Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 18.2: Fighting the Air

The unseen pressure lifted off Amy, but she still found it hard to move with no air entering her lungs.

The prisoners all threw their bricks and rocks at Amy. They burst apart harmlessly as they hit her, but the embarrassment of not being able to fight back was painful enough.

"I'm going to break both your legs, and I'm not letting you fly away," the Hater said. "Then I'm going to let these dudes do whatever they want to you.

The prisoners shouted various unoriginal sentiments, like "Yeah!" and "Alright!" and "Whoo!"

Amy felt pressed down against the ground, except this time she managed to exhale. She did so and drew in a deep breath.

"How about that? You can scream," the Hater said.

Amy felt a paper-thin object slide between her body and the ground. This invisible slip surrounded around her entire body and lifted her off the ground. She tried to resist, to fly away, or even to fight against it, but she couldn't.

The Hater grinned. "No matter how strong you are, you can't fight the air around you."

The concentrated and solidified air held Amy in place. The prisoners hooted and catcalled as the Hater motioned and Amy rose to an upright point in midair, perpendicular to the ground.

Amy's arms started bending backwards at the elbows and forwards at the knees. She clenched her teeth and tears formed in her eyes as she tried to fight, but she couldn't.

"Leave Amy alone!"

A yellow and pink blur blasted across Amy's view, striking the Hater and knocking him onto his butt. As he fell, so did Amy. She landed on her feet and then dropped to the side, feeling relief as the air around her loosened, no longer pressed against her, but immaterial as always.

"What the hell?" the Hater asked, grabbing his forehead.

The yellow and pink blur whizzed overhead again and stopped, revealing Future Girl, who now hovered over the Hater.

"Don't you dare mess with U.S. Amy," Future Girl said. "She's, like, totally my big sister."

"You mean that?" Amy said, still catching her breath.

"Well, duh." Future Girl gave Amy a quick smile. She then felt a sweaty hand grip her right arm just below the shoulder.

"Let's go," one of the prisoners said. He was a big guy, probably an amateur bodybuilder, with a teardrop tattoo just under his right eye.

"Sh'yeah right," Amy said. She pulled her arm out of the man's grip and then reached forward and grabbed his wrist.

"What are you doing?" he said.

She lifted the man up and threw him at a crowd of the other prisoners, knocking them all back.

The Hater was on his feet again, his attention directed toward Future Girl.

"How old are you, eleven?" he said.

"I'm fifteen!" she said.

"Isn't that like America?" he said. "Sexualizing its young women."

"I designed this outfit myself. I thought it was cute at the time."

He raised his new metallic arm and held his open palm toward her. She flung through the air behind Amy, as if struck by a large object.

Amy flew forward, straight at the Hater, driving her fist right into his overly muscled abs.

He let an "oof!" and then backhanded Amy with his silver arm, swatting her to the ground.

Amy hit the ground hard, but quickly flew upward. The Hater raised his arm for another attack, and Amy braced herself, not sure how to block the air itself striking her.

She didn't have to, because Future Girl flew down from overhead, delivering a punch right between the Hater's eyes. The Hater stumbled a few steps but stayed on his feet.

"Bitches!" the Hater yelled. He pointed another open palm at Amy and Future Girl, who both fell backwards, propelled by the air itself.

Amy hit a section of the prison wall, which cracked all over and then collapsed on top of her. She stood up, using her legs to press upward, throwing the bricks and rubble off her.

The Hater turned his attention to Future Girl, who had landed on her back in the rubble, fell limp in a daze. Amy figured Future Girl must have taken most of the blast.

"You know what I can do with this thing?" the Hater said. "I can create bubbles of air inside your body, in your veins, or in your brain. I can tear you apart from the inside."

Amy was about to fly straight at him when she saw a familiar purple mist swirling in the air around the Hater. The smoke solidified and there was Proscenium, standing right in front of the Hater.

The Hater stepped back. "Who are you?"

"Just as the proscenium arch watches over its theater, so do I watch over my city."

"What does that mean?"

Proscenium punched the Hater in the neck. As the Hater grabbed his neck in pain, Proscenium delivered an uppercut that threw the Hater up into the air, followed by a perfect curved arc ending on the hard ground.

Amy wanted to fly over Proscenium and congratulate him for such an awesome punch, but then she heard a lot of activity behind her.

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

Amy spun in midair, her American flag cape flipping around behind her. She saw the prisoners that had thrown the bricks at her as well as several others. They had watched the fight, she assumed, and were now making a run for it, with the nearby train yards – an obvious potential for escape and unjust freedom.

There were about thirty of them now, with more flowing out of thedestroyed prison, all running for the train tracks.

# # # # 

Next: A little help.