Blood Sisters

Cricket was mad. Slowly, she got to her feet. Her torn dirty street clothes and tangled blonde hair were now even more of a mess then usual Still-numb muscles responded sluggishly and under considerable protest. She steadied her 15 year old body, finding her footing and looked up. A short distance away there was a man in a black jumpsuit and body armor, groaning on the ground. Near his outstretched hand was a device that resembled a large remote control, with two thin wires that spiraled out the top, snaked across the pavement, then up into the air to where they were planted in Cricket's chest like harpoons.

With a grimace she pulled out the thick sharp barbs. They had only barely penetrated her armor-like flesh, but it was enough to take her down. "That HURT," she breathed, walking with zombie steps towards the man. He was still groaning, barely conscious, bleeding freely from where his head had scraped across the pavement. Behind him was a small red car covered in more Bondo then paint. It had a noticeable dent right in the middle of the grille. Tangled on the front bumper was the man's squawking communications headset, still connected to the man's equipment belt by a thick black cord. The driver of the car was a young man with long windblown hair. He was standing next to the car in shock. "Oh my gawd! Hey are you okay, dude?!" He looked down at the man in black, horrified. "Dude.. oh god... dude, are you a cop or something?" The driver knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. The man groaned again. "Are you okay, dude?!" Just a grunt in response. "Hey, help! HELP! I just hit this dude, I think he's a cop!" The young man was yelling into the air, an edge of panic and desperation giving added weight to his plea.

"He's no cop!" Cricket spat with venom.

She had almost reached where the man lay, still walking with awkward slowness. The young driver looked up, seeing Cricket for the first time. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as someone barked a sharp command "One-Eight-Seven, step AWAY from the agent!" Cricket turned her head to see another man in black... taking aim with another remote control. "Sir!" The agent commanded the young driver. "Get out of there, she is dangerous!" With that, the agent had gotten close enough and activated his remote. Two harpoons shot out of the device towards Cricket. They flew fast and true, but not fast enough. This time Cricket dodged them, the wires arcing over her shoulder as she ducked. The harpoons hit a concrete building behind her, penetrating the wall until they were well out of sight, leaving two cracked holes. A puff of blue smoke came out as the device delivered its charge uselessly into the structure.

Cricket reached the man and grabbed him by his Kevlar vest, her fingers tearing easily into the fabric. The man gasped and looked at the girl in horror. Cricket, numb, afraid, angry and in pain, reacted violently, lifting the man into the air and throwing him across the street. The agent cried out in alarm as he tumbled through the air. He flew over the traffic that had stopped to witness the spectacle on this side of the divided city street, over the median, over the traffic on the far side until he came to an abrupt stop when his body crashed into a city transit bus on the opposite side of the road. The metal side of the bus caved in and the windows exploded out of their frames, showering over the street and into the bus like a thousand razorblades, cutting faces, hands and arms of the passengers. The agent stayed implanted in the side of the bus where he impacted, at the center of a metal and glass crater. He let out a single gasp as his life left him. His neck was at a twisted, unnatural angle and his body was broken, frozen in a lifeless scarecrow pose.

Cricket saw what she had done and stared wide eyed at the man and the bus. Fearful cries of the injured passengers echoed across the street. She felt sick inside as she saw the man's corpse leak bloody tears from the eyes in his crushed head. Her throat tightened and her eyes stung. "Holy... hey... you KILLED that dude!" Cricket heard the red Bondo car driver yelling at her. She turned to glare at him, feeling sick and ashamed. The young man paled, then turned and ran for his life, fearing he was next. Cricket just watched him go, then turned away, feeling sicker. People were starting to call out to the passengers on the bus, rushing to help them. A few people who saw what happened were looking across the wide street, pointing at Cricket and then turning to each other with disbelief and shock. Cricket could not hear what they were saying, but the look on their faces told her all she needed to know.

The sickness in her gut was like a cold rock, weighing down everything inside her. Cricket felt tears starting to come. She was still not recovered from the jolt the first agent had delivered to her. She stumbled down into the subway, breaking the view of her accusers. She sought refuge below the streets, the squeal of train brakes below drowning out the echoes of tragedy above.

***

In a parking place a short distance away was a black Cadillac DTS. Inside there was a spooky man with a sharp crew cut, sunglasses and a black suit. He watched with a dignified frown as the young short-haired blond girl ran down into the subway. With a dry sigh he pressed a button on his armrest and his face disappeared behind a tinted rear passenger window. The man tapped a communicator earpiece and spoke in a low flat tone. “Get me Welkowitz, the 1-8-7 situation has gotten too public, and we need bigger guns.”

The spooky man sighed into the muted sound of the car. He was looking at the back of a much larger man who was sitting in front of him listening to a quiet sports news-show brodcast. The top of his head brushing the ceiling of the car. There was several long moments of silence between them, the radio show droned on in the background. The smaller man started tapping his fingers on his armrest as his patience wore out. He finally spoke to the big agent. “So, you were right”. “Mmhmm.” “Its OK you can say it.” “Nope.” “We needed more then four agents.” “Yup.” “...” “Hows your team doing?” “Better then us.” “How long you going to do this?” “What time is it?” “Five past Four.” “Little bit longer then.” “You know what? You're fired.” “Fine, then you can drive your own skinny ass home.” “Good point.” “Mmhmm.” “Lets go get some coffee, then head back for debrief.”

The big man started the Caddy and pulled out into traffic. The sounds of sirens and frenzy drifted into the shaded windows as the good people of the city came together to manage the scene across from the agents. He deftly drove away from the chaos, safe into the anomymity of rush hour. The big man said “I hear they are going to be issuing us some bullet-proof sunglasses soon.” “Only bullet-resistant actually, they're made in China.” “CHINA?! Well, shit, guess I'll have to avoid gettin' shot in the head then.” “You're out of luck, no one could miss a head that big.” “What time is it now?” “Four eighteen.” “Mmhmm.” The big man turned right unexpectedly, just making the light. “Hey, the coffee place was down there...” “Yup.” “A little bit longer then.” “Little bit.”