The Frosted Files:Open Eyes

//Chapter 2\\

    Most glass doesn't shatter like it does in movies, into a bunch of tiny beads and dust. Instead, it's left in chunks and pieces ranging from the size of a quarter to a dinner plate, sharp enough to cut paper, grass, and skin. Luckily, the black nanotech suit covering me from head to toe provided a shield against any cuts that would have come from leaping through the window. 
    The idea of jumping through a window has likely crossed your mind before, maybe in a particularly boring class- I don't blame you. However, the main thing that drives most people away from doing so is the cost - replacing the window, possible hospital bills, et cetera. Again, thanks to the tech, as well as my vast sums of wealth, none of this was a worry for me, which means I get to do this kind of thing whenever I damn well pleased. Well, not too often - I do have loved one's that would kill me if I died. 
    Crossing my arms over my head, I went through the glass smoother than a hot knife through butter, assuming that butter was frozen solid and the temperature difference caused it to shatter. Bits and pieces of glass flew into the room, and I fell into a roll, coming up in time to see a flash of movement in the doorway. A quick glance showed this to be a standard bedroom - dull tan walls, a gray bedspread, some form of brown colored carpet - nothing personal anywhere. That means this is likely an unoccupied apartment. 
    As I took off after the attempted assassin, I had the tech in my glasses, which molded into the suit, do a quick thermal scan of the building in my sight - glowing forms appeared in my vision, showing where people were. Yes, I know infrared doesn't get through most walls - to be honest, I forgot how exactly I programmed this thermal sight, as I was running off pure caffeine after a few sleepless days. The building itself was occupied, it seemed - I'd have to be careful, then. 
    Rounding the corner of the doorframe, I raced down the hall and out the wide open front door. In a straight on chase, I'd catch the guy easily - but in this maze of cream colored halls and rooms, I had to slow down for turns. Using the same thermal overlay I used to track common folk, I followed him. The off-red carpet of the building's public halls reminded me of the dried blood back at the crime scene somewhere below and behind me. The scene that had been a set up, as I had told that kid Fellows. A set up to try and kill me, of all people. I'll have to get back to that thought later, however. 
    He glanced back at me, and I swear I could see the white of his eyes grow wider. He fumbled with a strap at his waist before ditching the sniper he carried, and managed to pull out some smaller gun, all while running, if somewhat slower. He pointed the gun in my general direction and let out a quick burst of shots in a semi-automatic fashion.
    I grit my teeth as the bullets hit the tech, the force being distributed along the exosuit much like a kevlar vest. Those would be some nasty bruises, later. A few shots ricocheted off my tech and out into the apartment building, leaving holes in walls and decreasing the rent value - I don't think anyone was hit, thankfully, but this bastard was putting my people in danger.
    I sped up. 
He looked back again, took a turn, going down some stairs, and now ran under me in the same direction as me. I considered following him down the stairs, but decided that would only allow him that much more of a lead.  
    Looking up, I saw the end of the hall quickly approaching, the curtains of the window pulled close. 
    Window.
    Well, I did it once, what's once more?
    I looked down to check where the assassin was - a bit ahead of me, just about to turn down the hall below - and gave myself a full second to think this over. 
    Not slowing down, I braced myself and leapt through yet another window. 
    Jumping out of a window into open air is much different than jumping in - first off, the sudden openness can make you hold your breath for a moment longer than need be. Secondly, if you actually manage to get out the window, your mind and body will scream at you for being so bloody dumb - the primal need to survive, one of the main driving instincts in every human's mind, goes into overdrive, and panic sets in. Thirdly, there's no ground below you, not anywhere nearby, at least. No safety net, no brace. You're left to the mercy of gravity and physics.
    Well, unless you're me.
    As I began to fall, I flicked a hand back at the building, and the nanotech flowed up from my legs, leaving them exposed. This tech then shot out like a spear, embedding itself into the grey concrete brickwork of the outside of the building, allowing me to swing down and into the window below and beside the one I just leapt from. 
    Once again, I noticed the wild laugh sounding from me. 
    As I fell into this window, the tech detached from the wall and flowed back over my legs, once again protecting me from the general harm of window jumping. 
    I crashed through the window just ahead of the assassin, sending more glass flying inward, and totally landed in a badass superhero-esque pose. Definitely didn't clip my foot on the sill, making me land face-first into the pile of glass. 
    I heard the large guy swear in Russian before turning around and taking off the way he had come. I got up in a very dignified manner, brushing off stray bits of glass from my tech suit, and started after the guy again. Gods, this was getting repetitive. 
    We were in a long hall now - I sped up. I could likely have taken out my revolver and got a few shots off, but at this pace, my aim would be too out of control - an apartment we just passed held four of the glowing figures, three of which were very small - so I didn't want to risk that.
    I slowly gained on the guy, still laughing. In all honesty, I don't know why I laugh at things like this - chases, hunts, it just happens. Whyever it happened, it didn't prevent me from doing what I needed, so I usually ignored it.
    It was kind of hard to ignore now, though, when the only sounds in the hall were the labored breathing of the assassin, the heavy footfalls of his boots hitting the thin carpet, and my laugh. Thanks to the tech, I was all but silent otherwise - much like a car's suspension absorbs the shock of gravity, my tech did the same, giving me a little more spring in my step, per say. As for breathing, well, I ran. A lot. I train with Russians on a near-daily basis, and those bastards go hard. Still, while my breathing was faster and heavier, it was as quiet as one could reasonably suspect, drowned by the laughter. 
    The assassin quickly leapt into a room, shutting the heavy metal door behind him. Several locks sounded just as I got to the room, and I heard him run away from the door.
    As if steel could stop me.
    I flexed a hand, the tech along the claws going sharp - they were only sharp when I needed them to be, for safety reasons - and clawed at where the lock would be in the door and doorframe, making quick work of the situation - quick indeed, actually, as I got through the door in roughly thirty seconds. 
    I kicked the door open for dramatic effect, knowing I had the bastard cornered now - unless he wanted to jump from a fourth story window, that is. The kick was hard enough that the hinges squeaked in protest, and the handle left a hole in the wall.
    I stalked forward, my laugh quieting to a chuckle, running a clawed finger along the wall to make a loud scratching sound. The glasses showed the guy in the far back room, so that's where I went, practically smelling his fear.
    I broke through the lock for the bedroom, slamming the door open.
    "Bogi, spasi menya ot chorta!" he yelled, clutching a chain necklace in his hand and shoving it towards me, the rings along his fingers connected by chain. The cross on the chain had an old bloodstain along the bottom.
    The guy was terrified.
    This would be funny.
    I yelled, trying my best to sound inhuman, bouncing between yelling and laughing, writhing around and falling into the wall. 
    He looked even more terrified, his hand shaking now.
    The act got old fast, and I ended up doubled over laughing before straightening up.
    "Next time, watch your aim, you damned Bolt."
    His eyes confirmed my suspicion - this guy, this Russian, was from an opposing gang known as the Lockbolts, often just called Bolts. This gang was run by a man called Locke Flintwood, who I knew very well, unfortunately - we went to college together, and, at the time, knew each other like the back of our hands. We had a falling out soon after we- I- graduated, and Locke went off to form his own group. By pure coincidence, we both had Russian contacts, so sometimes fights like this can get a tad confusing.
    The main thing that was upsetting me, however, was the fact that Locke wasn't dumb, sloppy, or careless - all of which applied to this guy here. 
    Locke hasn't tried anything in a few years - why now?
    I slowly let the nanotech flow back into its hiding spaces, letting the mask fall away last. I was smiling as it flowed away, and I took out my gun, a trusty old revolver, and aimed it at the Russian's head.
    "Tip one for better aim - range. Closer. Means. Better."
    With each pause between the last three words, I took a step closer, until I was just about ten feet away.
    He opened his mouth to say something, so I put a round in his throat.
    Or, I would have.
    I pulled the trigger - I know my aim was good. I heard the report of the hammer, the blast of the gunpowder firing.
    But as soon as I shot, the air in front of the guy shimmered into a blue-green quarter dome, shaped like a certain patriotic superhero's shield. 
    He did not, in fact, drop dead.
    Confused, I aimed and pulled the trigger again, and, again, the translucent quarter-dome shimmered into existence. This time, I saw the rings bound by chain along his fingers - each had some sigil or rune or something on it, which glowed the same color as the shield.
    The bullets had been stopped cold, fallen to the carpet.
    I put the gun back into its holster under my arm, and the Russian shakily grinned. 
    That didn't last long, though, because he saw the tech flowing over my arm again.
    The claws formed, sharpening, and I sliced towards him.
    The shield formed again, and started to piss me off.
    Using both hands now, I began raking at the damned shield.
    What was it, anyway? A force field? Solid light? How the hell had they gotten a hold of it - the bastards were nowhere near my level, and even I hadn't developed a force field to this degree yet.
    Eventually, the glowing quarter-dome began to crack, and I started to chuckle again, and he sputtered a prayer before turning towards the window. 
    As he turned, the shield came down, and as he tried to run towards the window, I flicked a hand at his legs - a spear of the tech flew out and hit just above his left ankle. The big man crumpled to the floor, letting out a strangled cry, clutching his now cut Achilles tendon. 
    I walked over, kicking the cut ankle, and crouched next to the big man. He swiped a large hand, a bear paw really, at me, but it was frantic and panicked - it didn't hit. 
    "Identification, soldier," I told him, looking into his face, keeping my own as calm and cool as I could. Honestly, it was harder to keep a smile off my face, keep the laugh from building back up, than it was to actually catch the guy. 
    He started to protest in Russian, throwing out a few words I recognized - he was claiming he didn't speak English. What bullshit.
    I sighed, pulling out my gun.
    "Give me your damned identification before I show you what lead tastes like."
    He stared at me for a moment before spitting a curse and reaching into his pocket, slowly, and pulled out a wallet. He tossed it to me, and a few coins flew out of it.
    "Bastard Frost, not know when quit," he spit at me, his accent very heavy and clear. 
    I raised an eyebrow at him, not showing much else emotion. I picked up the wallet, sifted through it, and found a company card that featured this guy's mug shot with a name and security level. 
    The Bolts functioned much like my Snowmen - a gang under the guise of a company. I pocketed the ID, and the Russian - Boris Balkin -  started to protest.
    "Ah ah ah- shush." I held up the gun, "Lunch is still on the table."
    The rings, the fancy force field rings, began to glow with small symbols again.
    I pointed the gun at Boris, finger on the trigger. The glow stopped.
    "Hand that over too, bud."
    Again, he started to protest, so I pulled the hammer back, the heavy click cutting him off.
    He slowly took the rings off, and handed them to me.
    "Don't know what mess with. Who mess with." He snarled, showing teeth. 
    Gods, that pissed me off, this guy on the ground, wounded, acting as if he was still the apex predator here. As if he was at the top of the chain to begin with.
    I smashed the revolver into his teeth, and felt one get knocked out into his mouth. Blood began to pour, and soon dripped down his chin.
    "No hard feelings, lad," I said, and put a bullet in his right knee before smashing the revolver over his temple - he went out, cold, after a very short scream.
    I did a quick search of the guy's pockets and such, relieving him of his weapons and tools, as well as his phone. I left the wallet beside his head, and got up to leave, but hesitated at the door.
    I closed my eyes, let out a small growl, and crouched down next to him again, tearing strips off his pants to tie around his legs and stop the blood flow. Gotta have someone to question, I told myself. Gotta have someone to hold against Locke. No other reason, no moral dilemma here. 
    As I finished off the second tie, Fellows walked in, out of breath. Somewhere along the line, he had lost the bloody wad of paper towels, and had a nice little stream running down his face, though it looked to be dried now.
    I straightened and turned to the detective, who had his own standard issue pistol out, safety on. 
    "Heya doc, caught the bad guy," I hooked a thumb at Boris. Fellows looked down at the guy, his ripped pants and bloody legs.
    "You maimed him is what you did."
    "Still caught him. That's more than you did. Besides, he earned it."
    "How does someone earn that?"
    I crossed my arms and grinned.
    "He crossed Fate Frost."
    I saw Fellows shiver, and put the pistol in his belt holster, removing a pair of zip ties as he did so. He walked over and put them around the Russian's wrists, and looked up at me watching.
    "What? You broke the damned locks in my cuffs, Frost. This was the next best thing."
    I shrugged, and turned towards the door, beginning to walk out.
    "Woah, woah, woah, where do you think you're going? You're still in custody."
    I sighed and turned back to him, putting on my best 'polite-but-pissed-off' smile.
    "With all due respect - which is none, I should mention - I have places to be, Detective. Unless you want to personally arrest me, in which case I will not be cooperative, I suggest you drop this ordeal. Better yet, I'll do it for you."
    I flicked a hand in the air and quickly accessed the APD system.
    Fellows was quiet, looking at Boris. 
    "Badge, detective," I said, sticking my hand out. 
    He blinked, before sputtering out, "Like hell!"
    I slowly curled my fingers into a fist, lowering the hand, trying my very best to not give him flash dental work.
    "You are on the clock - I am a citizen in this city. You are thereby under legal obligations to present your badge when asked, Detective. So, once again, badge."
    The last bit of that was laced with steel, and Fellows must have gotten cut on it. He handed over his badge, keeping quiet. Lad had learned from earlier, it seemed.
    I used his badge to scan into the system. Sure, I could have gotten past it and erased my 'Under Custody' status, but that'd be a whole bucket of work more than need be. Instead, now that I was logged in with his account, I simply let myself go. I may have added a comment about how great I did, too.
    I handed the badge back to him, and turned to leave, but was stopped, once again, by Fellows speaking, his voice now a touch raw.
    "I don't know what drives you, Frost, but whatever the hell it is... keep it on the good side, please? I know I can't do shit to you - hell, the entire department probably couldn't so much as scratch you - but we need you on our side, if not our team."
    He went quiet as I stood there, stunned.
    "I have a little girl at home, man. I just want to keep her safe."
    I closed my eyes and thought of my friends and family back at the Compound. Apollo, his golden hair flowing between my fingers, the chime in his laughter, the way he managed to get flour everywhere whenever he bakes. Bar, the excited little pencil tapping he did whenever he got a new idea, the mini mechanisms he builds, the quiet appreciation whenever I bring him a new mug of coffee late at night. Vlad, his heavy accent and warm hugs, expert advice, and hearty laugh so full of joy that it makes everyone else in the room grin, at least.
    I may be some demi-god to the average person, I may be an idol, a hero, a villain. But, by the gods, I was human, too. I had people to fall back on, people to turn to.
    I had people to love and protect.
    I opened my eyes.
    I turned to him.
    "She will be safe, Jason."
    For once, he didn't scowl at me for not using a title.
    "I'll look into this situation, personally," I promised.
    He nodded, looking away, and we both felt the absolute truth in that promise.
    Promises are something wholly human. Something we made, and agreed upon as a species, to bind us closer. When you make a promise, and actually mean it, you can feel that little bit of will behind the words. You can feel yourself making up your mind then and there, knowing that this is what will happen.
    I don't make promises lightly, but that little girl deserved to have her daddy come home after a long day.
    I knew all too well what it would be like if he didn't.
    I turned away, again, and started out the door.