"Now they can go back home, to the kitchen, where they belong."
Kyle wasn't as quiet as he thought he was.
The two mothers turned and swung wildly. One fist caught Kyle in the jaw, the other the nose. Brady jumped back a step as Kyle fell, no longer conscious. His legs flew up in the air as he hit the ground.
Brady put his hands on his hips as the mothers surveyed the damage. He could have lectured them on setting an example for their children, but thought better of it. It would be a minor miracle to escape without having to defend himself.
Kyle also deserved it.
"Well," he said. "He had that coming, I guess."
Chris and Tina laughed behind their parents.
*****
"What the fuck was their problem?"
Kyle was still holding the bag of ice to his face. His eyes darted about the locker room wildly, as if the two violent mothers would jump from the shadows at any moment. Brady sat on a nearby bench, near his locker, trying his best not to laugh. Paula hovered over Kyle, watching him carefully as she jotted notes on a pad.
"I don't know," Brady said. "Maybe it was the sexist comment you tossed at them?"
"It was a joke! Humor! You know, laugh laugh, ha ha? Those stupid bitches. They were more concerned on winning the featherweight title than their own kids, who were hugging and making out while their parents beat the shit out of each other."
"And you," Paula said. "They beat you up, too."
Brady hung his head to hide the smile.
"Funny," Kyle said. "Real funny, boss. Shouldn't you be helping me get my lawsuit together for when I sue them?"
"Yeah, yeah. First things first. I have to send you out for medical care."
"Medical care? Paula, they didn't hit me that hard."
"Yeah, I know," she said dejectedly.
A snicker escaped from Brady. Kyle shot him a venomous look.
"Some partner you are. You could have taken one of those punches."
"You did just fine on your own."
Brady turned to his locker while Kyle and Paula argued about proper procedure after getting hurt on the job. He was careful as to how far he opened the door. He didn't want to entertain questions on why it was so empty. Peering over his shoulder, he reached inside, as if grabbing clothes. Essence grew from his hand, molding and changing behind the locker door. The duffel bag formed into being, complete with a white drawstring and red cloth, along with a white lightning bolt on the side. It was an accessory he spotted on a website once, and tucked it away in his memory.
He grabbed his loose money and shoved it in his back pocket.
"I'll go get changed in the bathroom," he said, tossing the bag over his shoulder. "While you take care of the wounded here."
"Fuck you, Brady," Kyle said.
"You have a good weekend, too." He nodded at Paula. She smiled in return. "Later, guys."
He left through the corridor, skipping the bathroom. With no eyes or cameras on him, he willed his uniform to change shape. Something appropriate for the warm weather. Shorts, and a loose tee shirt. His money stayed snuggly in the pocket as it shifted. Brady smiled as he made it out of the mall without attracting attention. He'd been a master of deception since he was a child. Faking a grin for the social workers, telling the kids at school that the sneakers on his feet were brand-name, changing his appearance into that of a teacher so he could sneak into their lounge. Tricking his coworkers into thinking he had clothes in a duffel bag wasn't a difficult task.
Brady left the mall and crossed the lot. A knot formed in his stomach as his gaze fell on the adult entertainment shop beyond the highway. He prepared mentally for what would no doubt be an awkward conversation. Lily probably already thought he was a perverted freak. What kind of man would buy a new adult movie once a week? To make matters worse, what kind of oddball would buy porn, then invite the woman he bought it from to watch?
He debated on skipping his visit, but that simply wasn't possible. He wasn't a coward, and his weekly purchase was his peace, one of the joys he took from life. It was a routine, something he could look forward to.
Standing at the crosswalk, he forced the anxiety from his mind. Lily seemed like a reasonable person. A simple explanation to clear up the misunderstanding, then they could move on with their lives. Hopefully she didn't need another bodyguard in the store. He just wanted to buy a movie, maybe get the free one owed to him, then go home to check out the latest alien news.
He jogged through the intersection when the light allowed. Something caught his attention from the side.
Brady barely registered the bodies moving toward him until they were on top of him. He saw a shirt, an arm, then felt the fist slamming into his stomach. The air rushed out of him as he doubled over. The assault didn't end there. He was shoved against the glass window of a dry-cleaning place that was closed for the night. A knee found its way to Brady's nose, dropping him to the ground. He covered up as best he could as the shots came. A punch here, a kick there. Memories flooded back, of trying to hide in his room, or being dragged out and beaten in the corner.
His arms were stretched out as he was hauled to his feet. There were muffled voices, quiet laughter. His feet barely touched the ground. He was carried in the opposite direction of his destination, the adult store, and the ridiculous thought crossed his mind of the collection in his living room, not growing for the first week in so long. His eyes caught a flickering streetlight on the corner of the strip mall, the only light left before the darkness of the alley took over. His feet tripped on something, maybe a metal trashcan lid.
He was thrown against the brick wall. His legs gave up as he slid to the ground. He looked up to see several silhouettes. Their shadows blended and merged. He couldn't count how many there were. The only light came from the moon above.
"Got anything funny to say now?" a familiar voice said.
Brady shielded his eyes and squinted. Slowly, the features came back to him, along with the rest of them. The group of men that harassed Lily in the shop a week ago. They loomed over him, half of them with smiles on their faces. The other half wore expressions that spoke of danger, of harm they wanted to inflict.
Brady didn't even know any of their names.
"What the hell?" he said. "What are you—?"
He didn't get to finish. A kick cut him off, catching him in the ribs. Brady winced and shrank even further against the wall.
"Let's fuck him up," a voice said. "Then get out of here. I'm starving."
The group leader leaned down over him.
"You don't work security at the porn place. One of my friends saw you at the mall. You're a fucking mall cop."
The pain dulled for a moment as Brady realized an ugly truth.
"You…followed me?" he asked. "You watched me from the mall?"
"Yeah. You don't even own a fucking car."
"What did you see?" Brady asked, his tone bordering on desperate. "How far did you follow me?"
"Maybe we should get that bitch from the shop. I thought I saw her working tonight. I'll bet she's in to this kind of shit."
His mind raced. Brady was always careful. Even in the twenty-first century, in the time of special effects and faked videos, of not seeing is believing, he made sure he changed shape alone. In dark alleys, corners, away from prying eyes. But this group of men had followed him. For how long? How far?
"What did you see?" he asked again. They were the only words his brain could form. "What…did you see?"
"Is he retarded?" they asked each other.
They pulled him to his feet, holding his arms out once again. Someone grabbed his hair, forcing his head back to look their leader in the eyes.
"We're going to beat you within an inch of your life," he said. "Then we're going to leave you here."
"What did you see?" Brady asked again. "How far did you follow me? Did you record anything?"
They looked at each other, amused.
"A video. That's not a bad idea. Greg,
get your phone out. We'll make us a greatest hits clip."
"You…leave me alone," Brady muttered. "Please."
The leader slapped him. That single, simple slap was what pushed him over the edge. More than the punches and kicks. He'd learned to live with taking the occasional punch. But the slap was an insult, meant to demean more than hurt, and whatever control he had vanished. His eyes shot open as the pain dulled, replaced by rage.
Brady changed shape.
His arms lost their solid form, turning into something like Jello. The two men lost their grip, their fingers sliding into Brady's wrists. He lunged forward, pulling free easily, and lashed out at the leader, knocking him flat on his back.
Someone tackled him around the waist, driving him into the wall. Brady saw a fist being pulled back, ready to strike, but he turned the rest of his form into the shapeless goo he was so familiar with. The punch went right through him, connecting with the concrete behind him. Through his form, he could feel the bones break in the attacker's hand. He stepped to the side, freeing himself from the attacker's arm, and went solid once again. Brady threw a punch, but not one of flesh and bone. His arm from the elbow down had changed to stone. He didn't know of the proper way to throw a punch, of angles and technique. But with an arm of stone, technique wasn't important.
Blood sprayed from the attacker's nose onto his friends. The cameraman, Greg, also took some blood to the face. By the light of the phone Brady could see their expressions. Gone were the smiles, the arrogance. Only confusion and fear remained.
Brady hated every single one of them. All he wanted was to be left alone. He wanted to work and go home. But these people wouldn't even let him do that.
He changed once again. His features vanished, his form turning shapeless. A form devoid of muscles, skin, and blood was much easier to change. Two tentacles shot from his chest, wrapping around two throats of the four remaining men. Greg, the only one of the group whose name Brady knew, ran forward. He held his phone in the air, as if to use it as a weapon. Brady wasn't limited to two tentacles. A third shot out, wrapping around Greg's arm and torso. Brady lifted him and slammed him against the wall, breaking the phone in the process. Greg struggled, grasping at the tentacle trapping him, until Brady rammed him several more times.
A gasp brought his attention back to the first two men. They were nearly unconscious in his grip, barely on their feet. Much longer and he'd strangle them to death. He released his hold, and they fell to the ground in a mangled heap.
Brady suddenly realized he was alone. He shifted his senses to the right to see the leader and one of his friends running down the alley at full speed. They didn't dare risk a look behind them.
He changed. Mass shifted and moved. Muscle and bone formed. Flesh and blood. But not in the shape of a human. He had four legs and fur. Fangs and a tail. Eyes formed, and his range of vision narrowed. His perspective of the world changed, standing only two feet from the ground.
He lowered his head and growled. The fourteen dollars and fifty-five cents he'd been carrying inside him fell to the ground. He leapt over one of the unconscious thugs easily, and it didn't take long at all to reach full speed. Not only did he look like a tiger, but he felt like one. He closed the distance between him and his attackers in seconds. One of them managed to turn his head, just in time to see Brady jumping through the air, his claws out. He landed on his back and raked violently, tearing through cloth and flesh. He sank his fangs in the thug's shoulder, only inches from his neck.
The leader backed away as his friend writhed in pain, terror in his eyes. Brady met his gaze. Blood dripped from his mouth. It was a challenge to shove aside the years of anger the thugs brought out, but he managed. He leapt again, changing in mid-air. His familiar form took hold, that of a twenty-four-year-old security guard. Hands replaced paws, fangs shrank into human teeth.
Still, Brady wasn't ready to rejoin humanity just yet.
Multiple arms formed. Two of them circled around the leader's neck. Two more secured an arm behind his back. Another set of two held onto a wrist, twisting it violently.
Brady forced him against the wall, like what the group did to him only minutes prior. With the darkness, he could only make out tears.
"What's your name?"
The leader struggled, trying to lash out with his legs. Brady didn't have enough mass left to form another arm comfortably, but there was enough, along with some imagination, for something else. A large, simple metal blade formed from his thigh. It pressed against the inside of the leader's jeans, freezing him in place as it sliced through the seam.
"Your name?" he asked again.
"F-Frank."
It seemed strange to Brady that he was only just now learning Frank's name, after Frank had put so much time and effort into trying to hurt him.
"You followed me? All week?"
"Yeah. What…the fuck are you?"
The simple question stung, only because he didn't have an answer.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing, man. What do you think we saw? We followed you for a few blocks, then you disappeared. We saw you heading to the fuck shop tonight, so we figured we'd say hi."
"Did you record me at all? With your phones?"
"No. I swear, we didn't." A drop of blood fell from Brady's lips to Frank's shirt, making him wince and recoil. "Shit!"
The taste of copper finally came to Brady as he stared at Frank. The thought of another person's blood in his mouth nearly made him gag. Of all the things he'd done in his life, all the forms he'd taken, all the animals he'd learned to be, he'd never felt further removed from normal than that moment. His eyes drifted to the men that attacked him. Four were unconscious while a fifth twisted on the ground, trying to stop the bleeding from his shoulder.
"Look," Frank said. "We didn't know. We didn't know you were a freak. I swear, you'll never see us again. Just let us go."
"You're right," Brady said. He forced his eyes to turn red, for effect. They figured he was a monster. He might as well play the part. "If I see you again, I'll kill you."
It was the second time in a week that he'd threatened to kill someone.
"Where's your phone?"
Frank blinked in surprise. "My phone?"
Brady's temper was slipping again. He was nearly desperate to escape. His body ached. He didn't want to be behind a strip mall at nearly midnight, threatening a collection of brutal idiots, with blood running down his chin.
"Your phone! Your goddamn phone! Where is it?"
Frank struggled for a moment. "I can't move my arms—"
"Just tell me where it is!"
"Back pocket."
Brady moved one of his six hands and found the phone. Curiosity mixed in with Frank's terror as he watched the extra appendage work. Brady hit the power button and slid a finger across the screen, only to reveal a prompt asking for a passcode. It didn't matter. He didn't care about accessing its contents.
"What are you—?" Frank began.
Brady shifted. The extra arms and unusually-placed blade withdrew inside himself. Before completely assuming a human shape, he forced Frank's hands behind his back. Brady left some of his mass behind, and that mass quickly formed a shape around Frank's wrists that Brady guessed he was quite familiar with. A pair of handcuffs.
He stepped back and wiped the blood from his mouth. Frank struggled against the cold restraints. Brady could see the confusion, the frustration. He struggled with it himself often growing up, not knowing how he did the things he did. He could feel the world around him, like he imagined any human could. He also felt the sweat on Frank's wrists, from the small part of him that formed the handcuffs. His existence was a strange one.
Over time, he simply learned to accept what he was, even if he didn't know what that was.
Winding his arm up, he threw the phone as hard as he could against the wall. Plastic and glass flew in different directions.
"Ah, fuck!" Frank said. "That phone cost me—"
"Shut up."
Brady knelt over Frank's fallen friend. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his shoulder still bleeding. Brady searched his pockets for a phone.
"You robbing him?" Frank asked.
"I should. Dragging me back here, wanting to beat the shit out of me. Don't you think that's worth ten dollars?"
"Man, ten bucks won't come nowhere near fixing whatever the fuck is wrong with you."
He laughed as he found the phone.
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Holding his hand out, he watched as the flesh on his palm bubbled, as if it were blistering. His essence changed. The metal formed first, growing from his hand, followed by the wooden handle. He wrapped his fingers around the tool as it completed, getting used to the weight in his grip.
He dropped the phone on the ground and raised the freshly-created hammer high. With one strike, the phone was destroyed. Brady struck several more times to be sure. He did the same with the remnants of Frank's phone. If either had recorded anything, it was gone.
"Okay," he said. "Come with me."
"No. Fuck you."
Brady focused on the other part of him, the handcuffs around Frank's wrists. They changed shape, the metal bracelets shrinking tighter. Frank's arms stiffened at the sensation.
"What the fuck?" he said.
His lip twitched as he fought the pain. Brady twirled the hammer in his hand.
"You'd better come with me," he said again, gesturing to his friend bleeding on the ground. "Don't you want to get him to a hospital?"
Frank begrudgingly followed, and Brady lessened the pressure on the handcuffs. Brady gathered the remaining phones from Frank's crew. There were times he thought he might have been the last person on the planet without a gadget on him. He smashed them all, leaving the chunks where they fell.
He looked into Frank's eyes. The anger was still with him, the beating still fresh in his mind. Rational thought tried to return. The fact that he'd just used his abilities in full view of six people gnawed at him. He tried to force it aside. He wanted Frank to be afraid of him, and for all his bravado, he could see Frank was still unnerved.
"You can tell anyone you want," Brady said. "No one will believe you. Just try to think of tonight as a bad dream. You guys drank too much, took too many drugs. Whatever."
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