“Morales,” I shouted. “Are you in here?”
The shoeless foot stuck out from a heap of trash bags. If he had been hurled into the pile, perhaps they had broken his fall. I didn’t believe it was possible, but I didn’t want to find a body. As I skid to my knees, I tore at the bags, finding the officer underneath. Morales couldn’t be older than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. He’d never see thirty.
“Dammit.”
I pressed fingers against his throat. The familiar thumping was nowhere to be found. I prepared to start rounds of CPR when a series of loud thuds came storming through the alley.
“Cop man, go bye-bye.”
Biganddumb.
“You go bye-bye.”
“Not today, you piece of trash.”
Right now, Vanguard didn’t need a medic—it needed a hero.
15
I eyed Morales’body as I got to my feet. It was because of this towering ogre that this officer wouldn’t see his next birthday. The ring on the man’s finger meant somewhere a spouse waited anxiously for him to come home from his shift. If he had kids, they’d grow up without their father.
“Little man angry.”
I growled, the rage making it impossible to string together a coherent sentence of obscenities.
Dozer stood nine feet tall, and with each thunderous stride, he cleared several yards. I don’t know if he came looking for the missing officer or if the brute had been off causing mayhem elsewhere before returning to his companions. As he picked up speed, I didn't have time to ponder the question.
I tried to catch the oversized boot as it kicked into mygut. I grossly underestimated the man’s strength. The world spun, incoherent as I braced for impact. The wall collapsed around me as I bust through a layer of brick and support beams in the building. My back arched as I folded backward around a pipe. If I had been an average man, he’d have crushed me, a flesh sack filled with pulverized bones.
But I wasn’t average.
I skipped checking for broken limbs. I’d be bruised, and for the next few days, I might need to take ice baths, but unlike Morales, I’d live. Shaking off the rubble, I flexed my muscles, drawing my fingers so tightly into a fist my entire hand ached.
Flames danced along my knuckles. For a moment, it rippled along my arms, causing my uniform to smolder before it vanished. While I couldn’t rely on the flames, Prometheus’ suit responded. The black liquid flashed along my forearms, swallowing my uniform until all that remained was the black and gold skintight suit.
With one hand on the pipe, I pulled it free, causing more of the ceiling to collapse. Stepping to the edge of the hole, I watched as Dozer passed by, thinking his death toll had gone up by one. The smug expression on his face made my blood boil. He was satisfied with yet another death.
“Hey,” I shouted, “dumb ass.”
I jumped from the second story. The goliath turned around, his eyes wide as he caught sight of a costumed vigilante. The sound of his pea brain trying to process thenewcomer was almost audible. I might consider it an unfair fight if we were doing the crossword, but as I prepped for a slugfest, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be the victor.
“Squish little man.”
“You can try,” I mumbled.
He took a step forward, and I spun about with the pipe. The tip caught him along the jaw, his head jerking to the side. Before he could react, I pulled back and jabbed it into his stomach. He let out a roar as he snatched the pipe, tossing it to the side. Well, so much for having a weapon advantage.
Dozer charged.
Squatting low, I brought both hands together and swung up. I landed a blow in his groin. It should have stopped him, or at least caused a yelp. Instead, his knee plowed into my chest, sending me flying once more.
I spun about, landing on my stomach. Digging my fingertips into the pavement, I turned, ready to face him head-on. His expression was almost priceless. He hadn’t faced a worthy opponent since the depowering. I was going to whip his ass.
I might revel in the idea of being able to trade blows with Dozer, but anger coated every action. To my right, buried in a heap of trash, a man lay dead. Somewhere a boot missed its owner. His sock, with a hole in the heel—thatmade me angry. Morales wanted to protect the city.Now, he’d become a memory, another name on a tombstone.
I rose, the fire rolling down my arms. As a medic, I couldn’t bring him back from the dead. But as a hero, I could avenge him, carry on his work.
“Morales.” His name served as a reminder. Then it transformed into a battle cry. “Morales!”
