Chapter 4: Why / Not?
Alex was feeling slightly chipper.
Admittedly, that probably wasn't what one should be feeling after coming across a kidnapping. But then again, he never claimed to be someone of upstanding moral character, so there was that.
Ah, and as it happened, he was also working on rendering the whole kidnapping part a moot point, too. So honestly, couldn't he feel whatever he wanted?
Ends justifying the means, or something?
Still though...
Alex's head cocked to one side.
These guys look pretty angry?
A lanky crowbar trying to slam into his face supported that theory.
Alex avoided it with a simple tilt to his body, bringing him closer than what the surprised man seemed to have preferred.
The guy tried to bring the crowbar and swing again, but Alex effectively stopped him by spiking a knee into his malleable-looking stomach. He went down like a dying frog; ...not that Alex made a habit of committing mass genocide against amphibians.
Thinking about how weird schools were for promoting things like similes and metaphors, Alex ripped the crowbar from the man's weakened grip, just in time to block the mammoth of a knife that would have snugly burrowed itself deeply into his neck.
Sparks flew as two more slashes followed in quick succession, him neatly pushing aside each one.
The thug seemed to be confused and more than a little offended as to why Alex wasn't dead yet, because with a yell he switched grips, trying for a tight stab instead.
Now, Alex promised he didn't spin around the incredibly telegraphed thrust for flair. It just... made the process of slamming the steel into the back of the man's head easier.
He barely heard the successive thunk and thud before he was already engaged again, and Alex was forced to backpedal at a sudden baseball bat-wielder's wild and furious swings.
Changing it up at the last moment, Alex decisively sprung forward with a duck and a roll. The violent arc of the bat wasn't able to be corrected in time, and someone behind Alex was clocked right in the jaw.
Thug C spun around several times like a ballerina before hitting the asphalt.
Still crouched, Alex stared.
He... actually hadn't meant to do that.
"Shit! Jared!? I didn't mean to—"
What sounded like the start of a genuine apology was cut off as Alex abruptly stood up, forcibly pulling what he had just wound tightly around the man's calves. The wire did its job in yanking the thug off his feet and to the ground, the latter of which came rushing to meet him.
Alex didn't even get to witness the impact before he was already being accosted elsewhere, the violent hum of electricity being the only hint he received.
He leaned to the left for the briefest of moments before lunging to the right.
The dual strands of the electrified cord shot right past him.
Then he calmly picked up the discarded crowbar off the ground and incapacitated the man.
Okay, that was a lie.
Alex pounced at the man like a complete psychopath, unnecessarily dragging the blackened steel along the ground, and when he reached him, sent it skywards, catching the man's chin in a frenzied uppercut, making him achieve something that resembled flight for a few seconds.
Definitely wasn't Alex being vindictive about being tased earlier.
That would be immature.
Alex's knees subsequently being kicked actually caught him off guard.
He would have been fatally dog-piled if he didn't roll out of the way in time. But since he was low to the ground, he sent the crowbar in a sweeping blur, hoping to hit something valuable. When that turned out to be someone's kneecap, it made an unrealistic squishy sound when the steel harshly bit into it.
A shrill scream also followed.
Alex was on his feet again after rolling away from a stampede of stomps.
A right hook was already sailing towards his face.
Dropping the crowbar on instinct, he caught the blow cleanly and away from his face. However, his attempt to do something not very nice to the wrist was suddenly halted by a different hand un-consensually tugging at his black-sleeved bicep.
Oh, and now there was a beefy arm wrapped around his neck, too.
"I-I got him! Hurry, fuck this guy u—hlrkkkk!?"
Alex had stomped down on the ground, hard, not to hit the man's foot, but rather the curved end of the sleek metal item batting its imaginary eyelashes from the ground.
Miss Crowbar was caught mid-spin, and in a horrifying show of domestic abuse, was stabbed directly where Alex thought someone's face was.
With a garbled scream, they loosened their grip on his throat.
That made it a bit awkward when someone chose that moment to dangerously sprint towards them with a switchblade.
Alex very apologetically but no less technically trapezed his way onto the shoulders of the—quite frankly—gorilla of the man who had been holding him in place, perched there like a curious owl, and just watched in morbid fascination as cause and effect unfolded.
The blade of the man coming barreling forward had nowhere to go but to plunge messily into soft flesh.
It... actually couldn't be said which one looked more shocked though, the man who just stabbed his own ally and was now covered in blood, or the victim who had a knife impaled worryingly close to the heart and was screaming their head off.
Wait, where was the heart again?
Was it in the center of the chest, or—eh, it was probably fine.
The guy was still screaming after all.
Plus, the knife was small...ish.
Alex decided to leave them to it, flipping off the man's shoulders.
When he landed, he expected an even more serious case of attempted touching to ensue.
Strangely though, things were no longer so energetic?
Unlike before, no one looked too keen on charging forward. They were just shuffling and staring at him.
Confused, Alex tilted his mask.
A few of them stiffened.
"H—... He's just one person! Kill him already! Better yet, grab the girl! He's obviously here for her!"
Of course, there was always that one person that decided to be a massive dick, reminding the room of vital information.
Anyway, predictably, Travis' words caused everyone to freeze, before they turned their heads to one person.
Emerald took it about as well as can be expected, paling a shade similar to her white-dyed hair and gasping in fear.
Oh, and for records sake, she was rather far from him, inconveniently so—Travis and his harem of merry men being much closer.
A beat passed, which Alex spent wisely.
He stared longingly up into the air.
I just had to attempt to rescue the girl I kinda-let-get kidnapped. I just couldn't let it go.
The impromptu stand-still ended when around a dozen fanatically driven adults all lunged for a single teenage girl.
...
...
...
Emerald didn't know what was going on.
That was true when she was taken, that was true not even twenty minutes ago, and that was most exceedingly true in the here and now, when an odd, mask-wearing someone had arrived in even odder clothing, and proceeded to start beating up the people responsible in turning her situation from bad to worse.
And the stranger had been doing an impossibly good job at it too.
Except now the bad people realized anew how much value she had as a hostage.
If Emerald was scared before, she was terrified now.
Men—rugged, older and seedy looking men—at the dozen, currently sprinted towards her as if their very lives depended on it.
She didn't panic.
Because that implied there had somehow been a time during all this where Emerald hadn't been panicking, which was assuredly not the case. Perhaps it would be better to say she started to panic anew.
Each new spike of terror definitely felt like the first.
"Hah... Hah..."
Maybe that's why she couldn't breathe.
And Emerald didn't know why that was. Her breaths were coming out. She was for all intents and purposes breathing. So why couldn't she breathe? Everything felt so claustrophobic. So tight. Was it her bindings? Were they too tight? Emerald... couldn't get a full breath in. She couldn't.
Her lungs—they weren't working. Why weren't they working? And, why... why were they getting so close?
"Haah, haah, haah, haah, haah, haah..."
Why couldn't they back up? Why couldn't they stay away? Anymore and she was going to pass out... or would that be better?
Didn't matter. It was too late. They were upon her already.
A dirty looking hand reached out.
Emerald violently reared away from it despite knowing what good that would do.
It just allowed her to eye it as it came closer, certain that when it touched her only worse things would follow. Heart thundering in her chest, the hand eclipsed her face and—
Her vision suddenly swerved, the hand disappearing.
An ugly concrete ceiling was now in its place.
Huh?
Now, it took Emerald unrealistically long to realize she was on her back. Rather, the chair was.
How... had that happened?
Like this, she couldn't even see anyone's faces anymore.
And all around her, why had everyone gone quiet?
But things didn't end there.
With an action so sudden it scared the hell out of her, Emerald's entire body was abruptly pulled to one side.
"Hyahh?!"
No, she was flung.
Her loud and breathy cry of surprise be damned, her tipped-over chair spun in a completely different direction, and then even more impossibly, started to move.
It was as if the piece of furniture had sprouted legs and started running, all while on her back.
Horrendously loud, the wooden backrest scraped against the dirty asphalt. And she was going fast too, so fast that she was terrified that any moment she would slam into something, hard.
But just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Emerald just laid there on her back, blinking.
What... What just...
There was movement.
Someone was looming over her.
It was a person who hadn't been anywhere near her before. And, that was why it didn't make an ounce of sense that they were now closer.
Yet her upside-down sight did not change.
The ivory white smile of their mask was looking down on her. No, it was a frown now, wasn't it? It definitely didn't make her feel any safer. But neither, Emerald supposed with a nervous sweat, did the normal grin.
This was how her brain chose to distract itself anyway, as it raced a mile a minute.
The blond didn't seem to care.
He just nudged the chair with his boot, and with a light movement, kicked the backrest upright. Vertigo twisted her stomach in the seconds it took for her to rise to a familiar height, and it gave her access once again to the sight that had been unavailable prior, the nigh-bewildered faces of her kidnappers.
What just... happened...?
They were now several meters away.
It was like she had teleported.
If Emerald's maybe-concussion had anything to say about it, she did teleport.
A strange sound came from behind her.
It accompanied the sight of something thin and lightning-fast slithering away from a part of the chair. And she just barely saw it retreating snugly into a very unassuming golden leather belt.
He... He used that before... while fighting.
Emerald recalled the wire-like object, dazed, distracted.
A hand patting her once on the shoulder reminded her that she shouldn't be.
The strange blond walked past her.
No, he casually stepped in front of her, facing the stupefied expressions of those beyond.
And after what seemed to be a very deliberate show of standing there, he tapped his wrist at them.
He had a watch there.
—Hurry it up?
With awe or disbelief, Emerald realized anew that this person was determined in the most unparalleled of ways to mock the men across from them.
Predictably, it wasn't taken well.
Even though it hadn't seemed possible for them to become madder than they already were, that was exactly what Emerald was looking at.
And if that wasn't the rank and file violently trembling, even more than they had before, then it was Travis' eerily frozen face, a colder and colder snarl stretching across it.
"...Ken, change of plans. Your girl's value as a hostage has just plummeted. They're now both expendable. Everyone understand? We already got paid. Kill them both and be done with it."
"Wait, what?"
Ken was a little too slow to react, but Emerald's heart was too busy sinking to care. Kill? They were actually going to try to kill her now? She felt like laughing. She would have if the terror didn't completely prevent it.
The weapons on the ground and in hands suddenly looked a lot more dangerous.
Emerald couldn't breathe again.
"Wait, T-Travis!? What did you just say?!"
"Kid, simmer down."
Could things stop getting worse?
Or was that just a fool's wish?
Emerald's heart, tugged around in so many directions it hurt to think about, was dangerously close to giving out. Or was it that it would give up? She was definitely reaching that point.
"My father said—"
"Your father won't even be mad at me. Not with what we scored today. So, like I said, simmer down."
Emerald's vision felt like it was spinning.
It was hard to concentrate.
Did it even matter what they were talking about? That they were arguing amongst themselves? It would have been preferred, welcome even, if not for the fact that the one person among them advocating for her life, only wanted to do so for his sick twisted needs.
Emerald blinked her eyes, trying not to hyperventilate.
Or was she already doing that?
No, focus.
She needed something to focus on.
Something to latch onto.
Something different from Travis' growing annoyance, his men's restless forms, and her psychotic ex-lover looking one second away from a meltdown.
"Simmer... down...? Haha, simmer down?!"
Something else.
Something like...
Like...
Hu...h?
"You get your money, I get Em! That was what we agreed on! That was what you said! How, the fuck, would I accept anything other than finally getting her all to my—!"
Ken abruptly stopped talking.
No, the brick colliding into his face pretty much forced him to.
But, saying it flew through the air at unmatched speeds, where even those with the uncanniest of reflexes couldn't have dodged it—would have been the greatest lie someone could tell. Because it wasn't even close to being that fast.
The brick was thrown, its trajectory was telegraphed in an almost perfect parabolic arc, and it was to the point where anyone with a pair of eyes would and should have been able to notice the danger and get out of the way in time.
But it seemed Ken was far too emotional for any of that to register.
Emerald couldn't say she knew the appropriate procedure the human body went through as a brick just finished bouncing off their face, but she assumed what she saw was accurate enough: going down with a scream, or at least the kind of strangled noise that sounded like one.
It was like his body had completely forgotten how to work, like he lost all his motor functions at once, and that didn't seem to change even as the seconds began to tick past.
He was, for all intents and purposes, out of commission, and the silence born in the wake of it made Emerald that much more at a loss on how to react.
From the looks of it, Travis was right there with her.
His men, too.
That didn't seem to stop everyone present from slowly looking to the culprit, the masked and well-dressed oddity who still had his arm outstretched, post throw.
This obvious sign of guilt seemed to contradict what he did next, but at the same time, it made Emerald utterly certain that there was something very wrong with him, even more so than the men who had actually kidnapped her.
Because upon being looked at by practically everyone in the parking garage, the masked man froze.
Then, he pointed at Emerald.
She immediately blinked.
His hand had been caught in the most proverbial of cookie jars, and out of everything he could have done, he chose to unilaterally change his posture, cover his (fake) eyes with one hand, and with his other, energetically aim an accusatory finger at the one person beside him.
Her.
—She did it.
Emerald gaped.
The men across from her gawked.
Travis grabbed a fistful of his own hair and started to pull.
She only belatedly realized he was speaking.
"—down. Oh my God calm down. Deep breaths. Lord help me, I'm going to get a fucking aneurysm—actually, you know what? This is fine. Just, please. Someone. Anyone. Go over there and KILL HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIM! KILL HER...! FUCKING KILL THEM BOTH!"
Travis seemed well past calm.
"End this nightmare for Christ's sakes! You outnumber him! He has to protect someone! You don't! Do you all see where I'm—FUCKING—coming from!? I mean, look at him!"
His men did. Or, they had already been looking.
Emerald was too.
The person with the mask waved back.
If the plan was to incite all of those who had been standing shock still into action, such a thing went off flawlessly.
However, as the violent storm of footsteps once again tore at the asphalt towards them, Emerald unfairly felt she was the only one about to piss herself in fear.
And they got closer, closer, and closer still.
She started to tremble.
However, that was when something changed.
It wasn't immediately clear, but it had happened. And she noticed it, if not by the widening of her eyes, then by the sweeping chill that so suddenly cast down her spine.
Because the conflict didn't go the same way as before.
Rather, the person helping her—he wasn't doing the same things. He wasn't fighting the same way.
It didn't matter that Emerald had no knowledge about fighting.
Because the change didn't even try to be subtle.
No, HE didn't try to be.
The first thing to reach the masked man was a fist, a simple punch.
It was caught swiftly, the momentum bleeding out just as much as the confusion on the owner's face.
But.
That soon shifted to indecipherable agony as the wrist—no, when the several fingers attached to it, were suddenly bent backwards as far as they could go.
If...
If Emerald somehow didn't hear the ungodly popping sounds, she definitely heard the almost animalistic wail that came after, unrealistically loud, having reached pitches she didn't know—didn't want to know—humans could reach.
Then the scream died an ugly death.
A gloved fist had slammed it and its owner into the dirty ground.
And Emerald was given no time to react.
Because the others were already launching themselves into the melee after that, trying to land a blow.
The masked man did the same, and he landed several.
They tried to strike him, and he tried to break them, and only one of them was achieving any success.
The scale of the fight completely changed.
He tore into them, as if he was a beast, and their blood was the food. There was certainly enough of it flying around.
If the masked individual had been violent the first time? He was downright cruel now. Arms were broken. Heads were slammed into concrete. Precise blows no longer seemed to be in his repertoire of skills. They were tossed out.
Instead, he seemed to go for messy and deranged.
He stole blunt objects from his opponents, not to deal a single strike in the name of efficiency. No, this time, he did it to cause pain and nothing more.
Right on cue, a metal bat was ripped from fingers and used to beat their faces in. Not once. Not twice. Several times. The masked man did it until they were either unconscious, or in too much pain for it to matter.
"Gfffhgfhffghfffff!?"
A taser tried to sink into the blonde's exposed form and discharge. The attempt was laughable, because before Emerald even knew it, the opposing forearm was grabbed and discharged the thing into someone else's neck, right before the main offender got the exact same treatment.
Cause and effect did its job in allowing those two people to know what it felt like to have a few thousand bolts dance wildly along their exposed larynxes.
Emerald's heart would not stop beating in her chest.
This can't be real...
Why did she say that, she wondered.
Was it because the blonde was fighting, keeping his own?
Because she was seeing blood fly to the point where her stomach churned and twisted?
That despite every punch unable to be blocked, despite every sharp edge unable to be deflected, despite his own wounds very much accumulating left and right, he did not stop, he did not pause, and he did not once lose her in his periphery?
One such instance happened at that very moment.
Emerald had to suck in a sharp breath as someone suddenly got to her. No, he had been writhing along the ground in a semi-conscious state, but in a show of lucidity decided to grab her by the legs from the ground.
Only, he ended up being grabbed by the legs instead.
That wire as thin as silk tightened around the limbs so quickly, as if it had somehow always been there, and it did not let go.
The one who commanded it, the blonde, simultaneously stabbed an elbow into the nose of someone completely different, it exploding into the air like a crimson geyser.
Then, the caught-by-the-legs man was violently yanked away from her, loudly shouting, almost screaming.
Then he was screaming for a different reason.
This can't be real, Emerald repeated, gulping.
But she knew why it couldn't.
She now knew why she thought that.
And it wasn't because of the reasons she gave before.
"A... lex?"
Emerald whispered that.
She wondered when she realized. No—she wondered at what point did the possibility slip into her mind.
Not that it mattered.
The mask-wearing-blond didn't even hear her. He couldn't. The ring of violence in front of her didn't allow it—not with the collection of men, somehow reduced to a staggering eight, breathing loudly, spewing profanities, or howling in pain.
It was only natural Emerald's pathetically small whisper was smothered to death a thousand times over.
But whether or not that person paying back brutality with savagery was the person she knew; it didn't change the fact he was winning. No. Winning implied a game. It also implied there were losers to be had, losers that could quite possibly get up to try again.
That wasn't what Emerald was witnessing here.
With skills her downright odd classmate should have no right knowing, he put his opponents down, and he put them down hard. It was to the point where Emerald found it hard to watch. So, no. It wasn't a game, nor was it a fight. This was—
A fistful of her hair was suddenly grabbed and pulled, and she was crying out before her body even recognized the pain. And yet the tendrils of discomfort stabbing into her scalp wasn't the end of it.
Right in front of her face, an arm cocked back, something dangerous glinting at the end of it.
And that observation was as far as Emerald got before the thug, criminally eager, drove the knives' sharp edge straight towards her neck, Emerald not even being given the chance to feel afraid.
The blow should have been painful after that.
No, there at least should have been a physical sensation.
Instead, something very wet splattered all over her face and eyes, ones she just barely managed to shut in time.
But she loudly cried out, unable to prevent herself from freaking out at the odd liquid-like substance dripping down her cheeks and neck.
And... that was likely why Emerald couldn't immediately understand the sight she opened her eyes to.
She found the knife, and the thug was still holding it.
But the blade...
It had gotten stuck on something.
But it was stuck in a way that Emerald didn't want to admit was real.
A hand, a familiarly gloved one, kept it, and the person-pushing-it-from-behind, in place. However, that shield-like hand wasn't gripping the blade.
No, it was wearing it.
Who knows how many seconds passed.
Feeling sick all of a sudden, Emerald wanted to ask if he was okay. But what a lie that was. As if her tongue was even remotely capable of doing something like that.
"A-Ahhhh...?"
That was the only sound she made.
The jagged steel poked out of his palm, and Emerald didn't know whether the appearance of the glove made that easier to bear... or more disturbing.
Blood spurted out at irregular intervals, like a fuse box scampering with too much electricity. But instead of staticky blue, it was replaced by an obtrusive and all too uncleanly red.
But despite how painful it looked...
The masked blond, Alex, whoever it was—they didn't do anything like cry out or groan.
They didn't make so much as a sound.
It was a situation that more than called for one screaming one's head off, yet nothing like that happened. That shouldn't have been allowed. Not when this person had just taken six inches of steel meant for her.
"W-Why are you..."
The words Emerald hadn't meant to say, using her mouth that hadn't meant to speak, managed to come out and she couldn't stop them.
But she didn't get anything like an answer, nor an acknowledgement.
Because at that moment, the time that had so generously stopped, began running again.
Her chair was unexpectedly kicked, and with a gasp, Emerald skidded backwards several feet.
It had been the blond who had done so, sparing her only the briefest of glances before looking to the man, the thug still holding onto a still trapped-in-flesh knife in something resembling shock.
Only their positions suddenly changed.
A knee was caving the thug's stomach, and the arm that had been holding onto the knife was now ramrod straight.
No, the masked blond was the one holding it ramrod straight.
"W-Wai—!" The desperate cry confused her, but the sickening cracking sound tore into that confusion like butter.
The man screamed and screamed as he writhed uncontrollably on the ground, his arm inescapably bent the wrong way. Meanwhile, the blond took the knife still embedded in his palm and—
Emerald hurriedly had to look away, enforced by either her violently churning stomach or her screaming mind. It didn't stop her from hearing the sound of flesh squelching hideously as the knife was pulled out.
During this, however, it was only after blinking a few times did Emerald realize who her gaze had accidentally landed on.
Travis.
It... was an indescribable feeling, she decided, seeing the man take several steps back, all but trying to retreat.
This, coming from the same person who had gleefully extorted her father out of a huge sum of money, and used her to do it.
And this person only continued to inch closer to the door on the far side of the garage.
He had just four men remaining after all.
Another sickening crack echoed, and Emerald winced.
...Three men.
"Fuck!"
Travis needed no other excuse, booking it. Unfortunately for him, he only got as far as turning around.
Emerald saw it, the way there was suddenly that razor thin wire lassoed around his ankles, and with a single violent tug, Travis promptly lost all footing.
She saw how he must have been too shocked to brace with his hands, because he fell face first into the concrete.
And she saw the black-haired man look back, bloody nose and all.
It was just in time to see the masked suit use the excess of the wire to catch a sudden fist, then a whole arm, and then the attached neck.
Like a fly struggling to breathe after getting caught in the spider's web, the thug in question passed out after writhing in vain for several seconds.
A remaining two men watched as this happened, not moving a muscle, and the reason why became clear.
They just exchanged a single glance with each other before turning and fleeing.
In fact, his two subordinates didn't even hesitate to run right past their boss, with Travis' colorful curses seeing them off.
They reached the doors at the end and disappeared.
The man in the mask didn't look particularly bothered by that.
No, that person hadn't looked particularly bothered by anything.
Emerald looked around her.
If it wasn't the discarded weapons, then it was the subtly breathing bodies.
If it wasn't the bodies, then it was the asphalt slick with blood.
If it wasn't any of that, then it was her, Travis clawing at the ground desperately, or finally, the masked blond himself, who she may or may not know, not caring in the slightest as he reeled him in.
And when Travis realized how fruitless his attempts were, he whipped his body around, turning to face the person who had ruined him with such meticulous ease.
Predictably, the man's anger was white-hot.
"Argghhhh! Godammit! YOU! Who ARE you?! Are you some mercenary!? Someone from a rival group?! What went wrong?! Tell me what caused this so I can never FUCKING do it again! Call it cowardice or whatever you want, but running into monsters like you—haha?! Fuck that! It's bad for business, plain and simple! So tell me, why! Why are you here?! Why did you come?! Whyyyyy?!"
The masked person was standing right above Travis now, and for a moment, Emerald watching with bated breath as she was, she actually thought there would be a carefully thought-out reason for it all, or even the continued silence of that figure who still hadn't said a word.
But there was, and it left the mask immediately.
"...Why?"
Emerald's heart clenched.
A remarkably familiar voice accompanied the eyeless eyes that bore into Travis. An odd warble of a sound followed it. No, it was a simple chuckle.
"Why not~?"
Travis only got to widen his eyes before he was pulled upward by the collar, the back of his head then summarily slammed back into the concrete.
Just like that, consciousness left him, and a dreadfully uncomfortable silence was stirred up as a result.
It was over.
It was, right?
So why did Emerald find it impossible in figuring out whether she should be relieved or terrified?
But there was an even more important factor to consider. It was something she desperately wanted to know for sure, yet at the same time secretly didn't.
"H-Hey... are... is..."
God, her voice sounded so pathetic and weak.
But it got the reaction she wanted, close enough anyway. It at least got him to turn and look at her.
She wasn't sure it was so much of a good thing, however, not when that mask just stared at her, saying absolutely nothing, doing absolutely nothing, with blood continuously dripping down from his impaled hand all the while.
Emerald wet her lips further.
"Is... that really you... A—?"
"POLICE—NOBODY MOVE! YOU! LET ME SEE THOSE HANDS! HANDS! UP IN THE AIR! NOW!"
With that authoritative shout leading the charge, one that almost caused Emerald to cry out in shock, five figures filed in the parking garage with uniform efficiency.
They came from the doors that had just been used as an escape route by the two men of Travis' outfit, Emerald idling wondering if they ran into each other.
At the same time though, she felt she already had the answer.
Full combat gear.
Firearms held at the ready.
Having quickly done a perfect sweep over the perimeter, local law enforcement had already surrounded the one person standing in the midst of body after body of unconscious men.
'Alex'... could have run, though she didn't think he would have gotten very far without being shot.
Perhaps that was why the masked blond was wordlessly complying with the orders shouted at him.
Slowly bringing his hands up, he remained where he was without so much as a jerk.
"On your knees too! No sudden moves!"
Emerald stared as two knees hit the ground.
And, for some reason, seeing the sheer lack of resistance utterly bothered her.
"W-Wait a second, you have it all wrong! Al—, er, this person rescued me! I was being held hostage by these people and he saved me from them! He didn't do anything wrong!"
'Alex' didn't even look at her.
Nor did the officers, warily eyeing the mask and shifting nervously. "...Be that as it may," one of them eventually said, a man, "We still have to follow proper procedures. I'm sorry, Miss, but we can't just take your word for it."
"T-That's..."
Emerald didn't know what to say.
The situation didn't stop for her, however.
"Joan, cuff him."
And with that order, a woman she thought she recognized approached the masked individual.
...
...
...
Holy... it's really him...
To Joan, it almost didn't feel real, that the one in front of her had been the same person who had been so rooted in her mind.
But there he was, blond hair, mask, suit, and all. That he was on his knees too, hands raised, looking for all intents and purposes like he was ready to be arrested, was even stranger.
Was it because he knew he couldn't possibly flee in this situation?
But, surely he didn't think they were just going to send him off with a slap on the wrist and a stern talking-to, did he?
It didn't matter.
Upon Brett's command, Joan holstered her sidearm and moved forward, reaching for her handcuffs.
The others were perusing the heaps of red bandanna-clad men on the ground, who for the most part were all unconscious.
The ones who weren't, seemed to be in too much pain to even be a threat. And the reason, well... it was so unlikely it wasn't even funny.
But because it was even more implausible that the entire gang had promptly turned on each other, that only left one possibility.
One person did all of this damage.
But... calling it damage was an understatement.
Jesus...
Heavily bruised faces, gaping signs of fractured bones... and blood.
A lot of it.
Splattered every which way, to the point where she was confused not a single one of her colleagues made a wordless sign for 'deceased'.
It was like Joan had walked in on the set for some over-the-top horror film.
Still... taking on this many people, she looked at Emerald. Whilst also securing the hostage... something like that shouldn't be...
Joan could tell her fellow officers were thinking the same.
Shaking it off, she took measured steps towards the masked man.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to move your hands behind your back. Please do it slowly and with no sudden movements."
He did exactly that, and Joan breathed a sigh of relief.
Spanning around behind him, she reached for one of his sleeved wrists. Her tone then got a little quieter.
"...For what it's worth, I think you did a good thing here, at the bank too. I'm sorry to have to do this." Her hand grabbed his.
And that was when she heard it, so soft it might not have even been muttered at all.
"Then I'll apologize too."
Joan's world spun.
She had no idea what happened, but what she did know was that her vision changed drastically.
Ah... my head...
And, that her head suddenly started hurting like crazy, a dull ache that made everything fuzzy.
Oh.
She... hadn't tried to get up yet.
Joan tried to do just that, and only barely succeeded.
She clambered to wobbly feet, even as dull impacts and sharp shouts littered the surrounding air.
Her gun—with a groan, she managed to pull back out.
Her eyes tried to focus too.
But all she saw were her fellow officers lining up the ground, sprawled out.
Then, she saw that flash of a pale face and blond hair.
Startled, Joan switched off her safety and aimed. "S-Stay right where you are! Don't—!"
The gun was no longer in her hands.
"..."
Joan didn't understand.
No, she really didn't.
Her head still hurt, but it wasn't an illusion.
There was really no longer anything held in between her palms.
It was like it had simply stopped existing.
At least, that was her thought up until she found it again.
Her gun was right in front of her.
Only, someone else was now holding it, and the darkness of its barrel was now looking at her.
A smiling 'face' peered right along with it.
Joan blinked, and just to be sure, blinked again.
She was still on the other end of her own firearm. There were still four other police officers trying and failing to get up. There was still a girl with blood on her face, but no discernable wound, looking between them all in uncertainty.
And, there was still a nigh grinning mask telling Joan in the worst possible way that she had just made a fatal mistake.
Her mouth grew dry.
Her life flashing before her eyes?
That turned out to be a lie told by people after the fact.
Nothing like that happened.
Joan didn't think of anything like never being able to see her little brother again, nor did she regret not telling her parents she loved them recently.
Such sentimentality had no place with the cold steel mere millimeters from her forehead. All she thought of—all she could really think of—was when it would happen.
When the bullet would be fired, and whether she would feel it or not.
So Joan waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And she realized the gun was no longer facing her.
Joan blinked.
Because it wasn't aimed at the left or right of her, nor had it been lowered.
No.
It had been spun.
The action was barely anything, and it happened completely without warning and regard for the tense silence of the situation, but that did not change the fact that with a twirl of the blond's finger, the barrel was no longer looking at her.
It was gripped in gloved hands, the gun's stocky handle sticking outwards.
Joan even foolishly thought it looked like it was being handed back to her.
The mask sighed.
That was when an even more eye-catching and ludicrous action was performed.
To the Joan that still wasn't reacting, finding herself unable to, the blond took a step closer and un-hesitantly holstered her weapon, back in her own holster.
And then that was it.
He just patted her shoulder and walked past her.
Joan listened to his retreating footsteps in disbelief for five seconds before she snapped out of it all at once, whirling around.
He hadn't done anything as realistic as disappearing. There he was, a few paces away, still casually walking, not even looking particularly hurried or anything.
He certainly didn't seem bothered that he had just turned his back on a bunch of policemen who wanted to arrest him. He just continued to stroll towards one of the doors leading up and out of the parking garage.
...Tell him to stop.
Her brain told her that.
Point the gun at him, threaten to shoot him if he doesn't listen, and make the arrest.
There likely wouldn't be a chance after this, not when he had shown himself to be this... capable, this... undaunted.
If Joan didn't act now, she felt like she wouldn't be getting a similar chance.
All she had to do was raise her gun again.
All she had to do was tell him to freeze, shoot him if he didn't, and go home thinking she upheld the law.
So...
Joan watched him go, doing nothing.
Brett managed to clamber to his feet seconds later.
"Joan, what are you doing?! Apprehend the suspect! Joan! Tch, damn vigilante! All units, this is Officer Brett inside Townsend Heights, responding to a kidnapping. Victim is secure, but be advised, there is—"
Brett suddenly tripped on his words.
It was because he tripped on his own feet as well.
Without even looking, the masked blonde had shot his hand out, a wire having tightly wrapped around the officer's leg, to which Brett all too abruptly found himself on his ass and crying out, the radio flying out of his hands.
Joan was only faintly aware she had watched it all, wide eyed.
Just... like she was only faintly aware of the reason Brett hadn't reached for his gun instead, the several pieces of what had to be his sidearm completely dismantled in a time she hadn't seen, on the ground around him.
When Joan snapped out of it, however, and by the time she looked back, it was in tandem with the door in the distance opening and closing.
And this time, there truly was no one there. 'Mask' was gone.
Joan finally let out a shaky breath.
She had even more questions than before.
...
...
...
Believe it or not, balancing chemical equations was actually difficult when you couldn't even remain attentive enough to do the 'balancing'.
It was the next day, and for the umpteenth time, Emerald's eyes blurred away from the practice problems she was supposed to be working on.
Every time she tried; it was met with her being pulled right back into that dark parking garage.
And much like a closed circuit, that eventually had her thinking of something else.
Emerald's eyes darted to the back of the room, where a certain classmate of hers was supposed to be sitting.
Well, he more often than not slept, actually.
And if he wasn't, he would be entertaining himself, disrupting class in the attempt.
Alex was not well-liked amongst the teaching staff.
The only exception seemed to be Miss Kara, this very class, but it was closer to say the woman tolerated him rather than anything else.
Emerald had been of the same mind.
She had tolerated him despite finding him tiresome, annoying, and someone to be avoided.
But now...
Well, either way, Alex was doing what he usually did.
Not attending class.
Which was now less of a surprise, given... given what Emerald knew. ...If I could do the things he could, I wouldn't want to sit through a lesson either.
So, did that mean he was bored of school, or too smart for it? She didn't know what kind of grades the boy got.
Emerald frowned.
Actually, now that she really thought about it, there were very few things she did know about the boy.
But as for the whole 'skipping class' thing, she had actually considered doing the same.
In fact, her parents had practically begged her to, to take the day off after yesterday's events.
When she refused, they had tried to get her to start walking home with a friend.
They conceded when she said she'd consider it.
Really, Emerald just didn't want to be coddled.
She didn't want to be treated as if she was going to break if pushed too hard, and she definitely didn't want to be alone with her thoughts in her house for hours upon hours.
That would truly drive her crazy.
She wanted to slot herself right back into normalcy.
Even if that was the dull monotony of CHEM-2.
And, if there was anything else...
I wanted to talk with him, if I could...
It was almost amusing, the way Emerald's thoughts kept coming back to that. To him. Like she was some girl thinking about her crush, dreamy sighs and all.
Except her pseudo-crush was a misanthropic asshole who got on everyone's nerves, but also moonlighted as some masked bad-ass dressed like a male escort, who, also had the propensity to treat the human body like it was his personal playground.
Emerald wished that last part was a joke.
The fact that it wasn't, she could still hardly believe herself.
There were almost twenty of them...
Twenty or so members of an actual gang, who shouldn't have been strangers to getting violent. Then there was Travis too, who very easily convinced her he had been some kind of crime boss.
The man even had a gun on his person for crying out loud.
Up until the point it was taken, of course.
And things just got stranger, surreal-er, after that.
Downright impossible even.
Like... someone taking a knife through the hand.
Emerald's grip tightened around her mechanical pencil.
Alex got himself tazed and beaten across the face, let himself be stabbed, and who knows how much else? And despite them being grievous, very real wounds, he summarily shrugged them off, and somehow dealt them back just as cruelly.
All in the effort to protect her.
Emerald slumped in her seat, resting her head on her arms. Embarrassingly, her heart started to beat faster.
"Psst. What's got Em like that?"
"Hm. Dunno. Oh, oh, think it's a boy?"
"Nu-uh. No way. Emerald doesn't chase the boys. They chase her."
"Right? Girl's got class. No, no. She's an alpha. Respect."
"...Girls can't be alphas."
"Shut up Derek. What do you know? You're a beta anyway—"
Incorrigibly unique as always, Emerald's classmates prattled on.
They proved one thing though.
The police had kept their word about not divulging what had happened, to her school, or even the press, which she was more than glad for.
If not, the rumor-mill would be bustling with stories much worse than her unrealistic love life.
And it would be the straightest shot to social suicide, too.
Nothing screamed a hellish school life more than everyone finding out she was kidnapped by her psycho ex and his gang buddies. Yikes. Just thinking about it was a nightmare.
How did Alex deal with it all, being the school's perpetual black sheep?
Oh, that's right.
He just didn't care, like at all.
Emerald rolled her pencil along the length of her paper.
Although...
—"Emerald, get back!"
That... wasn't quite true, was it?
She allowed herself to smile this time.
A sharp gasp drew her out of her thoughts.
No, it violently whipped Emerald away from them.
It was only natural, since it was the only sound in an otherwise quiet classroom.
Also, it was none other than her teacher who had made the noise. Miss Kara had been busy at her desk, working.
She wasn't now.
The woman looked shaken, gazing at the back of the classroom, and it took no time at all for Emerald, her fellow classmates too, to spin around in their seats to face the same, suddenly finding what they had been doing unimportant.
And the blond boy, the one who had just been in the midst of stealthily closing the door, turned around to find himself the center of attention.
The door clicking shut was the only thing to fill in the silence as everyone seemed to stare at him, and him staring back.
"Mmph. Num. Hey?"
Though his expression looked remarkably unconcerned.
At least, it wasn't the face one should have upon arriving halfway into the third class of the day. Although, one needed to look no further than the sugary pastry he was munching on, wrapper suspiciously similar to that of a bakery down the block some.
Which he continued to eat, even as they all stared.
But that was hardly the most glaring thing.
No.
What had caused their teacher's startling reaction, and what caused Emerald's own heart to stall and stutter like a faulty engine, was the state the boy was in, and... it was the final nail of proof she would have needed if she still had her doubts.
"Oh my god, Alex—you're... you're injured!" their teacher exclaimed.
"I didn't really need to be told that, but thank you?" he said between chewing.
It was definitely Alex.
Anyway, he had bruises on his face, what she could only assume were bandages poking out of the neckline of his shirt, and most obviously, a clunky wrist cast on his right hand.
Emerald stared at that especially, swallowing heavily.
She felt she could definitely place what that cast was hiding.
"Holy shit dude—you get hit by a car or something?" someone asked incredulously.
Alex noticeably paused.
"Is that... believable?"
Everyone looked mollified.
"Yes?" came an unsure response.
"Then, yeah. I got hit by a car."
A girl scrunched up her eyebrows. "...You make it sound like that's not what happened."
Alex smiled.
"And you would be right, Leslie."
"...My name is Jessica. What actually happened?"
Alex turned around and trashed the now empty wrapper before speaking. "Would you believe me if I said—me, twenty guys, and one girl got so hot and sweaty with each other that things got strangely but not unexpectedly violent?"
The words were like a bombshell.
Apt, since heat was transferred across the entire room.
No one made a sound.
Actually, no—Emerald was quite loudly choking on nothing.
But Alex just nodded, apparently satisfied.
"So, sure. I got hit by a car."
Miss Kara, face a bit red like so many others, closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm very glad you're okay, Alex. But please sit down so we can resume class."
"Kay~." The boy did so without complaint.
When class began anew after that, Miss Kara sent several looks Alex's way throughout. Emerald couldn't even say that was weird, considering both her and her classmates were doing the same.
Although unlike them, Emerald's curiosity didn't stem from something like a spontaneous reveal of his sex life.
Seriously, of all the lies...
It was one so objectively true.
Her face was probably now a bit red too.
Suffice it to say, she didn't get an ounce of studying done in the classes that followed.
It was a godsend when school finally let out.
Unable to hold it in any longer, Emerald tracked Alex down and practically dragged him somewhere private, uncaring of what rumors would spread. Although, she would probably regret that the next day.
Still, she cornered him behind one of the various buildings on campus.
Emerald knew he would try to weasel his way out through words, but she felt prepared.
That lasted until he opened his mouth.
"I think we should see other people."
The was a very lengthy pause where she struggled to comprehend what he had just said. After an eternity more, Emerald tried, failed, and tried again to grasp at a response. "...We're not dating."
"I can't return your feelings, then?"
"I didn't confess either." Quicker this time, and sharp, Emerald was openly glaring at him now.
And she was already off to a bad start.
She pushed forward regardless. Otherwise, she would deem this too much of a lost cause and give up. That, or Alex would open his mouth again.
Both of which she didn't want.
"I... need to talk to you, and I won't accept any refusing."
Emerald stood in front of him steadfast.
Alex tilted his head quizzically.
"You do realize that crossing your arms like that doesn't actually prevent me from walking right past you, right?"
And he did exactly that.
Emerald blinked, not reacting immediately. Although she whirled around in a panic once she properly registered the footsteps.
"W-Wait!"
He didn't.
"I-I only want to talk!"
"I'm good."
"It's serious!"
"Then I'm definitely good?"
"A-Alex, please! I-I...!"
He abruptly turned to face her with a sigh.
Immediately, something invisible seemed to shift.
Saying her breath caught, or anything overtly dramatic like that, didn't fit, nor did it even remotely describe the kind of formless but oppressive sensation boring down on Emerald now.
She felt keenly aware of how little she could move, and in the realest sense, how little she could even think of moving.
The distance between them was no more than a couple steps.
Except now that felt impossibly longer.
It was his expression.
It couldn't be anything else.
The look on that face.
No, it was just his eyes.
Because even though those hazel orbs were looking straight at her, it didn't feel like she was being seen at all.
"Well?"
He said that with his usual expression.
He said that with his usual tone.
He said that with his usual smile.
Except now it felt so incredibly wrong, and she didn't know why she was only just realizing that now.
Surely it couldn't have always looked like that.
Because it no longer felt like she was chatting with a classmate.
Instead, Alex looked like he had in that parking garage, despite not once revealing what was behind that grinning mask.
Or... was that why he wore it?
The compatibility, did he find it funny?
That behind the first one, there existed one behind it as well, as well as who knows how many others? And was that, too, why the boy hadn't even seemed the least bit fazed by the maelstrom of violence that he had participated in?
And that frightened her.
With just that, Emerald wanted to back away from all this, like it never even mattered. It was a fear different from what she felt when she was taken.
Because if nothing else, it cemented just how little she knew of this person, of Alex Hunnigan.
And really, how much could she trust someone who could be so uncaringly violent, even if the situation demanded it?
Backing away right now, from the whole thing, was definitely the correct option.
So that was why it made absolutely no sense that Emerald moved her shaky legs and took a step forward instead.
Her heart was beating insanely fast in her chest, but still, she got the words out.
Because even if she was scared, there were still things you were supposed to say.
And grabbing onto one of his sleeves, feeling a shy little smile come on, she said them.
"I... I just wanted to thank you for saving me, you weirdo."
Alex blinked.
He blinked as if he couldn't figure out how to do much else.
But she caught it.
It was only for the briefest of moments, but it happened.
The smile on that face slipped, and it actually felt like he saw her.
Of course, it quickly returned to normal as if nothing had happened.
"I'm the weirdo, she says. Hm. No, lady, pretty sure that goes to you, you know, the special kind of dumbass that decided it a good idea to agitate a group of heavily armed men."
"Wha?! L-Like you were any different!" she sputtered unconsciously, indignantly jabbing a finger into his chest. "Being so, I dunno, theatrically infuriating. You even, er, brick-to-the-faced Ken and blamed it on me! Who does that?!"
"How about someone not tied to a chair?"
"Ugh..."
Annoyance had Emerald turning her face away.
But...
That was a lie, and she knew it.
Because right now, it was taking everything within her not to burst into a smile, tears, or even both.
He had admitted it in his own way, and the smarmy asshole didn't even seem to realize how relieved she was because of it.
Because it meant she was no longer swimming in doubt, and that she wasn't crazy.
That Alex really had been there in that parking garage.
That he had really, really, come for her.
...If I hugged him right now, I bet I could knock that stupid look off his face.
She decided not to though.
For now.
Though... Emerald supposed that was it, wasn't it?
With this, it marked the end of their conversation. Because beyond topics like school, she technically no longer had a reason to interact with him. She had said what she had both needed and wanted to say, and now everything had truly finished.
...Oh.
And that made her sad, didn't it?
But then, as if it was waiting, Emerald remembered something. And it came like a slap to the face, too. It was just so random, and so remarkably off-topic. But at the same time, it was exactly the kind of reason she had just convinced herself didn't exist.
Despite that though, she found herself not wanting to voice it.
Or, maybe she just wasn't sure if she should.
Beyond Emerald taking a leave of absence, and beyond her acknowledging the need to walk home with someone, there... had been one other thing her parents had insisted on.
Rather, her mother had, grinning ear to ear.
Her father did so a lot more begrudgingly.
With a similar type of feeling, Emerald decided to say it.
"Hey, um, my parents wanted to meet you..."
Understandably, her words were met with complete silence.
Car sounds from far off even began to filter in.
There was a certain expression on the boy's face, one she would have found amusing if not for the fact that this affected her just as much as it did him.
He was just staring at her, and she even wanted to generously add that he looked well and truly bamboozled.
But he just continued to be silent, and it only made her more defensive.
"W-Well, I, um, I kinda told them about you, and, uh, what you did for me. Just w-when the van pulled up, I mean."
Alex's reply was immediate.
"You mean... when I got my shit kicked in, spasmed on the pavement like an fish, and watched you get taken away? Wait, will this be your family talking turns hitting me with a baseball bat? ...You ARE an only child, right?"
"NO ONE is getting beat up. Believe it or not, they want to thank you."
"Even though I misplaced their offspring?"
Emerald ignored him.
As she thought, Alex didn't seem to get it, that what he did already went above and beyond something a simple classmate would have done.
Of course, that was the truth of it, and what she told her parents, too. And for a reason even she was having trouble properly defining, she had been very insistent in explaining that Alex hadn't acted cowardly.
No.
That wasn't all of it.
It's because I couldn't tell them what he actually did that I said all that... Emerald's eyes lingered on his cast, and like a trance, she recalled how the blood had splattered against her face.
Because...
If she actually told her parents what Alex had done for her, even under risk of being arrested, her parents would be feeling even more grateful than they already were. And it didn't even matter how much of an overprotective nut her father was. He would practically be forced to approve.
Emerald abruptly blushed.
Not that they were in a relationship that required approval in the first place.
But now that she thought of it...
Alex and Dad?
—Are you romantically involved with my daughter?
—Ha. Respectfully sir, that girl couldn't land me even if she tried.
Emerald quickly stifled the urge to laugh.
Okay, that was actually more than a little funny.
She spoke with her lips quirked up a bit.
"They'll likely want to have you over for dinner, if you agree."
But Alex's face was inscrutable, looking away from her. He appeared to be thinking.
She wondered if she should be concerned, since quite frankly, the boy in front of her was like a malnourished predator locked in a cage.
Sure, you might have the foreknowledge that upon letting it out, you were definitely going to be eaten, but with Alex, he wouldn't be letting you know what was going to happen leading up to that.
That was Emerald's hypothesis, anyway, which the last twenty-four hours had certainly field-tested to hell and back.
Still...
She did just invite him to an awkward family dinner.
He was obviously going to refuse.
"Hm, okay. I'll go."
"Yeah, I kinda figured. I'll tell them you decl—..."
Emerald stared.
Alex stared back.
"We're... We're going to meet my parents," she eventually repeated, just to be sure.
"Yeah."
"Later today even... mainly dependent on how big a smile Mom has when I tell her."
"Sure."
"They're going to ask you a lot of questions. ...Weird, overly obtrusive questions, from adults that think they're subtle. And you'll need to actually pretend if only for a moment that you're a civilized human being, otherwise my Dad really will end up beating you up."
"Sounds fun."
"A-And there's gotta be rules too."
"Naturally."
"I don't want you talking to anyone more than you have to. Especially not my little sister. She's all kinds of off-limits."
"I won't so much as breathe in her general direction."
"No making fun of them or me. Definitely not me. Just don't be you at all. You're going in, you're going to smile and nod, you're going to eat, and then you're going to leave early. Make up an excuse."
"An excuse, got it."
Alex continued to nod.
At some point he even put on a chipper smile on his face.
It finally gave her pause.
"You're... you're not planning to follow any of that, are you?"
"Well! We're wasting daylight. Shall we go?"
Emerald paled.
"Oh god..."
Was it too late to be kidnapped again?