Nyx had been wrong, well, in a sense. On normal standards, he would have been too far to touch. However, I wasn't normal.
I took off through the rear service exit, vaulted the railing, and launched myself at the nearest fire escape. My boots slapped metal before I climbed three stories in seconds, pulling myself onto the first rooftop.
My boots hit the first pane of glass hard enough to spiderweb it. The building shook beneath me, but the window held. I sprinted along the exterior façade, each step cracking the surface, leaving a trail of fractured reflections with my mask distorted, stretching like a shadow behind me.
People inside turned in confusion, faces pressed to glass as I shot past.
He tore out of the estate in a three-car convoy, sleek black armored sedans with illegal plating and tinted windows. Standard executive escape protocol. When men like that surrounded themselves around their own people, they felt safe. In their comfort of safety, they were likely to make mistakes. The Curator didn't even get three blocks before I was on him. Below, the convoy maintained their steady speed thinking they got away.
The Curator's convoy spotted me almost immediately. Muzzle flashes erupted from the sunroof of the third car. Bullets streaked upward.
I angled my run, kicked off a window frame, and twisted into a leap across six meters of open air. The rounds skimmed past me, close enough to feel the air pressure shifting, but I brought my arm up and deflected the ones that came too near with the edge of my blade.
The city blurred below in streaks of light. I hit the next skyscraper with enough force to rattle my teeth, boots cracking the facade. The convoy was still below, weaving through late-night traffic.
A second volley of gunfire sliced upward. Their aim was too erratic as a majority of them whizzed nowhere near me. I dove, with the wind roared in my ears as I plummeted, twisting in midair. The third convoy car swerved, trying to dodge my descent but it was too late.
I slammed into the roof hard enough to dent the metal. The car fishtailed, tires screaming.
They tried to shake me off as they jerked the car hard left, hard right, brakes slamming, but I crawled forward, digging my fingers into the paneling.
A side window rolled down. A man climbed out, bracing his back against the wind, gun already leveled at me. He fired point-blank which I deflected the bullet with a twist of my wrist. Metal sang as it ricocheted past my ear.
In disbelief, he fired another shot. Another deflection. He grunted in frustration and lunged, swinging a heavy punch.
Predictable. I caught his arm mid-swing, twisted, and shoved. Hard. He lost his grip and fell backward, tumbling off the car roof with a strangled cry. I caught his weapon before it hit the road.
The convoy sped past his rolling body. I raised the stolen gun and fired at the lead car's driver-side window. Sparks flew.
Bulletproof glass. I couldn't help but let out a disappointed sigh. Of course, they were armored cars. Why wouldn't they be?
I turned the weapon, checking its weight. Useless for penetration. Useless against armored plating. I tossed it off the car. They weren't getting away.
Meanwhile at a police precinct....
Deputy Chief Lemaire was listening to dispatch calls, looking for anything that sparked his interests. These days in New York it was just petty robberies and domestic violence calls. Been too long since there was a bank robbery for him to respond to. It's not like he was wishing for them...out loud.
"Suspect is masked—black, featureless—moving across the buildings—unknown affiliation—possible enhanced. Confirmed there is gunfire from vehicles. Calling for officers to respond."
He heard the description and "…Wait. Description matches a Talon operative from international watchlists."
His hands rushed to the drawer on his desk. He brushed past the papers and picked up a book. He shuffled through the pages until he landed on what he looking for.
A new face among Talon. A dangerous one. He paused.
"Send it up the chain. We're not equipped for that." He called into the radio.
Within the minute, Overwatch received the request. The Overwatch dispatcher knew that Talon requests were still classified as their existence wasn't quite known to the world yet. Therefore, she sent the line directly to the supervisor, not letting anyone else be exposed with this information.
"A deputy chief Lemaire is requesting our help to handle a situation. Says they confirmed the sighting of Talon operative, Dagger."
"Dagger, huh? Here in New York? I think we should give him a good Big Apple welcome."
"Acknowledged. Hero unit Fusionator is en route."
Back to Dagger....
The Curator was in the middle car. I could see his silhouette through tinted glass as he was shifting, yelling, panicking as he barked out orders that no one could follow.
The lead car swerved to try to block me, forcing the convoy to spread out slightly. That was all the space I needed.
Shooting wouldn't work with the windows too strong. Their armor was too thick. I needed a different approach. One that broke everything.
I had a plan to stop the convoy, but it was going to hurt. Taking a second to calculate while on top of the third car, I paused a moment. The cold air hit my neck and hair, sending a chill down my spine. Then in the next moment, the car rocked from weight as I jumped into the air. The convoy rolled beneath me as the cold wind lapped at my coat uniform.
Gravity clawed at me, glass shards from my earlier steps trailing like sparks behind me. I landed on the lead car, hitting the windshield hard enough to crack it. The chassis bucked under the force. The driver panicked, trying to swerve.
I didn't let him. I drove my fist down into the engine block, breaking through metal. The engine screamed. The car jerked violently sideways, and flipped.
The world turned sideways. Then upside down.
Glass exploded and metal shrieked. The lead car spun through the street like a dying animal.
It threw me into the air pretty high, and I felt weightless for a moment. I tucked my arms in, twisted, tried to stabilize, but the landing was brutal.
I hit the asphalt shoulder-first. Pain detonated across my right arm. Something cracked and I felt the bone shift beneath the skin.
My breath caught.
I rolled three times, scraping across the road before skidding to a stop inches from a taxi cab that slammed its brakes too late.
The impact jolted me again as it took the breath out of me.
Car horns screamed as people shouted with the night exploding into chaos.
Behind me, the second convoy car, Curator's car, crashed full-speed into the tumbling first vehicle. The impact tore metal apart, flipping both into a tangled knot of steel.
A third civilian car plowed into the wreckage. Then a fourth. A chain reaction as breaks screeched and people screamed. New York traffic collapsed into a snarl of noise and wrecks.
I pushed myself up with my good arm, teeth clenched. Pain radiated into my shoulder, sharp and electric. My left arm dangled wrong, the bone dislocated or broken.
Didn't matter. The Curator's door burst open. He crawled out, stumbling, eyes glazed, coughing smoke.
I started toward him, slowly as I was still in a daze crashing into that taxi cab. Glass crunched under my boots.
He saw me approaching and his eyes widened in fear He started to crawl away from me.
"Don't—" he coughed, "—don't come any closer—" He fell backward onto the street, scrambling like a trapped insect.
I reached out with my good arm, closing the distance....
A heavy thud shook the ground behind me.
A gust of wind rippled my coat. Someone had landed. I turned.
A figure stood in the street with his shoulders broad, armor gleaming with pulsing blue lines, a core reactor blazing faintly at the chest. A hero-class energy gauntlet hummed at his right forearm, crackling with contained power.
His visor glowed gold. His voice boomed through the night:
"DAGGER."
I didn't answer. He took one step forward, pavement cracking beneath the weight of whatever powered him.
"BY ORDER OF OVERWATCH…"
Another step. His gauntlet flared brighter.
"…YOU ARE TO SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY."
The street fell silent behind the sound of wrecked engines cooling. The Curator froze. Civilians held their breath. Even the city seemed to pause.
It seems that Overwatch had responded and not the police. I sighed in more disappointment. Nothing was ever easy.