Breed Book 4, Part 50


Mayumi would never admit it, but in this moment she wished she was wearing Demi’s ridiculous trench coat and fedora. She arched her shoulders, and tried to angle herself so that the rain didn’t have such a direct route to pour down the back of her shirt as it fell on her. Even if it weren’t such a crap night, she wasn’t surprised to see this part of town deserted after an army of Federal agents without markings attacked a peaceful protest for being too close to a building owned by the government. The protest moved over a few blocks, and the locals stayed the hell away, because anyone who so much as side-eyed the building had been attacked, beaten, or gassed.

Mayumi wondered if this was going to be the new status quo, and if so, if she was going to need to learn how to grow an air bladder, so she could suck in and store up hazardous gas attacks for later return to the fascists from whence it came. She heard the van shadowing her, even over the sound of the rain, and had to fight back the urge to fight back. Four sets of combat boots on the pavement, none stomping heavy enough to be worn by men topping a deuce. They were lambs, with no conception of the lioness they were stalking.

She let them hit her with the butt of one of their rifles, and cram her into the back of a van. They used zip-ties on her wrists, so tight they would have been causing nerve damage in someone who wasn’t able to rearrange her bones, nerves and muscles to accommodate them. A moment later, the restraints fell, and she folded her hands demurely in her lap. “What the hell?” one of the agents asked, going for a sidearm. She grabbed his thumb and twisted it back until he couldn’t move his hand. “She’s out of her restraints,” he managed to get out.

“How the fuck?” the driver asked.

“I forced my wrist bones out through the skin; made easier by how damn tight you had me tied. Then I sharpened those bones until they could cut through the ties, or skin, body armor.” She elbowed the agent in the far back seat as he tried to grab her, punched the agent whose thumb she was holding, then lunged forward, slicing the seatbelts of the two agents in front.

“You may not believe this, but in this case, I’m the good cop.”

“You ready?” Demi asked over Mayumi’s speakerphone. Mayumi grabbed onto the seatbelt holding the agent beside her, and cut it, maintaining her hold of the end still bolted to the seat.


Lightning struck the front of the car with such intensity that sparks flew off the dash and its electronics, setting off the airbags. The front brakes locked, and the van came to a violent stop, sending the unbelted agents flying forward. There were two more flashes of light, before the driver’s door was torn from the van; he followed it a moment later.

Then the front passenger, still groggy from the impact of the air bags, tried to reach for his holstered sidearm. Mayumi pinned his arm with her leg as his door was ripped off the van’s frame. “Howdy,” Demi said, and pulled him out of the van with such force he flew into a brick wall behind her.

Then she pulled the sliding door off the van, and dropped it in the street. “Really hope you got the insurance,” Demi said, before pulling the man beside Mayumi out.

The man from the rear tried to grab hold of Mayumi, and put his gun to her temple. He didn’t register her wrist at his throat until she twisted, just enough to nick the skin at his jaw. “The blades are sharp,” Mayumi said. “You shoot, you’ll definitely bleed out. I’ll heal, you won’t. Leave the gun on the seat and I’ll promise you live through the night.” He glared at her, before sliding the safety on and setting the gun down. “Now slide out, slow. And I’d raise your hands. I’m pretty sure I heard ribs breaking when she tossed your friends, and I would avoid that if at all possible.”

“You can’t do this,” he said, as he stepped out of the van.

“And why’s that?” Violet asked, holding up her recording phone, its light shining in his eyes. “Because as far as we can tell you’re just a quartet of assholes who rented a van and sewed yourself matching pajamas.”

“We’re federal officers,” he said sullenly.

“And what would stop a gang of human supremacists from claiming the same?” Violet asked, her eyes becoming an incandescent purple. He swallowed.

“That’s actually a large part of the reason for uniforms, insignia, and ID,” Demi said. “Don’t suppose you’d care to share some with us?” Demi asked.

“Fuck yourself,” he said.

“Hmm, that answer doesn’t work for me.” Demi grabbed him by the collar. She cocked back her fist, and electricity arced off it, touching on the pavement, then snapping towards him, searing his leg through his clothes. “See, if you are, as it seems reasonable to assume, some bigoted militia types, it’s thoroughly understandable self-defense if I fry you up like a side of bacon. God, I could go for a side of bacon right now,” Demi said.

“Or a bacon entrée,” Vi said. “Why does no one serve a bacon entrée.”    

“I will fry you both up as much bacon as you can eat, later,” Mayumi said.

“Since you’re our first interrogatee, you get your choice. Ten thousand volts. Head. Chest. Crotch?”

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“I wouldn’t touch it, but I don’t have to.” She held up her other hand, and electricity leapt from one hand to the other.

“Christ,” he said. “Fine.” He produced a wallet with a badge and handed it to her. “CBP, huh? Really abusing the hell out of that public trust, aren’t you. But I guess when you’ve been keeping kids in cages, we can’t be shocked that you’re bad people.”

“What they’re doing in Portland will look like pattycake compared to what’s coming for you.”

Mayumi leaned into him and sniffed. “I’ve got your scent. You’ve got the day to settle your affairs here and leave. I find you in Seattle again- I’ll make sure it’s the last time I catch your scent.”

“You’re threatening a federal officer.”

“This?” Demi said, flicking his badge back at him. “Ten minutes of PhotoShop is all that would take. Besides, I didn’t hear anything threatening over the sound of thunder.”

Lightning crashed down on their van, the impact shattering the windows and showering the street with broken glass. 

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