Transfusion 5.6
Annie was a sweet girl. Naive, certainly — and probably too sincere in her belief in heroism. Coming from me, that observation carries some weight. I mean it without a trace of sarcasm, and with genuine respect. Around her, I found myself involuntarily wondering how well I actually matched that image of a hero.
I had always tried to. Helped those in need, healed the sick, donated enormous sums to charitable causes. But despite everything I had done, what I still saw when I closed my eyes was the bloody slaughter staged by the people who had escaped because of me. The screams and desperate pleas from people buried under rubble. The photographs of bodies torn apart in a supermarket.
That was probably why I had buried myself so deep in work. A desire to forget the casualties — to try and correct old mistakes. And perhaps the same reason I so strongly didn't want Annie to make mistakes of her own.
I had been in this world for more than twelve years now, and nearly everything I had dreamed about back then had already come true. All that remained was getting into the Seven — officially standing alongside the greatest heroes in the world. But once you've done what you set out to do, other wants tend to surface.
I thought it was time to set another goal. Something unrelated to heroism, career, and the business of saving lives. I wasn't made of iron. A rest would do me good.
We walked in silence along the nighttime street near Godolkin, enjoying the quiet that surrounded us. But after a few minutes I picked up on something unusual. My ability ran perpetually at the edge of my awareness by now — instinctively, without conscious effort — and it was enough to notice a super running from the service wing of the university, the part reserved exclusively for staff.
The guy's heart was hammering like it was trying to escape his chest, as though his life depended on every second of distance he put between himself and whatever he was fleeing. No drugs, no alcohol in his blood — which meant whatever was happening was genuinely critical.
I didn't want to ruin Annie's mood, so I decided to ease into it.
"You don't mind if the evening takes an interesting turn?" I said, turning to her with a calm smile. "Something's happening nearby and we're not there. That needs to be corrected."
She looked at me in surprise, then shifted her gaze along the street, trying to understand what I was referring to. She looked back at me, and then she smiled.
"Lead the way."
***
A man of Asian appearance came around the corner of one of the academic buildings. He looked to be around thirty. Long black hair hung in disorder around a face framed by an unkempt beard. His fingernails were unusually long. He wore gray trousers and a pullover that looked more like hospital clothing than anything a student would choose.
The night was dark, broken only by the occasional streetlight cutting weakly through the black. The man ran in uneven bursts, glancing over his shoulder every few steps, visibly terrified. In his panic he didn't notice us step out from the corner ahead of him.
"Right, so what exactly is going on here? We—"
I didn't get to finish the sentence. The man threw himself at us, dropped to his knees, and began pleading in a shaking voice.
"P-please! I'm begging you — you have to help me! You're h-heroes, right? They kept me locked up, they were — they did things. Please, please help me! They'll f-find me again if you don't—"
I had barely begun to process the situation and was about to try to calm him when Annie lowered herself to his level, placed a hand on his shoulder, looked directly into his eyes, and spoke in a voice that was steady and full of quiet concern.
"Don't worry. You're safe now. Just tell us what happened. We'll do everything we can to help you."
The man's gaze moved back and forth between her and me, but her words seemed to reach him. Some of the wildness in his face eased.
"Thank you — thank you so much. I'm — I'm finally free. They kept me there for God knows how long. They ran experiments on me, electricity, they took my blood, and they — and they—" He had been holding together reasonably well, but as soon as the details began to come, his speech broke apart again and he couldn't get anything out coherently.
"Who are 'they'? Do you know what they look like?" Now it was my turn to ask questions. But judging by the look in his eyes, he was not fully present.
"People in the forest. People in white coats. Bad people. They tortured me. They wanted — they wanted to—"
"Wait," I said. "Someone's coming. Ten o'clock. About fifteen of them."
I had felt them approaching well before they would have been visible — but what they did next wasn't something I had anticipated. What surprised me most was that they moved so quietly that even my enhanced hearing hadn't caught them.
Then an enormously loud sound hit our ears like a physical force. The man, still on his knees, cried out and clutched his head, then curled into himself and started rolling across the grass. Annie tried to cover her ears, but it clearly wasn't doing much good.
I managed to suppress the instinct to do the same, because it was obvious that would be useless. Coming toward us were around fifteen professional guards in body armor, masks, automatic weapons raised. Several of them were holding silver speakers — clearly the source.
In a single second, several black droplets shot out of the small flask at my hip, flew upward invisibly, and sealed my ears against the noise, forming a pair of makeshift plugs. Yes — sometimes abilities were just as unpleasant as they were useful. At least I used animal blood rather than human. A small comfort.
I kept up the performance anyway, grabbing my head and dropping to one knee as though the sound was overwhelming me. The guards kept closing in without any thought of shutting the devices off. Instead, they raised their weapons and aimed them at us.
Glancing back, I confirmed that the Asian man was already unconscious on the ground, and that Annie was close to joining him. So when the approaching figures were within five meters of us, I made my move.
Focus. Push the mind to its limit. Build the trajectories.
In a single explosive burst I crossed the distance and drove my fist through the first speaker. Two black needles shot out toward the second and third — before any of them could react, every source of sound had been destroyed. Then I turned to the people.
The soldiers hadn't had time to raise their weapons before I was already scattering them.
Two grabbed by the collar and hurled forward — bodies sailed several meters through the air. Spin, drive an elbow into the chest of the third — he tumbled to the ground. Raise a leg and kick the next one — ribs snapped audibly as he flew five meters in a straight line.
I pulled the shield from my back and used it like an oversized paddle to knock out two more in a single swing. Then I wound up and flung it like a frisbee, sending another one airborne.
By the time the rest had processed what was happening and tried to bring their weapons up, I had already dealt with a third of the unit. But before anyone could pull a trigger, a black needle flashed toward them — moving in defiance of physics, punching through several automatic rifles in under a second, along with the palm of one man who had been bold enough to reach for a second sound device. He immediately started screaming.
Inflicting that kind of injury wasn't ideal from a legal standpoint, of course — there was a real chance someone would try to make something of it in court. But honestly, that wasn't much of a concern. Vought's legal team dealt with "accidental" injuries sustained during the use of abilities on a daily basis. And that wasn't even accounting for the number of senior judges who came to me for medical procedures.
So I handled the remaining opposition with particular enthusiasm, making sure only to calibrate my strikes so that no one ended up dead — and that no one's spine got snapped, for instance. Since my medical knowledge was sufficient to let me throw people carefully, that part took care of itself.
A light hook to the ribs of one man who tried to shoot me directly in the face — he doubled over and skidded back a couple of meters. The rest emptied their magazines in my direction, but the blood shield that materialized between us absorbed every round. The bullets lost their momentum in the liquid and stopped without reaching me.
The rest of the engagement was interrupted by a burst of blinding white light that left even me momentarily unable to see. Then two beams of white energy flung two more soldiers off their feet, and a third took a compact but extremely solid fist from Annie. You could hear immediately that her striking form was trained — the bones of the last soldier cracked in a way that left no room for ambiguity.
One look at Annie's face told you everything about her state of mind. She threw herself into the fight without hesitation, sending opponents in every direction. The whole thing took maybe thirty seconds — after which the grass was covered in groaning, semi-conscious bodies in tactical gear.
Annie was breathing hard, scanning the field with wide eyes for any remaining threats. I could feel clearly enough that there were none, so I moved to reassure her.
"Don't worry — those were the last of them. None of them are seriously hurt, and anything involving blood loss you can leave to me. Right now we need to call everyone who should know about this — police, ambulance, who'll also deal with our escapee." I gestured toward the unconscious Asian man. "And I'm going to call Director Brink and ask him a few uncomfortable questions about what exactly is going on here. Or just get him out here immediately. And — you fought well."
The small smile I gave her clearly caught her off guard. She had only now fully registered the situation she was standing in the middle of. She looked away briefly, scanning the wounded, but answered anyway.
"Ha. Thanks. You too." A pause. "By the way — why didn't that sound knock you out? And what was that black liquid flying around?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, studying me.
I said nothing and just smiled wider, dialing a number. The plugs had dissolved the moment the fight ended — the sensation had been deeply unpleasant and I hadn't wanted them in any longer than necessary.
But before I could reach Brink, the screen lit up with the number I had been about to dial.
"Director — your timing really is remarkable," I began — and was immediately cut off by a voice I hadn't expected to hear.
"Mark, you need to leave the university. Right now. Drop whatever you're doing and go. Don't go home — they'll already be waiting for you there. Vought's buildings… God only knows what's happening there right now. I can't guarantee anything, and I'm already taking a risk just by making this call." A brief pause. "I have to go. Just remember — your father and I love you. I'll call when I have more."
Indira hung up.
I stood there for a moment, thoughts refusing to form into anything coherent. Annie was watching me with a questioning expression — obviously she had heard every word.
"It looks like—" I started to say, and then the phone rang again. The number on the screen was one I hadn't seen in a very long time.
"Butcher? Did Christmas come early this year? I'm genuinely curious what could have made you call me." I paused. "Though I'd suggest keeping it short — I've got a serious situation of my own right now and time is not something I have." I kept my eyes on the battered soldiers scattered across the grass.
"Not exactly rolling in spare time myself, if you can believe it. Kid — how are you? Something's come up and a friendly face from inside Vought would be a real help right now." A beat. "Just tell me what you know about the Soldier Boy."
"Skip the pointless questions and get to what matters. I've got enough problems as it is." I paused. "Actually — is that laundromat still running?"
I had stopped standing still the moment I felt dozens more people beginning to move in our direction, each one built along the same lines as the last group. In a couple of minutes they would have us completely surrounded. We needed to move now.
Annie was watching me with open suspicion, but the moment I signaled with my hand that more enemies were incoming and we needed to go, she nodded sharply, hoisted the unconscious Asian man onto her shoulder, and fell into step beside me. Meanwhile I had broken into something close to a full run, still listening as Butcher — who had clearly caught my meaning — kept talking.
"Still open. Never stopped. All right — if that's where you're heading, I'll explain everything when you get there. I'll be there myself by morning. Just one thing for now — stay alert. Vought has quietly started a war."
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