I look at the dead woman on the ground, her eyes frozen, peering somewhere in the distance, calm and serene. I don’t move, not even a muscle, waiting. In a moment, dangerous thoughts spin in my mind. “It’s her just punishment for these people. I did what I had to do. It was only a bad call, not my fault. I didn’t mean to apply so much pressure.” It all mixes together - fear, hatred, duty, training, experience - and above this all, a single thing floats above - regret.

“I… what have I done?” I hear a frail voice; it takes me a while to recognize it as my own. It sounds weak and helpless - I hate being weak and helpless. It was like… that time I messed up long time ago, on my first outing as a cape. I nearly took a bullet to the head, if not for my sister. “I’m so sorry.” I remember saying the same thing that day, while pulling a bullet out of my sister’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. Just make sure to be prepared for the next time.” It seems that after all these years, I still managed to royally screw up. I silently closed my victim’s eyes, giving her body some semblance of peace, and quietly fell on my knees, feeling my legs give up.

And then, something wet touched my costume from beneath. It’s not blood, I noted, no way for any to leak, not with a neck broken like this. I sometimes hate how calm and logical my training has made me. I smell the distinct scent of salt, which equals to sea water. In any other situation, this would be absurd.

I consider simply letting myself drown as some twisted sort of atonement, to let this all end here, but this is an easy way out. I carefully pick up a small breathing device from my utility belt and inhale. It should be enough for an hour or so. I always say, always be prepared - and so do boy scouts.

It’s not enough, I note. If I was my sister, what would I do? I would naturally think about the innocents first. It’s a shame how for all her inner kindness and self-sacrifice, no kid ever considers dressing as me or my “mentor.” In fact, as far as my knowledge goes, we are more popular among older crowds for various reasons: we are strong, independent females - in one case - and look gorgeous in form-fitting costumes - in another.

I note a pair of other heroes, better heroes, and see the guy convulse in panic. I note, he can’t swim, and move right to them, while the girl seemed to attempt something vaguely magical. If anything, I could share some of my emergency gear with them. And so, I swim to them, unaware of anything across me, which in hindsight - and hindsight is always a bitch - wasn’t such a nice idea, after all. 

I’m going to save them, stop non-lethally whoever criminals left here and then… then I’ll let the society decided what to do next. If I go to prison, I’m going to do something good in the very end. 

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[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/1322] Roll Superior[/url]