Firecrackers -- Facets.

Spoiler

Target: Fomantis (Simple), Wingull (Simple).
Ideal Range: 10k-20k characters.
Final Character Count: 11,821 characters.
Author's Note: “Firecrackers” is the title of my Pokemon-based superpowers universe. “Facets” is one entry, but it’s more of a crash course slash flash intro than anything. Also, in terms of Pokemon I’m going for - if I have to just get one ‘mon out of this, I would definitely rather it be Fomantis than Wingull. Wink wink.

Language warning; watch out for swears here.

I don’t think a glossary is necessary, but it might be helpful, so there’s one below the spoiler cut.

Spoiler

Hu-mon - a person with the powers of the mythical, long-dead beasts called ‘Pokemon’. On paper, hu-mons have the same rights as humans, but this is not always put into practice.
Chimera - a hu-mon with visible mutations such as claws, fangs, inhuman eye colors, etc.
Cape Capitol - the remnants of the federal government. Named for the shape of the New England area rather than for powered hu-mons.
Regulators - elite fighters and hu-mon capes that enforce Cape Capitol’s law.
Appalachian Coalition - one of the factions that’s gained power since the weakening of the federal government.
Cape - a hu-mon who uses their powers to fight, usually under some costumed identity. ‘Cape’ is a flexible term used for both freelance and government-associated hu-mons.
Everstone - one of several kinds of minerals that affect hu-mons differently than humans. Everstones suppress a hu-mon’s powers; exposure causes muscle weakness, pain, headaches, and long-term power suppression in extreme cases of prolonged exposure.

The sound of footsteps recedes as the last guard from the day shift leaves. Tense as I am, it’s hard for me to breathe, but I force myself to anyway. If I don’t breathe right, my powers will go out-of-whack. If I can’t rely on my powers, I’ll be dead.

I count the minutes after the last step echoes through the warehouse. Window-watching has taught me that once I reach about four-hundred Mississippi, the guard should be gone; at about five-hundred and fifty Mississippi, he’ll be out. Just to be safe, I give him the full ten minutes. No sense in rushing. This’ll be bad enough without the enemy getting armed backup.

With movements almost painfully slow, I begin climbing up the stack of boxes, my trembling fingers struggling for each handhold. Stubborn willpower forces my shaking legs to move me up, and up, and further up, until I’m looking down at my prize and the men guarding it.

I recognize the big guy with the leather jacket, gaudy red fur ruff, and cat-eared mask right away. Simba is the Appalachian Coalition’s darling, which means that his income is made primarily by pushing around other hu-mons. He’s brutal enough that even the government-funded news outlets will run stories about his victims’ horrific burn wounds, but I’m more or less confident that I can take out a fire guy like him. The other hu-mon is a mystery to me. His gear - green and pink, with an emerald-colored scarf and dark-pink goggles obscuring his face - is nice enough that I’m definitely sure he’s the Regulator guard assigned to this outpost. My heartbeat speeds up from anger now, rather than fear. So Cape Capitol has finally decided to start openly supporting the Coalition? I suppose there’s something to be said for them at least being honest about condoning the horrific mistreatment of civilian hu-mons.

I resolve to deal with Simba first. It’s because of rather than despite the fact that he’s the devil I know that I absolutely have to get him out of the way. If this little raid goes well, I might not even have to fight Greenie.

By now I’ve crept close enough to the two men and the box behind them that I can hear their conversation. “... wasting your talents,” Simba is saying. “Someone like you is probably gonna go on to evolve. The Regulators don’t have a fucking clue how to use their strongest.”

“I’m a man of the law,” Greenie replies simply. I’m thankful that they’re talking; as light as I am on my bare feet, I’m not making much noise, but if one of them looks up and sees me, I might get crispy-fried before I can even do anything. “Which exists to protect people, not as a way of grabbing glory.”

“The law,” snorts Simba. “The only law that matters nowadays is what the strong decide. The Coalition is strong. I’m telling you, Tourmaline, if you signed up -”

“Did they specifically pick you for this shift so you could give me the sales pitch?” By now, I’m behind the men; the angle is ideal. They’re bickering, distracted; I can use that.

Simba laughs. “You needed to hear it.”

“Just because I hear it, that doesn’t mean I’m going to -”

And I jump.

People call this technique ‘Aerial Ace’. It’s basically a combination of flying and moving almost faster than light - your body goes so light that you seem to float; you become speed made manifest, with white light shooting off and trailing behind you. So I lunge down, a hu-mon comet, moving so fast that time seems slowed down around me. Both supers turn toward me in apparent confusion, caught by surprise. Despite - or maybe it’s another “because of” - the fact that I’m doing the dumbest thing I have ever done in my life, a ridiculous grin spreads across my face.

Tourmaline barks out a warning; the world begins to speed back up around me; I suck in a breath so hard and sharp I feel the air smack against my throat. My pace begins to match up with everyone else’s and I open my mouth wide, press my hands to my ears as hard as I can, and let out the ungodliest scream possible.

Like Aerial Ace, Supersonic is a hu-mon technique, but that’s where the similarities begin and end. The air in front of my face ripples as sound waves tear across it, catching Simba and Tourmaline in a torrent of disorienting, brain-scrambling noise. Simba staggers, clutching his head in apparent misery; Tourmaline outright drops to his knees.

I hit the floor in sync with the Regulator, my heels smacking hard against concrete. My throat hurts, but I don’t have much room to worry about that. What little of Simba’s face I can see through his kitty mask gives the impression that he has murder in mind. “You little bitch.” There’s the edge of a growl - a literal, feral, inhuman snarl - in his voice as he pulls his right hand away from his temple. Flames are already sparking to life on his palm. “I’m gonna incinerate you -”

Simba isn’t the only one with the power of the elements at his beck and call. All of these moves are starting to tax me, but I manage to pull a beach ball-sized glob of water out of thin air between my hands. I spin it over my left palm and shove it forward with my right, and Simba takes a point-blank Water Pulse to the face. The Litleo man falls to the ground, brain-fried with a lungful of water.

No time to reflect on the fact that I’ve just painted a target on myself that’s too big for my back by directly assaulting a couple of official capes. I half-step, half-hop over Simba’s unconscious body and rummage through the crates he was protecting. I don’t even know what half these labels mean, but I recognize the case I’ve tracked here. Smaller than the other containers, but still big and bulky, sealed with a ton of locks and probably at least two coats of casing. It’s heavy, too, easily forty pounds or more, hard to move even with the handle jutting conveniently from its top. It takes some effort to budge it from its spot, but I should be able to move it. It’ll just take me a little more time than I’d thought.

Something grabs me by the leg. It feels like the energy is being ripped straight out of my body. I’m out of time.

Tourmaline’s stood back up. I’d like to think that he’s still a little dazed, but under that mask, it’s hard to tell. His white gloves are wrapped around the glowing vine that holds me. “Stand down.”

There’s so many clever quips I could use here, but I have bigger priorities. The literal Regulator getting ready to mop the floor with me kind of trumps banter on the list. It feels like roots are digging under my skin - God, I don’t want to think about how gross that is - so rather than trying to yank the vine off, I go for a technique. Aerial Ace is flexible; the light that forms when I speed up my feet and senses is energy, and I shape this energy into a blade that surrounds my hand. There’s a stinging pain in my foot as I slice the clinging creeper off. In just a few seconds, the ache fades, as does the sensation of my vitality being ripped out of my body. The remnant of the vine that Tourmaline holds dissolves into plant powder and light.

I don’t give Tourmaline a chance to do that again. He handled the Supersonic without a problem; I try another Water Pulse, but even a square hit just slows him down for a second before he starts trotting toward me. He’s fast, I realize, and I try to make my escape with the case, but I can tell there’s no way I’m going to outrun him holding this thing, having already zapped so much of my energy.

“Stand down,” he repeats, forming a knife of green energy in his hand. “I would prefer not to hurt you -”

“I won’t!” I heft the case, shoving it to one side so I can grab it after I fight off Tourmaline. “This is too important!”

“- but I will if I must.” The blade flashes -

I have just enough time to conjure up that white energy, to throw my arms up and catch Tourmaline’s blow. Even through my clenched-shut eyelids, I see the flash of light as his Leaf Blade strikes; my cry of surprise and pain rings out in my ears. The cuts are probably shallow, but both arms sing with pain, and when I force my eyes open, blood stands out stark against my bone-white arms.

Again, I realize, my chest heaving with exhaustion and fear. He’s raising his blade, coming at me again.

This time, I scream with purpose. It’s not nearly as powerful as the first Supersonic, but it buys me time, just enough time to hop back and reach down for the case. If it was hard to lift before, it’s nearly impossible with my aching arms.

Those pink goggles are opaque, unreadable. The blade stays in his hands, but he just watches my struggle rather than attacking. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

Is he stalling, waiting for reinforcements? I glance back at Simba, but he hasn’t budged since I put the Water Pulse in his face. And I don’t know who else he could have signaled.

But the question being genuine doesn’t make sense either. “What do you care? I’m a chimera stealing from a government outpost. A criminal. Motive doesn’t make a difference.”

“It makes all the difference in the world.” Tourmaline isn’t advancing anymore, but he points the blade at the case with a sense of urgency. “All the Z-Crystals and Mega Stones and all of that you could want, and you go for the Everstones. What do you want them for?”

Where is he going with this? “I’ve seen Coalition members and even regular people using these,” I kick the crate, “to hurt hu-mons. Tying them to us, using them to get the drop on us to kill us or kidnap us for God-knows-why…” He’s unwavering, but I continue. “You’re a hu-mon. You know that Everstones rip out our energy and hurt us; if you’re a Regulator, you’ve got to have heard of deaths and disappearances happening to hu-mons, especially…” I falter, glancing down at the dark red dripping down my chalky arms. “Especially chimeras like me. So I want to take these far away and dispose of them for good. So that people can’t hurt innocent hu-mons with them.”

For a moment, I’m sure that this means nothing, is nothing. That the Regulator just wants information from me before he puts me down or puts me in cuffs. It’s not a Regulator’s job to care.

But the blade disappears from Tourmaline’s hand. “What’s your name?”

“Folks call me Squall,” I say. Gesturing to my pale face and white hair, I add, “Squall the Wingull.”

“Tourmaline, the Fomantis.” He takes a step back. “Squall, this may not mean much to you, but… some of us are trying to make a better way for people like you and I. You promise me that you’re gonna make sure no innocent people are hurt with those?”

I’m so dumbstruck that I don’t so much say the words as hear myself say them. “I promise.”

“Then you beat me.” The lower part of his face is unmasked. He has a nice smile, mirthful and genuine. “You came in here, you knocked me around, you ran. You were too fast, and I couldn’t stop you.”

It’s like a scene from a dream. Regulators don’t - aren’t supposed to - care for us. No one does. If you’re not from Cape Capitol or with one of the factions, then you’re nothing; if you’re like me, a chimera, a freak, you’re less than nothing. It’s the dumbest, cheesiest, goofiest thing in the world, but I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “You’re the best cape I’ve ever met.”

It’s hard to tell, but I swear he winks. “I joined the Regulators because I wanted to do what’s right.” He nods down to Simba. “Can’t say the same for my coworker, though. You should get going.”

I had planned to cover my escape with fog; forming the air around me into a thick Mist seems a little overkill, but the words ‘just in case’ are etched in my brain. The case feels a little lighter now, a little less insurmountable, and the pain is a dull ache. As the mist clouds up so thickly that Tourmaline and Simba are barely visible just a few feet away, I smile. “Thank you.”

And then I run out into the night, Squall the bandit, lawbreaker, rebel, each bounding step lifted a little higher with the exhilaration of triumph and hope.

 

I'm not sure what it says about my personality that I h a d to go in and edit that no-space period, but I absolutely did, and I'm pretty sure it says something.

EITHER WAY thanks a bunch for the grade! I absolutely get your points about the description. I tried to cut myself off from too much description because I wanted a Big Punchy Action Sequence, but I went too far in the other direction, oops. Next time I'll try to keep the balance way more even-handed. For now, claiming my bird and bug!