Self Destructing Messenger

#27 - Lance Armstrong is a Monster

"You people are masochists," She sneered. "Can't we just go pass out more cupcakes to strippers?"

Elaine fished out a water bottle from her bag then stretched her left arm over the barricade so a racer could grab it. "It's not that bad. Doesn't the good deed outweigh the temporary discomfort?"

Azalea fidgeted in place each time someone in the crowd came into contact with her. She could not care less about any of this, her back to the oncoming racers. "No. No it doesn't."

A cyclist sped by and snatched the refreshment from Elaine. "One down." She squinted, scanning the opposite side of the road. "Do you see Pyro and Gia?"

Azalea looked. "There," she said, pointing to an ironically half melted Pyro and equally miserable looking Gia. "I think Pyro might die. He's too covered."

Elaine held out another bottle. "Pretty sure we'll run out of water before we keel over from heat stroke."

The blonde did not agree but before she could say anything more the voice in her head roared a warning. The supernatural thunder in her brain subsided only to be replaced by the rising panic of hundreds of spectators. She managed to turn around in time to be violently shoved backwards by the crowd, pinning her against Elaine. Everyone was simply too packed to fall.

Azalea winced as the pressure increased, making it almost impossible to breath. She didn't want to use her intangibility and risk such extreme exposure until she knew what was going on.

Her answer came quickly, barreling erratically down the designated path. One of the cyclists, a male on a rust red bike, flailed as he sped along. He jerked back and forth, the motion so violent that it lifted his tires clear of the asphalt. It was as if he was trying to let go of the handles but couldn't. As he got closer it became obvious why. There was no separation of frame and man. They were one. Things that should have been metal were flesh and bone, pulsing and organic. The human form leaned forward, arching his back. His hip bones broke through his skin, angling sharply outward. His head leaned out over the handle bar, mouth twisted open, teeth bared.

He swerved, grinding against the barriers yet somehow managing to stay upright. It all happened quickly and before Azalea could react, the idol had passed her. She tried to not let it out of her sight and when she turned her entire face was sprayed with a hot crimson liquid.

She froze. Ellie was standing there, eyes glassy, her left arm missing. Blood poured from the ragged hole. F#@$ exposure. Azalea grabbed the girl, making them both intangible. She pulled the teen through the crowd, back towards the buildings and into the mouth of an alley, the only unoccupied space available.

The redhead grew more and more pale as Azalea tried to apply pressure but the blood seeped through her fingers and splashed onto the concrete. Azalea didn't know how much time she had before the idol sought them out or if she was even doing any good and she felt lightheaded with her hand against the wound, palm scraped by exposed bone.

Someone touched her shoulder.

"I can help. I'm an EMT." Azalea eased down as she heard the words. The woman in the yellow vest moved her aside and started working on Elaine. The blonde watched for a few seconds and then ran back into fray.

The sidewalk was much more clear than before with only a few stragglers. Hardly anyone was dumb enough to rubberneck when idols were involved. They just got the hell out of dodge. Up ahead Azalea could make out the twisted cyclist. What she couldn't see were all the police that had taken cover surrounding it. The monstrosity howled in rage at being unable to find its target. The cops took this as a go ahead and it suddenly sounded like a fourth of July celebration.