Fascinating Villains

{40} - Two on Ten

Curls of smog cartwheel swiftly against the dark asphalt ahead of Foul Play and I.

Through the lenses of my mask, I am able to see the docks clearly, although night has fallen and haphazard blinking lampposts are the only source of light around the secluded area we are targeting. A weathered delivery boat docked about ten minutes ago in front of the alley we are occupying. No one has come out of it yet, and three thugs with automatic weapons have been pacing on the deck relentlessly. Their ship casts a shadow as dark as the freezing January night. I feel uncertain that it will be sufficient to shroud our colorful attires and metallic masks, once we leave the safety of this derelict alley, but I am certain that my companion has a reliable plan.

A sputtering truck makes its arrival within seconds. Its bright yellow headlights instantly spread a sickly luminescence across the area, luckily not reaching the ink black depths of our hiding spot. Three henchmen exit from the backdoors of the box truck, along with the henchwoman who was sitting in the passenger seat, and the four of them head towards the boat. One of them is wearing a white hoodie slipped underneath a loose tacky purple vest, mismatched with their camo print pants.

I realize I have been tapping my fingers against my thigh only when Cheryl asks me:

/You okay, Esperanza?/

/Affirmative!/

I just wonder what we are doing here, because she enjoys keeping me in the dark a little too much.

/It's worth the wait, I assure you. But I wouldn't want to 'steal' the surprise./

Her peculiar choice of words hints that we are here for more than recon. As the hooligans begin transferring hefty containers from the boat to the parked truck, our objective becomes clearer. 

Three ruffians are directing a forklift to transport the merchandise, and two more visibly armed goons have emerged from the ship's cockpit to guard the exchange. The vagabond who remains next to their vehicle has tufts of vivid orange hair poking out from under a dark beanie, and they bring the total count of discernible thugs to nine, excluding the truck's driver. 

Foul Play's thrilled laugh startles me only partly, echoing within the barriers of my mind.

/Two on ten?/ She remarks, giggling. /Sounds like the kind of odds I like!/

My heartbeat is either agreeing or disagreeing with her statement; my only certitude is that I am ready for some action.

The criminal with the beanie asks the henchwoman who sat in the passenger seat of the truck earlier, "That's the last one?"

Their voices do not travel particularly well in the smog ladened air, however paired with telepathy? They could be standing right between us in the alley.

My friend nods, inviting me to lead us out of the alleyway. She is not wearing a hood over her head tonight, therefore her smooth hair is exhibited in its dark olive greenish brown hues, pulled up into a graceful high ponytail. I slowly step down the sidewalk, holding in a trembling breath as my boots flatten a clump of congealed snow. With the ambient chorus of sirens in the distance and of the perpetual suspicious occupations of Gothamites, scattered everywhere in town, which includes their own operation, I doubt they can discern one step into squishy snow.

Cheryl has already vanished from my side, and I keep approaching the wrongdoers. Their aimless discussion is more relaxed, now that they mistakingly believe their unlawful errand to be over. In a way, they are right: it is over.

The handful of lampposts that line the street and the flashlights they wield begin flickering unceasingly. Keeping my pace even, I am soon standing two meters away from the left side of the truck. Every lightbulb in a radius of one hundred meters, even those belonging to the boats and to the machinery around us which were previously turned off, join the flashing symphony. Through the frantic  and dizzying mess of disorganised eruptions of light, the orange-haired goon sights me.

"Hey! Who the f..?"

All the lights shut down simultaneously, plunging the area in complete darkness, rendering the thugs silent, including the others who were panicking. Crackling, high-pitched laughter spreads around us, echoing eerily against the creaking metallic structures and apparel and reverberating off the soft lapping waves.

Solely the industrial spot light which is riveted to the forklift activates with a deep click.

"Hello, everybody!" Foul Play exclaims, surprising all of her audience by appearing atop the truck.

Her dark silhouette is striking against the dense and salty nighttime air, and the only light source forms a dim theatrical halo behind her.

The hoodlums immediately regain their composure.

"Shoot that bitch down!" the hood with a purple vest screams.

Cheryl teleports away as all the light sources resume vibrating unsteadily between brightness and gloom. Gunfire sparks and ricochets without any results against the roof of the truck. Meanwhile, the thug with garish hair is deciding if they should tackle me or rather use the handgun in their pocket. I blur the current state of the criminal's psyche as efficiently as I can, considering my haste because they have already pulled out their pistol. As they gawk at the weapon in their palm, then at me, I extend my right arm and shoot a ray of blue energy at their wrist. The beam sears their skin with more intensity than I intended and, confusedly trying to avoid dropping the gun, they detonate it. The bullet pierces their left shoe, and the goon cries out and tips unsteadily against the surface of the truck, concurrently dropping the firearm. 

"Sorry!" I yelp, instinctively.

However, the voice filter makes my apology sound playfully sadistic.

I step closer to them, wondering if they will let me use their stretched out coton jacket to suppress the bleeding.

"G-get away from me!" they half-wail.

I guess not...

Since I can almost feel Foul Play disapprovingly glaring at me - even though she is occupied with the other henchmen near the boat - I quickly put my opponent to sleep and leave them collapsed adjacently to the vehicle. I prefer this to brain-blasting, which makes me anxious that I could accidentally hurt someone's mind, regardless of my mentor's opinion that making an individual fall asleep or faint is not debilitating enough. Inflicting a brain blast on a psyche is similar to instantly putting it in a coma, which it can only awaken from if I release it from my influence. Luckily for anyone who has been brain-blasted in a harmless way, usually the telepath would not sustain a focused influence on a random mind they deactivated once they leave the premises of their act.

I should logically be turning my attention to the truck's driver, however two thugs are either running away from Cheryl or running towards me. I hastily slide to my right, and the slick icy road thankfully assists me in gaining copacetic speed and much more distance than I could have crossed on dry land. 

The gunfire from their automatic weapons temporarily ignites the back of the truck, before they realize my evasion and redirect their guns.