Chapter 24: Unstoppable
STAY WITH ME: A Superhero Novel
Nightmare hears the rumble of the incoming train in the distance. She sprints down the street as fast as she can, her eyes glued to the train platform up ahead. There’s an indoor entrance with a long escalator leading up to an outdoor platform. Unfortunately, the EPD has already seized the property. Their black armored bodies are arranged in a string behind the turnstiles, making for one helluva game of Red Rover.
A crowd of commuters leaves the platform, and the glass door swings open. For a moment, she can hear what’s going on within.
“We need everyone off the platform NOW!” one pig barks.
“Any lollygaggers will be arrested and tried!” another pig adds on.
A few of the greener pigs exchange squeamish glances. Another raps his baton against his palm, a steely expression coming over him. The others nod and reach for their weapons.
Nightmare realizes then that she needs a disguise. And luck be a lady tonight, she sees one: a red mask. Worn by—
She stops in place. Locks eyes with the first Nightmare copycat she encountered. He must have heard the call to action on the police scanner. He notices the recognition in her eyes, immediately identifying her once again as the one-and-only.
She holds her hand out. “Give me the mask and hoodie. I’ll go. You stay.”
He hesitates, joy blooming into his dim, hazel eyes. “You’re back?”
She nods. Her eyes flit towards the train. It rounds a bend. She looks back at him.
“We don’t have time,” she says seriously.
He nods. Rolls his hoodie into a ball around his arms, stuffs the mask inside, and passes it to her like a basketball. She catches it. Throws the hoodie over her dress. Zips up and masks up. She nods to the boy with respect. Turns to run.
He steps forward. “I thought you said there’s safety in numbers.”
She glances back. “They’re on their way.” She charges ahead. After some distance, she takes out her phone, hooked up to her earbuds. “You heard that, Old Guy? I covered for you, what’s the ETA?”
“Three minutes,” he says coolly.
She thinks. “The train will be gone by then. Do I wait?”
“No. Board.”
“What?! How?”
“Trust.”
“Great, good to see you too.” She elbows the door to the subway station open and barges in. Raises her arms over her head and sidles between commuters as another wave exits the platform. Several people bump into her, knocking her about in the crowd. Between commuters, she gets a glimpse of what lies ahead: pigs, pigs, pigs.
“Old Guy, there are A LOT of pigs here,” she says through her teeth.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” the Old Guy replies.
“No,” she sighs, “still, it’s annoying as fuck.”
She emerges at the front of the crowd. Several pigs see her, immediately going for their batons.
She rolls her eyes. “And here I was thinking I was actually going to pay my fare today.”
She hops the turnstile, sprints past the pigs before they can make a move, and hits the escalator. It’s extremely disorienting trying to sprint up an escalator already taking her up.
The pigs corral into a single file line, their armor bogging them down.
“Old Guy,” she pants, “I got pigs on my—”
“I have surveillance on this station,” he replies, “Use the railing. Slide down and kick them.”
She imagines it. “Like a dropkick?”
He stays silent, focusing on whatever the Hell it is he’s doing to get here.
She winces. Mounts the railing, extends her foot, slides down, and closes her eyes as the black armor gets closer. She gains speed and—
A quiet ploomph!
Her foot gently bumps up against the chest plate to the Head Lemming. He glances down at her sneaker pointlessly pressed against his chest, then looks up at her with a smirk.
Cringing, she waves at him with just her fingers. The pig grabs at her ankle. She yelps, raises her foot, and stomps his groin.
Again: ploomph!
But then: “...Oooooooow!” the pig whines as if someone just hardcore flicked him in the nose.
Nightmare blinks. “You would have a Kevlar codpiece.”
He shrugs. “You never know—”
She sucker punches him in the face, and he slumps backwards into the horde. The pigs stumble and lose their footing, all while the escalator shoves them up the stairs. She slinks back onto the steps and sprints up.
“What was up with Operation: Dropkick back there?” she spits.
“I forgot you weren’t in The Suit,” he says, “It would’ve worked. But I apologize.”
“How could you forget?!” she shouts, “You’re LITERALLY flying around in it!”
She reaches the top. Steps onto the platform.
“I’m distracted by Operation: Leap of Faith,” he tells her, “More important.”
“I mean—good? I guess.” She looks back down. The pigs are recuperating fast. She looks ahead, worried now. “Is it really gonna be a leap of faith? Because I’m tellin’ ya, my mobility in this dress is not great.”
“The jump is easy. It’s getting a vantage point that’s hard.”
“Hard?”
“I don’t know how to get you up there,” he admits.
She looks up. There’s a dark green scaffolding over the platform made of wooden panels. Both sides of the scaffolding curve upward into a sharp peak, making a tent shape.
She looks back down the escalator. “You got maybe ten seconds before I’m in the pigpen.” Then to her left, towards the train. “And twenty for me to miss the jump.”
“I’m working on it…”
She walks out to the very edge of the platform, queuing the PA system.
“Attention Passengers: Please do not pass the yellow line until the train has come to a complete stop.”
She looks at the edge of the scaffolding. Grabs her prosthetic arm. Removes it. Folds the fingers into a hook. Climbs onto a stone bench near her. Jumps off the top. Whips her prosthetic towards the corner of the scaffolding.
She catches the scaffolding. Swings forward. Swings backwards. Climbs up her arm. Rolls onto the scaffolding in the same motion as locking her arm back in place. She looks ahead: the train is close now, very close. It’s a long trail of silver carts, each connected together by an outdoor coupling. Each cart has several wide, plexiglass windows. Too dirty to be fully transparent, she notices the multitude of shadows behind the windows; the Old Guy wasn’t exaggerating: If she can’t do this, hundreds will die.
Headlights flare. She blocks them out with her elbow. Ten seconds, and it’s over.
“I lost sights on you,” the Old Guy says with urgency, “Where are you?”
“I’m up top, Old Guy,” she says coolly.
“How—”
“Later. Tell me how to do the jump.”
The train races towards her, and the Old Guy is silent.
“Uh… Old Guy?”
“This is going to feel strange.”
“What do you—”
Her mind sharpens with an intensity that resonates as familiar, but it’s stronger than it’s ever been. Robotic. Her thinking becomes precise. She sees opportunity everywhere. There are hundreds of moves she can make right now, hundreds of possibilities—which quickly whittle away into the one action she must perform: boarding this train.
It’s The Suit, but sans the Old Guy’s presence and control. Something she’s never experienced before. It’s too much. Like a dissociative episode kicked up to eleven.
Her head turns without her mind willing it to. She bends down, taking on a very feline stance. Her haunches bounce in a steady rhythm. She wants to speak, but she can’t, as she is possessed.
The train passes by, the sheer force threatening to blow her clean off the scaffolding. She wants to jump now. Get it over with. But she can’t. She can only wait—
There’s a blur of motion.
All she feels is the rush of the wind.
When she comes to, she finds herself laid across one of the couplings. In a daze, her cheek rests on a large bolt. It rattles. Brain fog throbs in her mind. Thankfully, it creeps away quickly, leaving her stunned and completely present.
“Wh-what happened?” she stammers.
“You lived,” he replies, the warmth of his voice washing through her whole body.
Oh, how she missed this.
He continues, “Your connection with The Suit, despite everything, allowed that.”
She carefully boosts herself onto her feet, absorbing that information in silence. The coupling bounces up and down, threatening her balance. She tries to open the door to the next cart, but it won’t budge.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she mutters. Knocks on the plexiglass window repeatedly. “Don’t tell me this is the exact wrong place to be.”
“Don’t panic,” he instructs, “You’re a hero. People will step up to help.”
Nightmare’s knocking slows. “Uh, should I make it more obvious I’m a hero then? I could go, like, ‘Never fear! Nightmare’s here!’”
“That’s not necessary.”
The door swings open. On the other side stands a bespectacled conductor who seems to have been roughed up a little.
“Nightmare’s here?!” he exclaims with childlike wonder.
She smiles. “Yeah, I’m—”
His face falls. “Oh. It’s just one of the impostors.”
She narrows her eyes. “Y’know, I just jumped onto a moving train for you guys.”
The conductor backs off. Looks out the window. Watches the scenery rush by him faster than he can absorb. He turns back to her, astonished.
“How could you… uh, are you, um, ahem. Are you a demon?” he stammers.
She shrugs. “No, I’m an impostor, I guess. I’m saving you guys, what do I need to do?”
“You need to get to the front cabin,” he explains, gesturing down the way. She looks.
The train cart is absolutely packed. Mothers hold their children close. Most of the patrons, especially those left standing, stare out the window, watching the world pass by them in a blur. No one dares say a word. Fear lives in their eyes.
The culprit must still be here. Someone she should fear.
The conductor continues, “There’s a brake lever. Push it down. But you should know—”
A loud thump! A figure lands up ahead on the opposite end of the cart, beyond the door. The plexiglass window is too dark and scuffed up to see through, leaving the figure as a shadow.
Nightmare pats the conductor’s shoulder, gently pushing him back while she walks ahead, motioning for everyone to stay down.
The figure gets back up. Fiddles with the door handle on the other side. Suddenly, the door snaps off its iron hinges and flies down the aisle much like a javelin.
Her eyes shoot wide open.
“Katrina!” the Old Guy cries.
She ducks low just in time for the door to pass over her—
—and crash directly behind her. KER-THUNK! A shiver shoots up her spine, and the door lands flat on the floor. BOOM!
Nightmare looks up warily.
“Are you okay?” the Old Guy is quick to ask.
“Yeah,” she grunts. Looks up and sees a blast from her past.
Lydia. Lydia Irving.
Same outfit, same physique, though it’s the eyes that cinch it. The ski mask highlights those eyes, making them prominent.
“This was a mistake,” the Old Guy says, “You need to get out of there.”
She listens, distracted. “I… how?”
“I’ll fly you,” he says, distress creeping into his voice, “Maybe we could ferry some other people out, but I am not letting you die.”
She shakes her head. “Old Guy. It’s her. The assassin. Her name’s Lydia Irving.”
“...What?”
“She’s not dead, she’s here,” Nightmare says, slowly rising back up to the challenge, “This is my fault. She wants me. I’ll handle it.”
“She’s alive…” he says, his disbelief matched with fear, “Katrina, you quit because you thought you—”
“I know,” she says, “Later. You close?”
“I’m following the tracks. Soon.”
“Noted and moving in.”
She dashes down the aisle. Leaps into a flying kick aimed at the chest. Lydia dodges to the side. Nightmare passes by her, and Lydia grabs the vigilante by the back of the hoodie. She whips Nightmare at the nearest window. Seated patrons scatter from the scene. Nightmare’s back hits the window, and Lydia rushes her. Grabs on to the front of Nightmare’s hoodie.
Instinctually, Nightmare tries grappling Lydia away, which only encourages Lydia to further tighten her grip. Lydia pushes hard, nearly knocking the plexiglass clean out of its frame.
She leans in. Starts talking as if they had already been in a dialogue.
“Alright, I’m hoping you impostor guys got a direct connect with Big N—”
Nightmare looks into Lydia’s eyes and finds herself seized with emotion.
Lydia continues, “—because the last thing I want to do is run this train full of innocent people into—oh my God, it’s you.”
Nightmare snaps back into focus. “...Yeah.”
Lydia checks Nightmare’s outfit. “Where’s the… where’s your fucking Suit?”
“That’s a good question!” Nightmare raises her voice sarcastically. “Whereever could it be?”
“Further out than I thought.”
“Clearly,” she sighs.
“Are you doing banter with that Old Dude?” Lydia asks aggressively. “Uh, or Old Guy? Whatever. I can’t hear his end, geniuses. It’s bad form.”
“Sorry/Sorry,” Nightmare and the Old Guy say together.
“We’re taking this outside!” Lydia snaps. She drags Nightmare to the exit. Stops and looks back at her captive audience. “Excuse us for a moment.”
Lydia leads Nightmare along, handling her roughly. She climbs up the ladder to the next cart.
“I won’t let you kill all these people!” Nightmare cries out.
Lydia drags Nightmare close so that they’re face to face. “You really think I want all these people dead?”
Nightmare doubletakes. “Wait—wh-why did you rig the train then?”
“I needed to get your attention, and you couldn’t have come sooner.”
“And why—” Nightmare’s knees bash against the roof of the cart. “—did you need my attention?”
“Because you pussed out and quit!” Lydia looks ahead and sees an incoming helicopter lowering a pig onto the train. “Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting.”
“Interesting,” Nightmare repeats in disbelief, “What are you talking about?!”
“I’m finishing the job!” Lydia chirps, “Which, yes, that means I am about to kill you. So sorry.”
Nightmare looks ahead and realizes something: That pig on the rope ladder isn’t just any pig, it’s the Pig of the Year, Officer Carl Vergara himself. His foot taps at the air, trying to find its footing.
“How about we stop the train first?” Nightmare suggests.
Lydia leans way to the side to look down the tracks. She scoffs.
“Oh! We got time.”
Nightmare groans, “I think the passengers would greatly appreciate it.”
Lydia considers her. “I see your point, but I’m saying—hey! Maybe this’ll give these folks the incentive they need to finally start therapy!”
“You’re… awful!” Nightmare says.
“I’ve killed hundreds of people, babe,” Lydia snarks, “Get with the picture.”
Vergara touches down. Lands on the cart ahead of them. Immediately goes for his gun.
“Put the hostage down!” he screams.
Nightmare shakes her head. “I got this, dude! Go stop the train!”
“Yeah!” Lydia calls out, making an A-OK gesture with her free hand. “We’re good here! Go stop the train, it’ll do us all a favor.”
Vergara blinks slowly in confusion. Raises his gun higher. Lifts his walkie receiver to his mouth. Speaks quietly into it. For an extended period of time.
Nightmare and Lydia exchange a look of anticipation.
“You know this guy, don’t you?” Lydia asks.
“How did you—” Nightmare starts.
“I’m insightful! So what do you think? He gonna shoot?”
Nightmare thinks about it. “He’s desperate to prove himself, but he’s not stupid. I think he’ll—”
Bang.
“—oh you mother—”
The bullet nails Nightmare right in the elbow of her prosthetic. Sparks fly, the sheer force of the blast enough to knock Nightmare backwards. She slips out of Lydia’s grip, stumbles backwards, and trips right off the train.
She falls very fast.
Head down, hair blowing out of its bun, Nightmare falls towards the city street quickly. Within but a moment, she’ll be dead—
The Suit rams her out of the air. Grabs her by the waist, holding her parallel to its body.
“Holy shit,” she gasps, “You just—”
“Barely,” the Old Guy says.
They dive into an alleyway, skimming just above ground level. Right before battering into a dead end, they turn into a mean ninety degree pivot that sends them rocketing skyward. Hugging the wall, they fly fast.
The Suit cracks open in the center. Opens up and swallows Nightmare. The armor claps onto her body. The cape and cowl unfurl, wrapping around her head in a vortex of motion. Within seconds, she’s suited up, and she can’t deny it:
It feels right.
Together, Nightmare and the Old Guy soar over the alley. Flip. Turn. They come down like a rocket. Lands in a crouch on the train, cape rumpling in the wind. Nightmare gets up slowly. Looks ahead where she sees Vergara wrestling with Lydia in vain. His gun fires repeatedly at the sky—
Lydia punches him clean across the face. Blood shoots from his jaw, and despite every horrible moment she’s shared with this pig of a man, a furious anger stews within her. She makes to move forward when Lydia suddenly grapples Vergara. He loses his footing, and she manages to fully lift him up. One lazy throw, and Vergara tumbles off the train.
Nightmare lunges after him. Sends a grapple line to his chest before he falls completely out of sight. She latches on. Tries to pull him back with all The Suit’s souped up might, but it’s too much to ask. Vergara’s weight throws her flat against the roof. Within her armor, the prosthetic stretches and falls apart. Every little movement chips away at the metal, causing scraps of steel to scatter against the inner-armor.
Lydia turns around. “Oh! You’re back. So good you could make it.”
Nightmare roars as her arm stretches to its absolute limit. Her body skids along the roof, threatening to slip right off the side. Then, an idea strikes her.
She raises her gauntlet high then crashes it into the roof. The scallops cut clean through the steel and lock her in place.
The grapple line catches Vergara just before his body crunches against the tracks, and his body swings into one of the train’s windows. He comes in kicking, but not hard enough to breach. Passengers scream at the sight.
Lydia steps over Nightmare’s prone form. “Is this how you want to die, Nightmare: saving a miserable pig?”
“Everyone,” Nightmare grunts, “Is worth. Saving!”
Lydia bends her knees and angles a knife to Nightmare’s throat. “Oh, don’t tell me your last words are going to be some trite you copied from a comic book.”
Nightmare looks at the knife. Back to Lydia. “It’s true though, everyone is worth saving. Even you.”
Lydia freezes for a moment, just long enough for Nightmare to continue.
“I read your dossier,” Nightmare says, “I know who you are, I know what you’ve done… Lydia. And I don’t regret trying to save you. I know you don’t want to hurt these people, so—”
Lydia stabs the knife downwards. Nightmare closes her eyes.
Ksst-chk!
Nightmare opens her eyes. Sees that Lydia stabbed the knife clean through the roof besides her face. Lydia raises the knife back up.
“Enough,” Lydia hisses, the anger in her expression cooling fast, “Now you die. Trust that I’ll stop the train.”
Nightmare glares at her. Makes one last ditch attempt at saving her life.
“It’s the least you can DO!” she cries out, punctuating the statement with a sucker punch. She slips her prosthetic out of the gauntlet and whips it at Lydia’s jaw. Punches the smug assassin right across the chin and—
—her metal fist crumbles before her eyes, the shrapnel blowing away with the wind, leaving her with just a stub cut off near the elbow. She looks at the sparking tip of the mechanical mess in a panic.
“Whoa—you’re an amputee?” Lydia gasps.
Nightmare looks up. “...Is that a problem?”
“No, no, disabled people like you are still fair targets,” Lydia sighs, “I’m just surprised, is all.”
“Oh, so I’m one of the good ones, eh?” Nightmare snarks.
Lydia’s face falls. “Okay, maybe I got some ableist kinks I gotta work out—”
Nightmare bullrushes Lydia. Lydia groans, easily tossing Nightmare aside. The vigilante lands on her shoulder. Recuperates fast. The second she gets back to her feet, a scream echoes within the helm, marred by electronic distortion.
“Nightmare!” Vergara cries out, delirious in fear, “Please tell me you’re on the police radio!”
She groans loudly. “This is too much.”
“I’ll help him,” the Old Guy chimes in, “Back in the day, we called this a cross-cutter.”
“Bless you,” she says. Leaps into a corkscrew that catches Lydia off-guard. Her legs wrap around the assassin’s waist, sending them both crashing down.
Lydia flumps back. Nightmare contorts herself to lean over Lydia. She goes for another punch, accidentally leading with the metallic stub. It bashes against Lydia’s cheek, pieces of the prosthetic chipping off with each strike, the arm whittling away like a candle.
“I got you, Carl,” the Old Guy replies.
“Who—who is this?” Vergara shudders.
“Your worst Nightmare.”
“Oh, that’s scary.”
The Old Guy pilots the gauntlet stuck to the train. He fires a Nightblade that spins after Vergara.
“Swing to your right, Carl,” he says.
And Vergara swings to the left, his body blocking the Nightblade instead of letting it through…
Thwick!
The blade nicks Vergara’s hip. Cuts clean through his belt, sending his slacks plummeting down to his ankles, once again revealing a startlingly comic set of underpants. This time it’s white undies with a rubber ducky pattern.
“OW!” Vergara shrieks. “Nightmare STABBED me!”
“Oh, that’s frustrating,” the Old Guy sighs.
Nightmare hesitates mid-punch. “What did you do?”
“I said right, he went left,” the Old Guy says dismissively.
“Great!” Nightmare cries out, exasperated. “Now there’s going to be another mean article about me in the—”
Lydia takes advantage. Grabs Nightmare by the shoulders and flips her over her body. Nightmare lands flat on her back.
“—newspaper!” Nightmare finishes with a grunt of pain.
Lydia furrows her brow. “Again—I can’t hear your Old Guy. What the fuck happened?”
Nightmare sighs. “Old Guy stabbed the pig.”
“By accident,” the Old Guy adds on, “Make it clear to her I’m not an idiot.”
Nightmare shakes her head. “For the record, Old Guy blames the pig.”
Lydia blinks. Gigglesnorts. “You two are a riot. Too bad about your imminent death.”
The Old Guy releases another Nightblade.
“To the right this time, please,” he snips.
The blade flies. Takes a harsh turn. Spins towards the window.
Vergara yelps. Swings right, and the blade careens through, smashing the plexiglass window into large fragments. The pieces fall into the train, and Vergara finds a foothold. He releases the grapple line. Climbs into the cart.
Lydia gets back to her feet. Leans into a fighting stance. Nightmare mirrors the motion, promptly backpedaling when Lydia launches herself into a flurry of kicks.
The grapple line retracts back into the gauntlet like measuring tape. The gauntlet itself snaps backwards, launching itself into the air. Magnetized to The Suit, it soars and snaps onto Nightmare’s arm—the sheer momentum enough to then carry that arm into a full-powered punch to Lydia’s face.
Lydia’s head violently cracks backwards. She slumps like a puppet without strings.
Nightmare freezes. “Oh my God. I—I think I overdid it. I think I—”
Lydia slowly looks back up, a delighted expression on her wicked face.
“Now that’s more like it, Nightbrat,” she says.
Nightmare rears back, intimidated. Lydia snickers and pounces ahead.
Lydia knocks Nightmare onto her back and shifts right into a punch to the face. The duo lands one cart behind from their starting positions due to the ever-moving train. The punch falls, and Nightmare rolls to the side, causing the fist to bash directly against metal.
Another punch, another roll, and a knuckle-shaped dent digs into the steel.
Lydia growls with vicious intent. Leads her shot for the next wallop, but this time, Nightmare trips on her cape mid-roll. The fist flies right into the dent, rupturing the metal into a crater. The part of the roof surrounding the crater bumps upwards, and Nightmare uses that momentum to send her foot into Lydia’s chin.
Pow!
Lydia stumbles back, massaging her jaw. Nightmare uses the thrust of her kick to skedaddle away with a backflip. She lands across Lydia, and the two stare each other down.
“You have no idea how good that pain feels,” Lydia says, hair blowing in the wind.
Nightmare raises an eyebrow. “Ew! Why would you tell me that?”
“What?” Lydia spits, “That’s not remotely what I meant!”
“Well, what the Hell did you mean?” Nightmare shouts.
Lydia growls. “What I meant was those fucking nanites that you got all over me? Guess what! I can’t feel fucking shit now. They fried my nervous system. I can’t feel—I can’t feel it when somebody holds me. I can’t feel a kiss. This is on you.”
Nightmare’s eyes widen. “Your… your partner?”
Lydia narrows her eyes. “Oh, you little…”
“You saved her, didn’t you?” Nightmare continues, “And she… I’m so sorry.”
“DON’T MENTION HER!” Lydia shrieks, diving at Nightmare with manic energy.
Then: a crackle from within the helm.
“Nightmare?” Vergara’s voice.
Nightmare grimaces. Dodges an incoming punch. “Don’t talk to me, dude.”
She takes a punch to the face. Falls back. Lydia grabs Nightmare’s head before it gets too far away and drags it into her knee. Ka-pow! Pain shoots into Nightmare’s skull. She falls backwards—only for Lydia to grapple her by the waist. One quick throw, and Nightmare falls one cart behind, landing hard on her side.
“I need your help!” Vergara squeals.
“I don’t work with pigs,” she grunts.
“Katrina,” the Old Guy scolds, “Greater good.”
She narrows her eyes as Lydia slowly approaches. “What do you need?”
“I can’t get into the front cab,” Vergara says, “She’s sealed the entrance with some kind of barricade. Think you can get through?”
Security camera footage from within the train projects itself into her mind. Control panels, slabs of metal torn from the floor, all of it is smashed together into one major blockage.
“How long do we have?” she asks quietly.
“Not long,” Vergara and the Old Guy say together. The Old Guy continues, “We’re running out of time.”
She looks ahead. “Lydia doesn’t want these people to die either.”
“She’s not thinking about that right now,” the Old Guy tells her.
Nightmare takes more precious time to think. “Windows, do we got windows?”
“Only in front, it’s too dangerous to break through there,” Vergara says, his voice grave, drained of humor, “You need to get down here.”
Nightmare stays still, her mind racing.
“What’s the matter, Nightmare?” Lydia calls out, “You having another conversation with your keyboard warrior friend?”
Nightmare keeps her eyes off Lydia. Scans the train for any scrap of inspiration she can wrap her mind around—she sees it: the hole Lydia punched into the train.
If Lydia can break through steel like that, then she can…
Nightmare glances over her shoulder. The end is coming, but she can’t tell when… it doesn’t matter. She needs to act now.
She turns to Lydia. Tenses from head to toe. Black spikes protrude from all over her body and release in a storm. The Nightblades surge towards Lydia and swarm her like a flock of bats. They swerve in random, chaotic patterns.
Lydia swats them away like flies. She makes sudden movements, her hands punching the Nightblades out of the air. Crumpled pieces of Nightmare-tech pelt down, falling away fast.
“What are you doing?” the Old Guy asks.
“I’m getting her worked up,” Nightmare whispers.
The blades fly faster and faster. Lydia gets more aggressive. She tears through the storm, beating the Nightblades down faster than Nightmare can send them in… just as planned.
Unbeknownst to Nightmare though, white sparks start to fly from Lydia’s fists. A white glow settles into her angry eyes, erasing her pupils from sight.
Nightmare sprints down the train, leaping from one cart to the next. Occasionally, she glances back at Lydia to confirm that yes, the world class assassin is indeed pursuing her.
“Nightmare,” Vergara says, worried, “What the Hell is going on?”
She reaches the front cabin. Slides to a stop. Turns around.
Lydia is close.
Nightmare tenses. Gets into a fighting stance.
Vergara continues. “Please tell me that’s you who just ran over the top.”
“It is,” she says, hardly focused on him, “Stay clear. There’s going to be a cave-in.”
“...Okay,” he replies.
“Any second now…” she says.
“I hate to ask,” the Old Guy tosses in, “but what is the the plan here?”
Lydia jumps onto the front cab.
Nightmare lunges forward. “We’re going to fuck around and find out!”
Lydia takes the air. Spikes her fist down and—
—Nightmare feints backwards.
Lydia’s fist misses Nightmare and plows into the roof, triggering an all-encompassing white explosion. The helm snaps over Nightmare’s head by the Old Guy’s will just before the blast gets to Nightmare’s head.
Deep within Lydia’s body, the nanites rear their ugly heads. Miniature cannons rise off their bodies, positioned like wings. They expel the white light that consumes everything.
Both women stare into each other’s eyes, both of them horrified.
The white glow burns at Nightmare’s flesh. Sets her joints aflame. Fills her mind with nothing but pain.
Metal peels off the roof. The Suit sparks. Still though—lights flash within the helm. Her thoughts turn into the hot, white glow.
She can’t see, she can’t hear, she can only feel, and she feels an entire chunk of the roof cave in with her on it. She falls into the cab, and everything goes from white to black. She hears a scream pierce the chaos and—
“Nightmare?”
She opens her eyes. Black. A sliver of sky. It sends rays that reflect blue light onto the roof.
A second voice. “Katrina?” She recognizes the Old Guy immediately. “Katrina, please…”
“Old Guy?” she rasps.
“Oh, thank God,” he gasps, the steely baritone that oft underlines his voice absent.
“Old Guy?” the first voice says with humorous inflection. “I’m not the Old Guy, I’m Officer Carl Vergara! At your service… Old Guy, pah!”
The metal sheet weighing her down moves slightly. There’s a chain reaction that sends some shrapnel tumbling away. She opens her eyes. Sees the hip holster her eyes are always drawn to.
“Nightmare,” Vergara says again, “I can’t lift this on my own. You’re gonna need to help me out here.”
She comes to slowly. Pushes on the metal slab. Her muscles tense, but she can only feel her own power. There are no phantom limbs gently clutching hers. Though she senses the Old Guy’s presence, she cannot sense The Suit itself. There’s no third soul protecting her, no safety net. The Suit is as lifeless as any other machine.
Limbs shaking, Nightmare slowly rises up. She and Vergara carry the metal slab up and lean it backwards. She exchanges an uneasy look with him.
The cab is decimated. Less than half the structure still stands. Mostly, it’s a control panel with some sidings. The howl of the train is louder than ever like this. But due to the way the barricade collapsed, Vergara and Nightmare are walled off from the other passengers.
Her eyes catch on something beyond Vergara’s shoulder: a fallen plexiglass window leaning against the edge. She manages to catch her faded reflection in it.
The Suit is sparking. The armor is cracked apart with missing pieces that expose the frayed wiring and broken circuit boards. Her mask is shredded, the cloth at the edges ragged and torn. The cape is totally burnt off.
She looks ahead. Sees the lever that the conductor told her to pull. Turns to Vergara.
“You didn’t pull the—” she starts.
“Can’t,” he grunts, “She did something to it. Jammed it. I need you for this.”
She nods. Walks up to the lever, flashing an unsure look at Vergara. Whether or not the pig would’ve pulled her out if he didn’t need her, she can’t be sure. She searches his face for an answer; the severity of his gaze does little to comfort her.
They take the lever together, making firm eye contact.
Chk-chk!
The train slows down more and more, quickly working its way to a full stop. The scenery goes from a blur to stagnant. The wheels screech their final cry. She looks down the track ahead. There’s hardly any rail left. Hopefully, no one got hurt. A rescue will surely need to be mounted, but she can’t. Not after that.
Leaning against the control panel for support, her breaths are ragged.
“Alright Officer Carl Vergara,” Nightmare says sarcastically with a mock salute, “At your service! Hmhm! I’ll, uh… see you at the office next week.” She passes by him, slumped over. “Where are we going, Old Guy?”
“Home,” he says.
“The Nightlair?”
“Home.”
She nods, accepting that path. Until…
Click!
Vergara cocks his gun.
She freezes in place. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Katrina,” the Old Guy says sternly.
She frowns. “Swearing?”
“De-escalate.”
She looks back at Vergara. His feet are firmly planted, his gun aimed right at her heart. His expression is grave.
Meekly, she waves at him. “Hey, guy… whatcha, uh, whatcha doing there?”
Vergara pulls his walkie receiver closer to his mouth. “Attention: all personnel. This is Officer Carl Vergara. EPD has stopped the Green Line train, and I got her, boys. I got the Nightmare. Dead to rights.”
Nightmare stares at him in disbelief. “Really? Wow.”
“Katrina.”
“I know,” she mutters, “De-escalate. It’s just—”
“Focus,” the Old Guy says, “Exit strategy.”
She feels the Old Guy’s mind searching through The Suit, checking every gadget and function for its viability. Nearly everything is kaput.
“Grappling hooks, cloaking device, and rocket shoes are online,” he says, “See a way out?”
If she shoots a grapple line directly at Vergara, he will shoot. If she gets any closer, he will absolutely shoot. It doesn’t leave her with many options.
“Nightmare,” Vergara growls, creeping closer, “you have the right to remain silent. Put your hands in the air.”
Slowly, she extends her arms into the air.
“I’m sorry, Katrina,” the Old Guy says.
She grimaces. Mutters, “I got an idea. A Hail Mary.”
Snap!
Her right gauntlet releases a grapple line that soars right into what’s left of the ceiling.
Vergara follows the line with his gun and bugged-out eyes. He fires, pointlessly shooting at the sky. The claw lays its fingers on a sheet of metal up above. She immediately pulls on the line, causing the steel panel to snap from the ceiling. It falls near Vergara, and he recoils in fear. It gives her the opening she needs.
As the grapple retracts back into her gauntlet, she slips ahead and—
“Hey, what are you—OW!”
Nightmare retracts her fist from Vergara’s jaw, and he hits the floor. She reaches for his walkie. Briefly brings it to her mouth.
“Uh,” she grunts, putting on a faux-badass cowboy-like voice, “Attention: all personnel, this is Nightmare. That must’ve been pretty embarrassing to listen to. That’s why I’d advise getting me in custody first before paging everyone.” She waits a second, probing her mind for something witty. “Alright, see ya.”
She drops the walkie. Limps towards her exit. She eyes the gap in the ceiling. Her body aches all over.
“Char’s gonna hear about her dad,” she murmurs, “Someone’s going to need to comfort—”
“Char comes later,” he says, “You come first.”
Nightmare exhales. Fires a grapple line and soars away.