Something flickered at the edge of his scope, and Kyle shifted position, crosshairs skimming across the south side of the Thames. He couldn’t see much beyond the walls, but the person running across the top of the south barrier wall was clearly up to no good. Kyle tracked the man’s forward progress, calculating when to take the shot against the ever-changing wind, when fire sparked against the man’s fingers and grew so large it obscured his vision in the scope.
Kyle jerked his head away from the scope, caught sight of the fire blotting out his view of London, and dove for cover behind the cement safety wall that rose from the roof of Westminster Station. A wave of fire scorched the intersection he was perched over, the heat from the metahuman’s pyrokinesis singeing his uniform.
“A little help here, Europa!” he shouted over the comms.
Kyle turned his face into his arm, clutching his rifle as hot steam blew over the area. It lasted only a couple of seconds before it disappeared. Kyle lifted his head once it was gone, watching as the cloudy steam rose higher into the air for disbursement purposes. Samaira still controlled the underlying water through her hydrokinesis and used her power to cancel out the threat. The waterspout she’d created from the Thames twisted back toward the river, splashing back down into its depths.
Kyle rolled to his knees and checked over his rifle. He adjusted the tech camouflage that surrounded it and made sure the muzzle was once again covered. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Samaira said.
He got back into position, putting his eye to the scope. Fatigue would’ve long ago set in if not for his rapid healing ability, and Kyle continued to keep watch for the enemy. The pyrokinetic from before was gone—whether escaped or taken out by one of the UMG teams, he didn’t know. But the man was no longer a problem and that was all Kyle cared about.
Kyle hadn’t heard a Splice bomb go off for at least ten minutes. He wondered if the teams had found all the suicide bombers yet or if they’d be playing cat and mouse until zero dark hundred.
Even as all those thoughts ran through the back of his mind, Kyle scanned the urban battlefield for threats. Parliament’s shield was holding, and the Met had sent in teams of armed police to help guard it once the Royal Legion had cleared the area. They’d all retaken ground against the Reborn IRA, but Kyle couldn’t shake the feeling they were doing what Murphy and the Reborn IRA wanted.
“Reaper, we’re changing position two streets over,” Jamie said. “I want you on the ground with us.”
“Copy that, Apollo,” Kyle replied.
He straightened and switched the safety back on. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Kyle unholstered his handgun and let it lead him back into the stairwell he’d used to get up to the roof. He deactivated the tech camouflage and moved soundlessly down to the ground floor, listening to the chatter over the comms. It took another minute for him to leave the station proper, needing to pass through the police line keeping the building locked down.
Kyle stepped outside and dodged past a couple of abandoned vehicles as he headed up the street rather than across the bridge. Samaira and Jamie stood near the Winston Churchill statue, monitoring the field and all the chatter on the comms.
“Any word on Liam?” Kyle asked.
“He’s in surgery,” Jamie said.
“What are our orders?”
“Clearing Central London of any other Reborn IRA members stupid enough to want to die,” Samaira replied.
“Sounds like fun.”
“Missed being in the field?”
“I’d rather watch your six than eat at another diplomatic dinner any day of the year, Europa,” Kyle cheerfully confessed. “Lead the way.”
17
Like the Way You Numb the Ache
Liam woke up slowly,feeling as if his eyelids were weighed down. Breathing was easy; thinking was not. Everything about his body seemed distant and numb, a sure sign of hospital grade painkillers. Trying to string together a coherent thought took longer than it should, but the soft beeping of machines told him he was safe. The metallic taste on his tongue told him he’d gone through a regen regime, and that dragged the rest of his sleepy mind back to full awareness, or what passed for it.
Liam cracked open his eyes, expecting the bright lights of medical, and was instead greeted with dim shadows of a darkened room. Considering the heaviness on the left side of his head, he figured he still might have lingering symptoms of a concussion. Nanites could heal many things, but the brain still took time.
The rest of him seemed in one piece, and when he tried to clumsily reach for his leg and the wound that had been there, he was stopped by warm fingers curling around his.
“Be still. You’re healed up and you’re safe.”
Oliver’s voice was low and soft in the dark medical room, his presence a surprise that had Liam blinking his eyes open as wide as they would go. His vision was a little blurry for a few seconds before it settled and Oliver’s face came into view.
Oliver looked tired. His suit was wrinkled, his hair looked as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times, but he was the best thing Liam had ever seen right then.
“Hey,” Liam said, needing to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth to form the word. His entire mouth was desert dry.
Oliver let go of Liam’s hand, and he wanted to protest until he saw the cup of ice the other man retrieved. Oliver held one ice chip up to Liam’s dry lips, gently slipping it into his mouth. Liam sucked on the ice, the moisture making it easier to speak.
