Inception

Chapt 60: Still a Kaiju

He patted her legs, wanting to ask if she was okay, but she couldn't waste breath on talking.

For not the first time, Soshiro hated himself for his ineptitude with firearms.

More inane jokes cropped into his head. If only his coms worked or Leno was around to harass. Gal, he really did have issues.

When they'd gained enough distance that the gray blur of their pursuer had faded into the crosswork of the cityscape, the familiar building sof the first base cropped up. Air Lena was certainly efficient.

Though her wheezing had become gaspin grasps.

He tapped her leg again. "You gonna make it, nerd?"

She didn't respond. His insides clenched so hard they hurt.

They hadn't looked into the repercussions of being able to turn into a kaiju. Her last transformation had left her in a hypoglycemic coma. What if...what if...

A whistling streak of light flew past him, scraping past Lena in a poof of silver feathers. Both he and her shrieked in alarm.

"YOU FUCKING FIRING AT US?!?" he screamed.

"GET DOWN!" came a roar from above him. Even in his panic it brought back memories of his childhood when his Gigi could be more terrifying than even his gristled, kaiju-killing father. Hearing his grandma at full blast gave him at least the relief that she was well.

Lena obeyed, dropping in an ear-splitting dive. The wind forced Soshiro to close his eyes.

He trusted her. He really did. But his stomach still flew up to his throat and he swore he peed himself a little.

When she snapped out her wings to halt them, feet from the ground, his head snapped forward so fast it gave him whiplash. Stars momentarily prickled his vision from his brain being stopped by the front of his cranium.

Then his feet found the ground—he fell to his knees—and Lena leaned just in time to avoid collapsing on top of him. Feathers surrounded him, along with the raspy weaving of the kaiju.

Through the mass of silver, his grandmother swam out, long before Soshiro had managed to find his feet again. That was so like Gigi.

"Get in front," she barked, shoving Soshiro forward. "Take off your damn mask! Show them who you are!"

Even as she did so, the stars in his vision cleared and he could make out the suited soldiers running their way, armored in black and silver suits with guns at their side and masks hiding any sympathy. At the front he could make out the ugly bi-colored haircut of Harumi, the captain of the first division.

He scrambled to put himself between Lena and them. He spread out his arms.

"Don't shoot!" he yelled, then cursed and tapped his com furiously, but it was still dead.

The guns didn't go down. From the back stepped forward Captain Harumi, his massive numbered weapon on his shoulder like a broom at the ready for a sweeping race.

"Seems you've lost your marbles, Hoshina," he drawled. "If you'd step aside and let me fix that for you—"

A crackling boom shook the ground. Cement and dirt went flying from behind Soshiro.

Lena's feathers closed in around him and his grandmother just as a spine-melting roar rent the air.

Soshiro shoved through the feathers, drawing his blades. It was cute that she was trying to protect him, but it was the other way around.

The thing which he had only viewed from a distance was easily a story high and twice as long. It reared on its thick hindquarters, throwing boulders and debre with each lash of its tail. It had a line of gleaming eyes like a spiders, two gray maws filled with wicked teeth, large nostrils, and long, bulging arms equipped with both claws and scythes that glimmered in the last sunlight before the storm.

One of its maws opened wide.

Soshiro only had time to crouch for a jump when it gave a sharp hack and thousands of somethings shot thorugh the air.

Needle-fine pain rippled through his body. One of his knees caved without his permission. A spray of blood peppered the side of his face.

Lena gave a screech, just shy of her brain-numbing shriek from hell.

His heart stopped and he whirled around, thoughts of his grandma, Lena, bleeding, riddled—

Lena had spread out before his grandmother, protecting her. Even as spots of bright red blood stained her feathers, she took a step forward, her head rising high. Her neck had lengthened, somewhat, giving her a more raptor like appearance. Her too large eyes seemed like blue globes with the black pupil shrunk to me pin pricks.

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My church choir director is trying to get a hold of me for some reason. I'm a bit scared. I know I'm one of the few real sopranos that can sing the high notes in tune, but I thought I was just, you know, hidden among the faces. Is he going to scold me for missing so many practices due to my health? He's not gonna make me sing a solo, is he? The fear is real.