare’s shoulder.
“I’m getting bored, Nightmare,” she whispers into Nightmare’s ear, “You got anything else for me, or should we just end this now?”
“Katrina—” the Old Guy starts.
It hits her just before he can get the words out. Using her mind, she takes control of the Nightblades at her throat. Forces them to divert in opposite paths. They split off, tearing from the Assassin’s hand, and Tschz! one of the blades slices through the edge of the Assassin’s leather glove. She reels backwards. Nightmare whirls around and sees a flash of crimson near the Assassin’s knuckle.
The Assassin bumps her fist against her chin while she tilts her head curiously.
“I bet you’re proud of that,” she taunts.
Nightmare takes a deep breath. The smoke finally clears up.
“Alright,” she pants, “Old Guy. I don’t think I can do this. Can I bounce?”
“Yes,” he says, a subtle panic seeping through his voice, “Create a distraction.”
Nightmare nods. Uses the rocket shoes to launch herself backwards into the air. She spreads her arms wide and releases another storm of Nightblades.
The Assassin stays calm. Crosses her wrists at her chest in an X. Reaches under her jacket and pulls out twin revolvers. She takes her aim. Fires away. Like shooting skeet, one by one, Nightblades spin out of control and crash into the floor, crumpling into shrapnel.
And then Nightmare sees an opening. She drops to the ground, raises her gauntlet, and fires a grappling line to the Assassin’s chest. If she can just latch on and fly off, she could drag the Assassin out of the garage and to somewhere out of the way. Then she can handle Clancy and his goons.
Nightmare’s mind pulses while the Old Guy reads it.
“Katrina,” the Old Guy cuts in with severity, “You need to get out of there. Now.”
“No,” she grunts, “This will—”
The Assassin grabs the grapple line just before it reaches her chest. Using her hands to keep the claw pried open, she casually tosses the claw over her shoulder, sending the line shooting way past her.
“—ah shit,” Nightmare finishes.
The grapple line surges ahead, and the claw punctures the steel hide of the barrel that Clancy was “selling”. It rolls backwards from the impact. The barrel cracks open, and unbeknownst to all parties, a silver, glitter-esque substance leaks out. The nanites from the weapons’ show eat away at the exposed metal, widening the cut the grapple claw made.
The Assassin narrows her eyes. Pockets one gun while aiming the other. She fires. Hits home. Shoots Nightmare square in the chest.
Nightmare grunts. Falls backwards. Accidentally calls the grapple line back. It retreats back into her gauntlet. Pulls the barrel off the ground, which then careens into the Assassin’s back, plowing her over—
—just as Nightmare hits the ground, her head knocking back against concrete. Blunt pain sears at the back of her skull. Static ripples across her screen again, breaking her vision apart into a mix of colors and vague shapes. Rapidly, dead pixels blink out in a wave, leaving her in complete darkness.
“Oh shit,” she hears Clancy mutter from afar.
Nightmare boosts herself up onto her elbows.
“What’s happening?” she mutters. Looks around. Checks her rearview cams. Her peripherals cams. It’s all blacked out.
“Hold on,” the Old Guy says, and the helm within the cowl cracks open in the center. Peels apart, letting light filter in.
She sees the Assassin stooped over on all fours. The barrel on her back and…
“Oh no,” Nightmare whispers.
The nanites. They move like an amorphous blob, consuming and devouring the Assassin’s body. The nanite mass drips slowly down her twitching form like paint, and slowly, it slips underneath her clothing. Under the sleeves, the cuffs of her pants, and the slit in her mask. It curves in impossible shapes, appearing much like waterfalls flowing in reverse. The nanites crawl into her skin. Through her flesh and blood, until they find raw bone. The nanites’ pincers dig into the bones. They chew and gnaw, cracking apart the brittle surface. Chip, chip, chipping away. Meanwhile, the nanites backing up the frontlines push ahead, flinging themselves at the core of the bones. Rather than chew the rest away, they line themselves up along the bone, fusing together into one cohesive body. A new metal skeleton builds itself atop the Assassin’s old one.
Nightmare stands over the Assassin with her hands outstretched, flat against the air. Her eyes are wide, her body shakes, and she remains paralyzed in fear.
“Oh my God, oh my God!” she pants, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I… I… Old Guy, I don’t… I know what to do.”
“Talk to me,” the Old Guy says, “What’s happening? I can’t see.”
Nightmare clenches her jaw. “She’s, uh…”
“Boss,” one goon observes, “why did you bring the nanites? It was a set-up, man.”
“I wanted it to look real,” Clancy chokes, his skin paler than ever.
The Assassin’s shoulders contort wildly as the last of the nanites rebuild her skeleton. Her head knocks backwards, her eyes roll into the back of her skull, and then she slumps. Stretches her hands across the floor. Her head hangs between her shoulders, and stays perfectly still.
A terrible, feral scream punctures the air. The Assassin’s hunched back writhes with sudden, jerky movements. She clutches her head in agony. Rises to her feet, lumbers forward, still hunched over. She fights to keep her balance. Whips her head back and roars. For a moment, her eyes glow bright white.
She grabs the steel barrel and hurls it across the parking garage. It soars and crashes into one of the support pillars. The stone crumbles away instantaneously, and the parking garage rumbles from up above.
Everyone looks up, except the Assassin. She hardly seems aware of anything.
Slowly, the upper floor sags downward, cracking the remaining pillars. Fissures blast into the floor above, sending dust and debris cascading down in streams. The rumbling gets louder and louder.
Clancy backs up. Eyes the ceiling while rapidly patting one of his goon’s shoulders. They backpedal, fleeing for the exit. One of Clancy’s goons breaks from the group and stops in front of the elevator. Hits the button. Another goon breaks from Clancy’s posse to drag his coworker away with the rest of them.
Meanwhile, the Assassin remains in the middle of the floor. She breathes harshly. Pats the side of her head, a glazed over look in her eyes.
A huge fissure cracks into the floor above the Assassin. That section of floor breaks off, dipping down into a ramp. A car begins to roll down it slowly.
Nightmare waves her arms frantically. “Lady! Lady! Move!”
The Assassin doesn’t hear her. The car rolls down the ramp, gaining speed fast.
Nightmare lowers her arms, not sure what to do.
The ramp dips lower, the car rolls off the edge, and hero instincts kick in.
Nightmare lunges forward. Activates the rocket shoes.
“Oh, the things I do for love!” she yells just before she blasts off.
She jets across the parking garage. Grabs the Assassin by the waist, the sheer force plowing the two of them over. They hit the ground together, launching into a roll, just as the car nosedives through the floor. It breaks through the floor below too and continues down the parking garage, causing the entire foundation to sway and rumble.
Nightmare and the Assassin roll across the floor in chaotic fashion. Nightmare’s back sears with every pass it makes on the cement. Finally, they stop, with Nightmare on the bottom.
A loud groan from up above. The ceiling splinters. Starts to open up like a wound.
Nightmare sees the glint of what is most likely a license plate shining through the gap.
Her face falls. She exhales. “Oh, come on.”
The Assassin snaps awake. Looks down at Nightmare, her hands clutching the vigilante’s shoulders.
“What?!” she sputters, “What the Hell are you doing?!”
“I’m trying to save your life—” Nightmare starts… just as the car takes the plunge. Her eyes shoot wide open. “—LOOK OUT!”
She jabs her wrist forward, nearly sucker punching the Assassin in the face. She fires a Nightblade with a blinking light on it. It soars upwards, strikes the car head-on, and explodes.
The car blasts apart. From the flames, four tires fall around them, harmlessly bouncing off the concrete.
—Ploomph!
Ploomph!—
—Ploomph!
Ploomph!—
—BAM!
A car door crashes down like a guillotine! Aiming right for the Assassin’s skull.
The Assassin rolls her eyes theatrically. “I can handle myself—”
Nightmare pulls the Assassin out of the way, and the car door slams into the floor directly besides Nightmare’s face.
The Assassin glances black down.
Nightmare slyly raises her eyebrows and cocks her head slightly.
The Assassin looks over her shoulder. Looks back at Nightmare, an uncomfortable look on her face.
“Truce?” Nightmare suggests.
The Assassin hesitates. There’s a twitch in her eye. “...Yeah.”
Nightmare furrows her brow in confusion. Nods with determination.
The Assassin nods back. “This is hard for me, alright?”
“I can see that,” Nightmare remarks.
They stare at each other.
“We should go,” Nightmare weakly adds on.
“Right,” the Assassin says. She gets to her feet and pulls Nightmare up with her.
Nightmare looks to the left where their getaway is closest and a crane hangs over the precipice. Still gripping the Assassin’s hand, Nightmare drags her along.
“This way!” she shouts.
“We don’t have to hold hands!” the Assassin retorts, pulling her hand free. She splays her fingers wide and waves her hand off, as if it had been contaminated.
“Oh.” Nightmare blushes. “Sorry.”
One of the support pillars on their floor loses its structure completely, crumpling inwards until it collapses into debris that cascades down the side of the parking garage. The upper floors slide forward, causing the remaining pillars to crumble.
Debris rains down on the duo as they close in on the crane. Half of the eighteenth floor caves into the seventeenth story, causing the floor to rapidly crumble away at their feet.
Nightmare looks at the Assassin. “You have any grappling gear or anything like that on you?”
The Assassin narrows her eyes. “Why would I have that?”
“You’re doing business in an abandoned parking garage!” Nightmare snaps, making animated gestures with her hands. “It could come down any second, what were you thinking?”
The Assassin rolls her eyes. Looks ahead. “I’m an assassin, not a superhero, you dolt.”
Nightmare checks her body. “Yeah, a pretty lousy one at that. Proof in the pudding, this bitch yet lives.” She offers her hand. “Take my hand.”
“I am going to stab you—” The Assassin begrudgingly takes Nightmare’s hand. “—right through that stupid mouth of yours the first second I get.”
A loud bang, and the slab they’re on breaks from the floor, sinking fast.
“JUMP!” Nightmare shouts. Their legs pull in, the platform falls several feet down, and they kick off. Nightmare stretches her free arm out. Grasps at the air. Releases a grapple line to the crane. It pulls her up a foot, just enough for her to snag onto a rung on the jib. The claw holds directly besides her hand.
The full weight of the Assassin drags against her Nightmare’s arm, her real arm. The tendons and muscles stretch to their limit, and despite the raw power of The Suit, it’s not enough. She groans in pain, screaming over the chaos.
Meanwhile, the Assassin dangles by a single arm, watching Nightmare calmly.
Nightmare bites down on her pain. Glances down at the Assassin, only to get distracted by the long, long drop below. It’s dizzying. Her stomach lurches, and her head feels light. She clamps her eyes shut. Forces her head away from the drop and focuses.
Breathes in.
Breathes out.
Opens her eyes.
“Yo!” the Assassin cries out.
Nightmare glances down dimly.
The Assassin sarcastically waves at her. “The fuck are you doing?”
“I—” Nightmare starts, only for a massive piece of rubble to slam into the crane.
KER-THUNK!
Sparks burst from the crane, and flaming shrapnel rains down. Nightmare thrusts herself backwards just in time for the embers to fall directly before her eyes. She heaves a sigh of relief. Hears a cry from down below. Glances down.
Fire catches on the Assassin’s mask. She pulls it off in a panic and tosses it aside. Looks back up, revealing her face to the Nightmare.
Her skin is chalk white. Her eyebrows are thin and sharp. She has half of a Glasgow smile: a large, leathery patch of skin that warps the shape and color of her pale lips. Deep scratches run across the scar, reminding Nightmare of cracked porcelain.
“You got this?” the Assassin calls out.
“Yeah,” Nightmare grunts. She curls her arm up. Tries to drag her fist up to the crane and—
Pain.
Nightmare gasps. Drops her arm suddenly, sending the Assassin rocking to and fro.
“Christ, kid!” the Assassin swears, “What are you doing?!”
“Maybe if someone didn’t beat the shit out of me right before this,” Nightmare strains to say.
“Mm,” the Assassin hums, “That’s on you, babe. Let the professional handle it from here.”
She reaches up to Nightmare’s wrist—just as another piece of debris slams into the crane, sending it a-rattlin’. Nightmare jolts and loses her grip on the Assassin. But before the Assassin can drop too far, she manages to reach up to the first rung of scallops on the gauntlet. With no choice in the face of death, the Assassin clamps down on Nightmare’s wrist as hard as possible.
Unfortunately, she has super strength now.
She grips the wrist with enough wrath to squeeze the gauntlet tight enough that Nightmare can feel the armor dig into her flesh.
Nightmare shrieks. Her fingers forcibly splay outward, and she bucks… knocking the Assassin loose.
There’s a moment where the Assassin slowly drifts away, and Nightmare looks on in horror and disbelief. The Assassin waves her arms frantically to grab onto something, anything, and then she drops out of sight.
“Oh God,” Nightmare mutters.
“What happened?” the Old Guy cuts in.
Nightmare watches the Assassin fade with distance. She kicks her leg high, resting her heel against the tower of the crane, tilting her body downward. She hooks her other foot up above. Flips into a handstand. Teeters over the edge.
“She fell,” she says, “I’m going after her.”
Her rockets flare, and she blasts off. Spikes downward. Doesn’t notice the grapple claw still latched onto the crane nor the grapple line trailing along with her.
What’s left of her cape flutters in the wind. All around her, she hears destruction as the parking garage collapses. Stone rains down in an avalanche. The building crumples inward as more and more of the foundation breaks away. Everything is in motion.
Suddenly, all sound cuts out but the rumpling of her cape.
“Don’t worry,” the Old Guy says, his voice immediately calming, “You’re overstimulated. I’ll be your ears. Focus. Save the day.”
She nods. Rockets down, catching up with the Assassin fast. She passes by each floor, her eyes dead focused on the Assassin, who grows larger and larger as Nightmare drifts closer and closer. She picks up speed. Goes faster and faster in this race against gravity. Soon, she’s close. She extends her hand towards the Assassin while she spirals through the air.
“Take my hand!” Nightmare shouts.
The Assassin flips rightside up. Reaches towards Nightmare. Their hands drift closer and closer together. They each extend as much as possible, their fingers nearly touch—but only for a fraction of a second. Nightmare blasts right past the Assassin, her hand merely clawing at the air.
“Shit!” she shouts.
“What?” the Old Guy calls out.
“I over-shot!” she groans in exasperation
“Put on the breaks,” he says, “Use the wings.”
“Wings,” she repeats, “Wings! Right.”
She kills the rocket thrusters and spreads her arms wide, the dacron webbing expanding into wings. They flare backwards, catching the updraft. Though she still falls, her momentum drastically slows. She pulls back with all her might. Looks up and sees the Assassin’s body silhouetted by the high noon sun. Nightmare grimaces and falls back until the Assassin is just on top of her. She pulls back one final time and manages to slip behind the Assassin.
Nightmare dives forward, leading with an outstretched arm. The wings fold back into her ribs, and a small flare from the rocket shoes pushes her ahead.
The Assassin spins onto her back. Reaches towards Nightmare. Reaches to her farthest extent.
They drift closer. A finger width away.
A loud bang, something shifts up above, which causes the crane to whip hard to the left. The grapple line, stretched to its absolute limit, follows the crane, dragging the Nightmare far away. Confused, she drifts away with her hand outstretched. The crane snaps into place, and she swings way back. Rocks forward, falling directly below the crane. Helplessly, she dangles there. Watches the Assassin fall, fall, fall until she disappears from sight. Even then, Nightmare hangs there, unable to let go.
All she hears is silence.
“Katrina—” the Old Guy starts to say with an empathy that ravages her. Her raw feelings curdle in her throat, and Nightmare screams. It’s an ugly cry that strains and ruptures her throat. She screams with her whole body, and yet she feels no relief within. No catharsis. All that’s left is the end.
She screams until she can’t scream anymore.
Slumps.
Flies away.
Hours pass, and the sky goes dark. In an alleyway across from the ruined remains of the parking garage, a gloved hand plants itself on the rusted hide to a dumpster.
Heavy breathing.
The Assassin stands there, hunched over, her head bowed down to her chest. Her shoulder blades rise and fall. Jagged, like wings. She brings her other hand to the side of her head. Her finger strokes her temple gently. She pulls the hand away. Eyes her finger for traces of blood. There’s none.
Her breathing speeds up, becoming sharp and panicked. Her eyes slowly scroll upward towards the sky.
The upper floors of the parking garage are completely gone. Utterly demolished, leaving the sky blank. It’s impossible for her to witness the scale of her fall. It must have been from extraordinarily high up though. She levels out her gaze. Stares across the street at the wreckage. One shattered wall remains at the front. She breathes harshly. Clutches her chest.
A moment later, her hand climbs up to her throat. She holds it gently. Strokes it up and down, checking that it’s still intact. She glances down at her body. It’s like nothing happened to her at all. She doesn’t understand.
The breathing becomes louder and raspier. High pitched wheezes and gasps escape her. The panic rises. Reaches a breaking point.
She screams. A short, punctuated cry.
She whirls against her hips and punches the brick wall beside her. But instead of her fist bruising, she pounds the brick into powder. Not only that, she hardly feels a thing.
She pulls her fist back. Glances at the dust smear on the knuckle to her glove. Blinks rapidly. Tilts her fist from side to side, her eyes wide with confusion. She furrows her brow.
“What the fuck…” she mutters.
Drops her hands to her side.
Thinks for a moment.
Looks at the dumpster, sizing it up. She grabs the edge of the steel. Gently applies pressure. The metal bends inward, the grooves matching her fingers. Even with the slightest of efforts, she makes a dent.
It brings a twisted smile to her face.
She pushes it further. Tightens her grip. Contorts the metal until its only a half-inch wide. She releases. Furrows her brow and bends her knees. She pries her fingers underneath the dumpster. Manages to lift the bottom, tilting the entire hunk of junk backwards. Her smirk widens, and she lifts the dumpster up to her waist. It creaks and groans. She strains a little, but hardly enough to break a sweat.
She pushes the envelope further. Lifts the dumpster up to her chest. She hesitates. Growls and hoists it over her head. She expects her arms to shake, her muscles to scream, and her spine to snap. And yet, she manages to fully lift the dumpster over her head.
An uncontrollable snicker comes over her.
She thrusts the dumpster forward with all her might. Hurls it out the alley, across the street, and into the rubble. The metal behemoth rams the lone standing wall, causing it to collapse into dust.
The Assassin, still laughing, lowers her arms. Stares at the wreckage, waiting for the illusion to disappear.
It doesn’t. It remains. It’s her life now.
She bites her lip to restrain the laughter. There’s a twitch in her eyes. Tears streak down her cheeks fast. Suddenly, she can’t help it any longer. A fit of cackling tears from her throat. She rears her head back, her laughing escalating off the walls.
She laughs until she can’t laugh anymore.
Then she lumbers off. There’s work to be done.