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If it wasn't one thing, it was another. The city was one of chaos and insanity, violence and uncertianty; regardless of the neighborhood, one could usually bet on something off happening sometime that very today. Today, however, was no different.
A heavy rev of an engine growls down the street as a car takes off, fishtailing left and right through a thick layer of mucky colored slush. There was no traction, no treads, and the speed of the automobile continues to climb. Some people scream, others swear, and others try to get out of the way of the on-coming metallic death bullet. This thing was a bat out of hell, and almost as if it were some mini-cereal on the television, the figure directly in its path is a young boy with chilled-rosey cheeks, a ball in his hand, and a puppy glomping along after him.
*
There were some rules to this whole vigilante thing. Keep it subtle, don't rush in, assess things tactically and make sure you know all the angles. Most importantly, don't ever act without wearing a mask or something to disguise your identity. Samantha however…was still kinda bad at this. She's no speedster, not really, but her flight tends to propel her far faster then the average human being could dream of walking. It's a rush of wind, her jacket and blonde hair fluttering in the self-made rush of wind before the sound of twisting metal fills the air.
She wouldn't stop it dead, too risky for shrapnel hitting the kid or the puppy. Instead there's a new pothole as she slams her feet down and then leaps up, diverting the car's forward momentum up and effectively tackling it into the air. The car hangs there for a moment almost cartoonishly before gravity beats lost acceleration and it falls, landing heavily on its side.
*
A shrill scream calls out and toward the street, and on-lookers fear the worse. Then, the car is up, then down, and there's a new hole in the road to fix at a later time. "Jeepers, lady! You're really strong!" The boy gawks in awe as his pup yips. "Timmy! What did I tell you about playing in the street?!" Fusses a woman wearing a green dress, and once her gloved hands wrap around the boy's wrist, she gives him a tug and walks him back to the safety of the sidewalk, scolding him the entire way.
The car rests on its side, wheel still turning, some wobbling, and Sam can see that both axels are broken. It shouldn't have been going anywhere, not with direction, or speed. There was also something else rather curious about the automative turned weapon; its cab was empty.
*
What in the world? The superhuman blonde is quick to deliberately 'muss' her hair, trying to use it as some sort of screen for her face. Yeah, she needs to get herself a mask, or at least something with a hood. Glancing back with a smile despite herself at the child being lead away and his yipping dog she turns her attention back towards the car. She wasn't really one who knew a heap about cars, but it didn't take a genious to see that this thing shouldn't be moving.
Lightly half-jumping half-floating atop the upended vehicle she peers in, finding no driver certainly but looking for a clue…or at least expecting something pinning the gas pedal to the floor!
*
Besides the damage done by her, (and whatever broke its axels to begin with), the car is spotless. Nothing inside is amiss, and the petals are right where they need to be. The gear shift is even lingering in that sweet spot called 'Neutral'. It would have rolled, sure, if the brake wasn't on, but this street was not on a hill, and the packed in slush would have been like a natural breaking system.
"Help! HELP! Stop him! He has my purse!" Another voice calls out from two blocks down. Following the alerting cry, the heavy 'thump-squish' of boots on wet concrete echo does an alley. "Stop him! Please!"
*
No rest for the wicked…or the less-than-wicked. At least the car wasn't going anywhere on its side like that. A mugger, a purse snatcher? Really is kind of small-fry if one thinks about it, but the woman gives a shrug of her shoulders before she takes a breath and runs towards the alleyway, already muttering to herself about needing a mask yet again while trying to get eyes on where or who might currently be making a getaway with a purse. "Maybe a scarf," she murmers, mostly to herself.
*
"That man!""Look up there!""Poor, guy…I can relate.""Don't say that! He needs help!""Is he going to jump?""Someone call the cops!" When it rains, it pours, they say. Even as the figure with the stolen good beats his feet toward another section of town, there, aloft on the top of a five story building is the humanoid figure of a man on the brink. His arms are out, his jacket and scarf fluttering in the wind and chilly updrafts that push him, prod him, against its edge. "Someone, please! Stop that man!" The woman's voice pleas, only for another voice to intercept and declare. "Oh god! He's falling!"
*
Well…crap. Sammy actually has a moment to act, but only a moment. Balling up her fist she lashes out, throwing a ball of energy that bursts in front of the would-be purse snatcher, leaving the bag minus a strap as he runs and the 'bulk' of it falling to the ground. It's an attempt, right? Most people probably run when they're nearly hit with lasers, but in the end a purse isn't going to take priority over a falling human being. Even if the guy might not want to be saved.
Leaping into the air, Samantha actually loops above the falling figure, catching him mid-dive and twirling through the air to try and cancel the momentum, slowing their descent rather then mearly catching him in a jarring hault. She wasn't the first 'Legacy' with the ability to fly after all, some lessons were passed on from experience.
When she touches down 'gently', she'll release the man, but she's already preparing to take flight again almost immediately.
*
All life seems to slow to a crawl now, as she moves in the air and cradles the man, returning him to terra firma. The colors of the neighborhood drain away, staining sepia, and soothing sounds of a baritone hum fills her ears. She knows the melody, the voice behind it; it was a reminder of home.
Once on the ground, the man plants his feet and then stands, eyes glowing gold and arm stretched out. Dangling from his hand is a lantern, its wick blazing strong, even if its oil seems almost depleated. "Why do you hide who you are?" Voices question, multiple voices all weaving together as one. The man before her does not 'speak', so much as stares. The words were not formed by his lips, which remain shut.
*
A blink, a pause, her eyes look around wildly. Was this…some sort of hallucination? Brought on by stress, her powers or a lack of coffee? Left staring at the color-drained world for a few moments she turns her gaze back to the lantern-wielding rescuee. "What is this?" she speaks, voice clear with confusion…and perhaps a little suspicion. It had been a hell of a strange week after all. "Are you doing this? Why?" so many questions, but she doesn't actually address the one asked of her.
*
"Why are you hiding?" The voices question once more as the lantern's flame flickers and dances. "Don't you remember yourself? Your family? All our battles?" It, they, whatever they were, do not answer her her own inquiry as to what was going on. "This city is covered in darkness, and we are the ones who keep the light." Arm up, the male figure juts the box of metal and glass forward, fingers gingerly grasping to its circular handle. "Where has your light gone to?"
*
"Is this a dream?" she questions aloud, her lips pulled to a frown as the 'voices' speak to her while the lantern-wielding man lifts his charge, pushing it towards her. This…whatever it was seemed to know her, know more of her then anyone outside her family ever could. "I remember, but I can't fight like they did…" she says slowly, looking up into the eyes of the voices seemingly silent source. "I can't serve as a soldier…this is all I can do." A beat, she shakes her head. "This is what I -want- to do."
*
"Fields change. Soldiers do not." The voices explain without hesitation. The lantern lowers before the figure bends and sets it on the ground. Turning away from her, starting to walk away in this frozen world.
*
"Wait!" Samantha calls, calling after the man as she looks down at the lantern. "Am I…right? Am I doing the right thing here?" she questions before turning her gaze back towards the walking man. "Fighting here, doing this instead of forcing my way into the war?" It's almost as if she expects a straight answer from this…'thing'. Almost.
Her deceptively soft looking hand reaches out, intending to lift the lantern for herself while blue lights dance between her fingertips, the sign of her 'generation' mutation. Her 'Legacy' trait…a light she can make herself.
*
The man doesn't stop. No voices call to her, and the lantern, now in her grip, starts to blaze anew. The flame bursts out, licking at the glass walls of its captivity. "Fields. Change." The voice whispers into her ear, dancing around her blonde locks. "Soldiers. Do not."
'Knock-knock-knock'. "Samantha!" A voice muffles behind the barrier of a door. 'Knock-kn-knock'. "Hey! You ok in there?" The office is dark, littered with partially eaten food, glass bottles of soda, and pile after pile of folders, all patient records. 'Knock-knock!'. "Samantha? You're worrying me, ok? Maybe you should go home for the night."
*
Awaking with a start, Samantha looks up, rubbing the bridge of her nose and then smoothing her hair out of her eyes. Had she been asleep? Was that it? Turning her eyes towards the door and the noise of her concerned coworker she takes a breath before responding. "I'm here, I'm okay!" she calls, looking back to the piles of folders and trying vainly to gather them up into a neater pile. "I was just…off in another world." Her voice trails off, thoughts remaining on that…whatever it had been before she shakes her head.
"I'll finish up and head out for the night in a minute. Just a few things to wrap my head around first…"