Super•Villainous

XLVIII

"Sounds promising," I muttered.

He merely dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I've basically already told you this story, in a roundabout way. I told you having more than one power in a single body goes against nature, and with the addition of Frost's ice ability, I had three, including my own. At some point, a couple minutes into my physical contact with Frost, my mind went utterly blank. I briefly forgot everything. My name, my purpose, my family, and everything in between: gone. According to the reports I heard after-the-fact, I became like a cornered animal, reacting purely on instinct to assuage a fear that never abated. And so, I..." he appeared to struggle over his next words, tone softening to a tender whisper, "I murdered everyone in that room. Frost. The lead scientist and her research assistants, the two primary Guild Supers sent along to supervise, and all four Super prison guards present, each with a power of their own. All dead. Everything from that day passed in brief, agonizing flashes of color. Frankly, I am glad I don't remember more of their terrified faces than I already do."

He paused, and I said nothing, my expression carefully devoid of both judgement and solace. If he sought absolution in me, he would not find it. Eventually, he continued.

"At some point in the following hours, my body adjusted to the additional burden I'd taken on. I woke up to find the Guild had covered up my mess, a new set of scientists at my bedside to uncover why I reacted so poorly. They kept me drugged, semi-lucid at best, for the first few weeks, until they could be sure I wouldn't go on a rampage again. Then they trained me to control the two recently stolen abilities, to mixed success. As you've seen, I can only control one at a time, and I'm not entirely sure why. All I know is that every second was a fresh misery. Every part of me hurt all the time, like my skin was being slowly peeled away and my insides were being crushed. I barely slept."

Unable to restrain myself anymore, I voiced my most burning question, what everything had always been leading up to anyway, "So why take Shadow's power? What was the point, when it sounds like you weren't exactly having the time of your life?"

Without warning, he slipped the backpack strap off his shoulder and relayed it into my arms. More annoyed than worried, he sighed, "We're being followed. Wait here while I deal with it."

He didn't need to tell me twice. At every opportunity, I ran in the face of danger. Even so, I pitied our three pursuers. I had a distinct impression that they would not have been on that stoop outside their apartment to think to follow us if my curse hadn't made it so, and now they were about to have possibly the worst day of their lives because of it.

"You don't want to do this," Atticus said amicably, sauntering closer to them with his hands tucked into his pockets. His hood - the normal kind, given I forced him to tuck away his cloak - cast his face into shadow, hopefully enough to obscure his identity. My own, likewise, was pulled up protectively over my hair.

A flash of metal caught my eye. "Look out-" I called, but Atticus had already abandoned diplomacy at the hint of weapons and sprung on them, slamming his fist into one of their jaws.

His hand closed around a second man's bare wrist, and the man's eyes rolled back in his head, out cold.

The third went not for Atticus, but for me, the seemingly weaker target. Did he presume I'd make a good hostage?

What did I do to make men think I was victim material? Was it my face? Pheromones?

I shoved the backpack into his gut when he got too close, and he staggered back, before kicking it away and lunging for my jacket sleeve, which he caught and used to reel me in closer.

"Stop fighting me," he grunted, as we both grappled for the knife in his hand that we both knew I stood no real chance of obtaining.

I slammed my head up into his nose with enough force that it made me see stars, blinking white across my vision.