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This message Seven. was posted by niobe on Thursday, April 18, 2002 at 18:14.
I stand in front of the cell door, arms bare, slowly projecting and closing down the energy fields. Sending them out from the narrow polymer strips embedded in my forearms. Moulding them, shaping them. The most useful form is a broad, curved blade, razor-sharp, hard as steel, translucent blue. I can stab, slash, parry.
The shapes ripple, collapse, reappear as a row of spines, then as shallow domes that would work to deflect a blow. And now something much more delicate.
The guards at the Safe are well-drilled. The alarm systems are of the highest quality. It must really get to them when people waltz in and out without a care in the world. Pretty much like this, in fact.
Electronic systems rerouted and/or closed right down, this door still has a pair of classic-style bolts. They’re good; picking them my conventional means would take hours. I concentrate, extending a single blue needle of bioenergy into the first lock, having it flow around inside the mechanism, reform among the levers. Turn slowly. Success. The other is no more difficult. Into the cell, though I already know I’m too late.
The prisoner's name was Sillars. A pyrokine, sometimes called himself BBQ. Pathetic. Small-time, but I needed information from him. He was brought in by some hero or other earlier today, and word gets around fast. He has no trace at all.
The body is still warm. The Organization’s representative has been and gone, probably less than half an hour ago. I look him over. They’ve done a pretty convincing job of simulating a heart attack. I figured he might be in bad shape, but I can’t bring him back from the dead. Well, not with the stuff I brought.
...?
Oh, that’s just great. That makes three people wandering around what’s supposed to be the highest-security facility this side of - well, Red Right Hand, I guess. Very strong signal. Moves powerfully, quietly. Coming this way.
I make it out of the cell - just - and shrink into the shadows further down the corridor. Yes, I’ve seen this one. Came through while I was still lying low. Has a reputation for asking the questions later. That’s what he’s about to do - seems recently he’s been using more Knight-like ways of getting information. He’s going to be sorely disappointed. Clamps something over the magnetic switches that would trigger the alarms if I hadn’t already seen to them. Looks both ways. Bends the door from its hinges and disappears inside.
Almost immediately, he’s back in the corridor. He brings his fists up, and faint red patterns flash around them, intensifying, slowly brightening until the shadows melt away. He’s seen me.
Squares up to me. Not worth protesting my innocence. I gesture toward the other cells. The inmates - those they don’t keep routinely sedated - are waking up. Some of them I recognize.
Easy, tiger. You really want to be blasting around in a confined space? Shouldn’t we take this outside?
That’s the last thing I want, of course. Exile is fast, and a flyer. I can use these narrow corridors to my advantage. But he thinks twice about his energy-control powers and that gives me the moment I need to flip away and round the corner. I don’t make it far.
I didn’t appreciate quite how fast he was. He slams into me, but I twist away from his arms. Barely had time to react, even with the advance warning. He means business.
"Don’t make me hurt you, lady." He fires his hands up a second time.
I don’t have any problem with him.
"Believe me, you’ve got a problem."
I extend my own blades in response to his lunge, catch him a shallow gash across the chest. I’m conscious all the time that he’s backing me toward a dead end. He beats me for strength and for speed, but I’m not ready to be caught yet, by him or anyone. Hope I don’t have to kill him. Especially if he really is backed by the Observing Eye.
We circle each other. I land a few more strikes, but they’re doing less damage now. This is exactly what I hoped wouldn’t happen. Exile is a mutant, able to manipulate certain forms of energy. He’s adapting to the fields which form my blades, dissipating the blows.
I draw them back. Maybe the best I can do is try to stay one jump ahead, wait for him to make a mistake. But he’s good, a clever fighter, and I’m running out of space.
I flare up again. This time, the blades are tipped with countless little spines. I dart in close, score across his chest wound, just touching but opening up hundreds of tiny criss-crossing cuts. He barely feels it. Almost manages to grab me. I duck another punch even before he throws it.
From a pouch on my belt I pluck out a glass ampoule. Flip it at him. He makes to deflect it with his energy shield, but now I have the edge. Leap at him, grind it into his reddening chest with the ball of my foot, flood the contents into his bloodstream. With the same movement I push back, flip over my head and land in a crouch, inches from the back wall.
Exile looks like he’s going to rip me apart. He moves forward. Suddenly his eyes flutter, roll up into his head. Stands there swaying, trying to speak.
Topples like a great oak. I think he may have broken his jaw on the concrete floor. I wait only to check his pulse. He’ll be awake in a few hours. And I’m gone, over the roof and back to the city before I have any more to deal with.
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- Seven. - niobe - 18:14 on April 18, 2002
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