Who: Mika & NPC thugs What: Mika's growing up and learning things. Where: Rainier Valley. When: Monday night, latelate. Warnings: Violence, teeny bits of bad language.
Monday night, Mika lay awake in her bed until she knew her brothers were asleep. The first day back from the holidays had been nice, seeing all her friends again and meeting new professors was always a pick-me-up. Still, people noticed the difference in her. Every time somebody asked if she was alright, she just smiled and nodded. It wasn’t entirely untrue, she was alive and breathing wasn’t she? And as for how she was feeling, well that part wasn’t entirely untrue either. She was doing better, getting stronger and she could feel the pain softening. Over the past week or so, the numbness thawed into a sharp pain and then slowly again into a dull ache, ever present but she could live with it.
Sliding her window open, she slid out silently and scaled the wall to the roof. She hadn’t been up here since, well, before the zombies ate the city and- that other thing. Her brows furrowed as she pulled her thoughts in another direction. It was still too soon, too fresh a wound for her to try and put pressure on it yet. Instead, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets as she contemplated her life. This fighting crime thing, she wanted to do it because she wanted to save people. Practice makes perfect, she knew that; but this wasn’t something she could practice, because if she failed- when she failed- it could mean someone’s life. Not just someone, it had been-
Mika stopped herself again, she couldn’t keep falling back into that cycle. Her mind kept setting up these traps for her to fall into and she always walked till she was half a step away from falling right in. It was hard though, when she wanted it so bad. All she wanted to do was to blame herself so that she had an excuse to curl up under the covers and mope about it for another year or two. It was so much easier than trying to be strong and building herself back up again. She could be better, but she could also be worse. Her father had always told her that the right thing was always going to be harder than the wrong thing. So here she was, standing on the roof of the Hamartia, trying to be a person, a better hero.
It wasn’t until she heard the yelling that she realized she’d forgotten the communicator in her room. Well, she had to start doing this by herself at some point or another, right? Moving quickly, she reached ground level by hopping down and swinging over the fire escape stairs on the outside of the building. She landed on the ground with minimal noise and started running towards the general direction of the cries. The attack was coming from a few alleys away, but it wasn’t too hard to find. There were two girls, about her age, maybe a little bit older, and three men. The girls were dressed in sparkly dresses and impossibly high heels and the men were wearing dark clothing with ski-masks pulled over their faces, it wasn’t hard to figure out the situation.
Another time, she would have tried to come up with something clever or witty to say, but right now, it was hard enough to keep her rage at the zombies buried inside her. She dealt a nice swift kick right into the stomach of the one closest to her, knocking him to the ground with a nice right hook as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. She ducked the punch from the one in the middle and brought her left leg up to knee him in the groin. The moment she made a connection, she had a flash. Half a second. There was a knife coming right at her. She turned, but not fast enough, the knife gave her a nice clean slash on her upper right arm. Ignoring the sharp stinging pain, she brought her foot up in a high-kick, catching the third man right under his chin. He didn’t fall over, but it was clear he wasn’t going to fight her any longer. She’d made her point and the two girls were long gone anyways.
She hissed then, allowing herself to acknowledge the cut that was now seeping deep red blood into the fabric of her zip-up hoodie. She clapped a hand over it, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding. Her eyes narrowed into an angry glare at the man in front of her, his companions writhing on the ground behind her, in obvious pain. He smirked back at her and Mika felt her expression shift from slow-burning hatred to a slightly more confused one. She didn’t understand what the man could be so amused about in this situation, surely this could be of no benefit to him. It wasn’t until he started speaking that she realized how stupid she’d been.
“I ain’t ever gonna fo’get yo face, bitch,” His voice was deep and cruel sounding, and it made Mika’s blood curdle, “And you better believe that if I ever see it again, you’re fucking dead.”
He walked away from the scene, then, but not before giving her one last meaningful look. The moment he turned the corner, Mika ran until she was sure there was no one nearby, keeping her hood over her head and her face in the shadows. Running the hand that wasn’t covered in blood over her face, she squeezed her eyes shut and sighed.
Damn, she was definitely going to need a mask now, and maybe a few stitches while she’s at it.