Something watches beneath the waves. Can you hear its call?
As the world watches in awe, the Firmament, the largest and most luxurious airship ever built, sets sail on its maiden voyage across the Atlantic. But for Elijah Bright, a passenger among t...
I shook the chair wildly, attempting to drop it from my grasp. It held firm.
"Do you read, Elijah?" Jonah inquired. He sauntered around the room, just out of my reach, seemingly enjoying my panic. "I do. I read a lot. It's my happy place."
I flexed my hands, imagining the danger I was in, but the chair didn't move. Either my own powers weren't functional, or whatever Jonah had done had negated them.
"Chekhov's Gun," Jonah explained, "is a storytelling trope that states that every element shown in a story must be used at some point to make the plot fulfilling." He grinned, the first genuine smile I had seen since we had met. "A fitting name, considering the ability you gave me."
"I had nothing to do with this!" I snapped. The metal chair was heavy in my hands, but I feared that if I lowered my guard Jonah would attack.
"Don't lie to me!" Jonah growled. "I may be a bad liar now, but I still can tell that you aren't being honest! You know about this, and I want answers!"
It seemed that Jonah didn't remember our first encounter on the dock. He had used a power, but hadn't regained his memory like Blackwell! What was going on?
One thing was certain—I had to calm Jonah down, or I would need to free my hands fast. The issue was that I didn't know how Chekhov's Gun worked—just like my armour, there had to be some sort of condition to using it. I couldn't move my hands in the slightest, but the chair didn't feel sticky, nor did it feel as though it were magnetized to me.
How was it attached to me?
Jonah darted forward, moving in for an attack. It didn't seem like he had any other tricks up his sleeve—the short man simply began to beat at my sides with his fists, backing me into a corner. In any other circumstances, a steel chair would've been an adequate form of defence, but its weight and position were too awkward for it to be properly weaponized.
I slid along the wall, trying to keep my aching arms and the damnable chair between myself and the enraged Jonah. Despite his short stature and advanced age, Jonah had a powerful punch—the chair protected my head, but his blows bruised my sides and arms relentlessly.
I was growing tired and running out of space to back away. I couldn't turn anything into armour, and my strength was failing. If I dropped my guard, Jonah would doubtlessly go for my head with the punches that followed. I didn't even have the breath to try to speak to him.
As Jonah pressed in on me, angling his punches past my flailing chair, something hard struck the base of my back. I spared a glance down to see the metal table that belonged to the chair I was stuck to. I was pressed against it, without any room to move, and my arms had begun to lower. The weight was getting to me.
I needed a better defence, but couldn't turn to strike the table. Jonah's punches were relentless. My arms kept steadily lowering.
One particular punch hit harder than the rest, slipping past my guard and pistoning into my side. The wind left me and my balance wavered. The cold metal of the table pressed against my bare heels as I leaned back on the balls of my feet, swaying.
Wait a minute.
That was it!
I dropped my guard, letting the chair swing downward, and pushed my right foot backwards with all my might. With the added momentum from the chair, my aim was true—the kick smashed my foot against the steel table behind me, making me wince as the impact travelled up my leg. Pain, hot and sharp, raced across the sole of my foot as the corner of the table dug into my skin.
But when my bare foot came away from the table, I saw silver instead of blood.
The metal table began to warp, liquifying and wrapping around my right foot in an intricate design. A metal sole and delicate, bendable armour partitions formed as the material spread up my ankle, keeping my freedom of movement while providing protection. The material of the table was nowhere enough to cover my entire body—it only made it to my left knee, capping off a silver greave with a flat knee pad.
Jonah's eyes widened, and his punches slowed.
"Sorry about this," I winced.
I drove my armoured right leg upwards, beating the flat surface of my protected knee into Jonah's stomach. The man let out a hiss as the wind left him, and dropped backwards like a sack of potatoes, eyes bulging.
The chair dropped from my hands, clattering to the ground next to Jonah's prone form.
For a moment, I was worried that I'd killed the man. Fortunately, a raspy cough told me he was still alive.
I began to peel the armour off my leg as Jonah lay on his back, trying to regain his breath. Although it appeared to be clamped rather solidly around my leg, the steel crumbled like sandstone at my touch, falling to pieces after even the slightest pressure. It seemed like it only behaved that way for me—the armour had remained solid after striking Jonah.
Jonah seemed to have finally regained his breath, and he pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor, glaring at me all the while.
"That was a damn cheap trick," Jonah grunted. He brought a shaking hand up to his head, and I could now see that he was pushing a hearing aid back into place behind his ear.
"Now will you listen?" I snapped. "I swear to you, I have no idea why any of this is happening! I may have powers like you, but I didn't do this!"
Jonah nodded.
"Okay," he sighed. "I'm sorry. Now that I'm calm... I can tell you aren't lying. I wish I understood how I could tell, but... oh well."
We sat in silence for a moment, catching our breath.
"We aren't the only ones," I remarked. "One of the passengers, Baron Blackwell, had a power, too."
Jonah raised an eyebrow. "Blackwell? The bloke who went all psycho?"
I didn't want to agree to that description so hurriedly but didn't want to get into it. I nodded.
"I guess I went a little psycho there a moment ago, too," Jonah admitted.
I nodded again. "It's been a hard day for everyone," I replied.
We had another moment of silence.
"Well, now what?" Jonah inquired. He seemed unsure of himself. "If I've got powers, you've got powers and that dead bloke has powers, who else has suddenly gained an ability and why?"
"Well," I grimaced, "I actually do know a little bit about how, but not why."
Jonah raised an eyebrow.
"Don't make me go psycho again either, kid," he warned. "Let's hear it."
I sighed. "It's a long story."
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