The Undoing of Sidekicks | ✓

twenty three

(a/n: gif has ... not much to do with the chapter, but i envision it as me kicking writer's block's behind xd)

twenty three

TRANSFIXED, I STARED at the crate within the truck, surrounded by all sorts of debris and wreckage as Josh had vaulted it halfway across the street. Zazu — Zuri — had, after all, solved their delivery transport. We had found one of the shipments of the chemical agent, which Mistress was most likely intending to use on a number of humans to create her own army of minions. And here it was — the solution to our problems, a sample of the chemical agent which we could run an analysis on in order to track it and destroy its production. 

Hopefully. 

The noise of fighting outside grew more intense, and so I forced myself to hurry. My fingers trembled along the edge of the crate, finding the sides of its lid. With an almost animalistic groan, I heaved it up and away. It clattered noisily as I tossed it to the ground, the upturned truck almost vibrating in response. 

Let's take a look at this chemical agent, shall we?

Squinting, peering through the dusty dark, I bent over the crate. Then I blinked, and bent down further, glancing at its insides. Slowly, I reached down, finding nothing but a hand-sized box in its middle. 

What the hell?

Bending further, I grasped it, fingers grappling along the harsh sides of its material. It was a rougher sort of crate, though much smaller in type. I tugged at the smaller lid, grasping at its sides as I attempted opening it. It required another dozen seconds for me to wiggle half a finger beneath the lid's edge, finally wriggling the entire top of the crate open. 

"Holy mother of matter," following that, a concerto of violent curses escaped my mouth, as my eyes stared down at the red, unflinching numbers of a countdown — and the coil of wires behind it, attached to a what appeared to be a smaller, black box. The countdown itself had just passed thirty seconds, which gave me little time to stop and be logically critical. 

Since I wasn't a complete idiot, I didn't throw it away like a maniac. Instead, I put it back with a slight rush, then backed away and glanced at the top of the truck, and the hole I'd blown through its side. 

It took another two seconds for me to deduce a better plan, my heartbeat already careening wildly. If a medic was to take my pulse now they'd surely faint, stress squeezing my arteries beyond any possible biological limits. In turn, sweat made my hands slippery, so much so that I knew I wouldn't be able to climb out of the truck again. 

My eyes warmed, turning a yellow gold as I placed my palms on the sides of the truck. It took another few seconds for me to back away, sand and gravel around me rising from the ground before assembling itself into a sphere, which I proceeded to fling with all of my might at the side of the truck. 

With a roar, the metal gave way, a jagged hole appearing in the side. The edges consisted of bent, frayed metal — metal which I wrestled my way through, wires and edges scraping against my suit, my skin in my haste to get away from the truck. 

On the street, Blaze was still battling the man armed with the gun. They'd moved further away from the truck — a smart move on Josh's part — and were advancing further down the street. A number of estate facades had taken the brunt of the fighting, littered with holes from bullets and/or charred by fire. Moonlight gleamed on the back of the many extra packs of ammo the armed man was carrying, which was proof as to why the fight had gone on for what I believed to be eons.