Iron (Closed/Redirect)

He’d reacted poorly.

There was an easy to follow, even logical course for why. The problem was that the outcome had been far beyond his control. And on some level he’d known it would be and still done it anyways. The driver still continued on; at least that much had gone well. Payment, or maybe fear had been enough once it all began as it was supposed –had needed- to. Their screams hadn’t lasted long enough to make the ordeal uncomfortable. Or shouldn’t have. Few people had the stomach for that sort of thing and even the right applications didn’t guarantee that once such things started that compliance would keep or that they wouldn’t grow a conscience. But a cut too deep, a bit too much of a mess, and it had taken more effort than he had wanted to keep the multitude on their appropriate leash. Fed, they sought more but didn’t resist him much when denied that.

“One after the other, they start going home. One after-” He sang, softly and sweet while leaning forward, on his knees, and rubbed at little eyes that he’d covered before it begun proper. She’d started once or twice; sobbing a little after things had gone quiet. Children could just feel that absence on an emotional level it seemed. She hadn’t called out for them and part of him wondered if it was because she knew her parents were gone, that maybe she wasn’t old enough to vocalize it, or because she had hated them. They had certainly clung onto the girl like cowards, like bartering with her would somehow stop what had to happen next. One has to wonder how their treatment of her had to be if they tried to shield themselves with her rather than the other way around.

“While going home, they quack. Whi-” When he went so far as to make the accompanying animal’s noise she managed something small through the sniffles. This was a mistake, but one that couldn’t be helped. It would always supercede that particular rule. And while he could ensure it in other ways, could even rely on the fact her youth would obscure him in the end, it was still a mistake. If not for himself then for her as there had been enough motivation to see her family removed. If she presented the same then they would send another. Or withhold what he wanted until finished the matter completely.

Or he got in a room with them. It might tarnish his brand a bit but that wasn’t nearly as important. And a delusion as they’d had enough sense not to dangle their prize in front of him within arm’s reach. Curious as to why they knew enough to take that safeguard considering how few knew of his capabilities. But those thoughts distracted and he continued the lullaby when he felt the child tug at his hands.

The screen that separated the driver from his passengers in the limo rolled down and the man looked back, made a face, and quickly turned his attention back to the road. A wise choice it seemed, when the vehicle tugged sharply in one direction and several horns blared at them in passing. Eventually the driver looked back again, and in his monumental stupidity asked a question he really shouldn’t have.

“We’re going to get rid of her right?” Blood rioted in him, feeling what he felt, but it was already confined safely in him again. The ticking had been enough for it to know to return, but a little extra will exerted had drawn it all smoothly back. Not a stain, not much of anything besides those synthetics left that sometimes made their way into clothing or adornments. But a chance to eat again drove it to frenzy, straining against the walls of flesh in its way. No reason to be greedy, though. Not when there were ways yet to make use of the situation still.

“And after that under the shadow they all rest.” The last of the song left him, while stroking the girl’s hair and securing her seatbelt. He didn’t see her eyes when looking up, the question repeated again with just a bit more uncertainty by the driver. Nicolas, in turn, smiled softly when pulling the gun from its holster.

“No. I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of her.” He spoke plainly, kindly, and with a quick breath that conveyed more than a change of mind. The driver had a brief second to regret his life when the weapon came into view, but only that. A sharp bark deafened Nicolas, if only for the moment. It made what came next; the tumble and metallic screech, the crunch of impact, seemed dull and muted far more than it should. His world, unsurprisingly, spun with every movement. Familiar pains bloomed, but none that were memorable beyond an instant.

The Blood had fed well.

Anything severe would be gone by the time the limo settled. The rest, perhaps, when out of the light.

New York City was full of petty crime. Small time things that could, would, and often resulted in much larger skirmishes becoming something the police bureau had to use an unnecessary amount of force against in order to quell. Sure, there were violent criminals and violent law officials back in her home country, but never to the extent she'd seen and witnessed herself several times by this point in her journey to greatness. Touko, now as the hot new magical girl-hero combo on the scene known as ReDirect, watched as they took the quirkless woman into custody. She'd already given her statement to the contact and let them be on their way. Any questions and the officer would be back in touch with her, and her superior, later on.

The thought about her greatness and road to ultimate destiny rang somewhat hollow as she finished pocketing the specialized restraints they'd equipped her with and nodded to her police contact. She couldn't pinpoint what felt hollow and blamed it on a subtle shift they didn't particularly show much in the series she'd devoured and studied endlessly throughout the years regarding the 'switch' between Touko the Civilian and ReDirect the Heroine.

Maybe dreams and anything other than her natural born duty as a Magical Girl were dampened so that she could focus?

Her one visible eye narrowed thoughtfully as she leaped off the ground to the top of a street light and forward to the next. A plausible explanation, perhaps too logical and not enough mystique and that certain magic that would inspire the masses. It'd be worth exploring though, and if it held even a slight kernel of truth, she'd have to immediately incorporate it into her autobiography-slash-how-to guide for the new generation she'd be inspiring.

Another handful of streetlights later and the sound of blaring horns nearly sent her tumbling in the most ungraceful manner possible to the concrete below. Her head whipped up as tightly honed reflexes kicked in and kept her from such a disgraceful display. One split second later and blaring horns were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of crumpling metal and fiberglass. One gloved hand tapped the  wireless device in her ear.

"This is ReDirect, en route to visual confirmation of a 10-53. Send additional medical immediately."  She'd give the American Hero Association some serious props; they made it mandatory that all heroes have at least basic triage and first aid certifications so they could stabilize any potential victims while help was on the way.

"10-4. Position?" Came the handler's inquiry.

ReDirect was already on the move, gaze ahead as she nimbly threw herself around any objects in her way, rolled and deflected off their pitiful attempts to interfere with her movement. The ricochet of impact against the bottom of her feet barely registered, the force and momentum absorbed and stored for later use. A slap against the corner, used it to turn her and kick off up and into the air. Hand caught the thin sturdy bar installed along most of the structures and street lights for aiding heroes in their maneuverability-- couldn't have a Hero stuck in traffic en route to responding to a call for help, now could they?-- two, three-- there!

"East 141st and Cypress Avenue. Over. On the scene. Send additional units; thre-"

CRASH!

She sighed and resisted the urge to try and pinch her nose beneath the mask. "Make that four cars. Medics needed immediately."
"10-4, out."
"10-4."

At least some help would be there. Not her idea of a dramatic entrance or anything well suited to her goal, but it was a start at the very least.

Her eyes narrowed as she landed and drew closer. Two occupants were out and exchanging curses and thinly veiled threats toward one another. Another passenger was wincing and rubbing their neck where the seat belt had cut in. Whiplash. They'd hurt worse tomorrow and the third day would be the absolute worst.  The limousine, however, was the worst. No one was moving or getting out of the upturned vehicle.

Rolled at least twice. Glass everywhere. That looks like blood or worse. They'd have to recreate the scene; she was there to make sure everyone was okay. "I'm going to need you two to back away from your vehicles please; if anyone needs medical assi-"

"That's my fucking car you piece of-"

Harming civilians was a no go, she reminded herself, and raised her voice. "I said move away from the vehicles, gentlemen. Now."

A child's wail broke the tension between them. The two men temporarily forgetting their rage against one another to exchange matching looks of horror. They looked to the strangely dressed woman-- even for a hero this was a bit... more than they'd become accustomed to-- and found her already launching herself up and over the hood of one car to reach the sound.

"This is ReDirect, status on the assist?" She barked out and ducked beneath the half crumpled light pole the vehicle had struck. Glass everywhere, she could smell gasoline but no hint of fire from the engine. Yet. She peered into the first window she could, smelled offal and copper and other unidentifiable but familiar scents. Her eyes, a solid gold by that point due to exertion and the storage of energy she hadn't bled out quite yet, peered in and swept through-- distant, detached, and clinical.

Dispatch and her handler argued in her ear as she squinted in the stinking darkness for any sign of the child.

"Ma'am?"

"ReDirect,"

A pause. "Ma'am...?"

"My name." She replied curtly. "Are either of you trained in first aid?"

Both shook their head. One offered up a tentative hand raise. "My wife's in the car, she--"

"If she has medical training please get her over here."

Her voice softened as she turned her attention to the interior of the darkened vehicle. "Shh shh, it's okay now. It's okay, daijoubu." Slipping back into her native tongue was easier than anticipated as she tried to reassure the wailing child she couldn't find but heard somewhere. "Where are you now? Big sister is here to help you."

The mask's lense filtered, her good eye closing as she let it do its job and cringed at the dark stains against her vision everywhere she looked. Fatalities.

The child kept crying and she scanned the door she peered into for any sign of... well, anyone embedded who might have been alive and pierced. "Hold on, I'm going to save you, I promise."

A soft glow from the jewel against her throat, wrists, and around her collar and chest flared to life and her hands crumpled the half-ajar door and tore it free. Heavy thing as it was, she set it, rather than flung it, down and prepared to head inside-- and caught a second pair of eyes other than those of the bleeding target. Maybe? bleeding target. She couldn't tell if it was the child's blood or that of the others who'd been inside.

The oath she uttered in her native tongue wasn't polite in the slightest and her voice took on a more urgent edge. "Sir? Are you alright? We have help on the way, can you talk to me?"

Even if not allowed the good fortune of passing out in such instances –which was probably better for all involved since he held the leash- there was no getting around the disorientation. Though even the car had come to a stop his head wasn’t quite willing to follow suit. First he managed getting a leg underneath himself only to crumple against, what he decided, was the roof of the car. Another attempt went only marginally better; ending up on his ass having fallen backwards. The ordeal had been harder on Nicolas than he’d realized it capable of being. After failing for a third time he groped blindly until finally dragging himself into a corner to properly assess things.

And promptly forgot entirely about his own needs when the child had begun to sob. The sense of relief that he felt in response soured, made an ugly reminder, and was eventually swallowed up after slowing his breath enough to bring it all back under his will. A sense, an unnamable thing still, seemed to nag at his emotions even after but not to the point where it hinder him any further.

His attention turned to the damage done to him in the crash. Open wounds, superficial largely, that resulted from his impacting the inside of the car repeatedly and at unpleasant speeds. The Blood clung too him though, rather than having run rampant given the rather literal opening. Good that he could still count on those instincts at least. That also meant the dampness against his hand and leg was not totally his. A shattered hip? It was where the most of the attention seemed to be focused. Thigh might have also been in similar poor condition. Without lighting it was hard to be able to completely diagnose things.

His veins sang with a hunger that hurt worse than his actual injuries. Terribly greedy, that part of him.

Before his brain could take any further steps in righting himself, Nicolas startled, if only from the sudden movement of the door opposite him being pulled away. With a response that quick to their little accident it was the poorer of the outcomes, but hardly surprising. Least not so much as…

Everything fell out of focus but the eye staring in at him. And more worrying was the way everything in him simply went still.

Words, though. A familiar language, but the dialect was…Kanto? Perhaps. A small detail to worry over later, really. For now it was catalyst enough to get his attention turned back to the matter at hand. A flash of a smile and he bucked forward onto his hands to drag himself towards the child. Easier to orient himself based on the sound. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure why it was he was moving, he was, and so often it was simply easier, even better, to allow that to guide him.

“At the moment, no, but one might argue I never am.” Soft spoken, said with a laugh, and it was so odd to him how natural that particular confession had been. And then he looked at the eye peering in and wondered just what it was she was capable of to have that effect on him. If it was mental…perhaps it was a conditioned response to her quirk?

Somewhere in worrying over those particulars he produced a knife. A flick set the blade loose. “Don’t worry yourself with me-” And when sentence finished itself in his head rather than his words he attention set to the task at hand rather than do so. It took propping himself up on one arm –a mistake, given the sharp wave of pain that shot up from his elbow and into his collar- to reach the child properly, but waited for their rescuer to take a better position.

“But do listen carefully, more so if you’ve never done this before. Support her neck and keep it straight once I cut the strap. Once you get the child outside lay her flat and do not move her unless there are fumes or flames near the car. Do not let her move.” He stopped short of warning her not to touch him. Enough feeling was returning that he wasn’t worried about being slow to ward her away from such things. Besides, it would drudge up questions he wasn’t ready to deal with from their rescuer and divert the woman’s attention from the more important matter. That, and in spite of himself, he wasn’t going to be able to think his way out of the situation if he didn’t resolve it first.

“Hurry now, and mind your hand so I don’t cut you by accident.” His tone remained expectant rather waiting or willing to brook any argument. Politely as possible, of course, but in such matters he found it was better not to linger in an accident than risk it becoming more dangerous by virtue of time or people.