Bloody Knuckles

Til Death Do Us Part

"I still don't think you have to tag along," Polaroid sighed while stealthily traversing the shadowed alleys of West Point Docks. It was well past midnight, the occasional lonely lamp post illuminating sharp corners and stacked crates. The city ambiance and flickering, static lights were dull in the hero's ears, and any chance they had in catching her attention were foiled by her wife's insistent grumbling.

"Well tough shit," Marrow replied, her pace matching Polaroid step for step. "You don't just up and tell me you're gonna bust a fucking nest full of thugs and not expect me to flip shit. Of course I'm coming along."

Despite the annoyance, Polaroid couldn't help the hidden smirk that accompanied her eye roll. "Fine, fine. Fair point, I guess. Besides, I've always wanted to see how we work together, you know?"

Marrow scoffed. "Dream Team. Fucking obviously."

"I guess we'll find out." Polaroid capped the conversation with a playful nudge before throwing an arm out to halt Marrow. She pressed a single finger over the mouthpiece of her mask before pointing ahead.

A clear path bisected two long rows of crates and led up to a massive warehouse. Three shadowy figures roamed the entrance, the vague outline of weapons held firmly in their grasps. Their attires were common clothing, varied combinations of tank tops, wife beaters, beanies, skewed caps, baggie jeans and boots.

"On my call..." Polaroid held up one finger. "One"

Long, wispy needles of bone crawled along Marrow's skin, congealing in her palm to form a javelin.

"Two."

"I've got big boy."

Polaroid raised the final finger. "Three!"

Marrow cleared the distance in the blink of an eye, her javelin poised to strike. The men out front jolted in surprise, before three unleashed a hailstorm of bullets on the hero. She raised her javelin to deflect the first rounds, sharp tings! piercing the air. She slid into the closest thug's space and shoved the tip of her javelin deep into his abdomen, crimson spurting from the wound and splattering her armor. She ripped the blade free and immediately spun around to smack a second thug in the temple with a loud whack! He stumbled from the blow, seeing double and swaying on his feet.

Seeing that the first thug had yet to faint from blood loss, Polaroid sprinted around to his right, deftly dodging a wild swing, before ramming her fist into his nose. There was a solid crunch, followed by him flopping over and setting off his AR-15 into a short round of shots.

"Heads up!" Marrow's voice drew Polaroid's attention to a sloppy hook grazing overhead. She ducked and rocketed up to drive an uppercut into the thug's jaw. There was an audible clacking of his teeth smashing together as his head snapped back. The man's eyes rolled as he collapsed at the feet of three other crooks.

All armed.

All dangerous.

The third thug, though trembling at the sight of Marrow and Polaroid, let loose a round and managed to rip a few holes through Marrow's left thigh. The hero grunted and stumbled, cradling her wound with a wince.

"Fucking bag of shit," she growled. Meanwhile, two more rifles shattered the atmosphere but missed their targets completely, the fear ruining their aim beyond comparison.

Flipping her javelin, Marrow swung the pole up in an arc and struck her opponent vertically along the torso. Using the momentum, she bared down on her good leg and lifted the man off his feet to cartwheel him overhead to slam his body into concrete. The wind rushed from his lungs as he rolled onto his side and coughed violently.