[[Follow-up/interlude, and part of a cooperative effort between Abhorrent's player and I. Besides, it was just fun getting into this mindset for this little bit. 
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Hee hee hee...stupid hero...
If it weren't for the fact that she was invisible, Misty would probably be singing. Something like I enjoy being a Stalker or something of the sort. This was the best part of what she did, when she could sneak up to some oblivious hero-- especially one like this chick, who looked like she was gonna fall over anyway-- and deliver the Ultimate Sucker-Punch with what she fondly called her Glowy Pom-poms of Doom.
Hee. SO much fun. So so so much fun. Though if I break a nail, I'm gonna be pissed and she's gonna PAY...
Sneaksneaksneak...sneaksneaksneak...
Her cute red sneakers made no sound as she approached her target, fists held close to herself, lower lip between her teeth in her focus. Sure, there was still a Longbow base to bomb, but nothing said she couldn't have a little fun on the way, right?
Besides, she was twitchy. Stupid Arachnos contact for some reason didn't want her to kill anyone last time, and Misty was getting restless. What was the fun in kidnapping? The idiots didn't know how to follow her anyway, and she couldn't really threaten them with death for refusing to let her put leashes on them.
Stupid freaking Arachnos, anyway. Didn't they know that red and black was so overdone for villains? It was like totally cliche. Though she did have to admit, the Night Widows looked pretty sharp with the purple trim, instead of red.
Oh! Getting off track. Hero to kill, right. Maybe she could get in a killing blow before the teleporter kicked in...that'd totally rock. DoA, baby. Score another one for the Angry Cheerleader.
Why did they still call her that, anyway? She wasn't really angry these days. Maybe when she first started, but still...oh well. It worked. What else would she go by? And it was totally fun fighting in the Facemaker's revamping of her old Steel Canyon High uniform. What did she want to get there next? She changed her uniforms as often as she changed her socks. A girl just got restless sometimes. Hell, she even commissioned a cowgirl outfit, for fun.
Hero. Hero hero hero hero hero.
That's right. Getting off track. Hero-killing now, then costume and maybe sushi later. There was a kinda cute guy she met in Nerva anyway, who said he liked sushi. There was this restaurant in the Giza that had the absolute BEST, she'd have to get him to take her there, then maybe go Carnie-hunting later to the happy calliope music. Misty always liked how they screamed before they collapsed.
HERO. Hero. Focus.
Sneak sneak sneak...crouch down, fists glowing with pink energy, hero still oblivious...then BAM!
The hero went tumbling to the ground, knocked out cold but still alive. Misty smirked, channeling her very own life's energy into the next hit, to make it a decisive one that would definitely put the b---h down. She drew back her fist, glowing eyes narrowing--
--Only to find herself jerked backward by something or someone grabbing her ponytail, making her stumble a moment
His massive hand clenched more tightly around the long blonde ponytail; the brief pull at the roots of the Stalker's hair would give an appropriate glimpse of his strength-- though she already knew how much, and how exponentially, stronger the Brute was-- before he released it. As she whipped about to face him, he stepped between her and the fallen hero.
"What. The. F@#$." He found himself the recipient of an angry glare from glowing pink-red eyes. "That was totally MY hero, Ab, fair and square. Go find your own to kill."
Abhorrent absently loosened his necktie some, maintaining his cold and impassive facade as he kept himself between his fellow villain and the hero. His eyes narrowed behind the dark glasses, that in no way diminished the menacing look of the parallel claw-marks over one side of his face. Though he turned his face toward the scattering remnants of the Rogue Arachnos, his eyes remained on the young woman as she stood impatiently, chain-wrapped fists planted on her hips. There was nothing relaxed in his posture, though; the tension in his muscles, the steady, brief rise and fall of his massive chest, all spoke of an immense and barely coiled power, even though he refrained from his usual costume this time around.
He didn't wear the costume much these days...his heart hadn't been in it for a while now. Petty squabbles, useless threats, nefarious plots, blah blah blah. All the same. It had all started to run together into a long, senseless grind... But it had gotten him power. It had gotten him status. He was stronger than he'd ever been, stronger than most people ever lasted long enough to get. Strong enough to stand between Misty and an easy kill without fear.
Maybe not the smartest move. They were equally deadly, and he'd long since managed to master a good deal of his instability; the Stalker seemed to revel in her own, despite the medication she'd been given to calm it. So...standing between her and her chosen kill was perhaps not a smart move. But a necessary one.
He let his lips stretch into an easy, superior smirk, staring the young woman down. "I like this one. I think I'm going to find some private tunnels with her...maybe fire off my own rocket." He quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the hidden Longbow base he knew she'd targeted. "But you've got a mission to do."
Abhorrent watched Misty's features shift into a sullen frown. She even kicked a nearby rock. He knew what was going through her mind-- she was rather transparent. He knew she weighed the pros and cons of taking him on, knew she was trying to judge whether it was worth pitting her quick reflexes against one of his killing blows long enough to get in her own hits. He knew she stood a good chance of winning, if quick enough. But he also knew, as well as she, that such inside squabbling in their alliance could call down the wrath of the group's leader, Miss Anthropy. Neither of them liked the idea of being frozen and irradiated, particularly.
"Can't you, like, find some ****** in Port Oakes? I'll totally loan you the money if you need it. Gah. Someone always has to ruin my fun. Why's it have to be my hero? It's not fair." She glared up at him more.
He didn't move, nor change expression. He knew she'd back down-- it was a matter of sheer willpower at this point, and he had his greater age and experience behind him. She'd had a meteoric rise in the Rogue Isles, shooting from the absolute bottom to the highest possible threat level within a matter of months, and at the age of eighteen...but it meant she had far less time to acquire the experience of actually living. He was tougher in spirit than she was.
He stared back at her, and she backed down. Her features shifted from a frown to a pout, before she turned and flounced away. He heard her muttering curses as she leapt away, watching until she faded out of sight. Then it was a matter of making sure no others looked on, that there was no fresh squad of Rogue Arachnos nor other superpowered types around.
Once satisfied that they were relatively alone, he dropped to his knees beside the unconscious hero, taking only a moment to search her costume for the hidden emergency teleportation beacon he knew she wore. A flick of the thumb, and the device was turned off to ensure no interruptions. From there...all that was left to do was find that secluded, secret place.
Large arms slipped beneath her battered body, carefully lifting her up; he hesitated a moment, to look down at her and cradle her more closely to his chest. Keeping her safe and protected as a powerful push from his legs propelled them into the air.
This is a followup to "A Rock and a Hard Place" (recommended reading if you'd like to know more about why she's in this state of mind), and is the third story I've posted about Miss Nox and Abhorrent.
I'm pestering Abhorrent's player to write the next part. :-)
[[Author note: I tried to put the URL in for the other story but it wouldn't work for me in the final post, though it showed just fine in the preview.]]
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Warburg was unsettling. She just didn't like the thought of a place in which heroes attacked each other. Not that she didn't want to smack quite a few upside the head, but still...the 'free for all' notion that the place seemed to foster just didn't sit well with her, so she kept to the assigned missions. She didn't go stalking other heroes, but she'd defend herself if she had to. She just didn't like Warburg. Something about this place surely drove people mad.
But it kept one on one's toes, and that was a distraction Jessica-- Miss Nox needed right about now. Even with the lingering ache of her head, her body punishing her for yet another night's drinking binge, she needed this distraction.
She hadn't set foot in Bloody Bay since that blow-up with Frank-- no no, not Frank, Abhorrent, she reminded herself; she needed to try and establish more mental distance. There had been no manner of communication from him, either. (Though to be fair, she hadn't tried getting in touch recently.) She was admittedly afraid of what seeing him again would bring. Avoiding him so that there wouldn't be that closure of which she was afraid. Ironic, wasn't it? Trying to never see him, in the name of making sure nothing formally ended between them.
Sometimes even she found her own logic baffling.
Mind to the present, idiot hero, she reminded herself. Don't think about him. He's probably out...robbing a bank somewhere. Or, god forbid, beating up more Longbow...don't think about him, think about your mission here...
One by one she cracked her knuckles, crouched beneath a foot-bridge not far from the warehouse that was her destination. The footsteps of rogue Arachnos soldiers sounded nearby, their steady, unison beat accompanied by the shouting of a woman's voice issuing commands. Probably one of those Fortunatas, or whatever they called him. From another direction there came the quiet shifting of metal parts and the surprisingly quiet fall of metal arachnid feet on the pavement-- one of their giant robot spiders, whatever they were called.
Miss Nox wasn't worried about the rogue Arachnos. They could be a tough fight, but she'd thus far proven herself to be even tougher. The real worries came from the other superpowered sorts-- the villains, and to an extent, heroes. She hadn't yet gotten a launch code for one of the rockets in this zone, as it wasn't precisely a great concern of hers...besides, tugging one of those scientists around was like painting a bullseye on her back. Thanks, but no thanks.
She had wrapped herself in that cloak of familiar negative energy, that obscured her from sight except to those nearby; another moment of concentration let her calm and center herself enough to wrap her mind in a similar shield against the psionic attacks used by most Widows or those godawful Tarantula Mistresses. Then some energy shielding, against the soldiers and drones and the like...and she was as ready as she could be. The 'cloak' would let her get the first hit in before they knew she was there, which was to her advantage; it made her harder to hit when they wanted to retaliate. It had always frustrated Frank when they'd spar, and he'd find himself missing more than hitting--
Miss Nox kicked herself mentally. Again. A more fatalistic mindset started to set in, contradicting her earlier wishes for no definite ending. Stop thinking about him. He doesn't care, he's a criminal, you were just a nice, illicit thrill, Jess. He didn't go after you when you left, he didn't say he loved you too, he hasn't tried to get in touch, he probably found some-- some tramp in fishnets by now--
But was it true, or did she just make it up to at once torment herself and make herself feel better? Despite his criminal tendencies and occasional psychosis...he wasn't really that bad a guy. He'd brought her a little snowglobe pyramid bought for her in St. Martial, at the huge casino there. He always knew the right off-color jokes to make her sides ache from laughter. He was even willing to let her teach him how to dance, provided it was only done in private and no one else was told about it. Some of those nights they were together, he'd ramble on about his plans for eventual retirement, while she cuddled up to his side and listened. He was a criminal, but he'd been her criminal. It was easier to handle things if she tried to demonize him in her mind...
She squeezed her eyes shut, tightly. Now was the absolute worst time to get teary-eyed again. She hadn't made it to clearance level thirty-three by being a whiny baby-- it was time to pull herself together. What kind of hero would she be if she let a broken heart stop her? She couldn't imagine Manticore being stopped like that-- and he was, of all the Freedom Phalanx members, her personal hero. Her friend Tirador had once joked about getting her a bracelet that said, "WWMD?": What Would Manticore Do?
He'd do what needed to be done, that's what. Then later, after the job had been finished and it was time to rest, maybe think about the 'other' stuff...friends, former loves, and the like. Not that Jessica knew for certain, but it was what she imagined he'd do. And she could do the same. Just take her frustration out on the rogues, hit and hit and hit until they or she fell, ignoring the pain and stress on her body in the interest of showing these rogues that the heroes were not to be trifled with...
Her chosen battle-cry, its humorous undertones absent this time around, echoed in her mind; it was voiced not in a yell this time, but a hoarse whisper. Carpe noctem, b---hes.
Once again she cracked her knuckles, then darted out from under the sheltering bridge. Dark energy coiled around her fists as the pounding of her stiletto heels on the concrete matched the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Teeth clenched, red lips drawing back in almost a snarl as she threw herself in the middle of the group of rogue Arachnos.
A flurry of punches and one smashing uppercut took out the Blood Widow before her, while she felt the psionic bolt of a Tarantula Mistress shatter on her mental defenses. Two consecutive energy blasts-- or whatever it was that came out of the end of the mace she saw many soldiers carrying-- did edge past her dark armor to propel her a few steps forward. Her body automatically twisted, though, using the momentum to twirl in a spinning punch to the back of a soldier's neck, right below the helmet where his armor had a weaker point, propelling him into the red-hot, scythe-like 'arms' of a fire tarantula that had been moving in for the attack.
Her adrenaline was pumping, heart racing as she launched blow after blow at her opponents, every moment spent spinning and dodging and hitting. The air around her was smoky with the blue-black energy that poured from her very being, the heroic result of an experiment gone awry. The energy that was as much a part of her body and life as the blood rushing through her veins, that not only obscured her enemies' senses but allowed her to heal herself at their expense, and to provide herself a much-needed boost when it seemed as though her body was on the verge of giving out. She was moving almost instinctively, fighting with a single-minded determination on a level she had never before reached. In the midst of it all, a single thought-- a single concept-- penetrated her awareness.
I don't care what happens to me.
With that realization, the world took on a faint red tinge. Suddenly she was not merely fighting Arachnos militants gone rogue, she was fighting what she saw as the living embodiment of everything she hated, of her frustrations and her heartbreak. Whether she triumphed or she fell, she was fighting because she wanted to make someone hurt as much as did.
Tiny frustrations that had built up here and there, about anything and everything, exploded in this moment; for once, instead of suppressing her anger she embraced it and used it to her advantage. She let it fuel her blows, and with each hit made it seemed as though the next was that much more terrible.
Each punch represented a derisive comment from a fellow hero about some citizen or another, or a mocking smirk from some criminal who felt he was above the concept of basic human rights. Each kick was a statement from the elite about keeping their 'hard-earned wealth' while children at her own elementary school back in Kings Row studied obsolete books at broken desks. The spray of blood erupting when her fist was driven into a soldier's face was not simply for the victims 'harvested' by the minions of Vahzilok, but for the Crey experiments on living subjects being overlooked by those in power. The crunch of bone beneath the Fortunata's shattered helm was, finally, for him. Every frustration, every injustice, every inequality surged forth to be pounded into metallic parts and living flesh. Time seemed to be at a standstill.
It was her event horizon, that point of no return where everything afterward was suspended in that moment, in a place of unimaginable gravity. Pulled into that singularity of her undoing.
The blood of her enemies, through whom she had cut a swath like some sort of darkness-fueled tornado, mingled with her own in her mouth, the tastes identical. Only a very few of the rogues stood before her now, and she knew it was in part fear that kept them rooted in place at this point. That deer-in-headlights mentality that overtook the fight-or-flight response as they kept fighting, almost valiantly in their way. She had ridden that wave of rage-fueled adrenaline, and a tiny, horrified voice in her head wondered if this was how he felt when he fought.
She had exhausted herself; those few left could have a chance at finishing her off, even in her uncontrolled state. The leather and fabric of her red and violet uniform, commissioned only a few weeks ago at Icon, clung to her body in shreds. It didn't matter, though. None of it did. Jessica-- for she was more the woman than the hero now, there was very little 'heroic' about any of this-- was still pushing herself forward, surging toward those few remaining even as she felt her negative-energy armor thinning and dissipating with every step. The soldier before her barely had time to aim and fire at her--
--Before an unseen blow came from the side, to send her tumbling into unconsciousness.