[center][h1][b]ANDREW[/b][/h1][/center]

[hr]

He was done. 

Absolutely finished.

Had enough of this shit.

Whatever was going on, and there had to be more than just exploding doors and making a mess of the street, Andrew couldn’t help feeling a bit like some of it was his fault. Not a lot, definitely not all, but the kid had been right to call him out on trying to save the criminals, even if he hadn’t known they were criminals until [i]after[/i] they’d started throwing fireballs at him. In retrospect, it should have been obvious, what with the fact that they’d been the only two people [i]not[/i] cowering in very rational and smart fear over the giant smoking hole in the bank doors.

Right. How had he missed that?

If he hadn’t spoken up, maybe no one would have been pulled into this… firefight. Stupid, really. When scary things happened, you were supposed to cower in a corner and keep your mouth shut, right? Maybe cover your ears and eyes and [i]not[/i] call the wrath of whatever the hell that was, Zeus? down on you. Seriously, wrong move.

Watching a faint line of smoke curl up from the girl’s back as though her soul was visibly escaping her body, Andrew was momentarily blind and deaf to all else. He just lay on top of the man they’d tackled, pinning him with inexpert hands, and tasted bitter smoke on his tongue, caught the sweet sting of burnt and blistered flesh. His ears were ringing, but her scream still echoed between them. She was dead. 

Definitively not alive. 

Yet he stared at her in terrified fascination, waiting for her back to rise with a strained gasp. To shake and curl with the convulsions of someone remembering how to breathe. She was dead. But she shouldn’t have been.

And part of him couldn’t believe it. 

He didn’t have time to be wrestling with reality just then. And a careening door briefly cutting off his view of her as it skidded and bounced, spraying sparks, between them, was a very apt reminder that the fight wasn’t finished, even if he was too tired to deal with it. He flinched, heard the curse beneath him and felt the kid shifting beside him and finally managed to turn his head, though the temptation to keep staring remained.

What he saw didn’t look promising. The other guy was still standing, someone else had joined the fray, and he wasn’t sure whose side she was on. But the driver and the knife thrower were keeping Sparky’s attention, and—when had the kid snuck off?—his newest friend was using that to his advantage, though what any of them planned to do once he got close enough, Andrew didn’t know. 

And he wasn’t going to be any help either, as the guy beneath him finally caught his breath and started squirming, not much, but enough that he had to shift focus, force his hands to hold on and try to keep his weight centred squarely on top of him. His head hurt. His face was throbbing with every slow beat of his heart. He needed more air himself and there was apparently more skill involved in pinning someone than flop on them and hope they couldn’t lift you. But at least he wasn’t the only one running on almost empty and for a few minutes, it seemed like he’d won.

Then he let himself get distracted trying to figure out when and how the tables had turned so thoroughly with the two would-be fighters, or at least, one robber and one confused lady, now lying on the ground and the ambulance driver dealing with someone who’d apparently been [i]in[/i] the ambulance when it started floating. Turned out, good timing was all it took to get out of his hold. He shouted as the guy heaved up beneath him. But a well-placed elbow plowing into his chest finished the job without fuss. Probably aiming for his stomach, so not actually well-aimed, but it hit his pacemaker and he could feel the jolt running through the wires. It was the finishing touch that put him out of the running for good.

And though a few more elbows—he didn’t know where the guy was growing them out of—jabbed at him, he was already rolling off him, helped along by the slant of his back.

He stayed down as the speedster gathered himself, coughing weakly and wincing every time, with one hand over the implant, silently cursing the damn thing. It wasn’t even working! At least no one wanted him to do anything else, and when the escape proved short-lived, and the hurt eased off, he slumped limp on the ground and considered never moving again, ever. Maybe cutting his head in half and only keeping the nice, quiet half, too.

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, it was to the unwelcome sight of a helping hand and the unapologetically tired but somehow still peppy voice of the kid whose name he didn’t know. Apparently, sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk wasn’t in the cards for him tonight, which was a pity, really, the cement was pretty comfortable. But yeah, fine, no. 

Common-sense won out, annoyingly enough, and since it might not be offered a second time, he accepted the help onto his feet. Slowly. With as little movement and effort as possible. He didn’t feel so great. 

[b]“Yeah no, I shoulda-should’ve-“[/b] Should have stayed on the ground. The world skewed fantastically when he was finally standing, and Andrew swayed blearily through the dizzying onslaught, trying to hold his head together with one hand and his stomach down with the other. Just the thought of trying to ghost through anything right then had it heaving. [b]“Watch yo-urgh”[/b] He meant to say shoes, but he didn’t talk fast enough, body taking the opportunity his open mouth offered to bend him forward and heave. There wasn’t much in his stomach, but what remained of his dinner left it then and there.