Manic Pixie Girl.
Looking up from Paul Onion, her eyes narrowed. "You hurt Big Daddy. Now I'm gonna kill ya!"
Using her mech-arms, she ran on her knuckles like a gorilla. Spitfire narrowly avoided a punch from a fist half the size of her entire body. It struck the body of the truck, buckling the siding like a cheap aluminum can with a crunching sound.
Manic Pixie Girl shrieked. "Stand still so I can tear your arms off!"
Spitfire responded by switching her wrist rockets to pulse rounds, firing while leaping backward. Manic Pixie Girl blocked with her massive arms, easily shielding herself from the volleys. Then with a savage grin, she slammed her fingers into the concrete, breaking off huge chunks and hurling them.
"Die, die, die!"
Spitfire dodged and somersaulted, narrowly avoiding the first jagged pieces. A third slab slammed into her side. She threw up an arm and heard something crunch; felt pain flare so intensely that she nearly screamed. One arm hung uselessly as she scrambled, gritting her teeth against the pain. Manic Pixie Girl shrieked with laughter when she rushed forward, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Spitfire tapped the DETONATE button on her arm panel. The bomb had slid near the front of the truck, blowing the grill and engine apart in a mushrooming cloud of fire. The force slammed into Manic Pixie Girl's back, bowling her over.
Backburn hummed as it cleared the ledge, slowing only enough for Spitfire to grab the handlebar with her good arm and painfully throw herself into the seat. The thrusters fired while she hung on, head low, blood dripping from her face. The docks were left behind, replaced by blurred buildings and foliage as the bike automatically took her home. Spitfire's suit stimulated her nerves to release endorphins in response to the pain, but her injuries really didn't matter.
They were nothing compared to the agony of defeat.
Good morning, Neo-Yorkers. You're with Cam Danvers on another NYN Fast Break. What's worse than a relentless heat wave and an uptick in vigilante versus gang violence? How about Amnesia, the newest synthetic narcotic to hit the streets. Targeted to Sensync users and Immersion addicts, this new drug is a memory in a pill. Pre-order memories of choice or receive random ones, either way you get to trip without being connected to any machinery or pay monthly installments on Deep Sleep pods. The downside? Only a twenty-percent chance of brain hemorrhaging, nerve damage, and seizures, usually resulting in death. But hey*if the playback of me feeding my cat and pouring a shot of whiskey over my vanilla bean ice cream before bedtime is worth the risk, knock yourself out, I guess.
Meanwhile, we still have no verification if last night's brutal attack on the Moneta nightclub was an attack by Vigil or one of his copycat followers, the Vigilant. The RCE has yet to release surveillance footage, and we've received conflicting reports on who exactly was involved. What we do know is that five hundred thirty-three women and teenage girls were held captive in a hidden basement warehouse under the club, which has apparently been a cover for a virtual sex slave operation. Guess that would explain why all the corporate sharks hung out in an area known to be affiliated with the Krazy-Eights syndicate. We have yet to receive a comment from Eight-Baller Enterprises, the company that owns Moneta and several other clubs in the city.
Mira winced. "Ow."
Qhawa paused in the act of dabbing nanocream on Mira's face. "Now you want to complain? You didn't even flinch when I reset the bone in your arm."
"Painkillers wore off since then."
"Good. A little pain never hurt anyone. In fact, it's a good reminder sometimes."
Mira gave her mentor a sidelong look. Qhawa wasn't angry. She didn't yell or threaten when Mira returned to their garage-turned-headquarters battered and bruised. She tended to Mira's injuries with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done similar work many times. Mira wondered if anything got Qhawa upset. She was so even-tempered it was frustrating at times. But Mira was grateful for the attention. She had only faint memories of a mother and never had an older sibling. She was fiercely attached to Qhawa, determined to make her proud.
That's why it hurt so much to fail her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling tears well in her eyes. "I should have listened to you."
Qhawa looked up, dark eyes full of knowing. "I know you are, Mira. I hope this has taught you something important. You were fortunate that I took over control of the Backburn. What you did is exactly how Arthur was nearly killed. Instead, he remains paralyzed for life. Teamwork, Mira. That is the deal you agreed to. If you can't hold up your side, then our time will be at an end."
"No." Mira clasped both hands around Qhawa's. "I won't let you down again. I promise."
Qhawa smiled. "I know, Mira."
She turned when the door alert buzzed. Mira glanced at the camera feed, where a familiar face peered into the lens.
"Ugh. Don't let him in."
Qhawa ignored her, tapping a button on the wall. "Admit our guest."
The heavy-duty locks disengaged, and the security door opened, allowing Jett to enter. His eyes flicked over the operations center, taking in the computer lab, weapons, and gear on the walls and tables, the hoverbike parked at its charging station. He gave Qhawa a pleasant nod. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Not really. What brings you here, Jett?"
"I was in the area and thought I'd—" His eyes widened when he saw Mira. "Holy hell, what happened to you? Why is your arm in a sling? Did you break it?"
Mira glowered. "Not your business, yo."
His head jerked. "Not my business? You got hurt playing hero, didn't you? I know all about your little extracurricular activities, Spitfire."
"So what? No different than you being Vigil."
Muscles worked in his jaw. "No different? It's a world of difference. I was a soldier before you were born, kiddo. I had years of combat training, even more years of experience fighting enemies you couldn't imagine in your wildest dreams. Imperials, not the five-and-dime knuckleheads that just rearranged your face. You're just a kid with an attitude and a knack for getting into trouble."
Turning, he pointed an accusing finger at Qhawa. "I can't believe you're condoning this. You're going to get her killed if you both keep up this foolishness."
Mira watched Qhawa closely, half-expecting her to respond to Jett's rudeness in kind. But instead, she gave him a knowing smile. "I seem to remember having to come to your aid after you were stomped on by Joe Blow only months ago. All things considered, you looked a lot worse than Mira does."
Mira smiled in satisfaction when Jett sputtered, trying to find a comeback. "Well… that was different. I was just learning how to—"
"Just as she is trying to learn. You could at least allow her that luxury, especially since it was you who pulled her into your world, Jett. And you brought her to me in the first place. Remember that?"
"I did it to help her." He looked at Mira, eyes pleading. "You know that, Mira."
"I know," she said. "But I have to help myself, too."
"No." His expression changed to stubborn denial. "Nothing wrong with training. Nothing wrong with self-defense. But this whole Spitfire thing has to stop." He folded his muscular arms and frowned. "I won't allow it."
Then Mira finally saw it. A flash of anger in Qhawa's eyes. Her full lips thinned. "You won't allow it?"
Jett must have seen the same thing, because he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just saying that—"
"You have no say in what we do or don't do, Jett."
He held up his hands as if to ward her off. "I'm just trying to get you to listen to reason."
"Reason."