Chum

She's a blur of wild motion, her body moving almost too fast for me to track, especially with my head still spinning from my fight with Mr. Nothing. The bruises and broken ribs should've put her down, but she's fighting like someone who doesn't even notice the pain--like she's running on pure instinct, adrenaline numbing everything else.

I watch as she slams Mudslide into the wall with a bone-shaking thud, his back impacting it first, a little to the side. The sound reverberates in the room, even though the ringing in my ears still hasn't faded. His back hits the concrete, and for a second, he just hangs there, mouth gaping open, swallowing for air like a fish, but his eyes still seem alert and conscious.

Maggie doesn't stop. She's not even slowing down.

She skates across the ground, hovering an inch or two above the slush and debris, her eyes locked on Mudslide with a look like empty glass, like there's a bonfire in her pupils, light glinting off pure blackness. She closes in, hands out, and that's when I see it. Her repulsion fields. The space between her palms and his head starts to shimmer, barely visible. But I know what's happening.

Mudslide lets out a low groan, his arms flailing weakly, but it's no use. Maggie's got him. She brings her hands closer, her fingers curling like she's gripping something invisible between them. Mudslide's head jerks forward, then to the side, his face turning light red as he punches at her, his fingers clenching up into fists that beat on her stomach with all the force he can muster. A small peal of blood sprays out of Maggie's mouth with the last impact of his fist into her stomach, past her mouthguard, onto his face. He doesn't seem to notice.

"Flash!" I try to shout, but my voice feels like it's lost in the deafening report of the past three bullets, our eardrums still ringing. The bullets, the pain, the exhaustion--all of it has collapsed into this one moment of brutal clarity. All she sees is him.

Her hands are moving closer. The space between her fingers and his head is almost nonexistent now, the pressure pushing his face into a grotesque contortion, the shredded paper bag wrapped around his head beginning to spin and churn like it's caught in some vortex.

"Flash!" I try again, louder this time, pushing through the pain in my shoulder. I stagger to my feet, my body screaming at me to just stop, but I have to stop her before she maims someone. I don't know. It's not like I haven't done anything worse, but it feels like a threshold you can't come back from.

Two hundred Newtons on each side of his head. I try desperately to recall medical numbers in my brain - does that mean anything? How many Newtons does it take to break a bone? At least four thousand for a femur, but for the thin, delicate skull? A trickle of blood, not the violent spray I was expecting, leaks out of Mudslide's bumpy nose. "Maggie!" I yell.

She's not hearing me. She's not hearing anything.

I lunge forward, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her back with all the strength I can muster. It's not much, not in my condition, but it's enough to jolt her. Her eyes widen, like she's coming back to herself, like she's seeing the room for the first time in minutes. The shimmer between her hands fades, and Mudslide slumps to the ground, gasping for air, his face swollen and bright red.

I don't let go of her arm, keeping her grounded, even as her body trembles with exhaustion. Her breaths are ragged, her chest heaving with the effort of staying upright. The adrenaline that's kept her going is starting to fade, and I can see the pain creeping in, the realization of just how hurt she really is.

"I… I…" Maggie stammers, her voice weak, barely above a whisper. Her hand shakes, and for a moment, I think she's going to collapse. But she doesn't. Not yet.

"I've got it from here," I say, my voice rough, as I gently push her toward the corner of the room. "Go sit down. I'll finish him."

Mudslide is still gasping for air, his whole body quaking as the repulsion fields' effects start to wear off. He sees me, his eyes bloodshot, and swings at me in desperation. No powers. Just a fist. I catch it with one hand and quickly twist his wrist so hard that he jerks forward, leaning into me, with a wordless grunt of pain.

I don't have time to feel sorry for him.

I drop to my knees beside him, yanking out a pair of zip ties from my belt, and quickly bind his wrists together behind his back. He barely struggles, too weak and dazed to resist as I cinch them tight. He starts mumbling again, and I can't deal with whatever he's ranting about right now, so I rip a scrap of fabric from my torn costume and shove it into his mouth, gagging him.

"Shut up," I mutter, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. My shoulder throbs where Mr. Nothing's switchblade dug into me, but I grit my teeth and push through it. There's no time to fall apart.

By the time the cavalry arrives, the Reptile House is an absolute wreck. Tanks are shattered, glass litters the floor, water pools around the debris, and the air is thick with the humid smell of the amphibians that were lucky enough to escape their enclosures. But for now, it's over.

Mr. Nothing and Mudslide are cuffed and being dragged out by the authorities, looking more like ragdolls than the dangerous enforcers they were half an hour ago. Mudslide is still muttering, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, while Mr. Nothing's jaw is set, his eyes darting from side to side, no doubt trying to calculate his next move. But it's too late. They're done.

The hostages are being led out by the cops, and paramedics have swarmed the area, treating the civilians and the injured heroes. I collapse onto a bench, my whole body finally letting go of the tension I've been holding onto for what feels like hours. The adrenaline's wearing off, and now all I feel is pain. My shoulder burns, the stab wound still bleeding sluggishly, and my muscles are screaming from the exertion. I've got bruises, cuts, and who knows what else, but I'm alive. That's what matters.

One of the paramedics spots me from across the wreckage, waving me over as she jogs closer with a trauma kit slung over her shoulder. I know her--can't remember her name, but I've definitely been patched up by her before. She kneels down in front of me, giving me a quick once-over with sharp eyes that somehow manage to look both exhausted and amused at the same time.

"Alright, Bloodhound," she says, snapping on a pair of gloves. "How bad are we looking this time?"

I shrug, then wince as the motion pulls at the stab wound in my shoulder. "Could be worse. Got stabbed, bruised… the usual. Nothing I can't walk off."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue. Instead, she presses a bandage over the wound, the pressure sending a jolt of pain through my arm. "Uh-huh. I swear, every time I see you, you've managed to get yourself even more torn up. You need to stop making a habit of this."

"Tell that to the bad guys," I mutter through gritted teeth.

She chuckles, but her hands are quick and methodical, cleaning out the gash in my shoulder as best she can before wrapping it tightly. "You know the drill--this should hold you until your… thing," she says, gesturing vaguely, "kicks in. But you've got to stop testing it. Even regeneration can't save you from getting stabbed in the wrong place."

"I'll keep that in mind." I say, but my mind's not fully on the wound. I glance over to where Maggie's being treated. She's still sitting up, but just barely. Her paramedic has her shirt lifted, inspecting the damage to her ribs, his face a mix of concern and professionalism. I can see the bruises spreading like dark clouds under her skin, a vicious purplish-red across her chest and stomach. Three bullets--three freaking bullets--and she's still breathing. It's a miracle, honestly. The vest took most of the impact, but there's no stopping broken ribs, internal bleeding, and God knows what else.

The paramedic with her leans in, fingers probing her ribs gently, and she winces hard. "Yeah, you've definitely got a couple fractures in there. Looks like those ribs took a serious beating."

"Uh-huh," Maggie mumbles, her voice strained. She's trying to smile, but it's more of a grimace.

I catch her eye, and she gives me a weak smile. It's lopsided, a little strained, but it's there. Relief washes over me, and I feel the tightness in my chest loosen just a little.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice hoarse.

She laughs--well, it's more of a wheeze. "Define 'okay.'" She winces again as the paramedic presses a little too hard on her ribs, testing for more fractures. "I'm… not dead. So, yeah. I'm okay."

"Internal bleeding, though," her paramedic cuts in, his voice neutral but firm. "That vest saved your life, but you're going to need to be monitored. We're talking possible damage to your organs. You'll be feeling this one for a while."

Maggie's face tightens, but she nods. "Great. Just what I needed. Hospital time"

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I don't want to have to explain to your parents why you got shot three times."

Maggie grins, though it's weaker now. "I'll just tell them the T-Rex threw something heavy at me while I was rescuing civilians."

I snort. "You think they'll buy that?"

Maggie grins a little wider, although it's shaky. "No,"

My own paramedic finishes with my shoulder and moves on to inspecting the rest of me, lightly pressing at a few of the deeper bruises on my ribs and abdomen. I hiss as she hits a particularly sore spot. "Yup, bruised all over," she says matter-of-factly. "Anything feel broken?"

"Just my pride," I joke, but it falls flat. My whole body aches from head to toe--bruises, lacerations, that constant burning throb in my shoulder where Mr. Nothing's switchblade dug in. It's like my body is slowly taking inventory of all the pain now that the adrenaline is draining out of my system.

The paramedic isn't having any of it. "You're lucky nothing's broken," she says, handing me a bottle of water. "But you've got some nasty cuts and bruises. I don't care how fast you heal, you need to take it easy."

I nod, even though we both know I won't. "Thanks."

Maggie groans as she's helped into the back of the same ambulance. Her paramedic is wrapping her chest with an elastic bandage, trying to keep the broken ribs stabilized. I can see the tension in Maggie's face, the way she's holding herself so rigidly, like she's barely keeping it together. She's winded, hurting bad, but she still manages to give me a thumbs-up.