I reached for my phone and paused. I could swear I heard something through the paper-thin walls. “Did you hear that?”
Booker shook his head. “What?”
We both froze. THUMP.
“That.”
THUMP.
“We should get out of here,” I said. “Now.”
The charge of success faded as my gut tightened. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to end well. We needed to get away from the scene of the crime. I feared whoever had left the vials had come to claim them.
Booker snatched the cooler, and we headed for the door. I reached for the handle when something cracked. The world vanished in a burst of color. I saw the ceiling. The floor. I struck the far wall, sliding to the dingy carpet. I’d feel that in the morning.
A silver hand had punched through the door. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Ricardo had followed us. Booker clutched the cooler against his chest as the door tore off thehinges. A slender man in a light blue button-down and black dress pants waved the door around like a weapon.
“Who gave me up?” he shouted. My head pounded from hitting the wall. Maybe he was just talking, and it felt like shouting. I’d be on concussion watch again tonight.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Booker said. What was he doing? He took steps forward, his hand held out as if he were approaching a stray dog. “We’ll just be on our way.” I tried moving, but my brain needed another moment to calibrate.
He had almost reached the man, hands still outstretched. He could get people to spill their guts, but this was out of his league. Mad scientists weren’t normal fare for government paper pushers. Our new companion was more in my wheelhouse.
The man swung his hand, and the door smashed against Booker. Splinters flew as he spun through the air. He struck the floor, rolling onto his stomach.
Booker’s body slumped.
The balding man pushed his glasses up his nose as if it were an invitation. His fists shimmered in the fluorescent lights. I could have stayed put and hoped he only wanted the samples. It’d be a fool’s assumption. The bad guy never left loose ends, and as soon as he got his loot, he’d finish us off.
Let him try.
I slid up the wall until I stood. Reaching for my legs, Igrowled, annoyed that I hadn’t brought my batons. I’d need to figure that out if Booker was going to keep taking me on field trips.
“This won’t end well,” I said.
The adrenaline made the wound in my chest all but vanish. Even the pain along my back faded as I rolled my fingers into a fist. I thought tonight would be a night off. We’d do a little breaking and entering, a side of burglary, and we’d end with a hug goodnight. It could still happen, but the in-between was about to get bloodier.
First, we assess the situation.
I lunged. In the tight quarters, standing still would be suicide. His arm morphed into a silver blade. Cypher stabbed forward, trying to run me through. I pivoted, spinning about, my elbow cracking against the side of his head. As he came around, hoping to slice along my back, I jumped to the side.
He had power, but no skill. I ducked under the next swipe. With my back to the wall, he thought himself the victor. He charged, tip posed for my heart. Braced against the wall, I kicked, driving my heel into his chest. The grunt told me everything I needed. He might have some semblance of Ricardo’s abilities, but it didn’t come with endurance. My new friend was nothing more than a normal human wielding fancy kitchen knives.
Assess, then neutralize.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said. “But only one of us is walking out of here.”
I eyed a still Booker. “Oh. It’sverypersonal.”
The blade vanished. Instead, his left fist shimmered as it turned to metal. He grunted as his right flashed steel and then faded. With a slight growl, it transformed. My friend had limitations. Ricardo would crack up when I revealed I found his B-rate doppelgänger.
He came in swinging. With each swipe and parry, I moved out of the way. He traded speed for force. Each attempt came slower, and I realized that even though he could shapeshift, it didn’t come with Ricardo’s strength. However he gained these bastard abilities, he needed to request a refund. I eyed Booker, wishing he could see how easily I moved out of reach of the scientist’s uppercut.
“Oh,” he said, stepping back. He followed my gaze to a fallen Booker. The blade returned. Instead of coming at me, he stood over Booker, ready to impale the man. “Not so tough now.”
The taunting and teasing ended. Without knowing it, he had escalated the situation. At first, I considered putting him in a sleeper hold and leaving his unconscious body for the police. He had picked the wrong fight.
Snap.
