Chum

The unmistakable notification vibration of my phone echoes through the silent Reptile House like a gunshot. My stomach drops, my fingers instinctively scrambling to silence it, but the damage is already done.

I forgot to silence it.

Before I can even react, I feel eyes on me. I glance up, and Mr. Nothing's gaze is locked onto mine, calm, indifferent, like he's been expecting this the whole time. He doesn't rush. He doesn't panic. He just moves.

In one swift motion, he closes the distance between us, and before I can even blink, his hand shoots out and grabs me, right by the chin, the only part of me that's exposed. My powers flicker out instantly, like a switch being flipped. One second, I'm all tension and preparation, my body ready to pounce, teeth at the ready-and the next, it's all gone.

I can't smell blood. My muscles ache, sore in a way I haven't felt in months, and my teeth suddenly feel even more uncomfortable, painful even, in my knuckles. The sharpness I've grown used to, the constant awareness of my surroundings, all of it vanishes in a heartbeat. I'm just... Sam. Tired, sore, and vulnerable. I try to twist away, to break his grip, but the pistol in his other hand-pointed right at my knee-makes me stop cold.

"Don't even think about it," he says, his voice low and calm. He presses the gun harder against my kneecap, the pressure uncomfortable against the padding of my costume, the kneepad's hard surface pressing into my bones. His eyes are cold, unfeeling, and I know he's not bluffing. "I know how fast you heal, Sam. But I also know how much it's going to hurt when I make sure you can't run anymore."

I freeze. He's right. I can't move. Not without losing my kneecaps. The thought sends a cold, sick wave of panic rolling through me, but I try to shove it down, clenching my jaw. I can't let him see how scared I am. I won't.

I hear Mudslide laughing, cackling like he's having the time of his life. Suddenly, this whole mission became worth his while, but he doesn't come over to taunt me. I guess they've taught him some discipline.

"I've been told," Mr. Nothing continues, his grip tightening just enough to make me wince, "that 'upper management' doesn't want you dead. Not yet. But they're fine with hurting you extremely badly."

The gun presses harder against my knee, and my heart starts pounding in my chest, louder than before. I've fought plenty of villains before, some worse than him. But this is different. This isn't a fight. This is cold, methodical violence, and I'm powerless against it. I'm staring down a gun, and I can't do anything. Not a thing.

"I know you think you're tough," Mr. Nothing says, his voice almost conversational now, like we're just discussing the weather. "I know you think you can handle a few bruises. I know that once I let go of you, you'll start growing back just fine. But here's the thing-there's a difference between bouncing back and living with pain. And I can make sure you're in a lot of pain for a long time. Do you want to take the gamble that your regeneration will work right if I shoot you while it's turned off?"

I want to move. I want to fight. But I can't. Not without him pulling that trigger. And for the first time since all this started, I feel powerless. Truly powerless. No amount of recklessness will get me out of this. Sure, I could tackle him, but he's right - I don't know if my knee would heal right if it got shot out with my regeneration off. Would that fuck me up forever? Am I willing to gamble that?

Maybe later in my life I might be more willing. But right now, all I can do is try not to feel the tears pricking my eyelids.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Heartbeat still working methodically, moving from tank to tank as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. She's calm, focused, her fingers brushing over the frogs as she puts the next batch into a container. The captive-bred ones, the ones she can handle easily. The zookeeper's pointing them out, his hand trembling as he indicates another frog. She doesn't need to drag him around by the arm anymore. She's cowed him enough.

It's a strange contrast. The calmness of her work, the gentle way she lowers the frogs' heart rates, slipping them into that sedated state before she moves them, while I'm standing here, my heart racing out of control, powerless, and at the mercy of a man with a gun. The frogs don't even know what's happening to them. They're just... asleep. Unbothered. Oblivious to the danger.

And that's when I realize: this is how they win. This is how the Kingdom does it. Not with big flashy fights, but with quiet, calculated control. With someone like Mr. Nothing keeping you right where they want you, making you feel like you can't do a damn thing to stop them.

Mr. Nothing's grip on my chin tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into my jaw. "Now," he says softly, "we could keep this quiet. You sit here, don't move, don't make a sound, and I won't have to do anything drastic. We walk out with our fucking frogs, and you walk out with your legs intact. Or..." He lets the word hang in the air, the weight of it heavy in my chest.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. My teeth are still tucked into my knuckles, but without my powers, they're just that-teeth. Bone. Not enough to get me out of this.

And then, just as Mr. Nothing leans closer, his finger twitching on the trigger, there's a sound. A faint whistle, like something flying through the air, sharp and fast.

THWACK.

A sudden, jarring impact. Mr. Nothing's head snaps to the side, his body lurching as something - a baseball!? - hits him square in the temple. He staggers, his grip on me loosening just enough for me to rip myself free. I don't wait -- I scramble backward, dropping low and skidding behind a nearby tank. My heart is hammering in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins.

I glance back just in time to see Mr. Nothing clutching his head, momentarily dazed. There's a flash of red, a blur of something. And I realize someone else is here. Someone who just threw a fastball straight at his skull.

Maggie.

She's hovering just inches above the ground, her arms at the ready, hands full of whatever she's been stockpiling to throw-rocks, debris, pieces of rubble. Her posture screams tension, like a tightly coiled spring waiting to snap. The look on her face is hard to read under her helmet and goggles, but I don't need to see it to know what she's thinking. She shoots me a quick glance, just long enough for our eyes to meet, before turning her attention back to Mr. Nothing, who's still recovering from the fastball to the head.

"Flashpoint," I growl, spitting her name out with a mixture of relief and anger. "I told you to stay out of this!"

Her only response is a sharp breath, then, cool as ever: "It's what you would've done."

God damnit.

With a flick of her wrist, Maggie launches a small, flat stone straight at Mr. Nothing's gun, while he's still recovering from what has almost certainly given him a concussion. There's a sharp crack as the projectile slams into the weapon, knocking it from his hand. The gun skitters across the floor, and Mr. Nothing swears under his breath, his calm demeanor cracking just a little. He's shouting now, his voice cold and commanding. "Heartbeat! Mudslide! Get the hell out of here with the boxes!"

Mrs. Heartbeat doesn't need to be told twice. She's already scooping up as many containers as she can carry, her expression unreadable, her movements as smooth and precise as ever. She turns to the zookeeper, her voice low, dangerous. "If you follow me, I will kill you."

The zookeeper stiffens, fear flashing across his face as he nods quickly. He looks around, panicked, and then climbs into the opened up frog enclosure before ducking under some leaves and making himself as small as possible. Heartbeat doesn't wait for a response. She's already moving, gliding past the tanks and out the door, the boxes of frogs clutched tightly in her hands. I start moving to follow her, before my foot sticks fast in the ground.

Mudslide? He's not going anywhere.

"I'M NOT GIVING UP ON THE ONLY PEOPLE I HAVE LEFT!" Mudslide roars, his voice echoing through the Reptile House. There's something raw in his words, something almost admirable in the way he says it.

The floor ripples like quicksand, swallowing my feet before I can leap away, locking me in place. I struggle, trying to pull myself free, but the more I move, the deeper I sink.

"Blood, MOVE!" Maggie's voice is sharp, cutting through the chaos. She's skating around the room now, her foot fields allowing her to zip across the sticky quicksand floor without touching it. Mudslide's quicksand can't catch her. She's not touching the ground, and he can't exactly reach up to get her.

Mudslide, meanwhile, is scrambling for a hammer, grabbing it from his belt and slamming it into one of the tanks. The glass shatters with a loud crash, and he dips his hands into the mess of broken shards, liquefying the glass into a thick, gooey substance. He scoops up a handful of the slop and, with a grunt, hurls it at Maggie. As soon as it leaves his hands, it solidifies mid-air, sharp, jagged shards flying straight at her.

I strain against my own boots. The re-solidifying ground begins churning them out, but it's not instantaneous, and by the time I've slipped out of them and into my socks, his scattershot is loose.

Maggie twists mid-dodge, her foot fields carrying her just out of range, but she's not fast enough to avoid all of it. A few shards cut into her side, the sharp edges slicing through her jacket, and she lets out a sharp gasp. Blood splatters onto the floor, dark against the polished stone. She grits her teeth, powering through it, but I can see the pain in her eyes. She's wearing sports padding, not a real costume. It's not enough.

"Flash!" I shout, watching Mudslide bend down to put one hand back on the ground. I... I can't play floor is lava with him. In an instant, the reptile house is sludge again, and my besocked feet are trapped. Mr. Nothing strains through the sludge, reaching for the gun between us with nothing but murder in his eyes, visible through his broken sunglasses.

If he grabs me again, it's over. I won't give him the chance.

As Maggie skates around the room, dodging Mudslide's projectiles, chunks of liquefied floor, liquefied glass, even a chunk of wood, I see Mr. Nothing start to move toward his gun, the one Maggie knocked away earlier.

I'm not going to let him.

With a growl, I pull my hand free from the quicksand and slam my fist into the ground, shark teeth bursting from my fingertips. I drag them through the liquefied floor, using the sharp edges to pull myself out of the muck, grabbing for purchase like I'm using ice picks. The muscles in my legs and fingers burn from the effort, but I manage to wrench myself free, stumbling forward just as Mr. Nothing reaches for the gun.

"No, you don't," I snarl, lunging at him.

He turns just in time, his hand inches from the weapon, but I'm faster. I slam into him, knocking him back before he can grab it. For a second, I think I've got the upper hand, but then a peal of glass flies into me from the side, ripping several gashes into my costume. One of the shards slinks through my upper arm, cutting a neat, tidy slice into it, and pain screams through me as my arm clenches without my permission.

"I'm NOT leaving him behind!" Mudslide roars, his voice ragged, almost pleading. With a loud grunt of effort, he rips his hand towards the right, and I watch in horror as the sludge shifts and flows like a river of molasses. Taking the gun with it.

Then, a sharp pain rips through my gut. I see it in my mind's eye before I see it with my normal eyes - the gush of blood leaking out from my hip, over the switchblade's bright, beautiful metal. Mr. Nothing's hand pulls out, and the blood comes with it. I can't pay attention to all these things happening at once. Maggie launches a handful of pebbles like buckshot and they scatter over me, ricocheting in a stippling spray across Mudslide's face - I can feel every new welt and the fifteen small bloody pockmarks forming across his face and chest.

I clench my hand up and swing it into Mr. Nothing's face, feeling his jaw crack under me with a sense of grim satisfaction.

BANG!