What follows is the origin story (or the first part) for a character I made on Virtue just because I was amazed the name was still availible: Major Fox, Magic Origin Dual Blades/Willpower Scrapper. For her costume, she resembles a little bit of Wonder Woman and a little Steve Rogers. She stuck in my head a little, and this is what poured out instead.
Rebecca Fox was, to put it simply, annoyed. No. She was beyond annoyed. She was P.O.'d.
That was how she thought of it: P.O.'d. Not pissed off. She didn't get pissed off. She didn't get angry. She didn't have that liberty. If she tried, the men around her would just snicker when she turned her back, make a comment about why Fox was such a [censored], or chortle in a masculine manner about 'that-time-of-the-month'.
"Sergeant Wycowski?" She spoke the word a bit more sharply than she'd meant to, but at least she hadn't barked it at him like she'd wanted. The man, rather handsome in that Iowa farm boy way too many of these All-American wannabes had, trotted over and snapped off a salute, his face questioning. "Sergeant, why are those men moving that ordinance?"
"On route to Paragon City, Ma'am."
"Rhode Island? That's ridiculous. Why, exactly, do they need my battalion's firearms?" She squinted, wiping sweat drawn by desert sunlight from her brow.
"Following orders, Ma'am."
Fox huffed and dismissed the man. Her ordering him to stop wouldn't do any good; if they were moving that much weaponry, the orders came from higher than her. She didn't bother wasting her breath. Fine, she'd just need to check with Colonel Timms. It didn't seem right, shipping munitions and ammo FROM a military base abroad back stateside.
She didn't get ten feet down the hall before a private walked into her path, stopping her dead in her tracks. Anyone else might have avoided a fuming Major, but the private seemed oblivious. Fox opened her mouth to speak, but the young man beat her to the punch.
"Major? You have a phone call. A Vivian Fox."
Vivian Fox? Mother? Rebecca ground her teeth and stalked off to find the satphone she could use to take the call. Her mother should have known better; she'd set up specific times the woman was allowed to call, and none of them were scheduled when she was on Base.
When she picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver, she used the same voice she always used with her mother; annoyed, busy and suffering. "Yes, Mother?"
"You have to come home."
Rebecca let the words hang a moment, trying to give her mom a chance to further elaborate. When she didn't, Rebecca was forced to sigh and begin to make her excuses. "Mom, it's the middle of the week and, unless you missed the memo, I'm in Afghanistan! I can't just run off because you miss your little girl, or Dad and Grampa Jii are fighting again. Even right now, I'm in the middle of--"
"Your Grampa Jii is in the hospital." Rebecca's mother said, her voice, tinny and electronic through the phone line, effortlessly stopped Rebecca in her tracks. "The doctors say its cancer."
The phone hung limply in her fingers, her mother's words and continued explanations and plans lost against the shield of her own thoughts as she reflected to herself, 'I thought bad news was supposed to come on Mondays.'
-------------------
Grampa Jii was not, strictly speaking, Rebecca Fox's grandfather. She thought of him as her grandfather, but the name of his true relationship with her always managed to elude her. Grampa Jii was really her father's father's brother. Her Great Uncle, perhaps?
Anyway, Grampa Jii and his brother, Rebecca's real grandfather, Grandfather Jack, fought together in World War Two. They were in the same battalion and, as she grew up hearing Grampa Jii's stories, she felt she knew Grandfather Jack, even if she'd never met him. She knew the story of how Grandfather Jack had died, knew it like she'd been there. In fact, as a child, she'd had vivid dreams; she'd wake up, crying, sobbing that she hadn't been able to save Grandfather Jack again, telling Grampa Jii how sorry she was. But Grandfather Jack wasn't, to Rebecca, as real as Grampa Jii.
Grampa Jii had always been there. Every dance recital her mother had forced her to be in, Jii had sat in the audience. When she'd run for Student Council, at her father's insistence, Grandpa Jii had helped her make posters. It was Grampa Jii she wanted to make proud, running off to join the ROTC during college, against her parents' wishes, and gaining her commission after. If she'd had their permission and backing, she'd have gone to West Point. But they disagreed, as they had for every important event of her life, and she'd gone to the school they were willing to pay for. Grampa Jii, on the other hand, was who she thought of each time she'd gained a promotion, fighting tooth and nail to prove her worth every step of the way to becoming a Major. And she didn't plan to stop any time soon.
Grampa Jii, who had always seemed so vibrant, so full of life, lay in a hospital bed with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. This man, who had survived Nazi armies and so much else, betrayed by his own body as it ate itself and wasted away.
He was surrounded by extended family, myriad blood relations Rebecca knew mostly from stories; cousins and uncles and nephews. It was a tight fit in the small hospital room, so it seemed many of the wives and aunts and sisters had remained in the lobby. Rebecca had taken a place by his head, kneeling on the floor and offering him ice chips when he beckoned.
Grampa Jii took a long time, basking in the regard of his family as they discussed amongst themselves, before he spoke.
"I believe we all know why we're all here. I have certain objects which need to be disposed of, seen to the proper hands, before I pass on." Rebecca, in fact, knew nothing of the sort. It seemed rather morbid to have the dying man read his own will, but Jii never was one to do things in their proper order. The others in the room didn't seem to share Rebecca's failings; they knew and eagerly awaited what would come next.
Grampa Jii drew in a long, shuddering breath and continued, "I name Rebecca Jacqueline Fox my successor and bequeath upon her the Swords Chrysaor."
Though the words meant nothing to Rebecca, the room erupted into chaos; Rebecca's brothers and cousins shouted, pointing fingers and recriminations as her mother sobbed and broke down crying. Her father was the strongest, though, and his broke through if all with cold insistence, "You have no right! She's just--"
"I HAVE EVERY RIGHT!" Grampa Jii bellowed, instantly shutting down all the squabbles and grumbling in the room. Everyone went silent, turning to look at the frail old man who'd instantly shut them up as if he could take them each over his knee in turn.
"David," Jii glared as he spoke, a fire burning in his eyes that no war and no disease could ever kill, "You have fought me every step of the way your entire life, David, but you will not win this fight. Rebecca is my successor, and she is the only one among you I trust to protect these blades with her life."
"She still has to agree," one of Jii's sons said softly.
"And she won't!" David Fox insisted triumphantly. "She doesn't even know what you're asking of her!"
"And who's fault is that, David?!" Jii demanded as he placed his hands on his hospital mattress, shifting his feather weight forward with muscles being eaten by cancer, his elevated heart rate showing on the monitors around the room. "You're the one who refused to let me teach her!"
"I'm not about to lose--"
"I accept," Rebecca interrupted.
Her voice came so softly that, at first, only Jii and Rebecca's mother seemed to notice. So Rebecca furrowed her brow and said it again.
"I accept."
"Becca! Darlin'," her father said, kneeling next to her, "You don't want this. You don't know what you're agreeing to."
"It doesn't matter. Grampa Jii wants me to do this, so I will."
"To spite me," David Fox said harshly.
Rebecca merely shook her head and turned her eyes to look on Grampa Jii's wasted form, his eyes the only part of him that still seemed filled with life.
Life, and trust, and pride. Pride in her.
"Because of him."
"As it has been said and witnessed, let it be. Rebecca Jacqueline Fox is the wielder and protector of the Swords Chrysaor and is granted all the rights and protections that duty entails."
The room was silent a heartbeat longer before the shouts and recriminations began again; this time only Jii and Rebecca remained silent.
------------------------
Rebecca slipped away as soon as she could find a chance, and shut off her cellphone when it seemed they realized she'd left. Swords. Rights, protections. Duties. The family had jabbered on for hours until even Grampa Jii had fallen asleep. It was a long walk back to the hotel in Atlas Park, so she decided to jog the distance.
"What's your rush, Sweet Thing?" The crooning call came from an alley as she jogged past. Rebecca, no fool, didn't bother to slow down, ignoring the catcall until a handful of men, dressed in black leather and red stepped out in her path.
She drew up short, muscles tensed. Three ahead, two behind. Her hand went for her gun, only to mumble an oath when she recalled she was stateside, and in her civvies. She wasn't carrying a weapon.
"Gentlemen, if you're looking for money," she raised her hands to show them, empty, at the cluster of men. "No purse."
"There's always other things we can do," one said with a wide grin. "Wanna be a Hellion Girlfriend?"
Fox's nose wrinkled. "The idea does not appeal." So saying, she spoke another single word, flinging a silver-blue light at the 'Hellion'. An apprentice charm. Grampa Jii, a man of his word, abided by her father's rules that she not be taught magic, but that didn't mean he'd let his granddaughter go without making sure she'd learned to defend herself almost as soon as she could read. Rebecca turned and ran, her sneakers hitting the asphalt before she even knew if her spell hit or not.
She counted off the seconds the surprise gave her, each one meaning more yards put between her and them before they began to give chase. Four, five. Better than she'd expected. The cry went up, hoots and hollers followed, and they were after her.
Rebecca weighed her options. She could run down the street, level and even, and hope a hero spotted her before they could overtake her; this was Paragon City. Things like that happen there. Or she could dive into the alleyways, try to lose them; divide and conquer. But not only did that make it less likely she'd be seen by any potential rescuers, and she wasn't too proud to admit she could use one, but they were locals, they'd know the alleys better than she would. So, option three: make them earn it.
She ran towards the sidewalk, scrambling around the corner of the building to leap and climb up a fire escape, launching herself as quickly as she could for the rooftops. A grin came to her lips as she saw them below, sending some off around the other side of the building as a few tried to climb the fire escape and chase after. They could barely reach it; more time. She read the skyline and took off across the rooftops, leaping over the gaps between them with minimal effort. Those miles she'd been running were beginning to pay off.
Fox didn't banter back at them, controlling her breathing for the exertion ahead, and, soon, the Hellions stopped cursing and catcalling after her at all. Instead, they doggedly gave chase across the rooftops, and along the streets as best they could. Running out of usable roof space, Rebecca knew she'd have to find a way to end the chase soon. 'Why,' she wondered, 'is there never a hero around when you need one?'
She ran another direction, sending the street pursuers down an alley, and doubled back. Diving off the rooftop, Rebecca's hands caught at the frame of an awning, using it to swing down and drive herself down on top of one of the Hellions, her knees slamming hard into his back to cushion her own landing. She snatched up his baseball bat as he went down, bouncing back to her feet and swinging it, two-handed, into the stomach of another. As he doubled over, she brought the bat down with a solid 'thwock!' sound on the back of his head. She took a moment to be sure she hadn't cracked his skull and took off again.
"C'mon, c'mon..." She panted, beginning to feel the exertion of the evening, the running and the fear and the worry for Grampa Jii. She'd never felt more tired in her life, but she couldn't stop. God only knew what they'd do if they caught her after all she'd done. Killing her would be too easy.
That was when the catcalls started up again; she could hear them, between the buildings. She ran, feeling like she was trapped in a maze, running this way and that.
It was only when she saw the man in the demonface mask that she knew she'd been herded.
"Hey, Babe. Name's Burnscar." There was an inrush of air as flames snapped into existance around the masked man's hands and Rebecca threw herself to the side just in time to avoid being barbecued by a gout of flames from his fingertips.
"I'll be sure to remember it," she said between panting gasps for air, glad for the existence of the guy who owned all the dumpsters in Paragon City. A chorus of chuckles came from the Hellions in the shadows; they'd watch Burnscar have his fun, get their revenge for them.
"You caused my boys a lot of trouble tonight," Burnscar said amicably as he walked towards her, getting ready to throw another round of flares. Or maybe he'd breathe fire on her; he hadn't decided yet. "You gots to pay the piper, Baby. Way of the world."
"Can't say as I much like your world!" Rebecca dove out of her cover, throwing the bat at the Damned and running away down the alley. Burnscar snapped up her bat in one hand, incinerating it as he raised his other to raise the temperature around them, paper around the escaping woman bursting into flame and driving her to stop.
"Neither do I, baby. That's why I'm fixing to change the whole shebang. Once me and my crew summon a powerful enough demon, we're gonna change the whole world."
"I don't suppose you could try an Adopt-a-Highway program instead?" Sighing, finding it harder to breathe in the increased heat, Rebecca remembered what she knew about the Hellions. They supposedly claimed Atlas Park as their territory, and she'd always wondered how they could manage to hold an area frequented by so many heroes and police and lawmakers. Now she knew. Ferocity. Tenacity. Numbers - prodigious numbers - and more than a little demonic backing.
"You should join us. Seems like you got a little bit of mojo going on yourself, if my boys tell me true."
Rebecca leaned against the wall, the heat getting to her. "W-why?"
"Why join us?" The Damned seemed confused a moment. "We're gonna change the world, Baby. Also, probably kill you if you don't."
"N-no... I mean, why did Grampa Jii and Grandfather Jack get to fight Nazis, real evil, and I'm stuck with a dime store demon-worshipping Machiavelli?"
Burnscar was silent a moment. "That's a no, then?"
"My soul has a previous engagement, I'm afraid," she surreptitiously spoke the spell word to cast her charm again, and threw it. Burnscar's hand swept up, intending to catch and burn the small object, but it landed on his palm, unaffected by the demonic flames, and burned against his flesh. He cried out, and Rebecca took that moment to rush the distance between them, golden swords appearing in her hands as she came closer. Like magic.
She hadn't wanted to use the swords; she'd known how to call on them from the moment she'd accepted their power and responsibility. She'd thought to protect them by keeping them hidden. It didn't seem she could manage that anymore. She swiped one blade across each of his arms; painful, yes, but not enough to kill. Power hummed along her arms and the swords struck with unnatural skill and precision, though Rebecca had never touched them before.
With a flurry of flashing golden blades, Burnscar was laid low. Rebecca turned, waiting for the others to come at her from the shadows, but they'd fled long before she'd finished with their boss. She willed the blades away again and the Swords Chrysaor did as their protector desired. Tired and drained, Rebecca leaned against the wall and pulled out her cellphone. She turned it on, called the Paragon Police Department, then hid herself in a dumpster to nap until the authorities arrived.
---------------------
Rebecca Fox sat in a cell in the Kings Row jail for nearly two hours before anyone came for her. She'd been found in a dumpster, questioned and detained for "unlawful heroing" or some such nonsense. Saving her life using a mystical artifact bound to her soul was illegal now? Unusual, sure, maybe, but illegal?
She was taken to a conference room and given a cup of coffee. She asked if she could have her shoes back because her feet were cold, but the officer on duty shrugged and asked if extra sugar would be acceptable. Rebecca said it was and, for a moment, contemplated building new shoes, paper shoes, out of sugar packets. Around then was when a man in a US Army uniform and General's epaulets walked in.
Fox stood at attention, out of long habit, and tried to snap a salute, but her hands were cuffed to the conference table.
"At ease, Fox. General Jackson. Quite a pickle you've landed yourself in." Jackson was a tall man, barrel-chested and shaved to a smooth, shining baldness. Rebecca, in some small part of her mind, wondered if she, were she to stand behind him, would be able to see her reflection in his chocolate brown skin.
"I didn't do anything, sir! I was just defending myself!"
"With a... magical sword, was it?"
"Well, yes, sort of."
"Mm. I see. Well. Not to worry, Major. All this can be settled quite easily." He pulled out a folder, opening it and sliding it over the table to Rebecca. "Just sign here, here, and initial here."
Her eyes scanned the paper as she picked up a pen. She was halfway through the first signature when she thought to read what she was signing.
"Hero's license, sir?" She boggled, looking up to the General.
"Right. You sign that, no more worries with illegal heroing."
Rebecca thought that sounded more than fair and signed twice, initialing where indicated.
"Good," General Jackson said, taking the paper back from her. "You'll report for reassignment at my office tomorrow morning."
"Reassignment?!" Rebecca spluttered.
"Of course. You're the property of the US Army, and a registered superhero. We're going to put you to work, Major."
What follows is the origin story (or the first part) for a character I made on Virtue just because I was amazed the name was still availible: Major Fox, Magic Origin Dual Blades/Willpower Scrapper. For her costume, she resembles a little bit of Wonder Woman and a little Steve Rogers. She stuck in my head a little, and this is what poured out instead.
Rebecca Fox was, to put it simply, annoyed. No. She was beyond annoyed. She was P.O.'d.
That was how she thought of it: P.O.'d. Not pissed off. She didn't get pissed off. She didn't get angry. She didn't have that liberty. If she tried, the men around her would just snicker when she turned her back, make a comment about why Fox was such a [censored], or chortle in a masculine manner about 'that-time-of-the-month'.
"Sergeant Wycowski?" She spoke the word a bit more sharply than she'd meant to, but at least she hadn't barked it at him like she'd wanted. The man, rather handsome in that Iowa farm boy way too many of these All-American wannabes had, trotted over and snapped off a salute, his face questioning. "Sergeant, why are those men moving that ordinance?"
"On route to Paragon City, Ma'am."
"Rhode Island? That's ridiculous. Why, exactly, do they need my battalion's firearms?" She squinted, wiping sweat drawn by desert sunlight from her brow.
"Following orders, Ma'am."
Fox huffed and dismissed the man. Her ordering him to stop wouldn't do any good; if they were moving that much weaponry, the orders came from higher than her. She didn't bother wasting her breath. Fine, she'd just need to check with Colonel Timms. It didn't seem right, shipping munitions and ammo FROM a military base abroad back stateside.
She didn't get ten feet down the hall before a private walked into her path, stopping her dead in her tracks. Anyone else might have avoided a fuming Major, but the private seemed oblivious. Fox opened her mouth to speak, but the young man beat her to the punch.
"Major? You have a phone call. A Vivian Fox."
Vivian Fox? Mother? Rebecca ground her teeth and stalked off to find the satphone she could use to take the call. Her mother should have known better; she'd set up specific times the woman was allowed to call, and none of them were scheduled when she was on Base.
When she picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver, she used the same voice she always used with her mother; annoyed, busy and suffering. "Yes, Mother?"
"You have to come home."
Rebecca let the words hang a moment, trying to give her mom a chance to further elaborate. When she didn't, Rebecca was forced to sigh and begin to make her excuses. "Mom, it's the middle of the week and, unless you missed the memo, I'm in Afghanistan! I can't just run off because you miss your little girl, or Dad and Grampa Jii are fighting again. Even right now, I'm in the middle of--"
"Your Grampa Jii is in the hospital." Rebecca's mother said, her voice, tinny and electronic through the phone line, effortlessly stopped Rebecca in her tracks. "The doctors say its cancer."
The phone hung limply in her fingers, her mother's words and continued explanations and plans lost against the shield of her own thoughts as she reflected to herself, 'I thought bad news was supposed to come on Mondays.'
-------------------
Grampa Jii was not, strictly speaking, Rebecca Fox's grandfather. She thought of him as her grandfather, but the name of his true relationship with her always managed to elude her. Grampa Jii was really her father's father's brother. Her Great Uncle, perhaps?
Anyway, Grampa Jii and his brother, Rebecca's real grandfather, Grandfather Jack, fought together in World War Two. They were in the same battalion and, as she grew up hearing Grampa Jii's stories, she felt she knew Grandfather Jack, even if she'd never met him. She knew the story of how Grandfather Jack had died, knew it like she'd been there. In fact, as a child, she'd had vivid dreams; she'd wake up, crying, sobbing that she hadn't been able to save Grandfather Jack again, telling Grampa Jii how sorry she was. But Grandfather Jack wasn't, to Rebecca, as real as Grampa Jii.
Grampa Jii had always been there. Every dance recital her mother had forced her to be in, Jii had sat in the audience. When she'd run for Student Council, at her father's insistence, Grandpa Jii had helped her make posters. It was Grampa Jii she wanted to make proud, running off to join the ROTC during college, against her parents' wishes, and gaining her commission after. If she'd had their permission and backing, she'd have gone to West Point. But they disagreed, as they had for every important event of her life, and she'd gone to the school they were willing to pay for. Grampa Jii, on the other hand, was who she thought of each time she'd gained a promotion, fighting tooth and nail to prove her worth every step of the way to becoming a Major. And she didn't plan to stop any time soon.
Grampa Jii, who had always seemed so vibrant, so full of life, lay in a hospital bed with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. This man, who had survived Nazi armies and so much else, betrayed by his own body as it ate itself and wasted away.
He was surrounded by extended family, myriad blood relations Rebecca knew mostly from stories; cousins and uncles and nephews. It was a tight fit in the small hospital room, so it seemed many of the wives and aunts and sisters had remained in the lobby. Rebecca had taken a place by his head, kneeling on the floor and offering him ice chips when he beckoned.
Grampa Jii took a long time, basking in the regard of his family as they discussed amongst themselves, before he spoke.
"I believe we all know why we're all here. I have certain objects which need to be disposed of, seen to the proper hands, before I pass on." Rebecca, in fact, knew nothing of the sort. It seemed rather morbid to have the dying man read his own will, but Jii never was one to do things in their proper order. The others in the room didn't seem to share Rebecca's failings; they knew and eagerly awaited what would come next.
Grampa Jii drew in a long, shuddering breath and continued, "I name Rebecca Jacqueline Fox my successor and bequeath upon her the Swords Chrysaor."
Though the words meant nothing to Rebecca, the room erupted into chaos; Rebecca's brothers and cousins shouted, pointing fingers and recriminations as her mother sobbed and broke down crying. Her father was the strongest, though, and his broke through if all with cold insistence, "You have no right! She's just--"
"I HAVE EVERY RIGHT!" Grampa Jii bellowed, instantly shutting down all the squabbles and grumbling in the room. Everyone went silent, turning to look at the frail old man who'd instantly shut them up as if he could take them each over his knee in turn.
"David," Jii glared as he spoke, a fire burning in his eyes that no war and no disease could ever kill, "You have fought me every step of the way your entire life, David, but you will not win this fight. Rebecca is my successor, and she is the only one among you I trust to protect these blades with her life."
"She still has to agree," one of Jii's sons said softly.
"And she won't!" David Fox insisted triumphantly. "She doesn't even know what you're asking of her!"
"And who's fault is that, David?!" Jii demanded as he placed his hands on his hospital mattress, shifting his feather weight forward with muscles being eaten by cancer, his elevated heart rate showing on the monitors around the room. "You're the one who refused to let me teach her!"
"I'm not about to lose--"
"I accept," Rebecca interrupted.
Her voice came so softly that, at first, only Jii and Rebecca's mother seemed to notice. So Rebecca furrowed her brow and said it again.
"I accept."
"Becca! Darlin'," her father said, kneeling next to her, "You don't want this. You don't know what you're agreeing to."
"It doesn't matter. Grampa Jii wants me to do this, so I will."
"To spite me," David Fox said harshly.
Rebecca merely shook her head and turned her eyes to look on Grampa Jii's wasted form, his eyes the only part of him that still seemed filled with life.
Life, and trust, and pride. Pride in her.
"Because of him."
"As it has been said and witnessed, let it be. Rebecca Jacqueline Fox is the wielder and protector of the Swords Chrysaor and is granted all the rights and protections that duty entails."
The room was silent a heartbeat longer before the shouts and recriminations began again; this time only Jii and Rebecca remained silent.
------------------------
Rebecca slipped away as soon as she could find a chance, and shut off her cellphone when it seemed they realized she'd left. Swords. Rights, protections. Duties. The family had jabbered on for hours until even Grampa Jii had fallen asleep. It was a long walk back to the hotel in Atlas Park, so she decided to jog the distance.
"What's your rush, Sweet Thing?" The crooning call came from an alley as she jogged past. Rebecca, no fool, didn't bother to slow down, ignoring the catcall until a handful of men, dressed in black leather and red stepped out in her path.
She drew up short, muscles tensed. Three ahead, two behind. Her hand went for her gun, only to mumble an oath when she recalled she was stateside, and in her civvies. She wasn't carrying a weapon.
"Gentlemen, if you're looking for money," she raised her hands to show them, empty, at the cluster of men. "No purse."
"There's always other things we can do," one said with a wide grin. "Wanna be a Hellion Girlfriend?"
Fox's nose wrinkled. "The idea does not appeal." So saying, she spoke another single word, flinging a silver-blue light at the 'Hellion'. An apprentice charm. Grampa Jii, a man of his word, abided by her father's rules that she not be taught magic, but that didn't mean he'd let his granddaughter go without making sure she'd learned to defend herself almost as soon as she could read. Rebecca turned and ran, her sneakers hitting the asphalt before she even knew if her spell hit or not.
She counted off the seconds the surprise gave her, each one meaning more yards put between her and them before they began to give chase. Four, five. Better than she'd expected. The cry went up, hoots and hollers followed, and they were after her.
Rebecca weighed her options. She could run down the street, level and even, and hope a hero spotted her before they could overtake her; this was Paragon City. Things like that happen there. Or she could dive into the alleyways, try to lose them; divide and conquer. But not only did that make it less likely she'd be seen by any potential rescuers, and she wasn't too proud to admit she could use one, but they were locals, they'd know the alleys better than she would. So, option three: make them earn it.
She ran towards the sidewalk, scrambling around the corner of the building to leap and climb up a fire escape, launching herself as quickly as she could for the rooftops. A grin came to her lips as she saw them below, sending some off around the other side of the building as a few tried to climb the fire escape and chase after. They could barely reach it; more time. She read the skyline and took off across the rooftops, leaping over the gaps between them with minimal effort. Those miles she'd been running were beginning to pay off.
Fox didn't banter back at them, controlling her breathing for the exertion ahead, and, soon, the Hellions stopped cursing and catcalling after her at all. Instead, they doggedly gave chase across the rooftops, and along the streets as best they could. Running out of usable roof space, Rebecca knew she'd have to find a way to end the chase soon. 'Why,' she wondered, 'is there never a hero around when you need one?'
She ran another direction, sending the street pursuers down an alley, and doubled back. Diving off the rooftop, Rebecca's hands caught at the frame of an awning, using it to swing down and drive herself down on top of one of the Hellions, her knees slamming hard into his back to cushion her own landing. She snatched up his baseball bat as he went down, bouncing back to her feet and swinging it, two-handed, into the stomach of another. As he doubled over, she brought the bat down with a solid 'thwock!' sound on the back of his head. She took a moment to be sure she hadn't cracked his skull and took off again.
"C'mon, c'mon..." She panted, beginning to feel the exertion of the evening, the running and the fear and the worry for Grampa Jii. She'd never felt more tired in her life, but she couldn't stop. God only knew what they'd do if they caught her after all she'd done. Killing her would be too easy.
That was when the catcalls started up again; she could hear them, between the buildings. She ran, feeling like she was trapped in a maze, running this way and that.
It was only when she saw the man in the demonface mask that she knew she'd been herded.
"Hey, Babe. Name's Burnscar." There was an inrush of air as flames snapped into existance around the masked man's hands and Rebecca threw herself to the side just in time to avoid being barbecued by a gout of flames from his fingertips.
"I'll be sure to remember it," she said between panting gasps for air, glad for the existence of the guy who owned all the dumpsters in Paragon City. A chorus of chuckles came from the Hellions in the shadows; they'd watch Burnscar have his fun, get their revenge for them.
"You caused my boys a lot of trouble tonight," Burnscar said amicably as he walked towards her, getting ready to throw another round of flares. Or maybe he'd breathe fire on her; he hadn't decided yet. "You gots to pay the piper, Baby. Way of the world."
"Can't say as I much like your world!" Rebecca dove out of her cover, throwing the bat at the Damned and running away down the alley. Burnscar snapped up her bat in one hand, incinerating it as he raised his other to raise the temperature around them, paper around the escaping woman bursting into flame and driving her to stop.
"Neither do I, baby. That's why I'm fixing to change the whole shebang. Once me and my crew summon a powerful enough demon, we're gonna change the whole world."
"I don't suppose you could try an Adopt-a-Highway program instead?" Sighing, finding it harder to breathe in the increased heat, Rebecca remembered what she knew about the Hellions. They supposedly claimed Atlas Park as their territory, and she'd always wondered how they could manage to hold an area frequented by so many heroes and police and lawmakers. Now she knew. Ferocity. Tenacity. Numbers - prodigious numbers - and more than a little demonic backing.
"You should join us. Seems like you got a little bit of mojo going on yourself, if my boys tell me true."
Rebecca leaned against the wall, the heat getting to her. "W-why?"
"Why join us?" The Damned seemed confused a moment. "We're gonna change the world, Baby. Also, probably kill you if you don't."
"N-no... I mean, why did Grampa Jii and Grandfather Jack get to fight Nazis, real evil, and I'm stuck with a dime store demon-worshipping Machiavelli?"
Burnscar was silent a moment. "That's a no, then?"
"My soul has a previous engagement, I'm afraid," she surreptitiously spoke the spell word to cast her charm again, and threw it. Burnscar's hand swept up, intending to catch and burn the small object, but it landed on his palm, unaffected by the demonic flames, and burned against his flesh. He cried out, and Rebecca took that moment to rush the distance between them, golden swords appearing in her hands as she came closer. Like magic.
She hadn't wanted to use the swords; she'd known how to call on them from the moment she'd accepted their power and responsibility. She'd thought to protect them by keeping them hidden. It didn't seem she could manage that anymore. She swiped one blade across each of his arms; painful, yes, but not enough to kill. Power hummed along her arms and the swords struck with unnatural skill and precision, though Rebecca had never touched them before.
With a flurry of flashing golden blades, Burnscar was laid low. Rebecca turned, waiting for the others to come at her from the shadows, but they'd fled long before she'd finished with their boss. She willed the blades away again and the Swords Chrysaor did as their protector desired. Tired and drained, Rebecca leaned against the wall and pulled out her cellphone. She turned it on, called the Paragon Police Department, then hid herself in a dumpster to nap until the authorities arrived.
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Rebecca Fox sat in a cell in the Kings Row jail for nearly two hours before anyone came for her. She'd been found in a dumpster, questioned and detained for "unlawful heroing" or some such nonsense. Saving her life using a mystical artifact bound to her soul was illegal now? Unusual, sure, maybe, but illegal?
She was taken to a conference room and given a cup of coffee. She asked if she could have her shoes back because her feet were cold, but the officer on duty shrugged and asked if extra sugar would be acceptable. Rebecca said it was and, for a moment, contemplated building new shoes, paper shoes, out of sugar packets. Around then was when a man in a US Army uniform and General's epaulets walked in.
Fox stood at attention, out of long habit, and tried to snap a salute, but her hands were cuffed to the conference table.
"At ease, Fox. General Jackson. Quite a pickle you've landed yourself in." Jackson was a tall man, barrel-chested and shaved to a smooth, shining baldness. Rebecca, in some small part of her mind, wondered if she, were she to stand behind him, would be able to see her reflection in his chocolate brown skin.
"I didn't do anything, sir! I was just defending myself!"
"With a... magical sword, was it?"
"Well, yes, sort of."
"Mm. I see. Well. Not to worry, Major. All this can be settled quite easily." He pulled out a folder, opening it and sliding it over the table to Rebecca. "Just sign here, here, and initial here."
Her eyes scanned the paper as she picked up a pen. She was halfway through the first signature when she thought to read what she was signing.
"Hero's license, sir?" She boggled, looking up to the General.
"Right. You sign that, no more worries with illegal heroing."
Rebecca thought that sounded more than fair and signed twice, initialing where indicated.
"Good," General Jackson said, taking the paper back from her. "You'll report for reassignment at my office tomorrow morning."
"Reassignment?!" Rebecca spluttered.
"Of course. You're the property of the US Army, and a registered superhero. We're going to put you to work, Major."