InFamous Bad Blood Pt. 7

Chapter Six: We Were Meant For More

The APC rumbles through Empire's stricken streets, tank treads grinding shattered asphalt and shunting crippled cars out of the way. Bishop pulls on his gasmask and then it's just Cole and Marlena alone with a troop of anonymous First Son grunts.

He stands at the ramp, back to the corner, arms folded across his chest, and glares at the unblinking eyes with their infra-red pupils and wide, air-filter mouths. They glare back. He's never endured a ride this uncomfortable before.

"We take her alive," Marlena says, breaking the tension with a directness he's starting to suspect is typical of her, "if possible. Dead? Just as good."

"That okay with you, panty waist?" Bishop grumbles. The mask gives his voice a tinny, muffled quality.

"Fine." He nods. The other troopers seem satisfied, until he speaks again. "But the Reapers are off limits."

They aren't happy. There's a mutter of dissent. Their boss flattens it.

"If that's the way Cole wants it," she says, "I assume he's got a good reason."

"Reapers aren't the bad guys. Sasha's the puppet master. We take her out, and they won't be a problem anymore. They go back to being normal people again."

"Assuming the psychic feedback from her death doesn't fry 'em all."

The soldiers turn as one to stare at the man who spoke. He holds his hands up, trying to pacify them. He realises too late what he's done.

"We take Sasha alive then. No one's dying on my watch. Not if I can help it."

"What if you can't help it?" another of the nameless men asks. There's a threat in those words.

Cole's eyes flicker. A spark dances between his fingers. Gloved hands clasp assault rifles that little bit tighter.

"We're doing this Cole's way, gentlemen," Marlena says, "we need him, as much as he needs us. Understand?"

The men agree, half-hearted. It occurs to him that an order to use non-lethal force has to be a shock to the system for these guys. The only person he's ever seen them take alive was Sasha, and that was a target of opportunity. On any other day, they'd suppress these Reapers with ruthless efficiency and then slip away into the shadows again. He'd show up a few minutes too late, find a whole platoon of corpses in red hoods, all of them headshot. That's the way the First Sons work.

On any other day.

He hears voices from the cab, men shouting about something in the road. Something hits the APC like a wave, tossing the front end into the air. The troops are jolted in their seats. Cole feels himself compacted against the rear door. Marlena drops onto her back and skids down towards him, grabbing one man's boot to stop herself halfway.

And then the vehicle crashes back down onto its treads with a shriek of twisting metal. The front end has crumpled like a tin can, crushing the driver and the guy riding shotgun into paste.

It takes Bishop a second to unbuckle and take charge.

"Time to move!" he yells, and punches a button next to the ramp.

Cole only gets a second's grace to realise that the wall behind him is falling away. Then he's tumbling down the ramp to the concrete below. The First Sons surge onto the street, just as a figure in a dirty white robe leaps onto their transport with enough force to cripple the roof.

The soldiers sling their rifles and draw telescopic batons from their belts, snapping them out with a collective flick of the wrist.

Marlena throws her palm at the Conduit and a fist of telekinetic energy punches it clean off the APC's roof. It tumbles along the shattered street, and a pair of her men go racing after it.

"This is the place," she says, turning to the others, "fan out. I want the Conduits contained. Jensen: call for another transport. Get them to wait outside the target area until we confirm that Sasha is in our custody. Bishop, Cole: you're with me."

Cole shrugs. "Whatever you say."

-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----

They hustle down a side street, the others in the unit breaking off in pairs to find the Whites. He can feel them, every powerful surge of energy as they use their powers to tear up the city. God only knows what's got Sasha so riled up. Maybe she's celebrating getting her Conduits back. Or maybe she's pissed because he rejected her.

He figures she should be used to it by now.

A Reaper winks into existence in the alleyway, tar sticking its hood tight to its skull and skinny arms. It bellows through a mouthful of black, vomiting it down its front, and then throws its hands up. Stick-thin fingers, like bones wrapped in skin, dance around the power captive in its palms.

"Ah, shit!"

It's all he has time to say before the world explodes. The surge of power rushes at him like a hurricane, ripping apart the ground, shredding the concrete off the walls and reducing them to bare, grey cinderblock.

He jumps, desperate, and kicks off from the wall, throwing himself over the shockwave. He crashes chest-first into a fire escape rail and locks his hands around it.

Down below, he sees Bishop rising from behind a crippled dumpster.

Marlena drops from the ladder she was clinging to and slams the Conduit into a wall with a snap of her wrist. Its skull bounces against the brick, and then Bishop appears next to it, clearing the distance in a blink. He grabs it by the throat and sweeps its legs with his baton, before throwing it to the ground hard enough to make Cole wince.

He drops down as Marlena clamps her hands against the White's head and knocks it clean out with a pulse of energy.

"Seems like that psycho bitch is going all out," Bishop grunts.

"I'm not seeing anything out of the ordinary just yet. You said Sasha was above ground?"

"Doesn't fit with her usual pattern, I know," Marlena says, "it could mean anything. Or it could mean nothing. She's insane. You know that already."

"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know."

-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----

He knows they're getting close when he ducks out of an alley and a car tumbles past, bouncing on its rear bumper and then flattening a bus shelter at the roadside. He can see cops in riot gear sheltering behind patrol cars, shooting at red and white-clad shapes.

"Let's go," he says, and then sprints into the open, letting the other two follow at their own pace.

He races past a pair of patrolmen taking shots at a squad of Reds. Sasha's puppets are jabbering and shooting their guns at everything - the air, the floor, the cops and their car. He uses the bonnet as a springboard and falls into the middle of the Reapers, fist outstretched.

One of them takes his knuckles on the jaw and crumples to the floor. He kicks out behind him and catches a second in the lower back, throwing him face-first into the door of the car. A third swings for him with its gun and he grabs it, dragging it into a boot to the gut that drops it, spewing tar, to the asphalt.

The last charges him with the kind of fearlessness that only Sasha can give. He blasts it right between the eyes with a bolt of lightning and watches as it crashes to the floor, skidding to a stop at his feet.

He hasn't even started looking for more trouble when a Conduit appears in front of him, charging a blast between its hands.

He throws himself out of the way, feeling the wave miss him by inches. It uproots a street lamp and then blows the glass out of a shop front. One of the only shops that still had its front window, probably because no one wanted to loot a florist.

Cole rolls to his feet and the White turns into a streak in the air. He wills a charge into his arm until he's buzzing from shoulder to fingertips. A mass of crackling power appears in his hand.

A second later, the Conduit reappears behind him. He whips around and sticks the grenade to its chest. And then it disappears again.

It flickers back into sight on the roof of another crashed car, with the bomb still glowing on its front.

Cole shakes his head and turns away. "Man, you guys are dumb."

An actinic flash tells him all he needs to know. One less White to worry about.

"Cole!" Marlena shouts. He only has time to look over and see a Chevy tumbling towards him, feet away from flattening him like a bug.

A shockwave throws it away before it hits him. But it's nothing to do with him. When he looks over, he sees her standing with arms outstretched. She nods at him, and he nods back.

For now, the alliance is holding.

He sees a cluster of Reds under attack by half a dozen cops. A pair of Whites are already under control, masked soldiers holding them pinned to the ground. One of his new allies is wrestling another to the floor without touching him, crushing him into submission with pure telekinesis. It looks like Bishop, though it's hard to tell with them all wearing those same masks.

"Where the hell is she?" he hears Marlena saying.

He's been wondering the same thing himself. Where is Sasha?

-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----

"You got played," Cole says, "it happens. Welcome to the human race."

What he's saying doesn't seem to help. If anything it just pisses her off more. But she'd been staring at the wall for almost ten minutes. He figured he had to say something.

It seems he's about as much a father figure as Kessler.

They left the Reds for the EPD to pick up and bundled the Conduits into a van for what Marlena called "processing". The cops never turned their backs on the First Sons. Apparently, he's not the only getting used to the idea of them being good guys.

"Sasha showed up three years before the operation here in Empire began," she says. She's keeping her voice low so that the others can't hear, and he has to strain to listen over the APC's engine noise. "She was peddling some kind of mind control agent. I could tell she was no good. She was one of those women. Real queen bee complex. She wanted to be the one running everything. The moment she found out that Kessler was in charge, she latched onto him. I never saw them apart."

"Must have been hard."

She shakes her head. "Not because he was my father. Because he was my leader. I didn't want to think of him being taken in by that bitch. Part of me even suspected she'd drugged him, like one of her lab monkeys. I remember thinking, if he was being controlled by that woman, I wouldn't follow him anymore."

"So, what happened?"

"He was with her for three years, until I didn't think I could stand it anymore, and then he just ... kicked her out. Out of the First Sons. Out of his life. I never saw her again until that day I found her in a holding cell at the base."

"Sounds like he got a kick out of toying with people."

"I'm still not too sure why he did what he did. But I learned a lesson from it: Trust Kessler. He knows what he's doing. Even now I think the reason he had her thrown out of the organisation and not liquidated is because he knew how useful she'd be to help you grow stronger."

"Hope you're not expecting me to be grateful."

"I'm not. But I was hoping you'd understand where I was coming from. To Kessler, Sasha was a mild irritation, even when she was attacking our operations directly. She was never where his focus lay, until that day you tried to take her on. The important thing was always protecting you, helping you, strengthening you. That's why, ultimately, what happened today doesn't matter. We might not have caught Sasha, but that was never the mission he gave us anyway."

"So you're telling me you're okay with the idea of her living to see another sunrise?"

Marlena smiles at him, but he doubts if she thinks anything's funny. That expression might be the least good-humoured thing he's ever seen. Odd, because it's right up there with Sasha's maniac grin.

"I didn't say that," she says, "much as I know we still have everything to play for, I hate to lose."

-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----

"So what's the plan for hitting Tent City?"

They disembark from the APC at the head of the group. Marlena leads him past the inbound pit crew. She's so keyed up he can barely keep stride with her.

"Sasha's little diversion might work in our favour. If Alden thinks we're targetting her, he might not expect us to launch a full scale attack so soon."

Cole nods, but he's not so sure. Part of him's sure that paranoid, old geezer always expects a full scale attack. If they're going to take on the Dustmen, they need to be ready for a war.

"Tonight might be our best option. I've had operatives scouting the area around the tower for the best approach vector. I dispatched them before we left."

It sounds like she's really trying to do things his way. He guesses maybe she was for real when she said they needed him. Either way, he appreciates it. He'd been running out of options less than twenty four hours ago.

Now, he's ready to take on the world again. He has purpose. He knows what he's doing.

"We should have a plan hammered out by nightfall. They'll check you over at the infirmary if you need it."

He's about to say thanks when a trolley laden with tools skids across his path. He crashes into it. Tools and car parts clatter to the floor. He turns, jaw clenching.

The soldiers are laughing at him. All except Bishop.

"We used to respect ourselves," he says, jabbing a finger at Cole, "then he shows up and now we're all his goddamn sidekicks? That all we're good for now? You guys forget who you are? What you stand for?"

Marlena growls. "Bishop."

He rounds on her. "This how your daddy would have wanted it? Think he'd be proud to see you now, taking orders from this guy so he can run around the city playing hero?"

"What do you stand for, Bishop?" Cole asks, "far as I can tell, all the First Sons have caused is pain in this city. You think that's noble?"

His gas mask's already gone. He unbuckles his gloves and throws those off too. "I ain't never claimed to be noble. But I'm better than playing babysitter for a bunch of civvies."

"Don't push me, man."

The laughter, the smiles, the amusement. It's all gone now. The rest of the team seem to have realised that neither of them are playing. They're watching, features taut, brows furrowed. Even Marlena's holding her breath, just waiting to see how this goes down.

Cole flexes his fingers. Sparks flicker. Bishop clenches fists.

They lunge in unison. Bishop's right hook misses him by inches. He grabs a fistful of tactical vest and hammers him in the gut. Then, a hard boot to the ribs sends him skidding backward and into the trolley again.

He comes back swinging, rocking Bishop's head left then right with blows to the jaw. The guy towers over him, a foot taller at least, and maybe broader by the same. But it doesn't matter, because Conduits are a different ball game altogether.

This time, it's Bishop who grabs his jacket. He jerks him forward into a knee to the stomach. Then, he locks his hands around Cole's midsection and flips him head over heels. The landing knocks the wind right out of him.

Bishop grabs him by the collar and rears back, fist chambered and aimed right at his nose. Cole's hand snaps up and catches it, stopping it dead. His other hand slams a lightning bolt hard into his chest and throws him into a stack of metal crates that collapses under the impact.

He forces himself up. The other soldiers don't try to help. There's an unspoken pact here. Bishop's on his own, for now at least. That's good news for Cole.

But the rules are changing. With a flick of his wrist, Bishop snaps out his baton. His lips peel back, baring teeth slick with blood.

Cole just grins. "You asked for it."

He clenches fists, pushing pulses of energy along his arms. Static prickles the hair on his forearms. Twin prongs of electric blue light burst from the backs of his hands.

Bishop doesn't even blink.

Cole blocks a vicious swing with one blade and jabs the other into Bishop's thigh. It crackles like a severed power line and makes him buckle like he's been tazed. Any other man would have gone down like a sack of rocks. Bishop just headbutts him, then cracks the baton against his collar bone.

Something fractures and pain shoots down his arm. His fingers go numb and he loses focus on the blades. They wink out, moments before he takes a second slug with the baton to the spine.

He staggers forward, trips, and falls into a roll that carries him back to his feet. Bishop's on him the moment he rises, hitting him full on with a blast of telekinesis. He crashes into the side of one of the parked APCs and ducks as the baton flies at his head.

His foot rises between Bishop's legs. He groans, drops his weapon, and puts his hands over his groin.

Cole seizes his moment. He throws his entire weight into a super-charged haymaker that connects with Bishop's jaw. A ten thousand volt punch.

His feet leave the ground. Then, he crashes to the floor, out cold.

The crowd was silent before. Now, the quiet is pregnant. The tension in the air's so thick it's making it hard to breath. Or maybe that's the broken clavicle.

"Who's next?" he yells, "huh?"

They don't move. He wishes they'd make their move and stop just standing there.

"No one's next," Marlena snaps, "Jensen. Take Cole to the infirmary and get him patched up."

A soldier starts to step forward. Cole saves him the effort.

"Don't bother. I'm out of here. I'd be better off on the streets."

Marlena grabs him by the sleeve before he can turn to leave.

"We're on your side. I'm on your side."

He slaps her away. Maybe she is on his side, maybe she only thinks she is. The fact is she may as well be his enemy. Her loyalty and her command over the First Sons comes first. He's as good as alone here, even with her around.

He'd like to tell her all that. He'd like to explain. He doesn't waste his breath.

"No. You're not."

He turns on the others, jaw tight and fists clenched.

"You did this. Kessler and all of you. You think I'm playing hero. All I'm doing is cleaning up the mess that you made."

The troops are staring at him. If there's a shred of remorse or disgust or pity in them for what they caused, they're not showing it. He hates them for it. They're so much more than human, but so much less too.

And it isn't their power that's made them that way. It's Kessler.

"You can fix this. We can fix this. We should fix this. But if you people wanna hide under your rock and piss and moan that you were meant for something better, at least have the decency to stay the hell out of my way."

He shoots a look at Marlena. Her expression is hard, unreadable. Her daddy raised her to follow in his footsteps, a leader for fanatics and sociopaths who thought that their abilities made them better than everyone else just because.

She isn't his kid. Not by a long shot.

"Call me when you're ready to get serious," he says.

She doesn't answer.

And this time, when he goes to leave, she doesn't try to stop him.

-----x-----x-----x-----x-----x-----