Occupy Paragon

[Twitchcraft]

Like treatin' cancer with a band-aid.

That was how Roy always described his brief stint as a Dallas police officer. They'd lured him to the big city when Abigail had still been in middle school, offering promises of a huge salary bump and promotions sure to follow. But her brother had lasted barely a month before returning to McAllyn to reclaim his old post as a deputy sheriff. When he spoke of that time at all, it was in a voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and contempt.

Abigail had taken such comments with a grain of salt before, chalking them up to Roy's well-known tendency to exaggerate. But now, moving through Atlas Park, she began to wonder if he'd underplayed what it was like to be a cop in the big city when the shit hit the fan.

She'd seen the looters sweeping from one storefront to the next, and they'd reminded her of the locusts from her childhood. Swift and ravenous and implacable. Twice she'd managed to turn some of them away from their targets, but so what? She couldn't be everywhere, couldn't even afford to stay in one place for long. No doubt they moved back in the moment she was gone.

Worse were the vandals, the folks who crawled out of the woodwork just to destroy things. Because it was fun, maybe. Or because the things they ruined reminded them of what they could never have or be. She'd run some of them off, as well, but knew her victories would be short-lived there, too.

There were cops in the zone. She'd seen them. But for the most part, they seemed to have priorities other than the looters or the vandals -- they were after the protesters. They tore apart the encampments they came across, smashed cameras and cellphones, arrested anyone and everyone in sight. She'd watched some of them smile as they worked, and she'd heard some of them laugh. And there were moments when she wondered who exactly the cancer was in all this.

The only heroes she'd spotted -- if, in fact, they were officially heroes this week -- were Frostfire and Miss Thystle, and both of them had been firmly on the side of the protesters. Ms. Liberty, a constant presence in Atlas Park, was nowhere to be found. Abigail wondered if she'd been called off for some reason -- or if she was just smart enough to steer clear of the whole mess. Heroes, from what she'd observed, tended to like their fights quick and tidy. This was neither.

And above it all sat Crey. They'd closed off their Atlas Park campus the moment the trouble had started, sealing in employees and visitors alike. From what little Abigail had gleaned, they'd kept the whole holiday fair thing going inside their gates. She hoped someone had pointed out that old notion about fiddling while things burned, but the cynic in her suspected not. As long as they didn’t see what was outside the gates, most folks just plain didn't care.

She kept moving, doing what little she could here and there and feeling more like a damn fool than any sort of band-aid. Her GPS continued to spit out false signals, and the idea of giving up crept back into her thoughts. But she ground her teeth and walked on.

She finally tracked Boyer to an alley in Hyperion Way, and was just in time to watch him get knocked on his ass. Her immediate thought was that he'd found himself on the wrong side of the protesters. They had their share to answer for, too, and she wouldn't have put it past some of them to go after a lone cop if they got the chance.

Then she got closer and had to revise her opinion. The two men standing over Boyer were dressed in garish shades of red and orange.

Hellions.

It shouldn't have been a surprise -- Atlas Park was burning, and that had to be like catnip for them. For that matter, they'd probably done their bit to fan the flames. Maybe that was why they'd caught Boyer's eye.
They hadn't noticed her, so she took a moment to size them up. Hellions came in two flavors -- regular thugs and super-powered badasses. These were the garden variety, fortunately. But one of them still had a revolver. A .357 Smith & Wesson. Glen's incredibly lame Clint Eastwood impression whispered in her mind, but she pushed it aside. If she only had her real powers…

But she didn't. So she'd make do.

Before she had a chance to think of anything resembling a plan, though, the unarmed Hellion hauled Boyer to his knees. His partner pressed the gun to the burly cop's temple. Boyer groaned and swayed in his captor's grip. He appeared semi-conscious, at best. He sure as hell wasn't going to rescue himself.

"Say good night, pig."

Time slowed. Abigail imagined this was what every day must be like for Peyton Meredith. Except unlike Peyton, she had no superhuman speed, no blink-of-an-eye reflexes. More than a dozen yards separated her from Boyer and the Hellions. She had less than a minute to act.

She drew the slender metal baton from her belt and extended it to full length with a flick of her wrist. Both Hellions heard this, but neither had time to do more than glance up before she flung it in their direction. The baton struck the armed man high on his forearm, and something gave way with a crisp snap. The gun spun away, landing in a pile of trash.

The wounded Hellion let out a pained groan that changed to a gasp of surprise as Abigail crashed headlong into him. She refused to discuss her weight under the best of circumstances, but it was enough to send the thug toppling backwards. She landed atop him, and his breath whooshed out. He groaned a second time and was still.
His friend lunged at her, but she'd been expecting that. She set herself against the alley wall and planted a foot between his thighs.

He doubled over, and that gave her time to retrieve the baton. One swing added a cracked rib to his troubles. Another sent him to the pavement. Abigail scrambled for the fallen gun. It felt strange -- wrong, even -- in her hand. Well, she'd worry about that later. She tucked it in her belt and turned her attention to Boyer.

"Lee, you gotta stay with me," she said, as she dragged him to his feet. His eyes still hadn't focused, and his mumblings made little sense. "C'mon, we need to go. We need to go right the fuck now."

Hellions rarely worked in simple pairs. She knew that much from the kindergarten briefings the FBSA served up to junior heroes. They were pack animals, and they didn't stray far from large numbers. If she was lucky, these two were the rear guard. If they were scouts, though…

She heard the footsteps before she'd even managed to pull Boyer halfway down the alley.

Then they were on her.

[Twitchcraft]

She had no chance of winning, she knew that.

So she chose a single Hellion from the mob and focused her efforts on him. Even as the others rained down blows on her shoulders and head, she punched, kicked, and clawed at the lone thug. She had the brief satisfaction of shattering his nose and costing him two of his teeth.

Then the rest of them found their footing, and the real beating began.

She took the hits as best she could, rolling with them where possible, tensing away at other times. They got wise to that, though; they knew how to deliver a curbstomping, after all. She tried to use what little power she had, but succeeded only in conjuring only a few gentle flurries.

Then one of them slammed a steel-toed boot into her side. Something gave way in her chest with a soft, wet snap, and breathing became agony. She let out a long groan. The Hellions grinned and exchanged high-fives, tossing out ideas on how to top that. "Cutting the bitch" seemed to be running just ahead of "smoking her cop ass" in the polls.

Abigail swam in and out of consciousness, wondering if the Medicom badge she wore was about to activate, wondering what might happen to Boyer if it did. The badges had various safety protocol levels, but she'd overridden most of hers back when she'd had her real powers. If the remaining ones triggered now, that would mean she was on the verge of flatlining. Her head was full of wool, but she didn't think things were nearly that bad. Hard to tell, though, what with her legs going numb…

Someone grabbed a handful of her hair, and the sudden sharp pain brought her back to the world. The face that leered down at her seemed even less human than she'd expected. Maybe that was the shock kicking in.

"You know who I am?"

She did, but had to search her jumbled mind for the answer. It was slow in coming.

Char, she finally decided. That was his name. One of the superpowered ones. She'd seen his mugshot down at the precinct. Without the makeup, he looked more like a high school jock gone to seed than a supervillain. Like Chase Masters if he'd skipped the treadmill and hit the Ho-Ho's and Ding-Dong's too hard. The notion made her giggle, but it came out as a pained gasp.

"What do you think we oughta do with you and your fat friend, huh?" Char's voice was the sound of dead leaves skittering across dry earth, and his breath smelled of sulfur. Even from a distance, she could feel the heat that radiated off him in waves. She fought down the urge to vomit.

The other Hellions shouted out their suggestions, but Char waved them silent and turned his attention back to Abigail. She had to work to make her eyes focus on him.

"Well?" He spat the word at her.

She knew what she wanted to say, but it took what seemed a long time to dredge up the nerve.

"Finish me," she muttered, and was vaguely proud of how her voice didn't tremble. "You better damn well finish me."

Char turned to the assembled Hellions and spread his gloved hands. They hooted, applauded, stomped their feet. It sounded to Abigail like a grotesque parody of some ancient war council.

"Oh, you've got balls, little girl," said Char. "Finish you, huh?"

Abigail managed a nod. "You don't… you 'n me, we're gonna see each other again."

Char threw back his head and laughed. Then he laid his hands against her face, gently, like a lover might. She winced as she felt the heat rising from them. She made a feeble attempt to jerk away, to raise her arms to ward him off. But other Hellions stepped forward to hold her.

"Maybe we just mark you first, huh?" said Char. "How about that? That's what they do to cows down where you're from, right?"

The heat sharpened, and the scent of burning hair filled the alley. Abigail Blackburn held in her scream for as long as she could…

[Twitchcraft]

She wept tears of snow, and that amused him.

Char drew back his gloved hands for a better look. Abigail's eyes were squeezed shut, and her cheeks had bloomed a deep scarlet from the burns. The delicate flakes of snow hissed and melted almost as quickly as they formed. The Hellion leaned down, fascinated, his mouth open, anxious to taste her tears.

Abigail wrenched herself forward and headbutted him.

The bastard might glow with an inner heat, but his bones broke just like anybody else's. Blood spurted from his ruined nose, and he staggered back, roaring out his pain. He cupped his hands over his face, letting out a string of muffled obscenities. The other Hellions shifted uneasily, keeping their grip on her, unsure whether they should act without instructions.

Finally, Char stabbed a finger at her. Nobody had to guess what that meant.

But before they could respond to the command, a single heavy wine bottle arced out of the night sky and shattered at their feet.

"Let her go."

The voice was a woman's, shaky but determined. It echoed off the walls, and it took Abigail a moment to realize her would-be savior was positioned atop a low roof overlooking the alley. The Hellions were even slower on the uptake, but they finally got a bead on their target. One of them raised a pistol.

But she hadn't come alone. Bottles, stones, and even a few bits of lead pipe rained down on the alley. As the Hellions scrambled for cover, Abigail dove forward and scuttled in Boyer's direction. He was just as out of it as before, so she had to settle for shielding him as best she could. No one paid her any mind -- she heard shouts, more glass breaking, the impact of metal on metal, even a gunshot.

A ragged cheer went up. And then the Hellions were running, and someone was helping her sit up.

The woman who'd saved her. The woman who was now unwinding the long gold scarf from around her own neck and using it to dab at Abigail's wounds. A long moment passed before Abigail finally placed her. The redhead from the protest. The mother whose kid had wanted to learn Boyer's yo-yo tricks.

There were others, too. Maybe a dozen or so. People she recognized from earlier in the day and those she'd met on her trek to find Boyer. She'd helped some of them; as much as she could, anyway.

"Just get your breath back," said the redheaded woman.

"Your boy," wheezed Abigail. "Not here, is he?"

The woman looked at her for a second, seemingly bemused by the question. "No," she said. "I sent him off with my sister when it started to get dark. Good thing, huh? But thank you for asking."

She began a quick but thorough assessment of Abigail's injuries, starting with the burns on her cheeks and progressing down to the pain in her chest. She asked calm questions in a soft voice, and Abigail did her best to answer them. Someone handed over a penlight, and the woman moved it back and forth before Abigail's eyes. Finally, she nodded.

"Burns are first degree, I think," she said. "So that's good. You've got at least two cracked ribs and plenty of lacerations and contusions. You'll live, but you're damn well gonna want an aspirin."

Abigail let out a pained chuckle. "You a doctor?"

"Nurse," replied the redhead. "Y'know, when I'm not out fomenting revolution."

Abigail managed to nod in Boyer's direction.

"Concussion," said the nurse. "And he's got enough cuts and bruises to stack up pretty well against yours. They're gonna want to check him and make sure there's no swelling of the brain, but my hunch is he'll come through with nothing more than a killer headache."

"Radio's not gettin' through. Haveta walk him outta here."

The nurse frowned. "I notice you've got a Medicom badge."

"Only works fer me, 'm afraid."

"You could save yourself a walk, though."

Abigail held the other woman's gaze.

"None of you got one."

"No."

"Then if it's all the same, I'll walk with you."

"Stubborn."

"That's the polite way of puttin' it, yes."

The nurse helped her to her feet. "Lean on me."

Abigail coughed. "Already am." She wiped her hand on her sleeve, but saw only a trace of blood there. "What you did… thank you."

They limped toward the mouth of the alley. It took three of the other rescuers to carry the half-conscious Boyer.

"Hey, you're just lucky I spotted you. You're kind of distinctive, though, aren't you? The snow and all, I mean." She shifted Abigail's weight from her arm to her shoulder. "I called out, but I guess you had other things on your mind. So I sort of went snooping."

"Not many would've done even that. Let alone everything else."

The nurse shrugged. "You two made an impression."

They walked in silence after that. It had begun to spit rain, and the temperature had dropped by a good ten degrees. Abigail couldn't feel the cold, but she watched the others shiver. In the twenty-minute hike to the perimeter, they saw neither police nor protesters, though they found traces of both in the debris. It was as though someone had rung a bell, and both sides had retreated to their corners until the start of the next round.

They passed into the police cordon with fewer problems than she'd anticipated. The cops stationed there seemed baffled by their arrival, but they accepted Boyer readily enough, hustling him toward the first-aid tent. Abigail had almost let herself relax when the command tent emptied, the brass jostling each other to see the latest development firsthand.

The white-shirted captain who'd dismissed her earlier was the first to reach the group. Corrigan, that was his name. She remembered Boyer talking about him in less than flattering terms. The way he puffed up when he saw the group reminded Abigail of a particularly ugly toad she'd once seen in a pet store.

"So you've decided to come out from behind your barricades," he said, addressing them as though they'd just fallen in for reveille. "That's smart. Better for everybody. You can be assured we'll treat you all with --"

"Beggin' your pardon," said Abigail, "they're with me, sir."

He squinted at her. "You're claiming the collar on all these people?"

"No collar," said Abigail. "These folks helped me an' my partner out of a jam."

Corrigan pretended to consider that and then waved it away. "That'll be noted. But they're in violation of curfew, and they're part of an unlawful assembly." He snapped his fingers at the officers manning a nearby patrol car. "Put 'em with the rest of the detainees."

"You can't do that." Abigail fumbled her Hero License from her pocket and held it out for him. "These folks are my responsibility."

Corrigan didn't even make a show of studying the license. "Oh. Now I see. One of you. There's always one of you around after all the hard work gets done, isn't there? Well, 'hero,' this isn't your jurisdiction, and you don't call the shots." He jerked a thumb at the officers to get them moving. "They're under arrest. End of discussion. Now step aside. You got that?"

You wanna be a police, you learn to take orders.

Abigail watched as they handcuffed the nurse.

Partners watch out for each other.

"Captain Corrigan, sir?"

"What now?"

The bloody gob of phlegm she hawked up caught him square in the chest. As his face shaded a deep purple, she held out her hands to the officer nearest her and waited for the cuffs.