“Considering my truck,” Cricket spoke in a robotic tone, holding a cylinder to her neck with her free hand. “Assume you’re Amaranth.” I had vague recollections of some kind of throat damage, though I knew it didn’t inhibit her power

  “You’re smarter than the rest of your gangsters,” I said, keeping my eyes on her mooks. They weren’t moving to flank me, seeming satisfied to let their boss deal with things. “Smart enough to surrender?” Her laugh caught me off guard, a staccato hissing.

  “Think I’ll see how invincible you are.”

  She rushed forward in a blink and I instinctively raised my arms to block. The knife went low, slashing across my belly and through the fabric of my turtleneck. I clicked my tongue and skipped back a couple steps, lowering my guard so I could see. Cricket was following up already, a reverse stroke of her knife aimed for my throat.

  I did what few others could, diving in with a left hook at her ribs. She’d overcommitted, and my blow struck as hers did. She pushed off of the knife, pressing it against my projection, and twisted away to escape serious injury. Cricket fell back, favouring her left as she did. I smirked as she tutted, pressing a hand to her side.

  “Expected less,” Cricket said, sounding a little terse.

  “Good,” I spat, then charged in.

  I barely got three steps before one of her cronies intercepted me, swinging a steel rod. It was little trouble to parry the blow off my forearm and drive a fist into his stomach. That didn’t stop him though, and even as he dropped his weapon he doubled over and wrapped his arms around my midsection. He stopped when I turned his wrists into dust, dropping me and screaming a litany of slurs; none of them accurate.

  The other two were wary, fanning out to Cricket’s flanks but staying behind her. Not a problem for me, since it meant I could watch all three of them while keeping my gaze fixed on the real threat. Cricket drew a second weapon, a curved blade on a wooden stick. Made sense, some extra reach considering she only had maybe half an inch on me.

  Her mouth was open, but no noise was coming out. I frowned, a queasy feeling forming in my stomach. Cricket’s power was sound manipulation, if my memories of her PRT profile and the story were anything to go by. She was doing something, I just couldn’t hear it. Whatever it was, I needed to put a stop to it sooner than later.

  I took a step forward and nearly fell over, my vision swimming. The sick feeling in my stomach got worse, and it was all I could do not to throw up. I shook my head, but that only made my head feel like I’d stuck it in a dryer’s spin cycle. The fuck? I stumbled back, flinching as a blow I didn’t see slammed into my shoulder.

  It hurt. Oh shit. I swung a wild blow in the direction the hit came from, getting a grunt of pain for my effort. I stumbled back, barely able to stay on my feet as wave after wave of dizziness hit me. The pain in my shoulder wasn’t too bad, throbbing but not sharp. I rolled it and winced; could still move it but ow.

  Had to be Cricket. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it was getting through my projection and fucking me up. I took a low stance, drawing my knife with my empty hand. My vision still swam, but like this I wasn’t in danger of falling over and could see all my opponents. Still couldn’t do anything about it, since I couldn’t god damn move without falling over.

  I took a deep breath and held it. It helped, for a brief moment, to settle my stomach and sight. I was just in time to duck swing from a bat with ugly nails stuck in its surface. I caught it on the back swing, fingers bending nails and biting into the wood. My attacker dropped it and backed away, drawing a knife of his own as I discarded the bat.

  “You lose that fight,” I said, managing to make my voice steady even as the world was spinning.

  “Think I figured you out,” Cricket said.

  “Yeah?” I huffed. “Do tell.”

  “Nah,” she croaked. “Die stupid.”

  She opened her mouth and the dizziness came back, as strong as ever. It was awful, but standing still at least didn’t make it worse. One of her cronies lurched towards me, and I raised my hands to block the strike from his crowbar. It hurt, but wasn’t enough to stop me grabbing the thing and breaking it in two.

  He didn’t hesitate, drawing a knife and plunging it towards my stomach. I pushed my projection forward to meet it, then drove the tip of my own knife into the meat of his forearm. However tough he was supposed to be, getting stabbed clearly hadn’t been part of his plan. He fell back with a barely suppressed yell, his knife tinkling as it hit the pavement.

  God dammit where the fuck was Nadir? For that matter where was the PRT? I’d called them ages ago, they’d even said a hero was coming. I should have backup, but I was more alone than I’d been when I was going out on my own in the Wards. Whatever, I could deal. I’d already beaten half of Cricket’s men, I just had to deal with the last guy, then her, and I was golden. Easy…

  My stomach lurched and it was all I could do not to double over and empty it onto the street. Come on, I could deal with this. I’d been thrown out of buildings, hammered by tidal waves, and worse. A little dizziness was nothing. That didn’t make things easier, unfortunately, and I was blindsided by a sharp, sudden pain from my arm.

  I flinched away, couldn’t help it. The last guy had come out of nowhere and cut me while my projection was doing whatever the fuck it wanted. It burned, but I could still move my arm just fine. When he came again, I spotted him just in time. With an animalistic bellow, I took the blow just under my eye and drove my brass knuckle into the side of his head. He dropped to the ground like a puppet with the strings cut.

  “Tough,” I barely heard Cricket over the sound of blood in my ears.

  “You’re...no Jack Slash,” I panted, blinking sweat from my eyes. “No Leviathan, no Behemoth.”

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Mm,” she grunted.

  The chirp she made was loud enough to make my ears ring, but the awful churning in my stomach diminished enough for me to react to her immediate assault. The slashes from her blades glanced off my projection, if only because I was thinking more about moving it than my body.

  She began alternating cuts and shrieks, but without whatever effect she’d been producing before I was safe; though I couldn’t really hear anything. A wave of nausea hit me without warning, and I felt a line of pain slash across my forearms. I huddled as best I could, shielding my vitals as bile rose in my throat.

  Had to do something, or I’d die. Sure I’d get another chance, but when? How much of my work would be undone? I wasn’t going to find out. I lowered one arm slightly, just to try and see. The world was swimming, but Cricket’s arm loomed as she struck out towards my eye with the tip of her knife.

  I caught it, barely, snapping my hand up and grabbing her wrist. Her eyes widened and she fought to pull away, but my grip was iron. Cricket lashed out with her other weapon, and I snagged the shaft, choking up and covering her hand before she could pull back. I tightened my hold, grinning as she struggled to free herself. The world spun worse than ever, but I didn’t need to do much, just aim straight. I drew my head back, pulled my projection away, and smashed my forehead into Cricket’s nose.

  A spray of blood soaked into my scarf and splattered on my face. I did it again, then again, again, and again. Each time Cricket’s struggles got weaker, the dizziness rapidly vanishing. By the time I was done, her face was a ruined mess, and stinging rivulets of sweat mixed with blood dripped into my eyes. I let go of her wrist and hand, and she collapsed like a rag doll. A ragged laugh escaped my throat, then I pulled my scarf down, bent over and threw up.

  Oh my god everything hurt. My head was pounding with near-blinding agony. Searing lines of pain throbbed with my racing heartbeat. I hadn’t been this badly hurt in a fight...god, it had been a long time. I prodded at a cut in the fabric of my shirt and hissed. Okay, fuck, first aid...after I secured the bad guys.

  “Amaranth?” Nadir’s voice called from the alley. My head snapped towards it and I practically saw red.

  “Where the fuck were you?” I demanded as she limped from the alley. I looked her up and down, but couldn’t see any injuries. “Fucking abandoned me.”

  “I just ducked into the alley for cover!” she retorted. “And...and one of the guys got loose, was helping his friends. So I had to deal with that and…”

  “Whatever,” I spat, shaking my head. “Just fucking keep them secure, I’ll deal with this shit.”

  “Sorry.”

  I ignored her apology and started binding the guys I’d taken down. I could finally hear sirens screaming up the street, and the throaty roar of one of the Protectorate’s patrol cycles. Fuckers, only showing up after I did all the work. I finished securing the last Nazi, then sat on the bed of the ruined truck, keeping watch as the flashing green and white of the PRT forces approached.

  The sight of the approaching cycle filled me with a mix of anticipation and dread. As it drew nearer, I saw Miss Militia riding. That didn’t help the ugly feeling, but I forced myself to stand and walk over when she arrived at the scene. I raised a hand when she aimed her rifle, and she quickly dropped it.

  “Amaranth?” she asked.

  “You know anyone else who makes a mess like this?” I said dryly, pointing at the quartet of gangsters, and the seriously wounded Cricket. “Cape down. Eight of her mooks too, Nadir has four more in the alley. Nadir?”

  “Yeah?” she called back.

  “Heroes are here,” I said. A moment later she appeared, dragging one of the other criminals behind her. The van arrived as she did, officers hopping out and heading into the alley for the rest. I turned back to Miss Militia. “Okay, you need anything else from us? I’m...tired.”

  “You’re hurt,” Miss Militia said, her tone grave.

  “That too,” I admitted, trying to ignore the pain. It wasn’t as hard as I thought. “Cricket disrupted my projection, not sure how. Fucking paid for it though.”

  “These suspects have fairly serious injuries.”

  “Yeah, hey, me too,” I spat. “So fuck off about it.”

  “Amaranth—”

  “No, Miss Militia,” I cut her off with a shake of my head. “I’ve been shot, stabbed, and hit with a baseball bat tonight. They got a tenth of what they did to me, and a hundredth of what they do to other people. You arrest me for this or take the perps and your high horse all the way back to HQ.” I stared up at her, hands clenched in tight fists. After a moment, she sighed.

  “We’ll contact you for a statement tomorrow afternoon,” Miss Militia said, gentler than before. “Have you been alright?”

  “Fine,” I said, shrugging as Nadir joined us. “Doing this. Better than I was in the Wards, I think.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” She looked up at Nadir. “Good evening, I’m Miss Militia. May I ask your name?”

  “Nadir,” she replied. “Amaranth’s partner.”

  “I see.” Miss Militia nodded. “It’s good to meet you. Please don’t hesitate to contact us if you need backup on your patrols.”

  “Right into the pitch,” I muttered. “Nadir, let’s go.”

  “Sure boss,” she said. “Miss Militia.” We left the mess to the cops, limping up the road.

  We’d won...but I wasn’t looking forward to telling Amy.

  The lock clicked quietly and I slipped inside our apartment. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag, wincing at the loud ‘thud’ it made. I was quieter as I padded into our room, sitting on the edge of our bed. Amy was sleeping on her side facing me, lips slightly parted. I smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, making her stir and yawn.

  “Lia?” Amy murmured sleepily. “You home?”

  “Yeah,” I croaked, pulling my hand back when she reached out for it. “Uh, look, I’m okay, just need you to not freak out.”

  “Freak out?” she asked, opening her eyes and squinting. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just…I got a little beat up,” I said hesitantly. “I’m really okay though.” There just wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t throb with pain.

  “Hand,” she demanded. I took hers and winced at the stifled gasp. “Fuck, Lia—”

  “We took down Cricket,” I blurted. “Cricket and eight gangsters. I...she did something that messed with my projection but it’s okay.”

  “Okay?” Amy said. “Lia you’ve lost blood, you have cuts that would usually need stitches, and your shoulder is partly dislocated.”

  “Wait, really?” I frowned and rolled my shoulder, grunting as it clicked painfully. “Fucking ow.”

  “Dumbass,” she murmured. “Healing you.” I sighed as the pain dropped away, slumping against the headboard.

  “Thanks,” I groaned. “Oh god, that feels good.”

  “I’m just healing you,” Amy muttered.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I walked home like this so—”

  “You what?!”

  “The buses weren’t running,” I said simply.

  “Jesus, Lia you…” She took a deep breath. “You need to be more careful.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “And you— wait, just ‘yeah’?”

  “I mean, you’re right,” I said, hanging my head. “Was reckless, stupid.”

  “Well...at least you’re okay,” Amy said, tightening her grip on my hand. “Want to tell me about it?” I shook my head.

  “Tomorrow,” I said, taking my hand away and stretching out. My joints popped and I sighed with relief.

  “Okay,” she agreed, laying her head back down as I began stripping for bed. I laid down soon after, humming happily as her arms wrapped me up tight. “Night Lia.”

  “Night,” I replied, kissing her hand. “Love you Amy.”

  “Mmm.”

  I held her hand and shut my eyes, happy to be where I really belonged.