New Markets - 02 (4 page)

“Oh, is that what I’m feeling?”

“Why did you do that if you aren’t an armored super?”

“I was irritated about the wait.”

He laughed sarcastically.  “Nice, so you jumped into the line of fire?”

“Flew, uhh, actually.”  I coughed, blood came out.  I made a mental note not to fly into submachine gun fire in the future.  “Uhh, this hurts.”

“No shit.  That’s why we wear protective vests and try to avoid getting shot.”

“I, ah, thought my body would kick out bullets in a few minutes.”

“You got shot about ten times.  Maybe it takes longer with that many.  Any of us would be dead by now.”

“Good, then maybe I, ow, kept one of you from getting shot.” 
Damn, this hurts.  Next time I’m bringing the boys to do this type of dirty work.

I felt something wiggling in my right bicep, and a bullet worked its way out.  The bandage pushed it painfully against the tender spot, so I tore off the bandage.  The wound closed and became just an angry red welt on my arm.

The officer looked at the paramedic and said, “Damn, man, didn’t you give her a painkiller?”

The paramedic said, “Of course I did.  She’s apparently not being affected by it.  I doubt it’s safe to just keep upping the dosage in the hopes it’ll work.”

I lay back down and over the next ten minutes felt several more bullets push their way out of my body.  I quietly grimaced and cried from the pain.  The paramedic kept me company while I lay there writhing. 

While still painful, the pain receded enough after a while to let me think, and I asked, “Where is the perp?”

“I believe he’s being held outside for now.  I’m not sure though.”

I looked around.  Blood splattered all over the room from the many gunshots I’d kept from hitting the room.  One area had quite a bit of blood on the floor; I must have been lying there after being shot.  My body was wet and sticky all over. 
I think I’d make a good prop or extra in a horror flick right about now.  Lying here’s not going to get Zena back any sooner, girl, suck it up!

I clenched my teeth and said, “I have work to do.”  I slowly sat up; the movement exacerbated the wounds in my abdomen, and caused me to cry out in pain again.  Baracco, the paramedic, per his mindview, put his arm around my back to help me stay in that position.  Through his eyes I looked like a mess.  Blood covered my mouth, chin and most of my torso.  My legs both had a lot of blood on them, although only the left had been shot.  The right had a strange pattern of blood trails that wound around it from left to right.

I asked, “Why is my right leg so bloody?”

He replied, “They said you were slowly spinning in the air when they came in.  You were unconscious and bleeding.  That made the blood run all over you.”  He made whirling motions in the air to describe my spinning motion.

I nodded, “I didn’t fall down after being knocked out?”

“No, the officers were talking about you floating unconscious.”

“Interesting.” 
Damn, my costume is all blood soaked.  Great, that’ll flag me as a resounding failure.  I need to get it cleaned off.

“Kind of cool, if you ask me.”

“Help me up, please.”

“You should stay lying down.”

“My body’s already healing; it’ll heal while I’m standing.”  I ignored the pain spots in my body and stood up.  It caused me to grimace and grab at my abdomen as I did so.

He helped me, obviously against his better judgment.  I took a deep breath; it caused me to cough violently for a moment.  That in turn overused my abdominal muscles, flared up a bout of sharp pains and dropped me to my knees.

I said, “Uh, I’m so not getting in front of guns again.”

“That sounds like a wise idea.”

I carefully stood up again.  I felt light-headed.  I asked, “Where is the nearest bathroom?”

“I think I saw one down the hall here.”  He gestured ahead of us.

One of the tactical officers came in and stopped when he saw me walking with the help of the paramedic.  He mentally gave me points for being stubborn and being up and walking already.

I said, “Hi, I’m Psystar.”  I looked like a sexy zombie in his eyes, what with all the blood on me, and my shirt up around my bust.

He shook my hand and asked, “I'm Lewis von Klinger.  How are you feeling?”  Lewis was a thin, young man with green eyes and wavy brown hair.

“Like shit.  Almost like I got shot a bunch of times.”

He laughed.  “Yeah, I imagine that hurts.  You’re a tough chick, though.”

“Thanks, I think.  Help me to the bathroom, please.”

He debated asking Baracco if they should force me to lie down, and then realized a paramedic would have already attempted that.  “Sure thing.”  He took my other arm.  Between the two of them walking was much easier.  We shortly arrived at the women’s restroom.

“Let me wash up, and then I’ll be down to interrogate the kidnapper.”

“Okay.”

I walked into the restroom and went to the sink area.  I felt more than a little drunk.  I looked even more of a mess than their mindviews showed me.  At least their mindviews were skewed from a male’s viewpoint.  Blood soaked my shorts and shirt due to the wonders of spin-bleeding while floating. 

I glanced back toward the door.  Per the mindviews, the two guys were content to wait for me outside, so I slid off my shorts and washed them in the sink until most of the blood was gone.  I had to wash and squeeze them multiple times to get most of the blood out.  I put them under another faucet and left it running hot water on them, then stripped off the top to wash it.  I placed that under another running faucet to rinse as well.  Fortunately my panties weren’t bad.

I very much didn’t want to look quite so bloody when talking with the F.B.I. Agents and tactical leader downstairs.  It would vindicate their desire to have held me back.  I tore off the bandages and washed off my bloody skin when a new mindview showed someone walk up to the door and enter.

I had momentary heart failure while I jerked my face out of the sink and looked up.  A woman officer stood in the entrance a moment with the two men standing behind her gawking at me.  She recovered from her surprise quickly and shut the door in the men’s faces.

She thought,
So this is what a nude super looks like.
  I looked like a deer caught in headlights in her mindview while she looked my bloody form up and down.  Then she glanced at the sinks where water ran on my two costume pieces.  The fast motion of standing upright caused me to be even more lightheaded and I noticed that I swayed a little in her eyes.

She walked over to me and asked, “Are you okay?  Do you need any help?”

I stammered, “I, uh, I’m cleaning the blood off.” 
Why is it perfectly fine to be naked in a gym locker room, yet feel so embarrassed when caught that way unexpectedly?

“I can see that.  I’m Katherine.”  Katherine was about 5'6” tall, with dark brown eyes and long ash blonde hair.  She had darkly tanned skin, and spoke very precisely.

Just then I felt another bullet work its way out and fall ringing onto the bathroom tiles.  She bent down and picked up the bullet.  “What the?  Did this just come out of you?”

I nodded and quickly regret the movement, “Yeah.  They said I got shot about ten times.  I’m Ste … Psystar.”

She glanced up at me.  Her thoughts rolled the beginning of my name around in her mind. 
Stella?  Stephanie? 
“You’re going to have a lot of scars.  Arm, arm, shoulder, chest, a bunch in the abdomen, and three in the left thigh?”

“I guess.  I’ve only been shot twice before this.”

One of the men called out, “You two okay in there?”  He mentally hoped we’d ask for a hand.

Katherine’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she said, “We’re just fine, thank you.  And no, we don’t need any assistance.”

That made me think of the blood, and I returned to washing off with paper towels, soap and water.  She stepped over to the sink and changed the water to cold, and proceeded to work the blood out of my top.  Then she changed the other sink to run cold water instead of hot.

The mindviews of the men outside stayed on the memory of me standing there nude.  They even began to quietly discuss my body out in the hallway.

She said, “You should use cold water to wash out blood.”

“Oh.  Thanks.”  The pain lessened as the minutes went by.

“You’re in great shape, do you work out?”

“I used to.  I don’t know if I need to or not now.  I’ve been told that we don’t need to.”

“Are you a new meta?”

 “Yeah.”  I looked at my face in the mirror.  I put my hand on the counter as another moment of dizziness swept over me.  It appeared that my face was clean, but there was no way I’d get the blood out of my hair in here.  I sighed as I held a length of my hair out.

The officer looked at my hair.  “That’s not coming clean without a shower.”

“I know.  Ah well, at least I can be mostly clean going down there.  I don’t want to be ridiculed for getting shot so much.”

“Oh, most of the guys will probably think you pretty brave, being as you are now walking around.  They might get on your case for getting knocked out during the fight though.”

“Damn, you’re right.”  Another bullet wiggled its way out and rang as it bounced on the floor.

I continued, “Well, this will have to due.”

She handed me the top and worked at washing the bottoms while I slid the top up my legs. 
Pulling it down over my head would just re-bloody it on my hair.
  Good thing this material stretched so much.  It was actually amazingly small when not being worn, much like spandex.  She squeezed the water out of the bottoms and handed them to me.  I slid them on next.

I felt motion in my abdomen, lifted my top and another bullet came out.  Yet another wound that looked much like an angry welt.  I picked up the two bullets.

She asked, “Does that hurt?”  She visualized watching a bullet come out.

“Yes, it does.  Oh, you mean when they push their way out.  Not too much for that, it’s an odd wiggling sensation.  The welts and wounds with bullets still in them hurt though.  Shall we go visit the kidnapper?  Thanks for helping me, by the way.”

“Glad to help.  Better than one of those guys trying to come in and help.”  She stared at my chest for a moment.  “Wait a second.  You got shot right here.”  She pointed near the inner part of my right breast.

“Yeah.”

“Your costume doesn’t have a hole in it.”

“Oh yeah, very cool.  She said it was self-repairing.” 
Dr. Turnquist rocks.  I wonder how much she would charge me for just a new top and bottom for my costume.

“Wow, that’s neat.”

“Now if only it self cleaned.”  Most of the blood had come out, but some of the costume was more pink than white.  The costumes we’d had custom made by Dr. Turnquist were a special fabric, one that would mend itself so long as it still had the fabric.  A sort of DNA, the Doctor had said, which remembered the way it ought to be.  It was stronger than normal spandex as well, so our costumes wouldn’t be torn up by minor fights or tears.

“So, ah, did you change much when you went meta?”  She was thinking physically, and wondered about my hair and body shape.