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crossmyheartandhope) wrote2021-09-11 12:44 pm
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2021-09-11 12:44 pm
Memory 30: Reflect
Their suits catch the light as they descend: red and black, grey and seaglass green, mirrored in the panes of skyscraper glass that are still unbroken. Behind them, the sky's reflection shows, too: a roiling mass of clouds the color of blood that turns the afternoon sunlight an eerie shade.
Hurricane's eyes aren't on the reflections, though, or even on the sky above them. The clouds still set an icepick in his stomach and twist, every time he sees them; he can't shake the memory of another ruined city, half a world away from this one. But today, there are more important things to worry about.
He rotates his mag-lev boosters, the way he practiced with Yoshioka in the trial runs – guns it, to put on another burst of speed. Behind him, there's an earth-shattering blast as Nemesis lobs off the grenades she spent last week bragging about, and the sound of shattering glass as more of the windows give.
He hits ground level way before she does – the benefits of stripping off most of the armor for a speed boost – and he comes in hard and fast, slicing through a creature that looks something like a Chinese dragon, if a Chinese dragon were gelatinous and black and had at least three dozen eyes. It falls to the ground writhing, its open wounds spewing black ichor, and Hurricane touches down beside it, slicing through another with his blades.
A third goes down, and a fourth, and overhead he can hear the high-pitched whine that indicates Nemesis is charging up her heavy guns as she covers him.
But for a second, all of that fades into the background: the noise, and the chaos, and the sickly blood-light of those otherworldly clouds.
Below the overhang isn't crouched just the sole woman he spotted from up above, running for cover; it's a sea of fear-pinched faces and eyes turned his way. They're mostly men and women in business attire: salarymen in suits with slicked-back hair and office ladies in crisp businesswear and heels. There's a trio of boys in school uniforms tucked into the back, there, though, and an older woman clutching a toddler who can't be more than two.
He takes a shaky breath in, and says into the comms, "We've got civilians."
Nemesis touches down beside him, and turns toward the overhang – and maybe she forgot to cut the comms, because he can hear her swear loud and clear, even over the murmur of the crowd. He catches snippets of words – of hope – of their code names, and the ice pick in his stomach twists harder. His hands are clammy with sweat in his suit.
"How many?" says Eze, over the comms, voice crisp and professional.
There's got to be at least fifty of them, but the words stick in his throat.
"Too many," says Nemesis.
There's a brief rill of static, which Hurricane is coming to know as the sound the comms make when Eze switches over to talk to HQ. Then Eze says: "Hold position. We're coming to you."
"Copy," says Hurricane, and Nemesis echoes him, and then the line goes silent.
It's probably good timing, because the serpent-like creatures that wriggle through the air have veered down toward them. In a flash, Hurricane's certain he knows what the future holds: that they'll venture too low and spot the people clustered in hiding, and suddenly the stream of eldritch horrors will be too thick to stem.
He crouches – launches himself up into the air to meet them. Nemesis's had the same idea, it seems, because a moment later, she's there beside him, a hulking form of black and red metal. There are no grenades, this time; bridges and structural integrity and the possibility of squishing fifty people keep them in check. But she's got plenty of smaller guns, and his blades are just fine for close proximity.
The creatures fall, and fall, and fall, cut down in writhing masses of limbs and eyes. One slips past and makes it to ground level, and Hurricane loops around to intercept – plants his blade firmly through what passes for its head and is on his way back up before it's even hit the ground.
Minutes stretch out for an eternity; his heart is hammering in his chest. All he can thinking about is what's going to happen to the people under the bridge, if they miss a step.
But eventually – eventually – the sedate dark purple of Sentinel's suit slides in between them, casually blowing a creature with a hundred writhing hands in half.
"We've got a path cleared to the Meiji Dori shelter," says Ryota, over the comms. "You ready to move?"
Hurricane isn't ready to move. He can only think of one reason why Eze would send the medic as backup, and it doesn't bode well for their chances.
But he says, "Ready," and Nemesis says, "Ready," and they turn as one to get started.
===
It isn't until much, much later that he remembers to breathe. He's sitting in the med bay, Nemesis slumped into the chair beside him.
On the holo-screen up on the wall, the news anchor is interviewing the old woman who's still holding the toddler. The sound is off, but there are subtitles rolling underneath, and he's picked up enough kanji by now to get the general gist.
"We thought we were done for," she's saying. "But then they just showed up, out of nowhere. They saved my granddaughter." The little girl in question has taken hold of a strand of her grandmother's hair and is sucking determinedly on it.
There are actually tears in the old woman's eyes, and Hurricane's embarrassed to realize that there are tears in his eyes, too. He blinks, hard, and looks away.
"Hell of a way to take off the training wheels, huh?" he manages, when he thinks he can speak without his voice doing anything funny.
"Only gonna get better from here," says Nemesis, and tips her chin up, in the way he's starting to realize she does when the bravado isn't entirely genuine. "Give us a couple months. We're gonna turn this whole war around, all on our own."
Hurricane's eyes aren't on the reflections, though, or even on the sky above them. The clouds still set an icepick in his stomach and twist, every time he sees them; he can't shake the memory of another ruined city, half a world away from this one. But today, there are more important things to worry about.
He rotates his mag-lev boosters, the way he practiced with Yoshioka in the trial runs – guns it, to put on another burst of speed. Behind him, there's an earth-shattering blast as Nemesis lobs off the grenades she spent last week bragging about, and the sound of shattering glass as more of the windows give.
He hits ground level way before she does – the benefits of stripping off most of the armor for a speed boost – and he comes in hard and fast, slicing through a creature that looks something like a Chinese dragon, if a Chinese dragon were gelatinous and black and had at least three dozen eyes. It falls to the ground writhing, its open wounds spewing black ichor, and Hurricane touches down beside it, slicing through another with his blades.
A third goes down, and a fourth, and overhead he can hear the high-pitched whine that indicates Nemesis is charging up her heavy guns as she covers him.
But for a second, all of that fades into the background: the noise, and the chaos, and the sickly blood-light of those otherworldly clouds.
Below the overhang isn't crouched just the sole woman he spotted from up above, running for cover; it's a sea of fear-pinched faces and eyes turned his way. They're mostly men and women in business attire: salarymen in suits with slicked-back hair and office ladies in crisp businesswear and heels. There's a trio of boys in school uniforms tucked into the back, there, though, and an older woman clutching a toddler who can't be more than two.
He takes a shaky breath in, and says into the comms, "We've got civilians."
Nemesis touches down beside him, and turns toward the overhang – and maybe she forgot to cut the comms, because he can hear her swear loud and clear, even over the murmur of the crowd. He catches snippets of words – of hope – of their code names, and the ice pick in his stomach twists harder. His hands are clammy with sweat in his suit.
"How many?" says Eze, over the comms, voice crisp and professional.
There's got to be at least fifty of them, but the words stick in his throat.
"Too many," says Nemesis.
There's a brief rill of static, which Hurricane is coming to know as the sound the comms make when Eze switches over to talk to HQ. Then Eze says: "Hold position. We're coming to you."
"Copy," says Hurricane, and Nemesis echoes him, and then the line goes silent.
It's probably good timing, because the serpent-like creatures that wriggle through the air have veered down toward them. In a flash, Hurricane's certain he knows what the future holds: that they'll venture too low and spot the people clustered in hiding, and suddenly the stream of eldritch horrors will be too thick to stem.
He crouches – launches himself up into the air to meet them. Nemesis's had the same idea, it seems, because a moment later, she's there beside him, a hulking form of black and red metal. There are no grenades, this time; bridges and structural integrity and the possibility of squishing fifty people keep them in check. But she's got plenty of smaller guns, and his blades are just fine for close proximity.
The creatures fall, and fall, and fall, cut down in writhing masses of limbs and eyes. One slips past and makes it to ground level, and Hurricane loops around to intercept – plants his blade firmly through what passes for its head and is on his way back up before it's even hit the ground.
Minutes stretch out for an eternity; his heart is hammering in his chest. All he can thinking about is what's going to happen to the people under the bridge, if they miss a step.
But eventually – eventually – the sedate dark purple of Sentinel's suit slides in between them, casually blowing a creature with a hundred writhing hands in half.
"We've got a path cleared to the Meiji Dori shelter," says Ryota, over the comms. "You ready to move?"
Hurricane isn't ready to move. He can only think of one reason why Eze would send the medic as backup, and it doesn't bode well for their chances.
But he says, "Ready," and Nemesis says, "Ready," and they turn as one to get started.
===
It isn't until much, much later that he remembers to breathe. He's sitting in the med bay, Nemesis slumped into the chair beside him.
On the holo-screen up on the wall, the news anchor is interviewing the old woman who's still holding the toddler. The sound is off, but there are subtitles rolling underneath, and he's picked up enough kanji by now to get the general gist.
"We thought we were done for," she's saying. "But then they just showed up, out of nowhere. They saved my granddaughter." The little girl in question has taken hold of a strand of her grandmother's hair and is sucking determinedly on it.
There are actually tears in the old woman's eyes, and Hurricane's embarrassed to realize that there are tears in his eyes, too. He blinks, hard, and looks away.
"Hell of a way to take off the training wheels, huh?" he manages, when he thinks he can speak without his voice doing anything funny.
"Only gonna get better from here," says Nemesis, and tips her chin up, in the way he's starting to realize she does when the bravado isn't entirely genuine. "Give us a couple months. We're gonna turn this whole war around, all on our own."