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Test Flight (ctnd)


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(Ctnd from here. OOC)

Mid-Town Freedom City was always a bustle of activity, but from the air it was overwhelming. Jessica was tempted to blank out her vision and fly by ear, but that was guaranteed to send her into a building or plowing into the ground. So she trusted in her GPS and the street map of Freedom City that her suit was laying over her vision and failed her speed back a notch.

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried about her speed. All too soon she fell into the wake of a pack of police cars, and their target was all too clear. The sporty red coup seemed to stay ahead more by ignoring traffic laws than horsepower, but that didn’t stop Jessica. In seconds, she’d sped past the police cars and was hovering over the red coup, easily keeping station while she considered her options. She had several, some more spectacular than others. In the end, though, the most brutal was the most efficiency, and safest for the bystanders.

Jessica armed her sonic cannons, aimed at the car’s engine block, and fired a double-dose of compressed air and sonic vibrations almost straight down. The blast flattened the engine into the pavement, ripping out most of the under-carriage.

What happened next was a complicated ballet of physics. The coup’s nose pitched down, striking sparks from the road surface. The rest of the car tried to keep moving forward but ended up lifting off the road. It would’ve smacked Jessica out of the air, so she dropped a few feet and let the car somersault over her. It impacted on its foreshortened nose, and the this time Jessica was in danger of running into it: but she rolled to the side and climbed, avoiding the collision. It was a complicated few seconds,, and the upshot was that she ended up hovering a few hundred feet in the air and half a block away, while the police cruisers surrounded the shattered coup.

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Jessica hesitated for a moment, then descended towards the flashing red and blue lights. Uniformed police officers dragged two men and a woman from the car. All of them were cut and bruised but swearing volubly, so they couldn’t be too badly hurt. A short, black officer with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve seemed to be in charge, so Jessica walked over to him. She gave him a casual salute as he gave her an appraising look. After a few moments, he offered her his hand and they exchanged grips.

“Interesting way to end a car chase,†he said, turning his gaze to survey the strewn wreckage of the coup.

“I heard you on the police band radio,†she said by way of explanation. “It sounded like you needed help.†Her voice had an odd buzz, the product of a synthesizer that would keep her voice from being casually recognized. In theory.

The sergeant did a double-take at her voice but didn’t comment. Perhaps he’s encountered stranger methods of communication. “I won’t say no to help,†he allowed. “What do I call you, anyway?â€

“Ironclad,†Jessica replied, and because she had the soul of an engineer and valued precision, she added, “Two.â€

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