Heroes of Ashford - Part 4-11

“Holy sh… how did we not notice this earlier?” flashed through her head while her body seeped through a small. crack in the rusty metal structure of the trash container.

Inside it was dark, damp, and smelled like someone had mixed bleach with rotting algae. But once she flew a bit farther, literally just a couple dozen meters, the smell hit her like someone had punched her in the nose.

Exogen.

But not the refined kind injected in sterile labs under government control—raw, crudely extracted from those very colonies of microorganisms that were found fifty years ago beneath the surface of the Red Planet. The same ones that at first looked like nothing more than primitive biomass, and then accidentally turned the first test subject into a human capable of walking through walls.

Flora reflexively pressed her palm to her face—and immediately clenched her teeth.

“Fuck… I forgot that I smell like fucking chamomile now!”

The smell of her own skin, sickly sweet with obvious floral notes, mixed with the sharp stench of the underground farm, and it was so absurd that she almost burst out laughing right there in midair. But the laugh got stuck in her throat when she saw a dull red light flicker ahead, behind a partition made of old metal shelving.

She glanced around. Her wings fluttered in the air, and despite her attempts, a green glow still appeared from them from time to time. Yeah, she probably should’ve spent more evenings studying control and the possible abilities of her body, instead of whining while staring into a tiny mirror in the dollhouse, as she called her living space at the base of the “heroes.”

—…that’s how it is, boss. Don’t worry. Little accidents happen,— a hoarse voice rasped from the room, and Flora immediately pictured a short, fat man with unshaven stubble and a cap on his head, smiling as he tried to justify some screw-up, explaining that it was even good that this screw-up had happened.

The second voice, colder and sharper, cut him off:

— Don’t take me for an idiot, Rico. One more thing like that happens—and you’ll become fertilizer for the next batch yourself. How long until it’s ready?

— Two hours, maybe three max. The colony’s stabilized. Look how it bubbles,— Rico, as it seemed was the name of this underground lab tech, fell silent, apparently waiting for the “boss’s” reaction, and that gave Flora time.

She carefully flew as high as possible, hugging the ceiling but not too close so she wouldn’t get stuck in mold or something worse. Once inside the room, she landed on an old rectangular lamp hanging from the ceiling on thin rods—the kind usually found in warehouses—and slightly stretched her head forward.

From this vantage point, the view was perfect: the entire basement lay open like the palm of her hand, and the red light from the rectangular boxes bubbling at the bottom—boxes that looked like they were made for growing seedlings—didn’t reach far enough to give her away right away.

The scene almost matched her fantasy. Several rows of tables with boxes set on them, rather carelessly, filled with red biomass that periodically flared with green, violet, then yellow light. Between them: wires, hoses, microchips. And off to the side—two people. That same fat little guy in a dirty jacket, and indeed wearing a cap pulled down over his sweaty forehead, was fussing around a console. Next to him stood the other one: tall, gaunt, in a long coat despite the stuffy heat. Gloved hands. Straight back.

— This time it’ll be more, boss… — the fat man hurried to say. — I used a new method. It leaks a bit more radiation, but the filters are holding, honestly. The girls in the tanks are calm…

Flora flinched.

“Girls.”

She felt that wave rise inside her again—the one that had become all too familiar since waking up in this body. A wave of heat that started somewhere in her breasts and spread through the entire tiny body, making her skin tingle and her wings flutter on their own.

For a second, Flora blacked out.

The world shrank down to the stupid white-and-green bodysuit that unpleasantly, yet already familiarly, clung to this body, emphasizing everything she wished she could cross out. Down to the heels, on which even standing on the old lamp was torture. The voices, the flowers in her hair, and that damn smell.

She came back to herself, realizing that her wings had started fluttering and glowing brighter than they should.

“No. Not now. She won’t let this body set the rules. Twenty years in the FBI, operations in hot zones where one wrong step—and you’re in a body bag. Big tits and wide hips, so what. Use your advantages. You’re small. You can fly.”

Professionalism took over. Flora carefully lifted herself on the lamp, stretching her neck and balancing as if she’d done it her whole life, instantly switching on those skills that can’t be replaced by anything. The ones that had already been stitched into her at the level of genetic memory. The ones called by a simple word: “professionalism.”

She slowly swept her gaze across the room, no longer as a “girl,” but as an operative used to surviving in far worse places.

Two doors—Marcus could “knock” through one of them. There, a video camera, which means there’s security. Next to those two is a control panel, definitely with an alarm button. Boxes with the colony, about twelve of them, with red glow but the bubbles burst in different colors, which means she could mask her green light as part of that. Only two people in the room, no visible weapons, but the “boss” in the coat clearly has something under his arm.

Still. If Marcus bursts in loudly, they’ll have time to raise the alarm or, worse, destroy the batch. She needs to understand where Marcus is—who knows what he’s gotten into his head now. The one in charge, even with this size, is still Alex. Nothing has changed.

Flora carefully took off, trying not to give off any light, but at that moment behind her—up near the ceiling where rusty cables stretched and moldy webs hung—there was a rustle, like someone had shifted a bag of trash… only in midair.

Flora jerked with her whole body.

Her heart skipped, her wings instinctively flared with a bright green light, lighting up the entire basement for a moment like a sudden magnesium flash. She immediately tried to dim the glow, but it was too late.

— Hey, what the… — Rico rasped, lifting his head. His eyes widened when he saw the tiny figure hovering under the ceiling. — Boss! There’s… there’s something flying!

The tall man in the coat spun around sharply, his hand darting under the hem of his coat, but Flora had already shot upward, weaving between pipes and wires, trying to reach the exit of the room and then the crack she had come through. Her wings buzzed at their limit, throwing green reflections onto the bubbling boxes with the colony.

In flight, her overly lush tits bounced under the white top so hard that she herself lost her rhythm for a moment. But worse than that, the crown of white-and-pink flowers slid to the side, caught on a wire, and painfully yanked her hair in the ponytail.

— Ow… — she hissed through clenched teeth, stopping to fix the decoration.

— Catch her! — the boss barked in a cold voice, as if sensing the perfect moment.

Rico didn’t hesitate and shot his arm forward. Out of the corner of her eye, Flora saw it and managed to think that the fat guy was just waving his fist, but the arm suddenly stretched in a split second, like rubber, lengthening—and almost immediately the fingers closed around her tiny body. She squealed in surprise, trying to break free, but the grip was iron.

— Let go! — she squeaked, and immediately got angry at her own squeak.

— Oh! Got her! — Rico breathed out happily. — Look, boss! It’s a… a fairy!

Flora thrashed.

Her wings flailed, but they were pinned to her back. Her heels scratched his palm, and she felt how the little shoes uselessly slid, finding no support.

— Let go, you pig! — she kept squeaking, realizing she sounded like a little hysterical toy. Or even worse.

Rico giggled.

— She swears! — He brought his clenched hand closer to his face, examining her like a rare butterfly. — Wow… a real one… like from a fairy tale…

The tall man in the coat stepped closer. A dark silhouette slid through the red glow of the biomass.

— Who are you? — he said coldly. — Are you from the “heroes”?

Flora froze in Rico’s fist, feeling his hot breath wash over her face. Panic surged: the tiny body was trapped in the vise of his fingers, her wings pressed so tightly that the light in them almost went out. She tried to take a deeper breath, but the white swimsuit top stretched even tighter, reminding her of every hateful detail of this body.

— Answer me, — the boss repeated, starting to scan every corner of the room. — If you’re from patrol, are you alone? Or is your partner here? How many of you are there?

Rico was still holding her in front of his face, smiling stupidly. His face was already unbelievably huge because of his excess weight, but from this angle, with her squeezed into his sweaty palm, it looked like the very embodiment of some insanely massive mountain troll from Scandinavian fairy tales.

Flora’s ears rang, as if a grenade had gone off nearby, even though nothing like that had happened. Her tiny eyes slammed shut, and she squeezed them tight, as if that could help calm the panic. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of the tight white top. Heat rolled over her again in a wave—that same familiar and hated one—starting somewhere in her breasts and spreading through her entire body, making her skin burn and tingle. Her wings, pressed to her back, trembled, trying to unfold, and a bright green light flared in them, seeping through Rico’s fingers.

— Hey, what’s wrong with her? — Rico muttered, loosening his fist slightly out of curiosity. His hot breath washed over Flora again, and at that moment she felt her scent—the same sickly sweet one, with strong notes of chamomile and freshly cut meadow grass—grow several times stronger, filling all the space around his palm. It burst outward like a dense cloud and hit Rico straight in the face.

The fat man froze. His nostrils flared, he took a deep breath—and his eyes went glassy. The smile that had just been curious and a little mean slowly melted away, replaced by an expression of complete, unconditional awe.

— Oh… my God… — he breathed out softly, almost reverently. His fingers opened completely, carefully, as if he were holding the most fragile treasure in the world. — I’m sorry… I’m sorry, my precious! Are you… are you okay?

Flora didn’t immediately realize she was no longer being held.

The pressure vanished so suddenly that her body jerked from inertia, and she almost tumbled in the air. Her wings, finally freed, snapped open convulsively, unevenly, blindingly. At once the green light flared brighter than before, cutting into her eyes, and only Rico’s other hand, placed just in time under her back, kept her from falling.

She was breathing hard. As hard as you can even “breathe hard” with tiny lungs. Her breasts were still heaving under the white top, the fabric sticking to her skin, and that made her feel ashamed, angry, and… scared.

— You… you… what the hell?!

she shouted, lifting her gaze to Rico’s huge, sweaty, round face. He was looking at her with some unexpected warmth and… remorse? Flora’s blue eyes widened. She wanted to hit him with her tiny fist, blind him with a flash of light, fly away as far as possible—but instead the words got stuck in her throat. Because something inside flipped over.

Rico was big. Very big. But now he was looking at her not like moments ago, but as if she were the only light in his life.

“Why the fuck am I not flying away?!” flashed briefly through her mind, but at that moment the boss’s voice sounded behind her:

— Rico! What the fuck?! Have you lost your mind?!

Flora flinched with her whole body. Her wings jerked, flaring unevenly, and for a fraction of a second she was knocked sideways, but the big hand shifted in that direction, caring, almost like the automatic backrest of an expensive chair.

Rico slowly blinked, as if trying to understand what mattered more: her or his own life. Both mattered.

— I… — he lifted his gaze, slightly shielding his “my precious” from the tall man. — She… boss, she almost fell…

— I don’t give a shit whether she fell or not! — the “boss” barked, stepping closer. — Put her in some kind of jar if you can’t hold her!

Rico’s eyes flew open so wide it looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets.

— Don’t talk like that, boss! With all due respect, but—

— Bend down, Rico! — Flora suddenly cut him off, not expecting it from herself, noticing how the “boss” pulled a silenced pistol from under his coat.

Her high voice sounded unexpectedly firm, almost commanding. Rico, without hesitation, obediently crouched and turned his back to the “boss,” covering her with his massive body. At that very moment, two dull pops rang out — the bullets whistled over his head and slammed into the shelving behind, shattering one of the boxes. Red biomass splashed out, hissing and flaring with violet sparks.

Flora launched off his palm. Her wings buzzed at their limit, the green light slashing across the boss’s eyes in a blinding flash. He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing and staggering back.

And, as if someone behind the wall had been waiting for exactly this moment, Granite burst into the room. Granite, not Marcus — because Marcus wasn’t capable of smashing through a basement’s concrete wall a meter thick as if it were just the wooden wall of a village outhouse.

The concrete exploded inward in crumbs and dust, the air compressed from the shockwave, and Flora was thrown back as if she’d flown into a hot gust of wind. Her wings howled, barely keeping her in the air, her breasts painfully jerked under the white top, and for a moment she lost all sense of direction.

Rico screamed, getting up and running toward her with his arms stretched out — not thinking, not choosing a path, just rushing to where, in a cloud of dust and light, a small glowing body was dangling.

— MY PRECIOUS! — his voice broke, turned hoarse. — Hold on! I’m here!

— DOWN! — Granite’s voice roared, his super-hearing catching the flutter of Flora’s wings as he snapped his gaze that way. — FLY HERE!

— NO, MY PRECIOUS! FLY TO ME! — Rico immediately shouted over him, his voice breaking into a hoarse cry full of desperate pleading. He spread his arms wider, forgetting everything around him except the tiny figure swaying in the cloud of dust.

Flora didn’t think. She just surged forward, through the thunder of collapsing concrete, the whine of bullets still ricocheting in echoes off the walls, and Granite’s roar as he was already charging through the breach. Her wings buzzed at the limit, green light cutting through the dusty curtain like a beacon. Her breasts bounced under the white top, her heels dangled uselessly in the air, the crown of flowers slid to the side again, but she didn’t notice. Everything in her head blurred together: “My precious… hold on… fly here… to me…” — Rico’s and Granite’s words merged into a solid hum, drowned out only by the pounding of her own heart.

She flew straight into Rico’s outstretched palms, breathing hard, and he immediately closed his fingers—not squeezing, but gently, like a bowl, shielding her from the whole world. The warm skin of his hands wrapped around her, and Flora, without expecting it herself, pressed against his thumb, feeling the heat in her breasts spread stronger, sweet and frightening at the same time.

— I’m here… — Rico murmured reverently, ducking into a sheltered spot and pressing his palm to his own chest, where his heart was pounding like a drum. — Are you okay? You didn’t hurt anything?

Flora blinked, trying to pull herself together. “What am I doing? He’s the enemy… an underground farm…” flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t fly away. She wanted to stay here, in this huge, reliable palm that smelled of sweat and metal, but for some reason felt safer than the whole world outside.

Through the gaps between his fingers, she saw Granite’s massive figure. Under his arm, he was holding the “boss” like a rag doll: the tall man in the coat was hanging limp, arms twisted, the pistol lying somewhere in the rubble.

— Let her go! — Granite barked, and there was no longer just a demand in his voice, but a warning. The kind after which someone usually breaks.

Flora’s heart clenched painfully, and for a moment her vision darkened.

— Don’t… — she breathed softly inside Rico’s palms, then immediately added, louder and more commanding — Don’t tou-u-u-u-uch h-i-i-im!

That squeal made not only Rico’s ears ring, but Granite’s too. The flasks standing nearby cracked. Even the metal on the ventilation boxes vibrated.

Granite’s hand froze dangerously close to Rico’s neck, and Rico, stunned by that squeal, forgot himself and slightly opened his palms—from which Flora shot out already, like a spark from a campfire, glowing with bright green light.

The green light blasted upward in a sharp, painful surge, her wings clapped so hard that the air around her turned into a vacuum.

— Shit… — Rico breathed out, staring at his empty palms as if something living had been torn out of them.

Flora hovered between them, trembling. Her heels dangled in the air, her legs buckled, tiny palms clenched into fists.

Granite’s hand was still raised. His fingers hung centimeters from Rico’s neck, as if someone had hit pause on the movie.

— Back, — Flora said now not with a squeal, but hoarsely, forcing the words through a clenched throat. — Both of you… stay.

Granite slowly lowered his hand. His super-hearing was gradually returning to him, but logic hadn’t caught up yet, and he didn’t understand what was happening.

— Uh… Alex, what the fuck? — he rumbled, raising an eyebrow, forgetting himself.

— Alex?! Your name is Alex, my precious? — Rico immediately picked it up, his eyes lighting up even brighter, as if he’d just been handed the most valuable treasure in the world. He took half a step forward, stretching his palms out again, as if asking permission to catch her back. — Beautiful name…

Flora flinched, hovering in the air. The green light of her wings pulsed unevenly, throwing reflections onto Rico’s sweaty face and Granite’s harsh one. She felt the heat inside rise again, sweet and heavy, making her skin burn and her breathing falter.

— Shut up, — she hissed at Rico, but there was no real anger in her squeaky tone. More confusion. — Both of you. And you too, — she turned to Granite, poking a tiny finger in his direction. — Don’t touch him, got it! — then she shifted her gaze back to Rico, knitting her brows. — And no Alex here! For you it’s only Flora, got it?!

Rico froze, his palms still stretched forward, but now he slowly lowered them, as if afraid of scaring off a bird.

— Flora… — he said reverently, tasting the name. — Flora. Beautiful. Just for me…

— Not just for you, you idiot! — Flora barked louder than she meant to, and her squeaky voice echoed off the rusty basement walls. She sharply flapped her wings, flying a couple of meters back to get farther away from Rico’s outstretched hands. The green light flared brighter, lighting up his round face from below, and in that glow he looked even more lost and in love.

Rico immediately hunched his shoulders, as if he’d been slapped, but there was no offense in his eyes — only remorse.

— Sorry, Flora… sorry, — he mumbled hurriedly, dropping to his knees and lowering his head, as if he’d just broken every sacred commandment. — I didn’t mean to… it’s just… you’re so… I get it. Only Flora. For everyone. As you say.

Granite, still holding the “boss” under his arm like a bag of trash, snorted — the sound came out heavy, almost like a laugh.

— Alright, that’s enough of this circus, — he grumbled, shifting the captive more comfortably over his shoulder. The man let out a weak groan, but Granite didn’t even look down. — Backup’s already on the way. I can hear it. And you — tell me what the hell this is. What, do you two know each other?

Flora hovered in the air, her wings humming more quietly now, though the light still pulsed unevenly. She looked at Granite, then at Rico, who was still kneeling, and let out a heavy sigh — thin, almost like wind whistling through leaves.

— No, we don’t know each other, — she answered sharply, crossing her arms over her breasts. The white swimsuit top stretched tight, and she immediately dropped her arms, irritably slapping her thigh. — I saw him for the first time when he… caught me. Like a fucking fly.

Rico lifted his head, his eyes widening in horror.

— I didn’t mean like a fly! — he blurted out quickly. — I… I just didn’t let you fall, Flora! You were so fragile, so beautiful in that light… I—

— Shut up! — Flora squeaked, and Rico immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, nodding apologetically.

Granite snorted, shifting his gaze from one to the other.

— Then what is this? — he nodded toward Rico. — He’s acting like you’re his fairy queen. And you’re protecting him like… I don’t know, like you care about him.

Flora felt the heat spread through her body again — from her breasts to the tips of her wings. She turned away, looking at the shattered boxes of red biomass that were still faintly glowing.

— It’s… an ability, I guess, — she said quietly, almost under her breath. — When he grabbed me, I got angry… — she exhaled, not wanting to say “scared,” then continued. — And suddenly my stupid smell got stronger, the light flared… and he became like this. I can give him orders, and he listens, like… — she faltered, shooting a quick glance at Rico and blushing even harder, — like he’s in love.

Rico nodded so hard he almost smacked his forehead on the floor.

— Not like — for real, Flora! Forever!

Granite raised an eyebrow; a strange mix of surprise and the urge to laugh crossed his stone face.

— So you enchanted him? Like in a fairy tale? — he scratched the back of his head with his free hand. — Then why are you… like, worried about him too?

Flora froze in midair. Her wings trembled, the green light dimmed to almost nothing, nearly fading out. She slowly turned toward Granite; her big blue eyes widened, and her cheeks beneath the thin skin burned with a bright blush, visible even in the red flicker of the basement.

— I… — she started and immediately cut herself off. Her voice broke into a high, almost childlike squeak. She wrapped her arms around her waist, as if trying to hold that heat inside. — Let’s not talk about this… I think… I think it’s temporary.

Granite watched her for another second or two, then slowly nodded, understanding that jokes would definitely be out of place right now.

— Alright, — he said quietly, trying not to add “my precious” and to look serious. — Temporary means temporary. We’ll sort it out at base.

He turned to Rico.

— Get up. Hands on your head. One step left, one step right — and you’re considered to be trying to escape.

Rico lifted his eyes to Flora, not moving, looking at her as if waiting for her personal permission rather than the order of this massive Granite, who could cripple him with one little finger. His hands were still resting on his knees, his sweaty face showing complete submission.

Flora met his gaze and felt the heat inside stir again. She swallowed and gave a short, almost imperceptible nod.

— Get up, — she said quietly but firmly. — Do what he said.

Only then did Rico rise, slowly and carefully, put his hands behind his head, and stand straight. He didn’t say a word, but there was such sincere faith in his eyes—almost gratitude—that Flora immediately turned away, pretending to inspect the breach in the wall.

Granite snorted with satisfaction and stepped toward the exit, still holding the “boss” under his arm.

— Let’s go. Backup’s already here.

Indeed, the first beams of powerful flashlights appeared in the breach, and right after them silhouettes in hazmat suits emerged. Heavy boots thundered against the concrete.

The squad captain, wearing a helmet with a visor and an eagle patch on his shoulder, entered first, instantly assessed the situation, and nodded to Granite.

— Granite, Flora. Brief report.

— Farm neutralized, — Granite rumbled, handing the unconscious “boss” over to two agents. — Twelve containers with colonies, one damaged. One detainee surrendering voluntarily, — he nodded toward Rico. — Biohazard team required and immediate extraction to base. Flora has… a newly manifested ability. Psycho-emotional class.

The captain looked up to where Flora hovered near the ceiling, trying to stay in the shadows. Her green light was dimmed to the minimum.

— Confirmed, — she said, descending lower and trying to sound professional. — Initial reconnaissance was conducted by me. And I ask that with him— uh, — she jerked her head to pull herself together, — more precisely, I recommend handling the second detainee with caution. He is cooperative. And possesses abilities that require study.

The captain nodded without asking unnecessary questions and issued orders over the radio. Agents in suits began moving toward the boxes, setting up containers, scanning the air.

Rico was led outside under guard. He walked without looking back, but she knew he felt her gaze.

Granite approached the exit and glanced at Flora, then at his massive shoulder.

— So, shall we go? Or do you prefer to fly? — he said simply.

Flora hovered beside him for a moment, then settled onto his shoulder. She had no strength left to fly. Her body was spent, and her head was a complete chaos of unclear emotions, feelings, and contradictions.

— Let’s go, — she repeated quietly, staring somewhere into the distance and wishing she could just sink into the ground, imagining how she would report all of this to her superiors.