The alley was dark.
Dark as two buildings were blocking the sun and the overhead light seemed broken.
It was the kind of dark that made you squint, that made shadows look like people, that made every sound echo just a little too much.
I'd barely taken three steps in when the air moved.
Rather than a wind it was a short breeze. The sort of breeze that happens when something fast cuts through the space your head used to occupy.
*WOOSH!*
"Fuck—!"
I jerked backward, my neck snapping to the side. Bucky's claws—those sharp, yellowed, rat-like nails that he kept filed to points—sliced through the air where my face had been a split second ago. Close enough that I felt the wind from the swipe. Close enough that one of his nails caught a strand of my hair and cut it clean.
"Huh?!" Bucky's eyes went wide. His rat-like face contorted with confusion, his pink nose twitching furiously. "How the hell did you—"
"Dodged. Obviously."
"What?! No, that's—Blank's can't—"
"I said, dodged. Are you deaf too? That would explain a lot, actually. Probably all those years of your mom screaming through thin walls."
"SHUT UP!"
He lunged again. This time faster, lower, aiming for my stomach with those claws of his. His body moved with that weird, scuttling speed that his rat traits gave him. Not as fast as a speedster, but fast like a rodent, quick and jerky and unpredictable.
Being honest, I could've ended it right there.
I had Gravity Negation. I can just lift him up, send him into the wall, and it will be over. Thirty seconds maximum.
But I didn't want to do that. Not yet.
Because this was the first time I was going to hit someone. Actually hit someone. Not get hit. Not curl up and take it. Not lie on the ground and wait for it to be over.
Hit. Someone.
And I wanted to feel it. On him.
Wait, that was kinda gay—
*WOOSH!*
Bucky's claws came at my face again. This time, instead of dodging sideways, I dropped low and activated my speed.
I always wondered what did a 120 kilometers per hour punch feels like...
I was about to find out.
My fist connected with his face before he even realized I'd moved.
*CRACK!*
The sound was... visceral. Wet. Dense. Like hitting a watermelon with a bat. I felt his cheekbone give way under my knuckles, felt the bone crack and shift, felt the flesh deform around my fist as the force of the impact traveled through his skull and rattled his brain.
Bucky's head snapped to the side. His whole body followed—spinning, twisting, his feet leaving the ground for a moment before he crashed back down. He stumbled backward, hitting the alley wall with a dull thud, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
"..."
I looked at my fist.
My knuckles were red. Not broken—thank you, Enigma enhancement—but red. Sore. The skin was split in one place, and I could feel the bruise already forming underneath. Get faster updates on novelping . com.
It hurt.
But it also felt... good. Really, really good.
"Hk... ghk..." Bucky was making these wet, choking sounds, his head lolling to one side. Blood was pouring from his nose—his twisted, crooked nose that was now pointing about fifteen degrees to the left of where it used to be. His cheek was swelling rapidly, the skin turning purple and black. One of his teeth was on the ground.
He looked at me. His rat-like eyes were hazy, unfocused, struggling to process what had just happened.
"What the..." he slurred, blood dripping from his lips. "What the fuck was that...?"
"Speed," I said simply.
"Speed...?" He blinked, trying to clear his vision. "You... you're a speedster? Since when? You were a Blank. You were always a Blank. I... I checked your ID. It said BLANK. BLANK in big fucking letters."
"It's called Late awakening. It happens."
"Late awakening? That's—that's bullshit! I know better than anyone that you can't just—"
"Meh. I just did. Deal with it."
Bucky stared at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, a bloody grin spread across his broken face.
"...Heh."
"What?"
"Heh. Hehehe. Hahaha!"
He started laughing. Blood sprayed from his lips with each exhale, spattering the ground in front of him. His shoulders shook, his claws clicked against the wall behind him, and he laughed like a maniac in the dark alley.
"That's... that's great, Noel. That's really great." He wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "You got powers. Good for you. You know what that changes?"
"Enlighten me?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing. It changes nothing." He pushed himself off the wall, swaying but standing. His eyes were still hazy, but there was something behind them—a burning, stubborn, pathetic defiance. "I'm still gonna bully you. I'm still gonna take your money. I'm still gonna make your life hell. You think one punch changes anything? Jack beats me up harder than that when he's bored."
"..."
Jesus Christ man. You really need better friends.
He laughed again. "Your power is speed? So what? I've got speed too. And claws. And senses. And I've been fighting since I was twelve. You've never been in a fight in your life." He raised his hands, claws extended, blood dripping from his fingertips. "You got lucky with that punch. Next time, I won't miss."
"Bucky, you're literally standing in a puddle of your own blood right now. Maybe take the L and—"
"SHUT UP!" He lunged.
Not at my face this time. Not at my stomach. At my throat.
His claws came in fast as a blur of yellowed keratin aimed directly at my jugular. I saw it coming, activated my speed to dodge, but I wasn't fast enough. Or rather, I was fast enough to save my life, but not fast enough to escape unscathed.
*SLICE!*
"Ngh—!"
Pain. Sharp, burning pain along the side of my neck. I felt the skin part, felt the warm rush of blood down my collar. Not deep enough to hit the artery—I'd moved just enough—but deep enough to hurt. Deep enough to bleed a little l.
His claws came away red.
Bucky grinned, his bloody teeth gleaming in the dim light. "See? Told you. Luck. You're not a fighter, Noel. You're just a Blank who got—"
All of it. Completely. The way I'd done to the thugs in the alley. The way I'd done to Diana Mercer on the rooftop.
Bucky's feet left the ground.
"Wh—what?!" His arms windmilled, his claws slashing at empty air. He was floating. Well, drifting would be the better word. Moving upward in a slow, steady arc, just like the thugs had. His body was weightless, untethered, moving in whatever direction physics had last sent him.
Which was toward me.
I sidestepped as he drifted past, his claws missing me by a foot. He was moving slowly now—maybe two or three kilometers per hour—but he couldn't stop, couldn't change direction, couldn't do anything except flail and scream.
"WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!"
"Gravity negation," I said, walking alongside him as he drifted. "I turned it off. For you specifically. You have no weight now. No downward pull. You're just... moving. In a straight line. Forever."
"WHAT!? STOP IT! PUT ME DOWN!"
"Okay."
I adjusted the angle. Slightly. Just enough to change his trajectory from "drifting upward" to "drifting toward the brick wall at the end of the alley."
"Wait—NOEL! NOEL, DON'T—!"
*CRACK!*
His head hit the wall.
In a fast , steady, inevitable collision. His skull met the brick at maybe twenty kilometers per hour. Just bone against brick.
"---HK!!!"
His eyes rolled back. His body went limp. He slid down the wall as gravity started reasserting itself the moment I released the negation, and crumpled onto the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
He didn't get up after that.
"..."
I stood there, looking down at him. His face was a mess—swollen, bloody, twisted. His nose was broken. His cheekbone was fractured. The back of his head had a dent in it where it had met the wall. Blood was pooling beneath him, mixing with the alley water.
Well... I don't think I killed him...
He was breathing. Shallow, irregular breaths, but breathing.
"..."
I touched my neck. The scratch was still bleeding, but not badly. I'd need a bandage or something.
I looked at Bucky one more time.
Then I crouched down, grabbed his wrist, and held it for a moment.
[Skin contact established.]
[Gen 2 parasite ready for deployment.]
[Deploy?]
"...Not yet."
I let go of his wrist and stood up.
I had a plan for him.