Narrative: Bethan goes vigilante Who: Bethan and some NPCs Where: A dark alley in Lima Heights When: Saturday night (backdated) What: Bethan takes things into her own hands and uses her superpowers for beating strangers up the greater good Warnings: Rape, violence, swearing.
The idea had been in her head for a long time. Since the incident with Olivia and that jock, actually. Sure, it had fucked her up, but there had been something exhilarating about beating the shit out of a would-be rapist. Hell, she thought it would be much the same with any bastard taking advantage. It was good to be able to kick the shit out of them. Good to be able to save someone. And she wasn't a comics nerd, not really, but that didn't mean she didn't know what superpowers should be used for.
But with all that had happened since, it had stayed that way - just an idea in her head. It was only in the last week or two that she'd got around to actually heading out, looking for trouble. Back in New York, she wouldn't have had any trouble finding it, but this wasn't New York or Gotham City, but small-town Ohio. Every night for two weeks now, she'd suited up and ridden the Mongrel into town as soon as it started getting dark. Every night, she'd left the bike several minutes outside town and got to climbing. Every night, she'd spent hunting for trouble.
Tonight, though, was the first time she'd found it.
It had been the shout that alerted her; a woman, shouting for help, not far away. Now she hung in the shadows under a window balcony, where they were unlikely to look and even less likely to see her, and pushed back the visor of her motorcycle helmet. She'd give the woman a chance to fight back for herself. Make sure she knew what she was dealing with.
There were five of them. Four men. One woman, looking thoroughly terrified as she was backed into a corner. Nobody else coming to help. Bastards.
Still, she waited, not moving to intervene yet, but starting to scuttle down the wall like a spider, bringing her closer to the action. It wasn't until they actually laid hands on the woman that Bethan pushed herself away from the wall, landing heavily on her feet as she swept her visor back over her face. "Hey, you sons of bitches. How about you leave her the fuck alone and try me on for size instead?"
"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded, as they turned to face her, still keeping hold of the terrified woman.
"Justice." Holy fuck, had that been cheesy. Behind the helmet, she made a face, but now wasn't the time to be worrying about how she sounded or looked or anything else but opening a well-deserved can of whoopass. And she wasn't about to give them a chance to worry about anything else, either; she just launched herself at them.
It was, oddly, easier to fight like this, with nobody knowing who she was and, thus, nothing to prove. Easier, too, to fight for someone besides herself. She fought differently then, slightly less careless of her own safety, because, after all, if she went down, all this would have been for nothing. She moved with quick, economical movements, punching for the places she knew would hurt; noses, groins, ribs, stomachs. As it tended to when she fought, time was starting to lose meaning; her heart was thudding in her chest, but that was the only indicator she seemed to feel that time was passing at all.
A sharp pain sheared into her hand, through her glove, and she felt the blood start to flow hot across her palm. It would take more than that to slow her down, though. All it meant - all their pulling knives meant - was that any doubts she had had about this were gone. She'd dealt with knives before, and with two of them already on the ground and only two guys left to deal with, she could deal with them again. Ducking under a wild swipe from one of them, she straightened up and drove her elbow hard into his face, hearing his nose break with a wet crunch; in the instant of shock when his grip on his switchblade loosened, she wrested it out of his hand, giving him a kick in the groin for good measure.
After that, it was over all too quickly. The last guy standing didn't stay standing for long with a knife in his shoulder and a winding blow to his solar plexus, and then there was just Bethan, her cycling leathers now bloody and her hand dripping blood on the floor. And the fucking stupid woman they'd been attacking, who hadn't even made a break for it this whole time, just stood there watching.
"You should probably call the police," Bethan told her, flatly, and patted her on the arm. "And carry some fucking mace next time." By the time the woman had pulled herself together enough to thank her, Bethan was gone, scaling the alley wall and vanishing back over the rooftops.
But up there, well out of sight, Bethan pulled off her helmet, looked up at the night skies overhead, and smiled more honestly than she ever had before. Oh, yeah. That had definitely, definitely been worth it.