Look, it isn't as strange as it sounds. I had to build up some pain to do what I needed to do next. I ripped the driver's side door off its hinges and dropped it next to the car. The adrenaline died quickly, leaving me seeing stars that I tried to ignore. Down and under the driver's side, I found the wires I was looking for and began my work, muttering to myself as I went along.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I had to nearly break my spine to reach it. "Hello?"
"Keys to my car under your dresser. Has my apartment in Thomaston's keys on it, too. Edwin and me will meet you there. Love you."
Nishelle hung up before I could answer her, even so much as to tell her I loved her, too. I let out a sigh, tucked the phone away again, and went back to work. It didn't take me very long; the older vehicles only really need a couple of wires to spark against each other. I slid into the driver's seat, buckled myself in, and drove the car around to meet Adam.
It took him all of a second to get in. We drove back to the building and I paused. We couldn't get up on the roof from the outside; not unless we had one hell of a set of climbing gear. Somehow, I doubted the owner of the vehicle would be invested in that kind of hobby.
The second possibility was to go right through the front lobby, but that was possibly suicide. Truth be told, I thought my way through the manners in which Scribe could have us all killed if he wanted to. It wouldn't take much to rationalize it to the press. I was a convicted, former murderer and it didn't matter to the press that Nishelle had returned. Adam's prints would turn up on Allison's neck and, well, if Nate went down with us, that was just one more tragedy that the Alliance could play up to help its reputation.
I imagined it. The newspapers splashed with our corpses, all about bemoaning the sorrows of the loss of Savage, the tragic turn of Strikeout and Creed. My parents would be interviewed, my family burned to ashes in the public vision for an eternity to come. Or, perhaps not. They'd make a hero out of Allison and that pissed me off so much I couldn't see straight.
A horrible crunch pulled my attention back to reality. The steering wheel was nothing but a pretzel, wrenched into oblivion by someone who had a terrible temper and no real control over it. Definitely not me, I was totally in control of my absolutely fucked up life.
"You don't have to come. I can do this."
I sighed at Adam. "You know I can't just let you go running off into the night. You're perfectly capable, but you aren't... you're sick. I can look at you and tell that. Besides, how am I going to explain it to your sister if you never come back? I'd rather be gone, too."
That surprised a laugh out of him. It was sick and nasal, due to him continuing to hold his head back and pinch his nose, but it was there.
I parked in Scribe's designated parking space just to piss him off. I wasn't entirely certain why I was so angry with him, but I was. He was playing some kind of game with Adam, I wasn't positive as to what, but it had to stop. Edwin could play on Scribe's level, Adam couldn't. It wasn't like my boyfriend was stupid, he just didn't do mind games very well.
We walked into the Alliance building via the parking garage's elevator, using my apartment key to get us to my floor. We'd get what we needed from my room and wait to meet Nate, then head back to Adam's room and get what he needed there. Some small part of me hoped that Nishelle had stopped by my apartment already, gotten what I needed, and carried it along with her and Edwin.
Nate waited in my room, the television already on. The news, again. He got up and wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to his chest. That couldn't mean anything good.
"We are saddened to report the villainry of more members of the PTB Alliance tonight. Unfortunately, we have evidence of recently released murderer Strikeout and her partner, Creed, stealing a vehicle from Harcourt Mall. Watch what happens next."
I slid out of his arms and did as the television told me. All we'd done was drive back to the Alliance building, but that certainly wasn't what was happening on the screen. A perfect imitation of me leaned out the window, cackling as I ran down some innocent person. I hit them like a speedbump and kept on going, driving a heavy duty truck into a department store's entrance. We backed up, shot off toward the streets, and were gone.
The news continued. "If anyone has spotted these superheroes-turned-villains, we request that they call police before trying to engage them on their own. They are considered armed and dangerous. In our next segment; The PTB Alliance has been compromised multiple times within the past few months. What can you do about it? And what are they doing to prevent it? Right after this."
A commercial for our action figures came on, but never quite got the chance to finish its sales pitch. I picked up the television, carried it to the window, and dropped it out to the street below. I couldn't change the lies it had shown, but it felt good to do something about it, regardless of how illogical it was.
"Edwin and Nishelle already left. They grabbed their
