Madame Science Chap 7 (ROUGH)

Literally one of my favorite chapters to write. I think I'm a bigger fan of action sequences than I thought! A lot of the internal monologue she has goes away in Draft two so I'm excited to show you a bit more honesty from Christine here.

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Chapter 7: A reasonable amount of lethal force, your honor.

How do these kinds of villains even get out of custody? It’s got to be bribes. There’s no way a subpar villain like Gear gets out with brains, even with his extra appendages. The sight of the three prosthetics makes me want to scream. Does he think he’s become more powerful because he’s got two more than last time?

They’re all covered in gears.

“I’m going to rip off all five of your arms,” I say.

Gear doesn’t look like he believe me. His crappy mechanical arms whir and shoot at the ground, the tips of his claws piercing the concrete easily. “This doesn’t have to get messy. We could make a deal.”

I pause in the middle of raising the left Dancing Queen. A deal? “For what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “I saw you deploy the sample bomb. I’m impressed. You understated the weapon’s efficiency. That’s won you some respect from me, one inventor to another.”

Sample and bomb in the same sentence makes me very uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as realizing he thinks his theft of the prosthetics counts as making them. I pretend like I know what he’s talking about. “You shouldn’t have followed me, inventor.”

Gear spreads his hands. If he catches the sarcasm in my voice, he doesn’t react to it. “Look, my partner wants to take it from you. No negotiation, no bid, no annoying auction. I, however, am more reasonable. You give me the design now and I don’t beat your face in.”

I school my expression and make a show of inspecting my nails. The gloves get in the way, but the effect is the same. “Your partner sounds rather dangerous. Do I know them?”

Gear laughs and takes a slow step forward. “He beat five heroes half to death to get me out of jail. You better hope you never see his face.”

My stomach swoops. He could be lying, but my fear isn’t reasonable. Scott’s working tonight. I’m suddenly no longer in the mood to play games. “A name.”  My voice reverberates through the cathedral-like space, dark and threatening.

“The design,” Gear says. He thrusts out one of his flesh hands demandingly. There are wires feeding under the skin of his forearms, reemerging at his wrists to plug into his gauntlets. “Last chance, Aethra.”

It’s not his partner’s name, but it is a name. I make a note of it and take my own slow step forward.

“I want you to know that everything that’s about to happen is because I personally hate you,” I say and pound my knuckles together. Red electricity flashes and then settles in my gloves, hardening them as it disappears. Instant brass knuckles.

Gear’s teeth glint as he snarls. “Wrong choice.” He lunges for me, mechanical limbs throwing him at me between one breath and the next.

I stomp the left Dancing Queen twice. 

A toxic red glow floods the junction and I’m launched up towards the ceiling. Under me Gear crashes into the back wall, metal throwing off sparks at the impact. He whirls, snarling, and locks eyes with me as I plummet back down.

Oh yeah, I think, watching as Gear’s mechanical arms struggle to grab me before I reach him. I missed this.

Both of my feet smash into Gear’s chest and I use him as a springboard. His breastplate rings like a gong for one, glorious moment before it crumples. Is it made from a trashcan lid? None of my old armor crumpled like that. He’s thrown back, dazed, which is disappointing. He doesn’t see how I absolutely stick the landing. I raise both arms in the air and bow mockingly to an invisible audience.

“You’re dead,” Gear rasps. His metal arms shriek in complaint when he forces them to take his full weight, dragging him up. In the light from his LED eyes I can see blood dribbling from his mouth. “Witch.”

I put up my fists, left foot sliding back. Blood is singing through my veins along with something darker and meaner. “Tell me who your partner is and I’ll go easy.” I’m totally lying, but it doesn’t matter.

Gear makes an inhuman sound of rage and throws himself forward.

It’s hard to keep track of the fight after that. Red Mode isn’t designed for focus—it’s a current intended to stimulate reflexes, distribute strain and provide short bursts of strength when necessary. If I use it right, it can last a half hour, maybe, but I’m not using it right. I don’t have all my proper gear for one, but it’s more than that. I’m going all out because I’m pissed and because I hate Gear with every fiber of my being.

For being interested in a bionanite bomb.

For making me afraid that Scott’s hurt.

For gluing gears to his stolen tech.

Pick a reason.

He gets a couple good hits in. If it weren’t for Red Mode, I’d be dead. His mechanical arms are tipped in sharp, grabbing claws that he keeps trying to spear me with. He gets a lucky strike in, ripping open my sleeve and gouging a mean line through my left bicep. Unluckily for him, it’s not deep enough to stop me.

I deactivate Red Mode in my gloves, clap once for my super strength. The Dancing Queens flare brighter and put out more power to keep me grounded.I grab two of his stupidly misused prosthetics and yank. Metal screams louder than Gear for the record. I shake, hard, like I’m fighting for a dog toy. He goes flying over my head, jerking when the joints of his suit fail. He hits the ground.

I use his extra appendages to applaud the landing.

“Give me names, Gear, and I’ll—“ Metal crashes onto the top of my head and I drop the appendages, hands flying up protectively. The Dancing Queens snag on something when I stumble and I go down, seeing stars all the way. My head pounds between my hands. “Ow!”

Metal slithers across the ground and I blink the pretty stars away to see Gear’s appendages slithering back to him. They’d turned in my grip, bonked me on the head, and switched back on to make their escape. How? I can see his battery pack still attached to his body—

Mind powers are always rated more highly than others. Ms. Barry’s words come back to me a few minutes too late. Walnuts. Gear’s not even a proper techie. He’s a manipulator. If he was smarter, he’d have used his powers to control my gadgets. I’m lucky he’s not.

I force myself to my feet a beat before Gear does. We’re both panting, blood and bruises spattered everywhere. His appendages shudder and jerk on their way back to him. Interested, I track the motion of his sole attached mechanic arm. Sluggish. The LEDs around his eyes flicker. Or, maybe, he didn’t take control of my tech is because his extra appendages have already maxed him out.

“Running out of stamina?” I ask, smiling nastily. I hope he doesn’t notice how my legs are shaking. Red Mode is not easy on an unprotected body.

“Hand over the design.” Gear’s voice is flat but I can hear pain behind his lack of inflection. He doesn’t have anywhere near the energy he had at the start of the fight.

“Or what?” I taunt. I’m talking big, but I’m on my last legs too. The Dancing Queens buzz twice. I’ve got about a minute of power left. Walnuts. “Your partner going to come finish the job for you?”

“No need,” Gear says. He shakily holds his hands out over the arms on the ground. They rise into the air like tentacles. “I’ll kill you my—“

I click my platforms together at the same time I knock knuckles. Hardened fists and rocket-powered rollerblades. A completely idiotic combination that, if Gear had been paying attention, can be anticipated.

Luckily Gear’s an idiot. A very tired idiot.

My fist slams into Gear’s jaw hard enough I can feel it all the way up my shoulder. His feet actually leave the ground and he flies five feet back before crashing in a sparking heap of metal.

I wait for a long moment, fists up and wounds throbbing. When he doesn’t get up at 30 seconds, I collapse onto my knees. I stare at the ground and try desperately to catch my breath. Ow, ow, ow, ow. The Dancing Queens go dark and I jerk when everything else does too. Gear’s lights went out when he did. Walnuts.

I only let myself stay down for a minute. I’m pretty far from the site, but I have no doubt the DOD is combing the area already. It’s not unlikely they make it this far, plus I need to be gone by the time Gear wakes up.

Even when I was rampaging as Madame Science, I didn’t kill. I refuse to break my rule for some third-rate hack like Gear, even if it would give me some much needed rest time.

I drag myself to my feet, grinding my teeth as the Dancing Queens’ ankle supports bite into my skin. I don’t want to know what those blisters are going to look like in 24 hours. Or the bruising to my head. Or the cut on my arm. Or any of the places Gear got a hit in.

Oh no, how am I going to explain this damage to Scott? I haven’t seen them yet, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got more bruises than concealer can solve. Do I tell him I got mugged? No, he wouldn’t believe that. He knows I can take care of myself. Freak accidental fight with a gorilla? As long as he doesn’t check the news for zoo escapees—

One problem at a time. First, I need an exit strategy. I check my pockets, relieved to feel the metal plate and my phone still there. Another reason I love my Audi is that it’s self driving, courtesy of a 2am programming project I consulted on in college. Barring too many roadblocks, my car will drive itself to me soon.

I’m vibrating with the need to call Scott. My phone has some low level encryptions, but not enough for me to chance him being in hero HQ when the call connects. If I’m going to play this smart, I need to wait for my car to show up to see if he’s okay. I need to be smart about this, especially since I don’t have a clear picture of what “this” is yet. I shove my worry down and try to focus back on the problem at hand.

I check down the front of my shirt. The test tube is still in my bra so I turn to climb up the ladder. I pause on the first rung, looking back over my shoulder at Gear’s crumpled figure. 

That’s a lot of unregistered tech I’m leaving in his possession. Unregistered and untraceable tech. Easily carried and easily modified

I hesitate. It’d definitely be a breach of both of my agreements to put my hands on those prosthetics. The type of nerve technology they’re known for is way above Level 4.  I’m already risking everything by being here, I do not need physical evidence to tie me to the scene.

But, on the other hand, tonight’s proven that I might be in deeper than I anticipated. I don’t know how Gear spotted me at the bionanite attack site, but he did. And if this idiot saw me, who’s to say someone smarter didn’t as well? His partner? Whoever this Aethra is, the one apparently selling the bionanites as a bomb?

I don’t have enough evidence to go to the Hero Force. Just because Gear and other super villains are interested in the tech doesn’t make it Hero Force business. I need proof of the inventor or, in a pinch, the middleman Gear mentioned.

I’m going to need some upgrades to get that evidence.

So I take Gear’s arms. I leave him with his helmet after snapping off the rest of his gear decorations, but that’s about all I do leave. I take his gauntlets after disconnecting them from the wires under his skin, the battery pack, and the plating around his thighs. I pause at what I find under the left thigh plate.

Why didn’t he pull his gun during the fight? What an idiot. I don’t need a gun, but I take it anyway. I’d feel really bad if he woke up shooting just as the government came knocking.

I use his shirt to bundle up my booty. I’m going to have to climb up, remove the manhole cover and then come back for it. There’s no way I can handle the unwieldy arms and lift a 250lb cover.

I pause, grimacing up at the manhole cover. I can already feel my muscles seizing after the abuse I put them through. I look down at my gloves. I probably won’t need them anymore tonight and it has been a few minutes since I used Red Mode. There should be just enough power left.

I rub my hands together. The last function my gloves has is also the most draining. Static electricity begins to build between my palms and feed into the matrix, bouncing through it and back, amplifying. Purple electricity crackles, lifting every hair on my body. When I can’t stand it anymore, I push both my palms up to the ceiling.

A blast of pure energy shoots out of my hands. When I blink the spots out of my eyes, my gloves are smoking and the manhole cover has disappeared. I’m kind of impressed that my gloves are still capable of atomizing things. I’d expected the manhole to get thrown, not obliterated.

“That probably wasn’t noticeable at all,” I mutter. I lug my bundle of stolen parts over my shoulder. Hopefully my car’s here. I can’t be too far from it.

I climb out into a parking lot. Like I’d thought, I’m in the middle of an industrial district. Large warehouses loom to either side of me and the small street running alongside the lot is empty. I’ve gotten lucky. The closest camera I can spot is way too far away to see my face.

Better safe than sorry.

I drop the stuff at my feet, pulling my phone out again. The camera’s on a wifi network so it’s easy to switch off. It might not be able to identify me, but my car is a different story. An Audi would raise eyebrows in this area at this time of night. Best case scenario, they’d think it was someone looking for drugs. Worst case, they’d connect it to Gear if they find him before he wakes up.

If I wasn’t so tired, I could probably go through and loop the footage, but it’d be a challenge from a smartphone. My phone’s also not capable of securing phone calls like my car is. I tap my foot impatiently. If my car doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to risk getting caught so I can call Scott.

I try to put facts between me and my fear. Scott’s never on guard duty. He’s the best kind of first responder the Hero Force has—a punctual one— and I’d be surprised if they wasted his super speed on standing in front of a cell. But it’s not unheard of for him to watch those in custody for a few hours when there are no other calls and I can’t let go of the possibility.

My brain is not great at self-soothing.

By the time my car purrs around the corner, rolling to a gently stop on the street running parallel to the parking lot, I’m ready to storm hero HQ myself for answers. I run to it, leaving the prosthetics sitting where I dropped them. I’ve only got a couple minutes.

I dial before I’m fully in the front seat, hands curling white-knuckled around the wheel “Come on, come on, come on.” The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.

Click. “Christine?”

Oh thank god. I press my forehead to the steering wheel, incapable of speech. He’s okay. I can hear his white noise machine humming in the background which means he’s home, safe and sound in bed.

Covers rustle as Scott sits up. “Babe? Is everything okay?” The sleep is dripping out of his voice in favor of concern. 

I collect myself silently. If Scott hears the sheer relief in my voice, he’ll want to know what I’m doing. “Yeah!” Too shrill. I clear my throat. “Are you asleep?”

“I just got in,” Scott says instead of saying yes. He sounds very awake. “What’s wrong?”

I glance at the clock. It’s almost 6am. Most days I’m not even awake until 7. “This case is giving me overtime. I—“ think of an excuse, think of an excuse “—don’t have any food. I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab breakfast with me.” Close enough.

Scott hums. “You going to Emily’s?”

That actually sounds pretty good. Scott and I agree that Emily’s has the best French toast in the city. I lean back, letting the tension run out of my shoulders. He’s fine, safe in his bed, unharmed. He’s probably lounging against his headboard, curly hair in disarray and collarbones peeking out of his ratty old sleepshirt. I feel even more relieved at the visual. “Would Emily’s convince you to come with me?”

“Unfortunately not.” The exhaustion is back in Scott’s voice. “I’ve got work in six hours.”

Well there goes the relief.

A spike of new adrenaline shoots through me. There’s no guarantee whoever broke Gear out isn’t still around. Villains who can take out heroes like that—they don’t just stop. It’s like a switch has been flicked in their brain to keep attacking, keep proving that they’re stronger. “Teacher work or—“ Afraid or not, I can’t ask him that. Worse, I can’t even warn him about the threat or he’ll want to know how I know about the jailbreak before him. I bite my tongue and take a deep breath, fighting the fear back down. “Be safe.”

“I will.” More rustling. I imagine him laying back down, sleep already tugging at him again. “You sound kind of stressed, babe. Anything I can do?”

Lay low. Even if we could talk about his job, I couldn’t ask him that. Scott’s a hero, through and through. Asking him to lay low would have the opposite effect. Still, I can’t help myself. “Just keep yourself in one piece, okay?” I clear my throat. “I need my Scott fix Saturday night.”

“I am your chief supplier,” Scott muses. Laughter tints his words. “I hear Scott withdrawal is grueling.”

“The worst,” I agree. I run my thumbs along the steering wheel, letting the texture ground me. As much as I want to keep him on the phone, he needs rest and I’m out of time. The sky is lightening. “I’ll let you go back to sleep. Just know that I’m eating my weight in French toast and enjoying every bite.”

“Ouch. Without me?” Scott’s already dropping back off. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I open the door as soon as he hangs up. I run a hand through my hair, hating how matted it is from sweat. It’s frustrating to have a hero for a boyfriend. You can’t trust them to take care of themselves, not like you can trust a villain. Villains don’t have their morals and pride on the line every time they step out their front door. Heroes act like it’s the height of nobility to carry that shit with them into every fight.

I throw Gear’s prosthetics into my trunk. One of the claws rip through my gym bag like butter. Annoyed, I slam the trunk closed. 

I’m being unfair. Scott’s not like those meathead heroes who are always posing in front of cameras and putting the general populace in danger. He’d never blast a villain into a city building like Stormfighter did, even with the forcefields over the streets. He’d wait, not caring if it made him look less heroic, until as few people as possible were in the line of fire.

The problem is that he doesn’t keep himself out of the line of fire.

I can accept the danger he puts himself in. I don’t like it, but it’s something I thought about a lot before we started dating.  I went through what feels like all of the resources for spouses of first responders, trying to decide if I could do it. I decided I could because I love that he’s someone who needs to help others. I love his selflessness and his wit and that sweet, sweet super hero bod.

I didn’t expect how hard it’d be to not throw myself into danger with him, especially when I know what villains are like, how they think, what they’ll do next. The fact that I can’t use my past experience as Madame Science is more than frustrating. 

Five years. That’s how long I wore the lab coat for and just because I wasn’t an evil villain doesn’t mean I didn’t learn the classic villains ropes. Why is it so bad that I use that time for good now? To help? Was it really just because of my agreements or was this something I was supposed to continue even past that?

I buckle myself in and put in the coordinates for my apartment. I don’t trust myself to not crash from all the adrenaline on the freeway. I yank off my black mask as my car moves forward, replacing it with a pair of sunglasses. I’m sure I’ve got a grimy mask outline all around my eyes.

Ms. Barry says that I’m going to be “rebranded” whenever I finally become a hero. They can’t have someone on the Hero Force so blatantly connected to Madame Science. I’d agreed when she brought it up, but something about it makes me uncomfortable now. Did being rebranded mean I can’t use anything I used as Madame Science? Would I have to pretend to not know anything about the underground so nobody connects me to it? What about my gadgets? Would I have to give up everything I made back then and start all over?

I close my eyes, tipping my head back against the seat. I’m tired. It’s not going to do me any good to get worked up about all this stuff when I’m coming down from a fight. The smart thing to do is think about it after I get home, shower, and sleep.

Am I ready to leave Madame Science behind?

I sit up and focus on the road. Home. Shower. Sleep. Then me and that little voice can talk.