So HOW Myel Paxton decided to become a hero- well here's the living proof.
"Pick up a job, put those gunning skills to use" oh so you say, father <3
Her dad runs a large gang- (she knows this, just not really realizing that being a hero would mean they are literally enemies) So that's how she got her gunning skills. Needless to say she's obsessed with guns. Talk about that one friend with a weird hobby...
Also she's a spoiled rich brat. I wont apologize :>
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I took all the Buddyfight players and tried to find their consistent traits (a world personality test lol) based on the worlds they played and what they shared with the players of the same world ~
choose the worlds you feel affinity with and tell me if it applies!
Summary: Olive ran from her past, years ago. Spent every minute trying to forget it. But it threatens her when a friend admits to giving an old enemy her name, warning that theyâre still looking for her.
Warnings: childhood abuse if you squint hard enough, a bit of a mental breakdown/panic attack.
*****
Braden is complimenting her hair, calling her pretty like that undoes the last minute of her life, like that will earn him back the trust he's just crushed in his hands.
He justâ
Her ears are roaring with the racing pound of her heart, drowning out his empty, pointless rambling compliments â a nervous habit, like the tick he does with his left hand. He's doing it now, she notes, as she struggles to breathe past the heated clench and frozen tremble of her throat. Her mind buzzes with his earlier words, echoing without diminishing. And beyond the nervousness sitting plain on his face, there's a flickering hope in his eyes. That the paper mache compliments will mend the chasm he's just dug between them.
Olive is harder to impress than that, harder to distract.
Though it doesn't stop her from noting it, from noticing. Trained instinct has her taking in everything and filing it away. She tastes old copper in the back of her mouth. She doesn't want that instinct anymore. Doesn't want to be her mother's daughter. Doesn't want to accept that Braden's given her up.
And the audacity of him to try to sweet talk his way out of this. How dare â sure he doesn't understand the full gravity of this, but â how dare he? This isn't a simple mistake. This isn't something he can talk his way out of.
He could say anything. Call the shit in the sewers beautiful. It would be as relevant, as important, as true as what heâs saying now â something about her coat. It was pointless. His opinion, subjective and changeable and voiced in the worst wrong moment.
Thatâs not where her focus really is though. All of her that isnât half-stuck in a memory (sixteen and cold and guilty) is honed on him. What he said. What he did.
To think she thought him a friend â a brother.
Sheâs hyper vigilant. Noting the tiny details of his mannerisms in case thereâs something important hidden there. A deeper, larger betrayal. A trap.
She cocks her hip out, hand gravitating to rest there, knuckles tight against the flight instinct sheâs holding back. She swallows around the fear coated in her mouth. And, drawing on years of repression and pretending, composes her vocal cords enough that she can speak without her voice shaking. Confrontations, after all, are pitiful if one (she) breaks down during.
âWhat?â
She doesnât have the time anyways. The clock is ticking, whatever answer he holds. Sheâs been found.
He chokes, mouth stumbling over what sounds like three different sentences as he processes her question. A flash of fear, briefly overtaking the nervousness. "You are!" he insists, not noticing the panic flared in her eyes, pressing on his stupid disjointed point like she was doubting his admiration. Like she has an insecurity issue, like she doesn't believe him. Like calling her pretty is the only thing he's said.
Like that's the only thing she could possibly be questioning.
He's ignoring the truth, she knows. Avoiding the worst, trying to see the mundane in this. Yet not seeing her mindless cast off to his words that she's projecting to cower behind. He should know better, on many counts. To ignore what he admitted, not seeing the truth of her posture, be it in the projected or the real. (Because how can he not see the panic? Her heart is beating in the base of her throat, pounding through her skin, beating at her collarbones, how the fuck can't he see that?). She doesn't care what he thinks. Especially now.
When he's daring to ignore it. What he's done -- given her name to those guard dogs. Fucking ignoring it. Does he think it doesn't matter?
His body language is screaming fear, too, his brown eyes focusing on hers and flying around like the man he spoke of will come back and clobber him. His fear is reassuring.
They're not coming. For the moment, she is safe. Safe to confront him. Safe to efficiently burn the bridge he's trying to rebuild between them.
She falls back into her head, into control. (It's dangerous to get distracted when you're scared, a voice hisses, familiar in ways she's tried to forget).
"What" âshe clears her throat, staggering a step forwards to enter his personal space. "Repeat what you said," she strains, voice low, so wary of prying ears.
She needs to hear him say it again.
Ensure that her mind is not playing tricks, hearing betrayal where there was just an innocent compliment (not that she needs it. She doesnât care what anyone thinks about her appearance. It held no value). She needs to hear that confession clearly, when the drumbeat of her heart doesnât fuzz out the end of it.
Maybe sheâs losing her mind. Let that be the case. Let her be overreacting to a compliment.
She needs to know if heâs really turned her in. If their friendship is truly lost.
If she really has to leave.
Braden sputters.
Olive would laugh if she wasnât so fucking scared. This was absurd. This was important, how can he just â talk around it like itâs not there? Be able to even pretend to think that complimenting her makes up for shoving a knife in her back? Betraying her. Ruining the life sheâs finally settled into.
She stifles it easily, thanks to the crawling feeling trailing up and down her spine.
His shoulders hunch in and forwards. âOlive, Iâ I didnât mean to,â he chokes out, almost too breathy for her to decipher but relieving in that heâs finally acknowledging it.
A snort threatens to bubble up her throat at that, harder to bite back than the laugh. Does he really think thatâs enough for her to forgive and forget? A wordier oopsie? This is her livelihood on the line. Her life. Her voice strains with the effort of holding in the mistimed amusement.
As if she could forgive or forget this.
(Itâs what she gets for making a real friend).
"No," she spits out, low and stony in hopes that the message will beat itself into his skull so heâll give her a moment to think without the backdrop of his fearful rambling. She just needs a moment. God, what was she going to do? Was he even after forgiveness? He has not asked for it or apologized properly. Is he not sorry? Heâd hardly been able to admit his fault in the first place.
Was it no accident? Was he willing?
âHow is that a fucking mistake?â
Her tone makes him flinch. It hurts and gives her some sick pleasure. A sinking guilt. She doesn't want to enjoy his fear, even if he should be feeling it.
There's a part of her, though, a part that has always longed to be comfortable that wishes he said nothing. It would damn her, but. She wouldnât have to deal with this, if he hadnât. Sheâd be stuck with demons sheâs far more familiar with than him, in this context.
His throat bobs. Thereâs a bruise, green-blue, poking up out of his collar. Olive had noticed it when he walked up, of course, had been on the cusp of asking about it whenâ when he admitted what he did.
Then she knew.
He got it from whatever Hero captured and interrogated him. And he just â told him everything about her.
And, well, the part of her brain thatâs scrambling to exonerate him thought that he was reluctant, that he had no choice. That it hadnât been something he chose and there was still something to salvage. Except he hasnât apologized and she doesnât see any signs of guilt crushing him to the floor. He looks spooked and beaten but otherwise fine. Heâs shaking in his fear but heâs able to look at her. If he felt anything about what he did-- he wouldnât be able to look at her so easily. The guilt would be too much.
Heâs not guilty and her pursuers know more about her than they did before they found him.
Braden made his choice.
âHow could you?â she breathes, hurt lingering in the lightness of the question.
Olive backs up, retreating from the shuddering feeling of realization thatâs beginning to flutter down around her. She calls it disgust, trying to be rational. To think sheâd thought him a friend. Family, even. A tremor slams against her shoulders. She starts to turn, spin a 180 on her toe and get the hell out before her past catches her, but she stops midway, clicking her heel down.
âI canât forgive that,â she says, unsure if sheâs saying it to him or herself. This is no time to be forgiving, she tells herself, the words echoed in her voice and a much harsher one. Forgiveness is weakness. Weakness is getting yourself killed or worse.
She peers at him through narrow-lidded eyes, jaw tight against the hope plummeting down her throat. He does not look guilty, or sorry. Just afraid. Afraid of her and⌠not of her. If he was that scared to face her, a text would have delivered the message the same. Yet he insisted on doing it personally.
Why is she staying? She should be gone. Not hesitating. Hesitation was a foolâs game.
âOliveâŚâ he stares at her with big, wet eyes.
He came seeking comfort, she realizes, for his fear of her to be unfounded. But he blocked out that chance by saying the one thing that would make her run. Her self-preservation was too strong to risk everything by staying so she could keep him from breaking. He wounded her freedom and came to her toâ what? Make amends and pretend he did nothing at all?
âYou should,â she says, ânever speak of me again. Forget we were ever friends.â She has to look after herself â the first rule. The most important. If heâs a traitor, heâs a traitor.
Nothing to salvage from that.
(Everything to salvage, if she just learns the details. She should. Was it just her name, innocent enough or does he know, somehow? Know everything sheâs been running from?)
Sheâs not one to hold a grudge (liar), but sheâs not one to sweep away the past without proper rectification either. If he doesnât fix the bridge heâs started burning, if he doesnât convince her that he wasnât eager to throw down the match, sheâll watch it crumble into the river.
This can become water under the bridge or there can be no bridge for the water to race beneath.
Itâs his choice.
It shouldnât be. He shouldnât get any more chances. She should leave, but. Arenât the details important?
âTwenty minutes,â she sighs, with a grumble. Sheâs gotten too soft. âCome on.â
She completes her turn and lifts her foot to take her first step towards a nearby bench. This is necessary. She needs the details, the who and the why and the what. And if he happens to explain himself, fix things. Well. Thatâs his matter. Itâll be hopeless if he tries but itâll speak volumes to his motive whether he does or not.
Itâs not a surprise, though, really, that he hasnât tried yet. She knows him (thatâs why this is stinging so much) but it still hurts that heâs not trying to smooth it all over immediately like she might have hoped. Theyâve argued before but only over petty matters and misunderstandings they were able to talk out. There are no words, she reminds herself sternly, to make what he did right.
He sold her out.
He didnât assist in a ploy to capture her (thank god. If he was in on it and smooth enough, she might have fallen for it), but he gave them her name which is a secret sheâs kept for years. It was a starting point, them gaining headway on their fucking investigation that had nothing to do with her.
Or, well, it did. Had everything to do with her, in a sense. Not in how they think, though, potentially. Are they looking because of Wisconsin or because of that last job? She has skeletons to hide and some do lie where they are looking but she refuses to be buried for her family. The skeletons buried back then werenât buried alone and she wonât suffocate for things her family forced her to do, the only thing she knew how to, wonât fall alone to mask their sins. Sheâs shrugged off everything she can from them, skeletons and memories and a name she does not respond to (but not, her brain snarls, the instincts. She knows better. Sheâs failing. Itâs a miracle she isnât caged or dead).
She hasnât associated with them for years (since she was able to escape), longer than sheâs been keeping her name private from the people who are desperately searching for a weak link in her familyâs bloodline, for a chance to tear them all down. She has what they want. Names and addresses and aliases. But turning them in means doing the same for herself. Meant facing her demons. She wonât go down for her family and sheâll drag Braden down if he tries. Sheâll ruin him if he even attempts to ruin her.
She wonât enjoy it. She never has. But she is capable of it, even without the shadow of her family as a threat lurking at her back. She learned from the best and those lessons linger.
âWhat?â he calls, too loud on the sidewalk.
She can feel his presence behind her, hear him scrambling to chase her. Her nails dig into her palm. She stops to glare at him over her shoulder. Was it not obvious? âYou have twenty minutes,â she repeats. âI want everything youâve said. Cooperate and Iâll call us even. Iâll let you go, just this once.â
Sheâs gone soft.
Why is she giving him the chance? He betrayed her, gave her name. Names can be traced to places traced to her. Does he not understand that? Does he not understand why sheâs doing this? Why sheâs threatening him with things sheâs not sure she can carry out? Why sheâs pulling back from their friendship?
She settles on the bench, the cold biting through her jeans.
His loyalty has a price.
A scuffle and some questions and he spit up everything they wanted to know. Someone like her canât be close to people whose loyalty can be tarnished. Whose loyalty can be bought. She has secrets and a life she has to struggle to keep. Civilian life was hard. He was a threat to that.
Maybe sheâs being a little irrational. Overreacting like her family is known to do because he didnât tell them anything important, just an alias she can throw out and use to guide them on a wild goose chase, but he was put under pressure and he caved.
If he was willing to give her name over a little scuffle, a few bruises, what would he give over a broken bone? His life?
So no. She wasnât overreacting. He settles beside her, clumsy and hesitant. He was a threat to her. She was going to leave, for good. Had no choice. It was run or be caught.
Too soft, she mourns. Civilian life is getting you killed. She canât have friends that know who cave. He canâtâ betray her, even if it was minimal, and expect her to welcome him back. Sheâs forgiving, she knows, with his mistakes but heâs never messed up like this before, putting her in danger.
Heâs had the chance (a simple phone call to a hotline available at all times). This is the first time heâs taken it.
âOlive, please,â he begs, fingers twitching to grab at hers. She keeps her face smooth and thanks herself for telling him another alias as her real name even if that is the name she likes best for herself, one sheâs particularly fond of. If sheâs being honest⌠she doesnât have a âreal nameâ. But the one her family gave her isnât the one he knows. If it was, sheâd already be behind bars. âThey had a gun on me, I didnât know what else to do!â
Oliveâs blood runs cold.
A gun? Thatâ no. That was wrong. Extreme, out of place. There shouldnât have been a gun, not ifâŚ
Heroes donât threaten lives like that. Not directly, at least. Lord knows they were responsible for their share of injuries and worse but those were always a byproduct of Super Battles, of subduing Villains â easily explained and pardoned. She could see them scuffing Braden up a bit and threatening him, but a gun? That was horribly out of character.
That meansâ
âDid you see them? Notice anything that stood out?â
She has a sinking feeling.
She knows the culprit behind this, now, and itâs not the one she originally assumed. But it canât be. But it could and if sheâs right, she canât blame him. She canât say heâs a liability or a threat if sheâs right.
It would change everything. But she prays it isnât. Let it be that the Heroes or agents are too eager, that someone stepped out of line and Braden betrayed her. Thatâs easy. She can cope with that. It hurts but the alternative is so much worse.
Please let her not be right.
âI⌠itâs fuzzy,â he says, frowning at his knees. âMy head felt weird. I didnât⌠their voice was odd, too.â His brows pinch together. âEcho-y. I donât know, it was⌠weird.â
Oh.
Oh, no.
âWere you told to lead me somewhere?â she asks.
He looks at her, eyes damp. âNo.â He shakes his head.
Olive pulls the corner of her lip in her teeth. âDid⌠did he tell you to tell someone something?â Sheâd say that name, the one he would have said, but. She doesnât want to out herself unnecessarily. She doesnât want to wrap her tongue around the acid in those syllables.
Sheâd die before someone calls her that again.
âYes.â He hesitates, eyeing her in a new way, pupils blown wide and whites stark. â...how did you know that?â
âBecause.â Itâs her turn to hesitate now. She glances subtly at her surroundings, at anyone who may be listening, pairing memory and guesswork against the people milling about. What if heâs here? âThat was⌠I know who that was,â she explains, in the vaguest way she can. Then, because the truth is already confirmed and she owes Braden for doubting him. âThat was my uncle,â she whispers, like the dark secret it is. It only makes sense.
The fogginess, the voice⌠She always hated Uncle Felixâs power.
But how did he find her? How did he find him? She ran alone, no one to pull her plans from. She was careful to keep her current self from her past, from the people she shares blood with. Paper trails were easy to follow and hers leads to the east coast, to Florida.
Sheâs not on the east coast. Not in Florida.
âWhat?â His eyes, comically, widen further. âYour Uncle?â
She nods. âProbably.â Thereâs a chance it was his son â they were still waiting to see if he picked up powers and there was a chance he inherited them from his father. She swallows, breath catching. âWhat were you told to say?â
Braden dips his chin. âI, uh, was told to tellâ um.â
Oliveâs hands shake. Donât say it, she pleads. Aloud, she fills in his hesitation. âA Villain?â
â...yes.â He nods.
âAnd you were toldâŚâ she trails off, for him to complete her sentence.
He tugs at his left thumb, his nervous tick popping up again. âTo tell⌠them,â his eyes lower to the concrete, âthat they will not be able to stay hidden.â
Oliveâs breath shudders out.Â
She thought they wrote her off. A lost cause.
âAnd,â he continues, âthat they will not stop looking.â
âOh,â she practically mouths, the word dissolving like medicine tablets in water around her. Her family was still looking. Time has not freed her as much as she hoped it would, has not watered her from their memory or lagged their search. âOh.â
âThatâs notâ âBraden clears his throat. âWhat does it matter?â
She shifts her feet under her, pressing the balls of her feet against the floor. Adjusting her weight as assurance that despite how it feels, the world has not fallen out from under her. âThatâs a long story,â she says. Pulls air into her lungs and pushes it out. As long as she is still drawing breath, she can salvage things. Herself. âYou should go. ItâsâŚâ she stands, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. âI have to leave and⌠itâs dangerous for you.â
âIââ his hand brushes near her elbow. Ghostly. She is unsure if the touch is meant to be soothing for him or her. âI already know,â he says, an odd sadness to his tone. âLet me help you.â
âWeâd have to leave for good,â she tells him. âIt wouldnât be⌠entirely legal. I donât know that weâd ever stop.â
He shifts to the edge of the bench, clasping her arm tighter. âBut I wonât be left alone,â he says slowly, like a realization, âwill I?â
âIâm sorry.â
He shakes his head, stares up at her. âWeâre friends, right?â he asks, and she knows that her answer is important. Heâs pieced it together. Heâs not tossing her aside. She still has a reputation and he canât ignore it. But heâs not running.
She nods, after a heavy moment. âYeah. We are.â
âThen let me come with you.â
âYou wonât be able to take that back,â she warns.
âI know. Youâre family.â
Her breath catches. She holds his gaze. She should leave him behind. It was easier to find a pair than a lone person. But he knows too much. Fragments of the bigger picture, a past she swore when leaving that sheâd never share. He was a friend and she trusted him, despite all the reasons she shouldnât. âOkay,â she whispers. âIf youâre sure.â
He grins. Itâs lopsided, imperfect, but genuine. âI said Iâd follow you anywhere, didnât I?â He stands. âUs against the world, remember?â
She huffs, half poking-punching him in the side. âI was giving you an out, asshole. This isnât a joke.â
âOn brand, though.â He tips his head back. âAlways knew you had a shady past.â
âToo soon,â she says. It was more than shady. Was awful. And they were on a time crunch. She was prepared to disappear, but she wasnât prepared for him. She had to adapt. âI have a safe space,â she tells him. âIt should be okay while I get you figured out.â
âOkay,â he agrees.
She sees how this overwhelms him, how out of his depth he is. Itâs to be expected. Heâs normal, from a normal family, he grew up living a normal life. He didnât grow up in a family of Super Villains.
âIâll keep you safe,â she promises, the words slipping out without her agreement.
Itâs something she wants to promise. That means it will be hard for her to have. Sheâll have to fight for it to be true. Thatâs fine. Sheâs fought before. She can hold her own. She can keep him safe, too, since thatâs what he wants and sheâs weak not to do whatâs best for him. Sheâs been hungry for a friend like him since she was a little girl, shaking from her motherâs harsh tone.
âDonât worry,â she tells him.
He clings to her arm, probably bruising her, but she doesnât care. Sheâs had far worse. âOkay,â he says. âI trust you.â
Her chest constricts. What did she do to earn him? This fathomless trust?
Sheâs a criminal. And yes, sheâs seen him like a brother, but. Family-like ties have never been sturdier than any other. But Braden⌠she bonded to him so deeply. Cared so damn much. Her mother would have opinions on that. Bonds are means of destruction, dearest. You must not have any. Theyâll ruin you.
Looking at Braden, the person whoâs never questioned her, who has become her piece of normal, who has always welcomed her, she amends her motherâs warning into a hope. They can save you, too.
And if she has to run forever to keep that, the normalcy he brings her, so be it.
Sheâll do what she has to.
*****
Olive and Braden will be coming back, eventually. How do you like them?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
D.A.N and Lab Rat sound cool, do u have any more abt them?
D.A.N. is a Digital Assistant Network AI made by Lab Rat to act as basically an alexa, but he got corrupted and is now a glitchy snarky evil but highly ineffective asshole who enjoys tormenting LR. He desperately wants to take over the world but due to very basic cyber security checks put in place by LR the worst he can really do is overheat her laptop until it crashes and change the wallpaper.
Lab Rat is a top researcher working for the Global Hero Company. Her official job is researching powers and their effects on the body. Very little is actually understood about powers, from who has them to the external signifiers to how they work. Her real passion lies in accident based powers-think your struck by lightning or fell into toxic goo- but she basically has to look into what the higher ups tell her to to keep her job, and currently that's powers effects on the body. Her power isn't anything flashy, her antenna allow her to feel vibrations and tap into broadcast signals.
She really doesn't care for heros as a concept, and is extremely bitter about how society views powers which has only gotten worse since she started working at the glorify-cool-powers company. She only took the job because she wants to figure out if there's a way to kick start powers late in life- something like an organ transplant maybe? She needs to find the genes that causes powers before she can get to that part and the best way to do that is to have access to super DNA, and this was the best job for it.
If you look at LRs refs she has two color schemes, normal and neon blue with a visible skeleton. The alternate blue skeleton one is the result of a botched attempt at giving herself powers. Instead of anything new or useful it just upped her current power and made her turn blue when she gets angry (or any very strong emotion, but usually angry). No hulk powers, just blue and flourescent.
LR does have contact with Doc, mostly because Doc is one of the rare people who managed to give himself powers by accident, and she's desperate to figure out more on the phenomenon. Strangely, almost everyone who accidentally gives themselves powers ends up in the villain business...
I only used the picture and first line prompts. Featuring a dumb teenager, superpowers, and bad action. Enjoy!
*****
The engine purring outside the window shouldnât exist. For one, he lived in a sixth floor apartment, and â and that was it. But Kadenâs gotten kind of used to hearing things that arenât there. Itâs his power, he thinks. That or heâs crazy.
He likes to go with the power thing.
He has foresight, Sort of. He can hear the future instead of seeing it. Itâs not showy or cool, but it can be surprisingly useful. Or confusing. Usually it was just confusing. But sometimes, rarely, it actually helped.
Today, it worries him. He hears a car revving, gunshots and a loud, rhythmic thudding. A heartbeat, maybe, or footsteps. This wasnât going to be a normal Wednesday.
Despite what he heard upon waking, he still went to school. There was an exam in biology that he really didnât want to miss. Even if he spends the whole day expecting a gunman to shoot up his class. Surprisingly, itâs not that different from his test anxiety.
It happens after school.
He has to walk through a bad part of the city â well, a worse part. New York had high crime rates. He hears angry shouting, shattered glass and he just kind of knows.
Now is the time when he should probably call the Hero hotline, or the police, to explain what was going on. He doesnât call anyone. Instead, he creeps up under the window and peers in. He recognizes Lion, a particularly low-level supervillain. Heâs growling, literally, at the people grouped around him. Thugs, most likely, goons.
Long, mangled hair swinging around his shoulders, he brandishes a big gun from something by his feet and points it at one of the goons.
Okay. Now is when he should definitely call one of the hotlines.
He still doesnât pull out his phone. Heâs heard this and he didn't hear the sound of a dropped body, so heâs good to listen in. Well, until the gunshots. But he isnât one to shy away from a little danger. Or a lot of danger.
Thereâs a good chance that heâs going to be a hero when he graduates high school. Or maybe heâll outgrow youthful recklessness. One of the two.
Carefully, he sneaks around the building, wondering why heâs dumb enough to think that this is a good idea. Thereâs more of them, they have guns and one of them has some pretty bad powers. Thereâs a fire escape zigging up the side of the building, which is basically a jackpot.
Kaden was planning to leave if there wasnât an easy way up. Probably, at least.
The stairs are old, rusted metal that camouflages against the brick building. This is one of the old warehouses. This is dangerous. The fire escape was probably like a hundred years old, give or take a few decades. It probably hasn't been used in about half as long.
...this isnât the worst idea heâs had.
He climbs to the first floor. Peering in the window, he sees that the first floor is empty. Shit.
He climbs up to the next floor, wincing every time the metal creaks under his feet. Maybe this idea was worse than he thought. He still goes along with it. One day heâll learn common sense. That day is never going to be today, though.
Theyâre on the roof. How cliche. Kaden had thought that the rumors of Lion being well, not smart was an overestimation. He was wrong. Lion was an idiot with powers and guns.
Not unlike Kaden.
He should really call that hotline.
âWhat do you mean, he cancelled?â Lionâs voice rings over the wind, a low growl that does sound rather predatory. But hey, Kaden can make out what theyâre saying now.
One of the lackeys steps forward, visibly terrified. Kaden hops over the edge of the building and hides behind a crate. âHe said that he got a better deal with someone else.â
âBetter deal?â He grips the manâs throat, large hand easily circling its circumference. Kaden crouches lower, as if Lion would suddenly realize that heâs there and put his other hand around his neck.
Though now heâs remembering that Lion has an animalistic sense of smell. And he was downwind. Suddenly, this is a lot less cool and a lot more scary.
Definitely should be punching in those numbers. Should definitely have his phone in hand. Why is he such an idiot?
A thud. âWhatâs that?â Kaden tunes back into the conversation, peering over the crate to see that the lackey is currently on the floor, coughing and grasping at his neck. He still isnât reaching for his phone. Lion;s face is slightly uplifted, reminding Kaden heavily of an animal scenting the air.
Oh. Shit.
He turns and notices that the next warehouse over is only a few feet away. Going down the fire escape would be too slow and he needs to get out of here now.
So he jumps for it.
Heâs a sane person, he swears. His instincts just take a hot minute before they kick in and release his adrenaline. ...and there are the gunshots he heard when he woke up.
He sticks the landing. Sort of. He crashes on the other building, rolling and groaning. It was a lot farther than it looked. And concrete was not a soft landing pad. Still hearing the gunfire and seeing chips of the concrete ledge flying over, he decides that running is more important then his likely-to-be bruises. For now.
He runs across this building and jumps onto the next one, crashing to his knees, but not rolling across the floor. He needs cover.
Heart pounding furiously in his ears, mimicking the flying pace of his racing feet, he continues to run. Honestly, heâs not sure if the gunfire has stopped or not, but he keeps going like it is.
Maybe he wonât be a hero when he graduates. This was absolutely terrifying.
He ducks behind an air vent, hand pressed to his chest, low-key wondering if heâs having a heart attack because it sure feels like it. Is it possible to break a rib just from adrenaline?
Shaking, he drags his phone out his bag and holds the home button. âHey Siri, call the hero hotline.â His voice is totally shaking because of the exertion and not fear. Totally.
âCalling,â she said evenly, like there arenât bullets flying and he isnât about to die.
Itâs his fault for not calling sooner. But heâs angry that sheâs calm. Heâs hiding behind an air vent mentally cursing out an AI. Great.
âHero Hotline, how can I help you?â
âHelp,â he gasps into the receiver, curling in on himself and trying to stay quiet, hearing loud thuds og guys also jumping across rooftops to follow him. He started a great trend. He hopes some of them fall. âBad guys, guns, lion. Help.â
âSorry sir,â the lady on the end apologizes, voice cheery like sheâs asking for his Starbucks order. âWhat is your location?â
âDonât know.â He peeks up over the vent. Heâs no longer alone on his roof. âRoof, New York. Gotta go.â He shoves his phone back in his bag, slings a strap over his shoulder and starts running. He should really get into shape. And make a note on his phone to never roof jump again. It hurt.
His bag slips from his shoulder when he jumps.
He continues to run. Heâll worry about the scolding heâll get later. And his probably broken phone. This might actually be how he dies.
Snagging the lip of the raised edge, he misses the next jump. He literally trips over the edge and misses the jump. Heâd be a great hero.
Apparently, he would because eh crashes onto the fire escape of the next building. Hallelujah. He lifts the window and leaps in, slamming it behind him and waiting with bated breath.
He watches the edge of the building he fell from. Simultaneously thanking his lucky stars and waiting for his pursuers to catch up. A flash of fabric swooshes over the edge, and muffled fighting. Heâs hoping that a hero showed up, or a vigilante. Either way, no one else jumps off that edge, so he figures that heâs safe. Aside from the scolding and likely future hospital visit, that is.
âHey Kaden,â he mutters to himself, âlet's not do that ever again.â
*****
This is my first caffiene challenge!! It was fun and kinda stressful, as I had no idea where I was going with this. But it was fun. And not totally horrible, maybe, which is better then I thought itâd be. Done in only an hour + however long I had to fight with tumblr for it to cooperate and copy over correctly.
