by P. S. Power
Women would go out with him just to say they had.
The sword moved back with him, so Brian pulled his knife as he moved in, kneeling across the man's arms and carefully putting the blade to his throat, left hand pushing his chin back suddenly, not to expose the neck, but so that if the man used his superior strength to try and throw him off there would be enough time to stab him before flying away, using the chin as an extra stop.
“Drop the sword please.” He didn't even feel a surge of adrenalin and his voice sounded icy again. That would have to be worked on, since he'd meant it to sound polite.
The man looked like he wanted to struggle, so Brian used the knife to get his attention. It would be possible for Brian to kill the guy, but not just stop him, the other man was just too strong for that. At least a class four, based on what he'd shown so far. The blade started to slide into the man's neck, when the sword finally got thrown away to the right. Carefully he pulled the knife out.
“All right... Sorry, I don't remember you name...”
“Crandall.”
He kept the blade almost touching the man, where the wound had been moments before, healed already it seemed and leaned over him slightly, a risky move, if violence resumed, but not wanting everyone to hear.
“Nice to meet you Crandall, I'm Brian. Anyway, we seem to be having a small issue here, do you think that you could calm down for me please and not try to kill anyone for a while? I'd take it as a personal favor and, well, so far today no one's died and I'd really like to keep it that way, you know?”
Blank white eyes looked at him, the stare seemed hostile, but then again it was hard to tell, since the guy looked so different. Maybe he always looked like that? Brian slowly got up and took several steps back. Crandall surged up from the ground, using a flashy gymnastics move that Brian hadn't even been taught. Marcia had showed it to him and explained that it was actually slower than just standing up because of the time it took to move backwards and then change direction. Plus it was easy to defeat. On impulse Brian's foot flashed out and caught the other man in the neck as he came up, a knife from his belt already in hand. The blade scraped along Brian's flex armored leg, mid calf, skittering off, but pushing the leg so that the foot caught the outside of the chin. The nano-carbon knife still out, Brian attacked, not as fast as the man in front of him could move normally, but faster than Crandall could dodge having just been hit that hard.
Blood welled from the man's face and neck, gushing out onto the ground from the wounds on the neck in particular. He'd been hit four times in less than a second. As the man lay dying, Brian called for a medic, still not feeling any reaction from the event at all. He asked the agents to watch Charlot carefully and moved to the other side of the imaginary cube he'd build in his head, about sixty feet on each side, away from the blood, not knowing if Crandall would just pop back up or not. It was more than possible.
The shift back was disorienting, more than normal, since he didn't move but a few hundred feet. This time facing the same direction, nearly at least, so the view jumped, but didn't change much otherwise. Now the fallen man, still bleeding a lot, lay in front of him about a hundred feet away or so.
A few minutes later, before Doctor Kern could get Crandall moved, it happened again. This time Tobin rushed Charlot instead. He knocked the man out at least, instead of killing him, which was an improvement in his mind. Especially since he considered the small man a friend. The third time it happened, Soar coming in to try and swoop on Prime, Brian got a look at a man staring at her from a position on the other side of the caved in building.
Itch.
Denis. He hadn't thought about the man in weeks, months, but of course he wasn't dead, was he? Brian hadn't been told what happened to him, but apparently not enough to cause the man to settle down at all. Brian smiled and walked over toward the man, and saw three stern looking agents had been set to guard him and two other prisoners that Brian didn't even know.
Finger pointing as he came up, he asked the guards to step aside.
“He's using his ability to create potentially lethal situations. That has to be stopped. Now.” Brian didn't bother with inflection this time. The agents looked uneasy but didn't move.
“Blindfold him or something.”
Itch laughed.
“Brian Yi! I would have thought you'd be dead by now. Don't you know... I have rights. You can't prove that I'm doing anything, so if you have me blindfolded, it's a violation of my civil rights. You can't touch me either, because then I can use my powers on you in self-defense. Go ahead and try som...”
The movement took everyone by surprise. Brian leaped in and hit the sitting man in the head, a roundhouse kick that took Denis all the way down. Looking around Soar suddenly broke off and then landed well away from Prime, shaking visibly. The guards pointed weapons at him, all matching, a shiny black color that showed they didn't worry overly about having to be subtle when using them. Brian pointed at Soar and told them that probably counted as proof Itch had been using his powers to try and have Prime, Charlot and possibly him, killed.
“Now, subdue him. If he does it again, I'll have to kill him. This is not a situation we need someone making worse, understood?” Brian turned and looked at the other two people sitting on the ground, who wore bright orange jumpsuits that said “prisoner” on them. Both of them looked scared suddenly, glancing between the unconscious Denis and where he stood.
“Ah, sorry about that. This is an emergency and we can't have people trying to get others killed right now, plus, every time we meet, Denis here tries to kills me. It's an old tradition now, just like him being knocked out each time.” He turned to the black suited guards.
“What are these two here for?”
The agents, stood, uneasy and not knowing what to do, at least they hadn't moved to do anything to prevent Itch from using his power when he woke up. He didn't want to make their jobs harder, but leaving before this was taken care of would probably get someone killed, if it hadn't already.
After about twenty seconds the agent standing in the back spoke up.
“Clark here, the guy, slept with Bridget Chambers, statutory rape. Probably would have gotten a pass on it like the rest did, but he kept doing it after he got caught the first time. So, you know, given all the cameras here, a bit of a moron. Peggy killed a man with her teeth, because he made fun of her.”
Both of them looked down not making eye contact with him. He looked at Peggy, who had a wonderful jaw structure for killing someone that way, her face shaped a lot like an alligators, except the head was a lot bigger and the teeth looked way more wicked. They were hooked back slightly, and about an inch long each, there were also a lot more of them than in a regular persons mouth.
“Really? I've done that. Killed a man with my teeth. Harder for me I imagine...” His voice sounded dry, almost dusty.
Peggy's head came up, staring at him, the agent nearest her shrugged and nodded, as if telling her that it was just true. The interplay seemed friendly enough, not antagonistic or angry seeming. In fact the two conscious prisoners seemed subdued, but not at all like bad people.
“Right, so we have work to do. If I get you two set free for the duration, do you promise to behave and go back if that's what's needed at the end of this? I won't lie, sitting here is probably about the easiest that anyone is going to have it for the next couple of days, but you've both probably sat around enough by now... I can't promise anything. But I'm going over to the Director now to see if I killed the first guy that Itch set after Prime, so I can ask... if you want. Up to you, and of course these men here.” He looked at the agents, who all seemed to approve, at least tentatively.
“They're not evil. Someone needs to watch Clark if Bridget's around and Marcia Turner wants to be told whenever he's out. Peggy's a good sort over all. Model prisoner and seems to feel genuine grief for the man she killed. I'd speak for her if we had a parole board...”
Brian didn't wait, electing himself the new paro
le board and walking right over to Director Moore, dreading what might be about to happen, since killing Crandall didn't make anything here easier at all. No new attacks started now that Itch was out of things at least. One of the agents threw his jacket over the man's head as he lay on the ground when Brian turned to look at them.
When he got to the small group of important people organizing everything, he held his hands out, palms up, showing they were empty.
“Is he alive?” He asked first, not even wanting to ask really, but knowing the answer would probably affect a lot from now on. Killing someone to protect Prime would change how people felt about Brian fast. These were a tough group of people in the main, and fights happened, normally people kind of let it go after a bit and got on with things, but death was final and unforgivable to a lot of people when it was one of theirs that went down.
The older man smiled at him and nodded. “Fast healer, one of the doctors ran back into the building for blood and bought enough time for him to recover. He won't be happy for a few hours, but it won't kill him...”
Good. One less potential problem, at least hopefully. “Denis, Itch? He seems to have been using his power to aggravate people into attacking, including poor Soar, who's one of the nicest people I've ever met. I, uh, kicked him in the head and rendered him unconscious, then had the guards cover his eyes. I did it to make him stop attacking people. If other options are available that can control him, that would be good. I don't want to abuse the guy, just stop him from hurting people.”
Moore told him that he'd see what could be managed on that score.
“Oh, and I told the other prisoners, a guy named Clark that apparently slept with Bridget, I'm assuming several years ago, and a woman named Peggy, who killed a man, that I'd see if I could get them out to work if they promised to be good. I didn't promise anything, but the guards agree as long as Clark's watched when Bridget's around. It's your call, but if they're willing to work it can free up guards to watch Denis.” Brian just waited then, figuring that he'd be chewed out for asking, but it was worth suggesting at least, even if it did get him in hot water.
Hot was better than cold as far as he was concerned, having done both now.
A few minutes later he walked back over to the small clutch of people, pumpkin orange surrounded by black. They looked like an abstract Halloween decoration to Brian. Prison performance art. The idea made him smile a little. He signaled the guard in front as he walked up, but spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I need promises of good behavior from these two, but if they agree, the Director is willing to commute the rest of Clark's sentence today. Conditional release, kind of like parole.” Brian walked to the shocked looking man and stood in front of him.
“Understand this Clark. Bridget's a friend of mine and this whole... debacle here is about her possibly having had bad things happen to her. Actually no matter what's going on, bad things have happened. If you touch her again, even casual contact, before her eighteenth birthday, I will personally kill you and have your body made to disappear. If I can't do it myself, then I'm sure I can find some people around here that can. That goes for any girl under eighteen, not just Bridget, and anywhere in the world not just on base. Do you agree to those terms?”
Director Moore mentioned that last part, not all of it. He'd back it though.
Clark gulped, his too thin neck let his head bob freely and his voice sounded like chirping.
“Agreed!” He spoke loudly, looking at the guards and at Peggy, who looked down, her nose almost to her knees. She didn't look happy about the whole thing, probably because now the only person she'd have for company would be Itch. Brian could sympathize. Actually, he already had, with the Director on that very topic. It was what they'd spent most of the time talking about in fact. Clark looked up at him and swallowed so hard his Adams-apple flapped wildly for a moment.
“But... what about Peggy...” He sounded afraid, like Brian would kill him where he sat for just asking a question, but trying to help his friend anyway. Of course, Brian realized, all the guy had seen him do involved nearly killing people then walking up and kicking a sitting man in the head. That could seem, unpredictable. Or angry, which wasn't the case at all, but how would Clark know that?
“Well, that one's bad news, good news. The bad news is that we can't just let you go free. The Director said too many people saw you kill that man back when it happened and, well, you're distinctive looking. People would recognize you if you're just let go.” Nearly six years before, he'd been told. The woman nodded, still not speaking or indicating she expected anything.
“The good news is that if you agree to be on best behavior, you're out of the prison section, and back with the rest of us. You can't leave the base except as a prisoner, which means guards, not a jump suit and shackles, but you can do whatever else you like on base. You're still a prisoner, but no bars, and no orange happy suit... No guards either on base. It was the best I could do on short notice, but I'll keep working on it with the higher ups, conditional on good behavior. You'll have a room on floor nine, with Team Three. The room next to mine in fact, so I hope you don't snore too loud. That is, if you want it. The Director would rather not waste resources watching someone that can be an asset. You seem nice enough to me, and these guys vouched for you, which means a lot. Even Clark here seems to like you. In fact, for now, how would you two feel about buddying up? Keep each other out of trouble and if anyone bothers you, come get me, all right?”
The woman started crying and rocking in place, but thanked him, her voice rich and full, deeper than he'd thought it would be and resonant, he wondered for a moment if she could sing. If she could carry a tune her voice would be amazing. Brian smiled and asked the agents to please unshackle them, since, after all, they weren't really prisoners any more.
Itch made a little noise under the coat, which didn't sound like pain or trouble breathing, so he ignored it. Brian had no doubt that if he had them uncover Denis, he'd personally be subjected to racking pain, or something equally unpleasant.
He pointed the two jump suited prisoners toward the armory, looking around and seeing that Prime and Charlot looked all right, but still angry, he changed the course of the group, walking over toward them. He went slowly and whispered to the two orange suited people with him.
“They've had a really hard day. No matter what they say to you, be nice, all right?”
Prime looked up and tilted his head, but Charlot climbed to her feet, staring at the two he brought over, a bit of white gathering around her right fist, which, thankfully, she didn't aim at Clark or Peggy at all, just him. Brian looked around and pointed at his own chest, then shrugged at her.
“Um, Charlot, before you blast me or whatever, how about telling me why?”
“You're not taking us to that prison down there!” She didn't scream, not quite, but spoke loudly enough that several people around her glared.
Brian pointed to the two with him and smiled slightly. “Wrong type to be taking you to jail. This is actually the opposite situation here, these two aren't going back there at all. Oh, if you see this one around Bridget, please tell me, all right?” He pointed at Clark, who blanched, going pale and looking like he felt slightly ill.
“We're going to risk going over to the armory and seeing what kind of stores we have on emergency rations in the back there. Peggy and Clark are going to be in charge of that, but some people might get all uneasy if two former prisoners got to go into the armory unattended within minutes of release. Silly of them, but this is just to head off complaints later. Is everything all right here? Do you two need a break or anyone need to use the latrine? I don't know if anything's been set up yet, but if you need to use it at all, any of you,” He waved his hand around to include the agents. “Let me know and we'll all go together, all right?”
No one said anything so the little group with him walked to the small outbuilding, most of it underground, the upper portion made of white cement blocks with
a small slanted green roof. It had a metal door on it, which was unlocked and unguarded, like always. He opened the door and walked straight to the back, then down a flight of stairs which led to a decently large room, about forty by sixty, the back third of which had six full pallets of emergency food rations and eight of bottled water. The packing slips said that they were still all good, so Brian suggested they pull the pallets apart and take them out, set up an area where people could line up for food and water.
Clark looked at him and then the door. “No problem, we can take these a pallet a time, unless there's a reason to make a few hundred trips?”
They opened the door and instead of lifting the pallet by hand, like Brian expected, Clark pointed one hand at the first one, causing it to float gently into the air about a foot off the ground and then out through the door. He had to keep it in sight, but had it in place about two minutes later, the site they chose being on the far side of the compound, away from Prime and Charlot. A pallet of water followed a few minutes later. The orange clad team had a line going pretty quickly, letting people know where chow was by just yelling that they had food and water if anyone wanted it. It was effective if nothing else.
Brian went back to where the agents stood and sent them to get food and take a break. It took hours for everyone to get out of the building, people coming out slowly, a lot of them clearly in shock still. Christian finally made it out in the last third, looking battered and bruised, but moving only a little stiffly. She stood by Mark and Robert the Team One leader, talking about something animatedly. After a short while the distinguished black man that could tell if a person lied and a tiny older woman that looked more like an elementary school secretary than anything else walked over to Chris and then they all walked over to him.
