Heroes of Ashford - Part 1-3

— This is humiliating! — an angry squeak rang out and spread, though not as loudly as it seemed to the one shouting, along Second Avenue in Ashford, almost completely filled with small local shops shut for the night behind metal shutters, graffiti on the walls, and piles of all kinds of trash that felt right at home here. It had received the status of “officially troubled” not so long ago. Not because of the dirt in the streets. Not even because you could get absolutely anything here — from fake documents to weapons. There were plenty of cities like that. No. This place had underground exogen farms — a substance that changed human life forever. Although at first no one could even imagine that all of this would be caused by an equally important discovery made by one of the research terminals on Mars. Life.

The big man sighed and glanced sideways at the tiny fairy sitting on his shoulder, arms crossed and demonstratively turned away. She was no taller than a palm, her big blue eyes flashing with irritation, and her long light hair, tied into a high ponytail and crowned with a wreath of white and pink flowers, swayed slightly in the breeze. Behind her, shimmering in the darkness with a magical glow, were semi-transparent light-green wings.

— You’ve been saying that the whole way, — he muttered, and the echo of his deep voice, like from a huge orchestral horn, bounced off the rusty shutters and dissolved into the city’s night sky.

— Because it’s true, Marcus! — she snapped louder, this time jerking her tiny legs and slamming them with all her strength against his powerful shoulder in a white tank top. For him it was no worse than a mosquito bite, but she felt pain spread through her ankle. — Ow! Damn it! — she squealed, pulling her leg back and rubbing her bruised ankle with a tiny hand. A green high-heeled shoe with little flower leaves almost flew off, but somehow stayed on. — See? I can’t even hit you properly! I’m just a small, weak, fat cow with a huge ass!

— No one dragged you here by force, FLORA, — the big man emphasized the name and added a bit quieter, — and which Marcus were you talking to?

The fairy froze. Her wings trembled, the light in them flickering unevenly for a second. She slowly turned her head toward him, and something stubborn, almost defiant, flashed in her blue eyes.

— That very one, — she cut back. — The man who worked with me in the FBI for twenty years. Who knew my name and didn’t call me… — she angrily jabbed a finger into her breasts, where the white bikini top was stretched far too tight, — …garden furniture.

Marcus stopped. The street ahead sank into shadow, where between dumpsters and shop grates you could make out a stairway going down into a basement — one of those in Ashford that rarely led to anything legal.

— In the heroes’ registry you’re Flora, — he said evenly. — And I’m “Granite.” We don’t have other names now. Get used to it.

— Fuck you! — she barked, refusing to believe in the new reality where the experienced FBI operative Alex Douglas no longer existed, the one who, together with a friend, decided to try their luck and join the heroes squad after the government announced recruitment for a new group. And even though the chances were slim, they passed all the tests. Only the result didn’t satisfy Alex — or, as she was now called, “Flora,” already heading out as part of the new group of “heroes” on her very first raid.

Flora sharply pushed off from the giant’s shoulder, her wings fluttering through the air at a speed impossible for the human eye to track, their glow flaring brighter and throwing green reflections onto the rusty containers and peeling walls. She hovered right in front of his face — tiny, furious, with a ponytail messed up by the wind and a crown slipped to the side.

— Get used to it? — she hissed, her voice trembling with anger but still high and squeaky. — Are you seriously suggesting I get used to being called after a houseplant now? Flora! That’s not even a name, it’s fertilizer!

Granite raised a hand, ready to catch her if she suddenly snapped into a hysteric fit and flew off into the night, but she deftly dodged, looping through the air.

— Flora Lightwing, — he repeated calmly, with a faint smirk in his eyes. — A normal name. Command chose it. Sounds heroic. Like a character from old comics. And it fits your… style.

— Style?! — She almost choked. — This style was chosen by exogen, not me! I wanted to be someone terrifying! A fire mage! A shadow assassin! Not… not a fluttering doll with hips wider than my entire former assault team put together!

She demonstratively slapped her rounded thigh — the sound came out as a barely audible smack. The green bodysuit with a high cut stretched tight, emphasizing everything she hated more than anything else in the world right now.

— They say the form is the embodiment of your deepest fantasies, — this time Granite didn’t even try to hide the mockery, saying it with a wide grin, — which means somewhere deep inside you always dreamed of being—

— Don’t give me that bullshit! — Flora shouted, no longer trying to hold back her emotions, planting a hand on her hip and flying higher so she could look down on that huge smiling mug at least from above. Her semi-transparent light-green wings buzzed with tension, casting trembling reflections over Granite’s face, — You’ve known me since the first operation in Kabul! In Venezuela! In that mess in Mogadishu where I pulled you out from under fire! How can you even believe that I wanted to be THIS!

Marcus sighed, the wide smile sliding off his face, and he was already about to reply that he was just joking, when suddenly his hearing — now capable of picking up any suspicious movement within a fifty-meter radius — caught a quiet metallic scraping behind him, somewhere near the trash containers they had already passed several times.

He spun around sharply, instinctively throwing his arm forward, shielding Flora with his massive body. She, still hanging in the air, froze as well: her wings stopped fluttering so fast, and the light in them turned cold and alert.

— Quiet, — Granite whispered so low it sounded more like the rumble of distant thunder.

— What is it? — Flora reacted instantly, the anger in her squeaky notes replaced by professional alertness. She silently flew closer to him, reducing the shimmer of her wings to a minimum, and when she settled on the back of his neck, she pressed them to her back completely, muting the light entirely. Clutching his hair with her tiny fingers like vines and pressing her lush breasts against him so that Marcus, though he didn’t show it, still felt it, she stretched her neck, peeking out from behind his massive head as if from around the corner of a fortress wall.

— I don’t see anything... — Flora whispered in response to her companion’s silence, and then, as if realizing how she must look right now, she shifted slightly away from his head, stretched out her arms, and added through clenched teeth, — I think you’re overestimating your new abilities. We’ve been walking around here for three hours already. I think intel was wrong.

Granite didn’t answer right away. He simply froze like a concrete pillar in the middle of Second Avenue at night: trash bags, rusty shop grates, graffiti skeletons on the walls. And it looked like there really was that basement stairway hiding from them behind the dumpsters. From there came that thin metallic scraping again. Not loud. But too rhythmic to be a rat.

Flora squinted. Her wings barely shimmered, but she pulled herself together despite everything that had happened “before.” Massive experience made itself known.

— Well? — she leaned forward, and her white bikini top stretched so tight that she herself had to swallow her irritation. That stupid costume reminded her of itself again: it had been with her since the very beginning of awakening, not like a second skin, no, but more like the only thing she could wear now — humiliating, yes, but for some reason other clothes felt even worse. — Listen, buddy. If this is another “a can fell over,” I... I’ll turn you into a frog, got it? — Flora whispered, trying to sound threatening, but with her squeaky tone the threat came out more comical than scary.

Granite gave a barely audible snort.

— Better fly over there. I’ll circle from the other side.

— Are you serious? — she hissed, pulling away from the back of his neck and adding, — Since when are you the boss?

— Not now, Alex, — Granite repeated quietly but firmly, not taking his eyes off the stairway. — We’ll sort out who’s the boss later. Right now — fly. I’m going from the other side.

Flora froze in midair for a moment, her wings trembling with anger and… fear. Not for herself. For him. Despite his huge size, she still saw him as that same Marcus who often stayed alive only thanks to her, Alex, and his command skills. But he was right. Now was not the time.

— To hell with you, — she hissed and darted toward the dumpsters, trying to control the light from her wings, which still faintly glimmered against the rusty metal of the trash containers, where there really was a stairway down.