Chapter Text
“Well this is just fan-freaking-tastic,” Rea grumbled as she glanced up at the stormy sky, huddled under the tattered awning of a foreclosed grocery shop. It had been raining for three days straight because of the fracking tropical system stalled over Manhattan. While the weather kept the streets deserted - even the drug dealers and thugs that of Lower Manhattan had decided to stay home - it meant there was no way she was making it to the women’s shelter before it closed its doors for the night. She briefly considered hoofing it for the nearest Underground shelter, but the closest one was a dive in Hell’s Kitchen and she was near Union Station. With the vigilante Daredevil prowling around, she wasn’t ready to meet his Enhanced ass in any dark alley.
To make matters worse, even with the streets deserted, she couldn’t risk using her gifts. With more and more Enhanced coming out of the woodwork and the ever-present prejudice against mutants, even those with normal pre-cognitive abilities such as mediums and empaths were being looked upon with rising suspicion and fear. The whole mess with the Accords made matters even worse. The Underground Court did what they could in getting mutants and Enhanced to safety up and down the coast. The hacker collective known only as “The Court” that gave people new identities, found funds, and generally kept its conductors and protectors like Rea, who safeguarded chosen areas and way stations. In the past few months alone, Rea had seen more natural psychics and empaths passing through the hacker network than the past four years. It was getting harder and harder to keep everyone safe.
It was too risky to use her powers in the open in case a wayward civilian or thug crossed her path. She would simply have to deal with being soaked.
Get it together, Rea! she chided, shaking herself away from the ever-rising problems of Enhanced and mutants. The rain was getting heavier and her own Enhanced gifts were telling her there would be at least four more days of this crap. Shivering, she pulled her worn duster jacket tighter around her and pressed closer to the brick wall. The hairs on the back of her neck were starting to rise just from standing under the awning exposed for as long as she had…then again, it could’ve been the static electricity that seemed to generate around her constantly. Storms of any magnitude made her jittery because the raw energy thrummed along her skin. She needed find a place to hunker down and wait out the storm for a few days. Otherwise, she would start sparking lightning.
“You damn storm, stop that!” she muttered, the tingling sensation of static electricity made her shoulders itch. Scratching her back on the brick wall and grumbling expletives under her breath, she quickly considered her options; she may not be able to make it to a shelter or an Underground weigh station, but there were some abandoned warehouses close enough she would make it before the rain really began to pick up again. It wasn’t her first pick in accommodations (nothing was these days), because it was near a construction site. They’d been booming across the districts since the Invasion four years ago (who knew aliens could be such rampaging bags of dicks?). The last thing she needed was for the cops or a private security company to find her “bolt-hole”. However, anyplace was better than standing under a leaky awning, getting needlessly soaked to the skin. Plus, she could use her abilities to ward off the rain since she would be on the move. Pulling the hood on her jacket further over her head, she made one more sweep of her surroundings before slipping into the dark alley, her boots barely splashing the puddles. Ha! Parkour, bitch!
The route she took was fairly quiet. She took to the rooftops after a few blocks; not only could she see her route better, but any straggling characters wouldn’t think of looking up to see someone jumping from rooftop to rooftop. The static electricity tickled more at her dark hair, causing it to frizz and flare out of her hood. Using the electricity around her, she erected a small forcefield above her, keeping the rain from dripping into her eyes and impeding her sight. It seemed the storm was picking up strength faster than she anticipated. She was going to have to move faster if she was going to avoid using her gift any more than she already was. She pushed off the ledge harder and landed on the next rooftop, her footwork solid despite the bad footing as she picked up her pace.
After running for another half mile, an odd, metallic, thumping sound met her ears and stopped her in her tracks. It sounded as though something hit a dumpster. She was about to shrug it off as a stray dog or a cat when rough tones of German filtered through the rain. “What the hell…?” Now that was weird.
Slipping over the edge and down the fire escape silently, she narrowed her eyes at the source of the noise. “Now what do we have here?” she murmured, dropping the small force field. It was a group of four burly men, thugs most likely. Although varying in size, they were buff and self-confidant to the point of arrogance. She rolled her eyes at how badly they were trying to break into the shop. Might as well kick the door down, she scoffed, it would make for a quieter break-in. Narrowing her eyes, she swept her gaze over the leather jackets, cargo pants, and… combat boots. Corporate muscle, ex-military or ex-convicts, she decided, remembering the type of people her adoptive father had associated with. This night just keeps getting better. She would be at a disadvantage; not only were they bigger and stronger than her, but she was outnumbered 4:1. Despite the odds though, she knew the shop they were casing and attempting to break into. It was owned by the Bouchards, an older, French couple who used their location and business resources to help Rea get underground when she ran from the foster system. They were good people. She wouldn’t turn her back on them, not after everything they had done for her and for others. Bracing herself, she pulled out her metal bo-staff and began concentrating on her abilities.
Almost immediately, electricity crackled in a thickening ozone and lightning began sparking around her hand and staff. Lightning from the storm flashed close by, she could feel the power gathering in her core. One of the men let out a startled grunt when thunder cracked loud above them, but continued to jimmy the lock as she slipped away from the wall. Keeping to the shadows, she ghosted forward, her body tensed for attack when motorbike headlights lit up the alley. Cursing, she ducked behind a dumpster and made herself as small as possible. Her odds had just gotten even worse.
“Bad weather tonight isn’t it, boys?” a clear, commanding, female voice rang out. Rea glared at the black skies and barely kept herself from banging her head against the dumpster in frustration. She may not keep as up to date as others did on the news but she recognized that voice well enough. It was the Black Widow.
The Avengers had crashed the party.
Well, balls.