|
Suddenly Memories: SharpAsATack
By Dac
It was a big city.
It was a really big city. It was really easy to get lost in. Everywhere there was to go, new paths and roads seemed to open up, leaving all these possible avenues for someone to walk down, and before a word could be uttered, they’d be utterly clueless as to their own position. People could get swept up in the current of the city and be buried beneath the hustle and bustle, as easy as a grain of sand on a beach.
Tack wandered around, looking aimlessly at the buildings surrounding him. He wasn’t too worried that he didn’t know where he was. He had a few hours to kill and wanted to explore. In the past few hours he’d managed to find a coffee shop with really good coffee, two decent bookstores, and a really dingy bar that he made a mental note to avoid from here on out. He’d also managed to block two toilets and slip out before anyone was any the wiser. His ability to turn into sand was still a bit new to him, and although he was mostly holding it together well, he was occasionally prone to small accidents.
He sat down on a bench in the park, looking around and taking in the environment. It was a beautiful day, with only a few meagre clouds out, unable to obscure the warm sunlight. Despite that, Tack felt slightly glum. This wasn’t how he’d pictured a world with superpowers.
“I’m one of the good guys,” he mumbled. “Why are we being hunted? Why do we have to hide and run? What is this, Civil War?”
A pigeon flapped its wings and flew away. He watched it go morosely. His friends were an eclectic bunch, but they were always on edge. Baraxis and Spartan were cool to hang out with, but Puma was so detached, Qwirtle cold, Ren irritable, and Fools...well, Fools just had one eye. It wasn’t hard to paint that picture. Even leaving to mess around for a day, that was enough for a lecture. ‘Don’t use your powers unless absolutely necessary,’ Fools had said. ‘Stay out of trouble or I’ll make it worse,’ Ren had threatened. ‘Just don’t get followed back here,’ Qwirtle had snapped irritably.
Tack sighed and sat back on the bench and stretched. Despite it all, he couldn’t deny it was a beautiful day. It felt good to get out. In spite of it all, he felt a content just sitting there. He pushed all thoughts of worry and disappointment out of his head and smiled.
A shout jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked around in surprise, and his face suddenly darkened. A man was running up the street, terrified. Behind him ran several men wearing a familiar uniform. The Leader’s foot soldiers. Tack gritted his teeth. He still chafed at the memory of what they’d done to him. He could feel his jaw going rock solid.
Without thinking he stood up and darted after them. There were four of them chasing the other man, who ducked quickly into a side alley. Tack shook his head in disdain – even he knew alleys were synonymous with deathtraps here. The four grunts ran after him, and Tack’s eyes flashed furiously when he heard cries of pain.
“Hey!” he roared as he ran around the corner. “You fuckers want to try that with someone who can...fight...back...”
He trailed off as he surveyed the scene. The four grunts were staring at him in confusion. The man they were chasing was on the ground, scared out of his mind, but the grunts hadn’t reached him. There were two more figures standing over the prone man, also staring at Tack. One wore a different uniform, this one grey. The other had no need for clothes – he wore a huge exo-suit and stood taller than everyone else in the alley.
Tack gulped.
Elite and Marksman. Two of the Leader’s elite Guardsmen.
“What the hell?” said Marksman.
“Is that who I think it is?” asked Elite.
“Oh, fuck me,” said Tack. Turning, he ran out of the alley and down the street. As he expected, he heard thundering footsteps pounding after him as Marksman and Elite erupted from the alley’s mouth and sprinted after him.
“Hey, wait up!” cried Marksman.
Elite launched himself off the ground and flew at Tack, slamming into him. Tack yelped and vaporised into a cloud of sand, and Elite went shooting through him, skidding across the street and slamming into a Pinto. An arc of energy seared the ground where Tack lay reattaching his various body parts. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted away. Marksman ran over to Elite and tried to help the metallic suited man to his feet.
“Was that the new guy? The sand one?” he asked as he pulled him up.
“I’ve got a dent in my chestplate that says yes, you idiot,” growled Elite. “Now get after him. I want to know what his game is.”
“Don’t get shitty at me just because you headbutted a car,” grinned Marksman. Elite flicked him lightly with a backhand.
“Shut your yap,” he muttered, and lifted off the ground, shooting after Tack’s distant form. Marksman sprinted as fast as he could to keep up. Further ahead, Tack ran as fast as he could. His lungs felt like they were on fire, but he ignored the pain and kept going. Abruptly, Elite dropped out of the sky in front of him. Tack nearly fell over as he tried to stop. He turned to run in the other direction but Marksman was almost upon him, panting from exhaustion.
“Hold up,” said Elite. “Tack, right? We just want a word.”
Tack closed his eyes and dissolved into a heap. The two Guardsmen stared at the pile of sand as it lay motionless. Marksman looked up at Elite in confusion.
“Uh...what’s he doing?”
“I...don’t know,” replied his teammate.
“Fuck, where did that wind go?” said a voice from the pile of sand. The two Guardsmen watched, utterly bewildered, as the sand began to drift to the other side of the street towards a sewer cap.
“Oh no you don’t,” said Marksman. He fired an optic blast, scoring the bitumen between the sand and the sewer cap. The pile of sand seemed to flinch and began scuttling in the opposite direction. Marksman fired another blast into its path and watched as it changed its direction again. They both moved closer. Marksman gave a hesitant chuckle as he fired another blast. Elite sniggered. Before long the both of them were laughing heartily as Marksman kept firing blasts and they watched the sand change direction.
“Dance, motherfucker!” cried Marksman with glee.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” howled Elite in delight. “Again! Again!”
Marksman fired another blast, searing the edge of the sand heap. It gave a startled cry and actually jumped. The two Guardsmen roared with laughter. Elite applauded.
“Oh man,” he said. “I hope there’s a surveillance camera taping this.”
“I know,” said Marksman. “We – GAAAHH!”
The sand leapt off the ground and struck Marksman in the face. Elite burst out laughing again as Marksman coughed and spluttered, clawing at his face. He gave Elite a black look.
“Oh come on,” grinned Elite. “That was a pretty good shot.”
“Motherfucker,” hissed Marksman. “My eyes are going to sting for weeks.”
“Yeah well...” began Elite before blinking and looking past Marksman. “Oh. He’s getting away.”
“Is he? Oh Christ,” said Marksman, turning around.
Tack was sprinting further up the street again, looking around for some avenue of escape. Why had he come into an unfamiliar part of the city again? He mentally kicked himself as he searched for an exit when another optic blast nailed him in the shoulder. Crying out, he fell to the ground and landed in a heap. He heard the footsteps behind him and slunk into the first opening he could see. Looking around he realised his mistake, the same one only ten minutes ago he had cursed someone else for making.
He was in an alleyway.
He took in his surroundings. It was a dead end, not very deep, and not even any dumpsters to hide under. There was one feature, though...he quickly dissolved into a pile of sand.
Marksman dashed around the corner as Elite flew in at the other end, looking around in confusion. They met in the middle of the alley. Elite looked past Marksman.
“Are you sure he didn’t double back?”
Marksman shook his head and pointed at the ground. Elite looked down. The last remains of a trail of sand were snaking their way under the door of an abandoned bakery. The two Guardsmen exchanged a glance. Marksman shrugged. Elite gave a sigh of disdain and kicked the door in. Sunlight flooded into the darkened room, revealing Tack halfway through reforming himself into a human. He looked sheepishly up at them.
“Uh...hi,” he said.
“Really? A door?” asked Marksman as he walked in. Behind him, Elite struggled to fit his exosuit through the doorway. There was some damage.
“Well, worth a shot,” said Tack. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?”
Marksman seized Tack by the scruff of his neck and pulled him forward until they were only inches apart. Marksman glared at him.
“Do you see my corneas?” he growled. “See how red they are? Do you even know how long...oh, god damn it!”
Tack crumbled in his hand and landed in a heap of sand on the ground. Marksman swung his foot through the sand in frustration.
“Is that your answer to everything, you little bastard?” he yelled, punctuating his words by stamping his feet into the sand. “Do you turn into sand every time anything ever happens? Train coming, turn into sand! Dinner’s ready, turn into sand! Do you turn into sand every time you jerk off?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Dude, gross,” said Elite.
“I can’t fucking take this any longer!” yelled Marksman, and he blasted at the sand with his eyes. The floor splintered and charred under them as he fired blast after blast. Elite stumbled backwards as Marksman unleashed his optic blasts furiously. For several minutes he did nothing but blast the ground. Eventually he let up and stood there panting. The floor was smoking and there were holes everywhere. Elite leaned against the wall, his arms folded.
“You done, Marks?” he asked.
“Yeah...” panted Marksman. “Yeah, I think I’m done.”
Elite stood up and looked around when he spotted movement emerge from the smoke. A disproportionate fist swung and clocked Marksman in the back of the head and he dropped. As the smoke dissipated, Marksman rolled over with a groan and looked up to see Tack, his face contorted with rage.
“You want something different?” he growled. “Fine. How about this?!”
He dropped both fists onto Marksman’s prone form with all the force that he could muster. Marksman choked out a gasp of pain, but before it had finished escaping, Elite’s huge form collided with Tack’s and they crashed into the counter. Elite looked curiously at Tack, all but crushed beneath him. Tack grinned and headbutted Elite’s visor. A small crack appeared in it. Elite stared in confusion and was caught offguard. Tack managed to throw him off and drive a fist into him, not even flinching.
“What are you, made of granite now?” said Elite incredulously.
“Something like that,” said Tack as he raised his fist again. An arc of energy seared through his wrist and his fist dropped to the ground. He gave a yelp of surprise, and Elite swatted him away. He stumbled backwards as Elite got to his feet and took a huge swing.
“Oh shit,” said Tack. On reflex, he forgot he was rock solid and went to his usual trick. Elite’s fist passed harmlessly through him as he dropped to the ground, but momentum carried Elite straight through.
“Oh shit,” muttered Marksman, standing unsteadily right behind Tack as Elite attacked him. Elite’s fist, following through, slammed full into his face. He hit the deck, unconscious.
“Oh shit!” cried Elite. He knelt down beside his comrade and shook him gently. “Marks! Hey, Marks! Come on, wake up! Say something stupid. Make a noise. Throw up or something! Please don’t be dead!”
A noise escaped Marksman’s throat, but what it was Elite couldn’t even begin to guess. Marksman was alive, that was the main thing. Elite lay him down and turned back to the half-formed Tack. His face turned grim as he approached him. Tack looked up, worn out. Elite seized him and lifted him up.
“OK, playtime’s over,” said Elite. Tack looked wearily at him and laughed.
“What are you gonna do about it?” he asked. “You’re super strong and you can fly. What can you do to a pile of sand?”
“You’re looking a bit woozy there, Sharpy,” grinned Elite. “How long does it take you to turn to sand? Enough for me.”
He hurled Tack skyward into the roof. Tack crashed into the plaster and all but shattered, raining down on Elite in thousands of pieces. Elite gave a short chuckle and knelt beside Marksman, gathering him up into his arms and moving towards the door. He made it out into the alley before he realised the sand was clinging to him, and seemed to be moving upwards.
“What the hell?” he said. Hastily putting Marksman down, he brushed at the sand trying to get rid of it. Instead, it continued upwards, towards his visor. He turned his head this way and that. The sand was getting behind his visor, next to his head.
“Hey, wait! What are you doing?” cried Elite.
He staggered sideways in a panic and inadvertently inhaled. Suddenly his innards felt like they were aflame. He coughed and choked, but nothing seemed to be getting rid of the sand. Abruptly he vomited and sprayed the inside of his visor with dry puke. He collapsed to his knees, choking and spluttering.
“Oh, you’ve...gotta...be fucking kidding...” he groaned. He looked up weakly and felt the level of puke going down. The sand trailed away up the alley, forming into a person. More sand from the ground snaked after it until Tack stood facing the other direction, slowly staggering towards the mouth of the alley. Elite stretched an arm after him vainly before collapsing to the ground. He dimly registered the fact that his face was in his own vomit, and barely managed to turn his head before blacking out.
Around the corner, Tack leaned against the wall with one hand, doubled over and wheezing himself. He was vaguely damp and looked the worse for wear.
“I am never doing that again,” he muttered to himself. “Never again...”
He moved slowly down the road, aching a bit and feeling exhausted. He eventually found his way back to the park where he’d been scarcely an hour before. He sat on his bench and doubled over, slowly regaining his breath.
“Let’s see,” he said. “I’ve been cornered, blasted, stepped on, punched, kicked, inhaled and puked. Yep, I think I’m done here.”
He stood up again and began moving down the street, heading in what he hoped was the correct direction for the safehouse. He crossed two intersections when abruptly he heard a yell from behind him. He turned and groaned. The grunts from earlier were approaching him.
“Hey guys,” said one. “Isn’t that the kid the Guardsmen chased off earlier?”
“Yeah,” said another, apparently the leader. “Say buddy, the Guardsmen seemed to know you. Think they’ll appreciate it if we bring you in?”
Tack trembled with anger as they came closer.
“Suppose we owe you some thanks,” said the third. “Once the Guardsmen left, that guy we were chasing was all ours.”
“Soft, too,” laughed the first. “He’s gonna be shitting bones for a while, I think.”
Something in Tack’s expression froze. The grunts came closer, still laughing like a group of spiders approaching a hell of a fly, when suddenly Tack smiled broadly and coldly. The group stopped dead.
“Come and get it, boys,” he sneered. “I’m pissed off like you wouldn’t believe. I need someone to take it out on.”
The grunts exchanged a glance, then broke into a run. Tack grinned and stalked forward.
Two minutes later he continued down the street. Passers-by stared in shock at the four grunts, two of whom were lying unconscious on the ground, one having vanished through a two-story window, and the last one hanging upside-down from a traffic light. Tack continued walking down the street grinning evilly, ignoring the stares, when he felt a light gust.
“Oh,” he said. “Finally.”
He dissolved and drifted away on the wind. It tickled a bit. He took in the sunlight and sighed contentedly.
It was a beautiful day.
5/20/2011 11:09:04 AM
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
