Raid

This was written last year, and my skills have greatly improved. This is supposed to be a chapter out of my superhero world, but it will likely change before I feel proud of it.

This depicts people signing. I am not a part of the deaf community and am not fluent in ASL, so the signs and sentence structure may not be correct.

Raid

Months of planning and care had come together. A preemptive raid was decided as the best solution since waiting for them to make their next move would be far too risky, considering their possible strength. I sat in the back of the vehicle, which had some special name I should have remembered by now, but I just called it the Van. Motorhead had made the thing just for this mission. It was disguised to look like a garbage truck but was, in reality, an over-armored swat vehicle for the tactical division of the D.S.H.A., and a well-made one at that. I wasn’t one of those who were a part of the decision-making. My squad and I were called in for our unique talents and to prove ourselves to the division. My team was surrounding me; we wore darkened visions of our costumes so that we weren’t as easily seen by those we would be raiding. Any fancy parts of our costumes, that were not necessary, had been removed to streamline the fabrication prosses. Jen was upset at this because, and I quote, ‘this is our first mission with full-on heroes. I want to be seen as Impact, not some no-name loser.’ I could not argue with her on that, but there was nothing we could do since Mr. Moore had the last say in it.

The cabin was silent except for Miguel, who fidgeted with one of his buckles. His new costume stripped him not only of color but also of his usual humorous attitude. I reached over to him and squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s gonna be all right,” I whispered, as I did not want to be heard. Weakness was not tolerated, especially during a mission. I was a little unsure of the whole thing myself. When I had heard of the mission, I asked why we were doing it, and Mr. Moore just told me it was classified and I would know by the end. I trusted Moore, but something in my gut sat wrong.

             “You don’t know that. I thought I was ready, but what if I lose control or miss or….” I squeezed his shoulder tighter and turned him to face me.

             “You won’t, and even if you did, I’m here. We’re here,” I nodded toward Jen, who was unaware of our whispered conversation. She noticed the nodding and gave an appreciatory thumbs up. We had been through a lot together. I wasn’t worried about making it through this, but I was still concerned. The feeling kept surfacing that something about this was wrong.

             Miguel’s worries were valid, but we had plenty of other Heroes here to help if he lost control, and Mr. Moore told us that if, in the unlikely chance, shit did hit the fan, we could and were encouraged to retreat.

The van slowed to a stop. If everything was good, there would be teams on the west side of the building. At the front of the van, in standard tactical gear, was Gun Slinger, or as we called him, GS, our supervisor. He got up from his seat and signed to us, reminding us of the plan and our roles. GS was never one for grand motivational pep talks, so I didn’t expect anything after the review, But he signed one last thing to us, “Good luck.”

            We filed out of the vehicle and got into our positions. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two supers fly toward the roof of the building. My group and I hid behind a giant concrete planter that housed two massive shrubberies. We waited to get the signal from GS. It felt like time couldn’t move any slower. Everything was silent except for the banging in my chest. Miguel started fidgeting with his sleeve again. I reached out to him and grabbed his hand, and held it. He looked at me, and I started to breathe slowly. He synchronized with me, and for a moment, we were safe. I pushed down my worries for now; after all, we were the good guys.

             Jen shook my arm. They nodded to GS, who was giving us the signal to go. We rushed to the building. It had blacked-out windows. This was not a rarity in the west side of Bastion, especially since the textile factories relocated overseas. The structure was probably an abandoned office building sitting and gathering dust.

Just behind our group were two other squads, one of only Experienced heroes and the other with trainees just like us. Jen got to the door, which was a standard glass door with sheet metal welded to the inside for fortification. Jen placed her hands on the door and counted down from three. Then she tore the door from its hinges. All the glass shattered and fell to the ground. Shouts came from the building entrance, and gunfire exploded from the opening. Jen backed away from the doorway, still holding what remained of the twisted metal that was the door. The adrenaline was pumping through me so much that I couldn’t tell what the man was yelling in the building. Jen bent the metal into a makeshift shield and stepped back into the entrance with Miguel behind her. Once the gunfire slowed down, Jen shouted, “Now, Tendril.”

Miguel summoned bright glowing pink tendrils, which lurched from his forearms in all different directions. Screams came out of the room from the release of his tentacle terrors. If you did not know better, watching him, you would think his tendrils were wildly swinging, when in reality, the tendrils were strategically reaching out to grab weapons and unsuspecting hostiles. “Seleknight ten and two behind the filing cabinet walls.” Jen ran forward to protect Miguel with the junk metal shield. I then threw the crystals to ten and two. The crystals hit the ground and exploded into giant crystalline structures imprisoning the last hostiles.

             We held a dramatic pose for a half second and then sighed in relief. The room was crowded with people lying or curled up on the floor, cowering from the show of power. “Everything is going to be all right, as long as you remain calm,” I shouted to the room, as Miguel drained the hostiles in his tendrils of their emotional energy, leaving them drained of any will to fight.

“We’ll take it from here, kid,” a man in a black costume, accented in red, and he pushed me forward, away from what I thought must have been hostages. The rest of the adult heroes followed my team and me to the elevator, where they quickly disabled it to ensure any hostiles on the upper floors could only file through the staircase, making them more manageable.

             “Caught your breath?” GS signed, looking us up and down to see if we were injured.

             “Yes, we’re good.” Miguel slowly signed back. He was still getting used to ASL.

             “Good, Phase two now.” GS Straightened up and headed to one of the building’s two staircases.

We lined up next to the left staircase door and waited for the group of adult heroes to give us the signal to begin phase two. By now, the top floor should be raided by the flyers, and the whole building should know of our attack. Miguel was no longer fidgeting, adrenaline pushing his nerves down. I wanted to reach out and calm him, but I thought better of it. After all, we were in the middle of a battle; him being amped was good.

The other group gave us the signal, and we climbed the staircase. Our footsteps echoed up the stairwell, making it sound like more people were going up than there were. When we nearly reached the second floor, Jen stopped the group.

 She grabbed GS’s arm and signed, “Going down, Four men.” GS, in response, aimed a costume pistol toward the left wall and fired a rubber bullet. The bullet bounced from wall to wall speeding through the room and up the staircase. There was a second where we heard nothing and then the sudden and comedic sound of four men falling to the ground with moans and curses. Jen nodded to GS after the men fell, and we continued our ascension.

We found four men cradling bruised limbs and egos. GS got down on one knee and started to handcuff them. One man in a beanie fought weakly, but the other three resigned themselves to their fate. He signed for us to keep going.

“Are you sure?” This was out of line with Jen’s usual attitude; she was almost always taking chances and opportunities to prove herself. I guess the severity of going it alone scared even her.

“Yes, Go.” His movements were stiff and sharp. That’s when you knew he was serious and a little upset, and GS rarely had the temper for inaction.

We stepped around the four men to proceed up the staircase to the second-floor door. We were at least one flight of stairs away from GS. There was silence, still air between us, not a signal word or sign shared. This was the mission that would make us officially heroes. We got to the second door. This one was made of heavy steel. She set aside her makeshift shield and grabbed the new door. She did a quiet countdown loud enough for us to hear so that we could prepare for our second assault. If we were lucky, the other squad would already be here.

After finishing her count, she took three steps back and charged into the door causing the metal to twist around her. Miguel and I jumped through the doorway, expecting a fight, but the room was empty. 

“Impact, should we go to the other stairway and help the pros before we continue,” I looked over to Jen, who was fashioning the scrap metal into a new shield.

“No, we can’t slow down the mission. If we slow down, we’ll be known as a hindrance, not a help.” She started to look down the main hall of the floor. We had seen the blueprints of the building so we would not get surprised or walk past any hideaways.

The floor was littered with boxes, bedding, and rubbish. I assumed the place was made a mess by the people rushing through, and then I wondered why there was so much stuff for people to live here. Weren’t they hostages? “Let’s keep moving,” Jen guided us down the hall past the tattered remains of a cot.

As we headed cautiously down the hall, Miguel whispered the burning question at the back of my head, “Where is everyone?”

Jen slowly opened a door, anticipating a fight at any second. “They had a short-range teleporter we thought was inactive, but someone must have made a mistake.” Jen’s light tone was barely audible. I was a bit surprised since she never took the stealth lessons we had been taught seriously.

My heartbeat kept getting louder and louder as we passed each door. I didn’t think the anticipation was getting to me, but my body felt differently. “Guys, hold up, I need to…,” I could barely hear my own voice. I panicked for a minute and then remembered one of the files I was allowed to read, and my panic doubled. I ran to Miguel and signed for him to get GS. I saw him start to mouth a question. Realization washed over his face when no words came, and he ran down the hall.

I turned to get Jen, but they were already on the floor, struggling to get back to their feet. I ran, then hobbled, then fell toward Jen. My equilibrium was gone as a side effect of the sudden disappearance of sound waves. A man in a black tuxedo with a long black cane with an old-timey microphone stepped out of the last room in the hall; I recognized him as the villain Dead Air who neutralized the sound waves within a radius around him. I saw him do a mock slow clap as he walked toward Jen and me. He made an exaggerated “oh face” and started to sign, “You can’t hear, sorry.” He then shrugged and signed, “You can’t sign either.” He must have seen the recognition on my face as Jen was hunched over, throwing up. I couldn’t blame her. The closer he got, the more it felt like the world was spinning. “You sign?” his face was calm, with no sign of anger. I slopped against the wall and tore my mask off to lessen my disorientation. I remembered rule one of superheroing, if in danger, get them talking. It will increase the chance that you can save yourself or be saved. I breathed heavily and nodded.

“Good,” The false Viner washed from his face as pure rage covered it. “Hypocrites, you heroes are. Claim you are justice, but criminals, all you,” He leaned his staff on the wall and signed in fast jerking movements. “Tell me, what laws broke? We, the poor, only looking for sleep and shelter,” He waited for a response.

I was confused, but I needed to keep him signing, and if he was mad, maybe he would sign more. “You going to do crime,” my ASL was choppy, but I got my meaning across.

“Going to, Going to!” He walked back to the wall where he had left his staff. “This our home. People live here, arresting us for no crime?”

The more I heard him, the more I was unsure of this. I didn’t know enough, but we were the good guys. “Did not know it home.”

“Well, was my home; I should know that once villain, always villain. To you,” He turned away from me and slowly grabbed the staff. The beating of my heart was the only thing left I could hear, and while it grew quieter, I could feel it beat faster. He walked back to me and signed with his last free hand, “Better act part.” He raised his staff into the air.

In a reflexive move, I threw up a crystal barrier launching him into the opposite wall. The sound of my heartbeat returned to me. The closer he was, the more intense his suppression was. I crawled past Jen to the corner of the hall next to the wall made of glass. From it, I could see a crowd gathering around the building. This wasn’t surprising; reporters and groupies were always trying to catch the next big super fight, so they could tell their friends that they had seen it go down. The world started to spin again, and I stifled a belch. I finally realized what I was looking at and that I had no mask. I put a hand over my face trying to hide it from the crowd, who most definitely had cameras and were filming every window to see if they could catch some climatic fight. As I covered my face and tried to concentrate on the ground to stop my head from its constant spinning, I saw, in the reflection, Dead Air get up and charge toward me; staff posed to swing right at my head.

I swung my body around and constructed another crystal wall. The crystal wall shot up right into Dead Air’s chin and flung him toward the window. After his head was knocked into it, the noise suddenly returned, but the world still spun. I saw his limp body shatter the glass. I ignored my nausea and instinctively grabbed hold of his right upper arm. The momentum nearly pulled me out, too, but my crystals shot up around me, holding me in place. I dragged his body in from the window and laid him beside me on the floor.

I breathed in heavy breaths and looked out the window toward the crowd. I stood up and stared at them, letting the weight of everything hit me; they had seen my face. It was over, not just my civilian life. This was over, all of it. What had I done, what had they tricked me into doing, and how would I make it right?