Red Fox Action Log 37:

  Rooftops make perfect cover. Houston is less dense than East Coast, the birthplace of hero work, but the grapple still gets me where I need. Moonlight shimmered off pools of rainwater and condensation. Made for a beautiful silver-strewn landscape.

  And poor footing. But I’d already learned that.

  I leapt between buildings, activating all the muscles in my shoulders and back to hold onto the wire through the swing. I’m pushing 50 miles-per-hour at the bottom of the pendulum.

  If only they looked up. But they didn’t. The rooftops are for people like me — heroes and villains.

  I made it to the docks, quickly. Still riding high on the adrenaline. My hands shook. A quick round of box breathing got me back to baseline.

  Next bit of this needs me to come in on foot. I stowed my mask until I reached the cover of an alley. Then it’s back on, and I slunk to a parked car.

  Pulled my explosive tape out of a pouch on my belt. From the cover of the back wheel well — hopefully one of the bad guys’ — I taped a long line of it on the door, then placed a remote charge. Range is most effective out to 1,200 feet. Hopefully if I need to be more than that, that the signal still reaches it.

  Making it past the goons with guns to the back skylight was easy. Most people aren’t expecting the shadows to move. They’re looking for approaching cars or wandering pedestrians.

  I grappled up. Another line of explosive tape went over the window. It’d be loud, but not especially conspicuous in this neighborhood.

  I hid behind the AC unit, and tapped the button on my wrist. Both tapes exploded simultaneously. The guards rushed to the car.

  They didn’t see me crawl through the broken skylight. On my way in, I left an insurance policy.

  The metal support struts in the ceiling made precarious footing, but I managed. Below were boxes on boxes, as well as two men listening intently to their radios. Good, because that meant they wouldn’t hear me coming.

  I tapped the Fox Badge on my chest. I waited for the low hum. My mass was now halved. I dropped the 20 feet and rolled, popping up right next to them.

  The badge hummed again, doubling my mass. I leapt, and punched down on the first goon in the temple, connecting solidly with the brass reinforcements in my knuckles, and sending him off to dreamland. The second drew his pistol. Roundhouse knocked it out of his hand. Side-kick to the jaw sent him to the ground.

  I tapped the badge, turning it off. I set a timer on my watch — two minutes. Hopefully had time to check the boxes, set the torch, and be out of here before the whole place went up in flames. That also gave these poor bastards time to wake up, and run out of the building.

  I grabbed a nearby crowbar and popped the top of the first box. Just like intel said — guns, and lots of them. Where were these guys sending them? Who needed all of these guns?

  The Fox Instinct grew taut in my chest, alerting me to danger. I turned to it.

  A door opened about a hundred feet away. Light silhouetted him. He drew a gun.

  I threw the crowbar, striking him in the forehead. He stumbled back a pace.

  I ran. The Fox Serum made me fast, much faster than most could anticipate. I crossed that 100 feet in less than a second and a half.

  By the time he got his senses back, I’d already yanked the pistol from his hand. I hit him with it. He crumpled.

  That was close. I shook out my nerves. Didn’t like guns.

  It was an office, a small room to do warehouse paperwork. Sitting in the office chair, tied up and with tape over her mouth, was a woman.

  She wore a paramedic’s uniform, hair tied up in a messy ponytail. Likely hispanic; mid thirties. Her brown eyes looked wide with surprise, but not panic.

  When had these guys taken a hostage? They were supposed to be small-time crooks.

  This complicated things.

  I tore the tape from her mouth.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” she replied, her accent coming in strong. Confirmed my read.

  I stepped back, and pointed to the symbol on my chest.

  “I think I know you,” she said, tamping her accent down. “Didn’t you fight Atlas last year? Red Fox?”

  “Yep,” I said, lighting a flare, and tossing it into the corner of the warehouse. It skittered under a wooden box, so I knew we’d only have a couple minutes. I checked my watch, and pulled my knife.

  “Why would they have reason to take you hostage?” I asked.

  “Responded to a house call. Needed me to patch up some gangster. I told them I didn’t know who they were, but they didn’t believe me. Wait, did you just set the place on fire?”

  I ran the knife over the ropes, and had her free in seconds.

  “I did, so let’s be quick about it, huh? Did you hear what they wanted to use the guns for?”

  Her breathing quickened. I could tell the fear was starting to set in. I took her by the shoulders.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Hey, ma’am? I need your name.”

  “Floriana Torres. Flo,” she said, eyes searching for something in mine. “And they said the guns are supposed to go to a museum in Kit City.”

  “Kit City?” I said. Place was a notorious crime ridden dump. But I’d heard of some action over there, so it made some sense. “Okay, Flo,” I continued. “I need you to take one second to feel that fear, then push past it. You’re a paramedic. You deal with this when on a job, just like I do. You are just too, too busy to feel it, yeah?”

  “Too busy?” she asked. Her brown eyes gazed at me like I was the only person in the world.

  “Yeah, too busy running.”

  “Running?” she parroted, snapping back to reality. “Wait, don’t they have guns?”

  “They always have guns. But — and this is key — we don’t want to burn alive.”

  “Shit, yeah, that would make getting back to my kid complicated.”

  I turned to go. She grabbed my arm. Her grip was strong.

  “Wait. Whoever they got running these people is a supervillain.”

  “A supervillian?”

  “Yeah, he can teleport.”

  “Teleport? Intel really dropped the ball on that one. If I don’t know him, it probably means he’s just a regular villain. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m a journeyman hero. I eat villains for breakfast.”

  She scoffed, said something in Spanish.

  “Keep low,” I added. “Move to cover when you can, else stay hidden. We have maybe 30 seconds.”

  “Got it,” she said, still holding onto my arm with a vice grip.

  I pointed to a stack of boxes, then walked into view. She scurried to cover.

  A man in a white suit argued with his underlings. Something about his car.

  “It’s over!” I said. “I’d vacate the premises while you still can.” My shadow grew as the flames glowed brighter behind me.

  The man in the white suit cursed, and pulled a grenade from his pocket. Why would he do that?

  The grenade disappeared in a puff of shiny black smoke. It was krackle, dark energy. Fox instinct vibrated in my chest — indicating extreme danger. At my feet appeared a single grenade.

  I turned to the right, and kicked it as hard as I could. The grenade shattered the window, and exploded harmlessly outside the warehouse.

  “Get another car,” the man in the suit said to his associate, who left. “Whoever you are, you’re mincemeat.”

  “You don’t know me?” I said, stalling for time. I fished as many smoke pellets out of my pouches as I could. “Come on, there’s been a Red Fox for the last hundred years.”

  The man pulled a pistol from a holster in his coat. I could hear Flo advance to a second stack of boxes. Good.

  “Eh, I’ll figure it out later,” the man shrugged, then fired at me. I ducked behind a pillar.

  The Instinct buzzed. He poofed right in front of me. I slipped around the pillar again, feeling the bullets whiz by. I shoved the rebreathing attachment onto my face.

  I threw the pellets, filling this part of the warehouse with a truly ridiculous amount of smoke. The man coughed. Hopefully Flo could advance while we fought.

  The instinct grew taut. I chambered a kick. As soon as he appeared in front of me I whipped a kick at his face that sent him back reeling.

  I rolled right. More gunfire.

  If I didn’t end this fast, a stray bullet could hit the civilian. I couldn’t have that. I walked backward, deeper into the smoke.

  A hand grabbed onto me. A woman’s hand. She coughed.

  She’d gotten lost in the smoke.

  Stupid, idiotic move. I should have anticipated this.

  I pulled my grapple, put my arm under hers, and pulled her close. I shot it into the ceiling. We zipped up. I smashed the skylight with my fist, then tossed her through it. Fox strength was a real boon when you needed it.

  She rolled down the glass skylight, but just stopped herself from tumbling off the roof. I slid after her.

  “You okay?” I asked, voice disguised by the rebreather’s speakers.

  “Did you just throw me?”

  “Yeah.”

  I saw a piece of glass had lacerated her scalp. Blood ran down her face. She’d be fine.

  “It’s over!” the man said, standing on the skylight, dark purple krackle wafting from his shoulders like steam. “I have you both. You’re coming with me, so the police don’t try anything funny. Then, maybe, I'll consider letting you live.”

  Fire licked the roof. Smoke towered into the sky. Sirens blared in the distance. He leveled his pistol at us.

  “Do you even have a Code Name yet?” I asked, slowly moving my left hand to my right wrist.

  “It’s Phasmater!”

  “Got it,” I said. “Going in the report.”

  I pushed the button on my wrist. The tape exploded. The entire skylight shattered. He fell.

  “Well that was exciting,” she said, grinning a crazed, adrenaline-soaked grin. “But how are we getting down? Chingada. You know, with all the fire.”

  “Relax, Flo,” I replied, shoving another wire canister into my grappling hook. “Trust me.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, tight. I tapped the Fox Badge. The rest was a leisurely zipline down to the street.

  She walked to the first responders. I slunk into the shadows.

  Not bad for a night’s work.

  Excerpt from Jane’s Secret Radio Broadcast 9/10/0089:

  “They call you Sparklefingers.”

  “Ha! Good hero name as any!”

  “How has the New Linden community adapted to the arrival of a genuine Superhero candidate?”

  “Superhero! Nobody is throwing around the ‘S Word’ yet. I just help people when I can. The costume is so that people know when I’m on duty. The Sparkles come and go. Plus, I’ve got to eat sometime!”

  “Your powers are said to be able to heal almost any injury. Is that true?”

  “Any injury? No. Only some. Cuts, abrasions, GSWs of all kinds, sure. But I can’t cure cancer. Can’t even cure Pneumonia! Common cold, sure. But Pneumonia has too much fluid the body can’t handle on its own. The sparkle is, like, a supercharge for the body’s natural healing.”

  “But you’ve been reported to be able to close a two inch long laceration in seconds.”

  “Sure. And I’m happy to do it. As long as I’m on duty.”

  “Couldn’t you hurt someone with those powers? Turn the body’s natural immune system against them?”

  “Oh, heavens no! Why would I want to do that?”

  “Some would say evil people would deserve it.”

  “Everyone deserves to be healthy, Ms. Jane. Even evil people. They just need to be healthy in jail. And I’m not trained for that.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “They’ve rated me higher, but I’d like to think I’m a Street Level Hero, just helping those in the neighborhood best I can.”

  “A Friendly Neighborhood Hero, then?”

  “As best as I can, Ms. Jane.”

  “What do you say to those who think you can do more?”

  “I’d say they can kiss my ass! I’m not getting paid for this. And I’m out here every day.”

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Sparklefingers.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Next week — an exclusive interview with the newly minted Kit City Care Team. Can this new hero, this Lazer Gunz, really be the first to earn the rank of Superhero in nearly half a decade? Stay Tuned. Stay Safe.”