Jett stepped up so they could see him. "I am."
They whirled around when he spoke. The girl plastered against the wall seemed far away, pale with shock. She was just a kid. A crowd of masked faces stared at him without surprise or fear. The only thing he saw was annoyance.
"Who you 'pose to be, old man?"
"He seven-thirty."
"You deflicted or something?"
"Maybe he dom. He into it."
"You dirty old man? Wanna watch us mush this cunny bunny?"
"Yeah, I wanna watch." Jett's fingers closed into fists. The world swayed, adrenaline mixed with alcohol. "I wanna watch you hurt. I wanna watch you die."
They were shocked to silence. Finally, a chorus of laughs erupted.
"See — scab seven-thirty."
"Scab got death wish."
"Okay, elderberry." One of them stepped forward, something glinting in his hand. "You wanna see your guts? I feed 'em to you."
He lunged, makeshift knife flashing. Jett sidestepped, grabbing the knife wrist and slamming his elbow into the tough's face with a crunching sound. He followed the move by twisting the knife back into the man's stomach. The body hit the ground at Jett's feet.
He slammed a fist against his chest, feeling fire feed his muscles. It was the first time he felt something since he awoke in the strange new world.
"Who's next, huh? Who else wants some?"
They all came at him.
"Kill 'im."
"Gonna break you, scab. Tear your face off."
He saw weapons flashing, swinging. Bats, knives, chains, pipes. The only law that brought a felony charge other than rape and murder in the Warrens was carrying a firearm, so gangs made do with cutting and bludgeoning weapons. His mind rewound, trying to remember the last time he'd faced a mob that size using only hand-to-hand combat. He quickly remembered it was never.
Don't think.
He ducked. A pipe whistled past his head. Chest shot, uppercut. The assailant staggered back. Jett whirled. Something sharp slashed through his coat, grazing his ribs. Open hand to throat, followed by a sickening gurgle as the man dropped, clutching his neck. Jett's pores broke open; sweat trickled from an enveloping heat. He snarled when a baseball bat struck his arm, numbing it from the elbow down. He turned that direction just in time to see a shiny pair of brass knuckles swing at his face. Stars danced across his vision from the sharp impact. The world span around; a vicious circle of masked attackers watched him fall drunkenly to the ground. The lights went out.
"C'mon, get the big bastard up."
"Tough sonovabitch…"
"Get those chains."
"Think he snuffed Joey."
"Who cares? Gonna carve 'im like a turkey."
Jett blinked open his eyes. The taste of blood was thick in his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Thick chains were wrapped around his neck, held tightly by a burly man behind him. Several men stood in front of him, shadows with masks or goggles hiding their features. One of them stepped forward, brandishing a machete. A painted gas mask hid his features.
"Looks like jade took a powder. You satisfied, rustnuts? Feel like a boss?" The blade licked out. Jett grunted when a shallow gash opened across his chest.
Gasmask drew closer. "Gonna take my time. Show you what Crimson Kings do to—"
Jett interrupted by lifting his legs and slammed both boots into Gasmask's face. The mask shattered, the man screamed and staggered back. Jett continued the motion, stomping down on his captor's toes. The big man yelped, the chains loosened. Jett slipped his hands under the chains and twisted, snatching himself free. He staggered two steps before a spiked bat slammed into his side. Agony lanced across his entire body. The bat followed with a blow to his back. The ground struck him in the face.
He lay there, dimly aware of curses and shouts, boots and blunted weapons turning his body into butter. The pain was a cloud of buzzing insects, glimmering metallic ants tearing him apart. But the ground was cold. It was a welcome sensation, soothing the fire that seared his flesh. His vision blurred, gazing up through the latticework of rusted steel and concrete, where for the very first time he saw the silvery light of the moon slicing through the clouds.
The pain lessened as the men shuffled in haphazard positions around him. Someone yelled in a shocked, disbelieving voice.
"Holy shit. It's him."
"Him who?"
"Vigil."
"Vigil dead, numbtard. Ain't been seen since—"
Something hummed. Electricity lifted the hairs on Jett's arms. A body struck the ground beside him, convulsing. The air filled with grunts, metallic whistles, dull impacts, sharp snaps, and shrieks of pain.
Jett clenched his teeth and forced himself up, ignoring the protests of his bruised and battered body. One of his eyes had swollen shut, and he had to squint with the other. For a dazed second, he thought he had been hit in the head too hard.
A man in a gleaming helmet and a dark trench coat fought against the remaining members of the gang. But unlike Jett, he appeared to be winning.
Must be this Vigil they were talking about.
He wasn't faster than any of his assailants. He didn't appear stronger. But he was brutally efficient, unleashing salvos of blows while still defending against oncoming attacks. Streamlined gauntlets were secured to his hands and upper arms, lit in neon blue symmetric patterns, humming he struck an opponent. Blue sparks showered as the men fell like dead weight.
It wasn't long before the alley was littered with unconscious bodies. Four of the gang remained, circling Vigil. Moving cautiously. Fearfully. Staying out of range of his energy-charged gauntlets.
Vigil raised a casual hand. The gloves pulsed, a blast fired from a sphere in his palm. One of the men went sprawling, electric arcs sizzling across his body. Vigil leaped forward, knocking another clean off his feet with a powerful right hook. Only two remained — the heavily muscled man who had nearly strangled Jett with chains, and a small, cowardly man who thought better of his involvement and darted for the mouth of the alley. Vigil's arm whipped forward. A glimmering cable wrapped around the runner's legs, bringing him down.
The big man growled, flexing thick arms encircled by glimmering dragon tattoos. "Think you got toys? I show you toy." He slid back his holoband. Thin cables whipped out, encircling his fist, creating an outline of some strange weapon. Translucent gel discharged, instantly hardening and completing the formation of a handgun unlike any Jett had seen before. It trembled erratically, pulsating with violet light before firing a blinding stream of energy. Vigil leaped to the side as the beam whipped by, striking the building behind him.
The ramshackle construction groaned from the gaping wound that punctured its crumbling bowels. It tilted drunkenly, then came down in a rumbling collapse of ancient brick and mortar. Jett choked as dust and debris enveloped the alley. He was barely able to see the large man run past, stopping only to help his friend get up.
"C'mon, Slick. We ghost." They ran out the alley and vanished.
Jett pulled his shirt over his mouth, looking for the man who saved his life. A gust of wind pushed some of the dust away, allowing him to see a bit clearer. He caught sight of a glint of silver half-buried under a pile of rubble. It was Vigil. He wasn't moving.
Jett grunted, using all his strength to shove away a large piece of broken wall. Vigil groaned in pain as his entire body spasmed. He lifted a trembling hand and tapped something on the back of his helmet. The metallic surface shimmered, then slid back in thin sections into a thick, banded strap. Jett was surprised by the face behind the mask.
Vigil was an old man. His face was chiseled but careworn, wrinkles etched in the skin like lines on a weathered map. White hair plastered to his damp forehead. He grimaced in pain; teeth clamped together in a defiant snarl.