Firedrake

The papers had taken to calling her “Aquatica”, a reference to her ability to control water, and she had not bothered to correct them. She was beginning to make quite a name for herself in criminal circles as freelance muscle - albeit not cheaply obtained. Her talent for devastating an area with fire-hose force was not undesirable, and she had shown a distinct knack for applying that force where it would have the greatest effect.

Presently, Aquatica was working in the docks district, breaking a Dockworkers’ union strike in a new version of the old fashioned way. Several of the longshoremen had already been blasted into the open water, and their picket signs were of no help in keeping them afloat. Foot-wide jets of water streamed from her hands, knocking one after another of the men screaming from the line.

Aquatica fairly danced along the dock, rivulets of water rising from the lake to course along the curves of her body before shooting from her hands. A high-pitched tinkling laugh came from her mouth, playing an eerie counterpoint to the cries of pain and fear from her targets.

“This a private party, or can anyone kick some ass?” came a voice from behind her. Aquatica began to turn, bringing one hand with her to blast the unseen intruder. She made it halfway through when the fist took her in her jaw, knocking free three teeth and sending her sliding helplessly down the dock for thirty feet. Her skin tore on the rough surface until she came to a stop.

“Didn’t anyone tell you that gentlemen don’t hit ladies?” she asked, voice slurring, as she began to rise.

“Check the scorecard, Princess. I ain’t no man,” replied her attacker.

Aquatica’s eyes went wide.

The attacker was enormous. He topped the charts at just under seven feet in height, weighing in at around three hundred fifty pounds of raw muscle. He stood on feet that must have been a size eighteen, each tipped with yellowed claws that left divots in the dock where they touched. His body was covered in glittering scales of dark green, except for the area of his torso, where the scales merged into long, wide pectoral plates of a sickly yellow hue. His arms bulged with power; hands the size of steering wheels flexed claws that matched those on his feet. A wide, triangular head looked down at Aquatica, and his lips peeled back to display rows of long, shining fangs. Behind him, widespread to emphasize his bulk, leathery wings rustled in the morning breeze. A long, sinuous tail danced behind him, its tip a foot-long barb. He wore a pair of military-issue tiger-stripe BDU pants, and in lieu of a shirt, the straps of twin shoulder holsters snaked down across his chest, each supporting a massive handgun. Clipped to his waistband, in front of his right hip, was a gleaming golden badge.

“Department of Justice, Metahuman Response,” he announced in a drawl. “I’m supposed to ask you to surrender, but that’s just a pain in the ass. ”

“I have your surrender here!” Aquatica spat in reply, dribbles of blood-stained water running from her mouth. She raised her hands and twin streams of water erupted, slamming the giant creature backward when they struck his chest. She poured more energy into the attack, intent on forcing him from the dock entirely.

Claws dug into the weathered wood of the dock, locking the booster in place. His wings swept up and forward, forming a shield in front of his head. The water jets struck his wings and deflected to the side. Grunting in pain from the torture his wings were undergoing, he simply opened his mouth. A roiling streak of flame spat forth to splash across Aquatica’s waist and torso, climbing upward as he flexed his neck. With a scream, she stopped the attack on him and focused her attentions on dousing herself with water to extinguish the flames that chewed at her costume and flesh together.

“Had your chance,” she heard. Her eyes flicked up to see him standing before her, and then a ham-sized fist struck her in the jaw for the second time. Blackness descended.

Reaching to a back pocket, the reptilian booster extracted a set of handcuffs. The metal was matte in shade, seeming to reflect little if any light. He snapped them around the wrists of the unconscious Aquatica, pressing them tightly into her flesh. A tattered bandanna, dragged from another of his pockets, became a blindfold.

“That’ll hold her ’til we can put her in a cage,” he announced to the few workers brave or foolish enough to have remained. He nodded politely to them.

“Y’all go on with your little strike. Your government is looking out for you,” he said, sarcasm fairly dripping from every word.

“Who the hell are you? Aren’t you going to help us?” asked one of the dockworkers, gesturing angrily to the floating members of his picket crew.

“Name’s Firedrake. Department of Justice,” the booster replied, looking into the water. He threw the unconscious woman over a shoulder, showing no effort at all, and walked to the side of one of the warehouses. He tore a life preserver free of its moorings and tossed it over the side of the dock. Shrugging his shoulders, he glanced back at the demanding worker.

“And, uh, that ought ta help, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for an answer, Firedrake shifted the woman into his arms and spread his wings once more. Thrusting with his legs, he took to the air. He ignored the angry shouts behind him.

Let ’em file a complaint, he thought, climbing slowly higher and higher.

His flight took him two miles from the scene at the docks, and he spiraled down to a not-so-gentle landing beside a dark blue van. Opening the back door, he placed Aquatica into a Plexiglas box, securing her hands over her head. He flicked a switch with a claw, opening a window above her. If she decided to use her abilities upon awakening, she would do little more than create a fountain from the roof of the van. He snapped shut the seals on the box, connecting the durite clasps in a series of snapping noises.

“Sleep tight,” he said, patting the box gingerly. He closed the rear door of the van and paced to the front. In the cab, a dark-suited man in sunglasses sat calmly smoking a cigarette.

“Are we ready?” the man asked.

“Yeah. Take her back to HeartBreak. Tell her I’ll be there in a couple of hours. I’ve got to go run an errand first.”

“Enjoy your visit,” replied the agent. “She’s in one of those moods.” He dropped the van into drive and accelerated away from the scene.

“Isn’t she always,” Firedrake said to the cloud of dust left behind.