Trick was getting really goddamn sick of Black Jack's arrogance. But before she could do more than narrow her eyes, the man she held at sword-point spoke. A freezing chill ran down her back, her hair standing up on her skin. This man… something was wrong with him. She felt tainted, somehow, even being this close to him. She felt like prey.

The man – Shirley – raised a hand and pushed the sword away from his throat, as calmly as you'd please. Trick's eyes widened. Her muscles were tense, straining against him, and he moved her like she was a doll. She could only watch in captivated horror as his body started to contort, muscles bulging and deforming, until he was a terrifying, hulking mask. He turned to her, a smile on his face, and raised his hands.

Trick was gone before the blow came.

She reappeared in the rafters, looking down at the battle. She didn't even know who she wanted to [i]win[/i]. Black jack was dangerous and unstable, and she hated his guts, no question. But Shirley… there was something wrong with him. Something dark, and twisted, and sadistic. If Black Jack was a hurricane, Shirley was a meteor. Trick straightened up and sheathed her blade. No matter who won, there would only be destruction here. She needed to get the people outside to safety. In an instant she was gone,  out a window and then flashing officers to safety on rooftops a block away, much to their shock and protests once they realized what was going on. 

Without losing her momentum, she came back inside to find Shirley holding Black Jack up by the neck. She had to fight to not roll her eyes when she heard Black Jack – of course he'd be giving some bullshit boast. 

Trick appeared midair right behind Black Jack, a hand outstretched to grab onto Shirley's. And then all three of them were gone. She teleported them thirty feet up, among the high wooden rafters. Trick was still airborne, releasing Shirley's enormous paw. And then she flashed away, stumbling into a landing on the ground. Sweat was beading on her forehead, her breath starting to come in pants. She'd been using her power more than usual – first with the large amount of police officers, and now with Black Jack and Shirley. Multiple passengers at once was taxing enough, but with how enormous Shirley was… And there was something just… off about him when she tried to teleport him. Like an extra weight, or a magnet holding him in reality, resisting her.

She looked up at him, now, gravity not yet caught up with his unsupported mass. His hand was still curled around Black Jack's throat. But a wooden rafter was piercing clean through the width of his wrist. For a second he hung there, suspended in the air, arm outstretched with a struggling Black Jack captured. 

Then gravity finally started to pull him down. His body fell, his arm bending oddly to account for the angle of his wrist. The square shape of the hole made by it refused to let his arm turn with the movement without the wooden corners catching and tearing at the meat and bones in his wrist, and blood shot out from the wound. His arm caught his weight, refusing to let him fall any more, and the rafter began to splinter and buckle from the strain. Trick began to step back, weight on her toes.