Typically, one of the positives about being under mind-control is you don't have your own thoughts and, in my case, you don't feel your own pain. Not this time.
I had just released my arm and turned to walk into the bank when it all came back at once. All of my senses. The slight breeze on my skin reminding me I was outside the bank. The glare of the setting sun blinding my eyes and the sirens piercing my eardrums. And there was my shoulder. All that pain, all at once. I dropped to my knees and reached for my shoulder. Dislocated. I tried my best to steady my breathing. Panic took my chest and raced my thoughts. My arm, my arm, how was I going to get it back in, why would Blaine do this, the pain, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Pain.
Then it all stopped. Well, not completely, but it did dull as a new thought entered my mind, Why could I feel pain? Why could I feel at all? I looked up to the bank door but couldn't see much through the tinted glass and closed blinds. For all my senses to come back at once, it could only mean the connection was broken, forcibly. In the same way you don't just go unplugging random cords from a computer, you don't just disconnect from mind control or there's a chance you'll fuck up your victim, or worse, yourself.
"Son, are you okay? Come down here, if you can," the guy with the megaphone said from behind the police barricade at the bottom of the steps.
My senses blurred for a second, just long enough for me to hear Blaine's voice in my head. Just two words. "Help me."
I blinked twice and then I could see clearly again. There was an officer crouched next to me, one arm around my shoulders and trying to help me to my feet.
You would think it would take longer to decide to break the law and aid a criminal, especially one who not even five minutes ago, took over my body and forced me to break my own arm. A smart person would probably need to take some time to contemplate the decision and heal their wounds before taking on such a venture.
Its too bad I was never known for making good decisions.
Before he could steady himself next to me, I shoved the cop over and ran into the bank. The bank lobby was empty. All the hostages, the two security guards, even the two duffel bags of cash that were left at the teller windows, all of them gone.
"Blaine!" I let my voice echo around the huge lobby before shouting again. "Blaine! Where the fuck are you?"
I heard the solid, sturdy footsteps of steel-toed boots on the linoleum floor from the other side of a set of cubicles to my left as well as a familiar voice call out to me. "Ah, sounds like you've brought reinforcements."
Wrong voice. The man stepped into view, his red coat billowing around his ankles. He still wore no shirt, allowing his abs to gleam in the florescent lighting. On his face, a black, racoon's eyes mask, worn seriously, as if it were actually meant to fool anyone. Over his head, however, a shining red helmet, like the old leather helmets football players used to wear back in the day, except it looked as if it were cut from gleaming red glass. Psychic armor.
He paused, studying me before he spoke. "You know, you look familiar." He started forward and I could see a red glow beginning to emit from his fist, like the first spark of a campfire before it burns the whole forest down.
I started backing away toward the door, muttering such a string of profanities under my breath so long I wasn't even sure it was in English anymore. Just before I got to the door, I tripped and landed hard on the tile floor. Now, I officially regretted my decision to come back.
"Ah, the psychic," Red Coat said with a snap of his fingers. "Well, let's just consider this payback for last night. Oh, and before you try, just like your friend you'll find your mind control won't work on me with this baby sitting on my head." He pointed to his helmet with his empty hand while the gauntlet finished forming on his right.
"Hey, asshole," called Blaine's voice. I couldn't see him from the floor, but I saw Red Coat turn toward the source of the voice and all I could think was what's the point of getting his attention and losing the element of surprise, you dumbass. Red Coat's jaw dropped and the gauntlet disappeared from his hand. He raised his left and a wall like a red pane of glass appeared in front of him. "Does it protect you from this?" A bolt of lightning struck the psychic shield and shattered it. Though the shield stopped a majority of the blast the force still sent him flying across the room, colliding hard twenty feet up the wall under the raised ceilings of the bank before crashing back down onto some brochure tables.
A dull thud brought me out of shock and I walked around the corner to see Blaine staggered, holding onto a cubicle wall for support while the security guard who still had both arms lay on the floor at his feet. "We should get out of here before he wakes up. Or The League sends another super in here." He tried to stand on his own, but instead started sliding down the cubicle wall. I didn't catch him.
"Where's the money?" His clothes were a mess, one sleeve of the coat torn and blood partially soaked the collar of his shirt. His green and red ceramic demon mask was cracked and parts of it were even chipped away, revealing bruises underneath.
He laughed, painfully holding his side as he did. "He took it. Managed to get in, free the hostages, and take the cash while both of us were outside." He shook his head. "He got all of it." That part he said in barely a whisper. It would've been hard to hear if we were in a monastery.
I looked at my arm, still dangling at my side. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about the pain, but now it flooded back. "Why me? Why my arm?"
He laughed again, even harder, knowing that every breath put more strain and more pain on what I assumed were broken ribs. "Because I knew you'd be the only one to forgive me."
I started at him. Because I'd forgive him, he said, what the fuck did that mean? Well, I did come back, even when the mind control broke. I did come back to see what was happening. And I was going to rescue him. I reached down, punched Blaine in the face, and he fell to the floor. Judging by the almost cartoonish fall - mostly he just slid slowly against the wall until he landed on his side - I guess I didn't hit him as hard as I thought I would. "Now you're forgiven." He lifted himself back up and I helped him to his feet with my good arm. We leaned on each other as we headed down the hall to the emergency exit.
We'd gotten halfway down when I heard boards move. I looked over my shoulder to see Red Coat start to stir. No time to get to the door, I thought as we half walked, half dragged each other into the breakroom off to the side.
And that ends part 5. Oddly enough, I should have part 6 up in a week. Before you start making bets, I actually do have it written out and the only thing left is to type it. I had planned to put the whole thing together as one piece, but that would be too much to ask anyone to read (and too much for me to type at one time). Also, I like these alternating blog post so I think this will be the new layout: one story post and one "not-a-fiction-story" post (the last one being "Office Awkwardness and You"). Those are actually a lot easier to write, require less thought (since I don't really need to plot and write them more stream-of-consciousness), and maybe I'll even add more pictures to those ones (don't get your hopes up, its just a thought).
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