Run.
The businessman is standing at the end of the long hallway. A hoard of swat officers are behind him. Amstrad is alone, and behind him, there’s a locked door with-
“Are the children back there? Them and the non-fighters?” asks the Manager.
His psychic aura is at least as large as mine in this lesser state. You have no chance.
“They are.” Amstrad’s voice is shaky. “We didn’t think you’d p-put in an appearance.”
“A meeting got canceled so I figured I’d pop by.”
You’d have to reveal your full power to even
survive!
Don’t be a fool, boy!
“You’re not getting these people.” Amstrad says.
“Well we’re not after the people. They just happen to be in the house.”
Run!
Amstrad digs his feet into the rugged floor and assumes a fighting stance. “You’re not getting the house.”
“Hm.”
“Charmorag, you’ve been wanting blood. Here’s your chance. Help me tear these fuckers to pieces.”
They’d all see, you know.
“I don’t care if they see. I don’t care if the whole city sees. Protect these people.”
The Manager takes a step forward and makes a hand motion at Amstrad. An immense force tries to brush him aside, but he psychically pushes back and negates it.
The Manager stops. He considers Amstrad again. “Who are you?”
“A temp worker.”
The Manager smiles.
The hallway erupts.
In a blink, sixteen of the jawbreakers that Amstrad can see in the hallway beyond have their heads twisted off their bodies. The Manager has grabbed Amstrad by the throat, thrown him through the door he guards, and shattered the mirror on the opposite end. Immediately, and to the screaming terror of the tenants, Amstrad stands on the broken mirror wall and leaps back into action.
He throws the Manager through three walls, two wooden and one concrete. Before he stands, Amstrad grabs him by the suit and smashes him against another brick wall, falling into the alleyway in the back. Jawbreakers are firing at him, but the bullets are curving around back at them. Another eleven jawbreakers die painful, bloody deaths.
The Manager punches Amstrad in the jaw. He instantly goes unconscious. Less than half a second later, Charmorag wakes him up. The Manager flings Amstrad up against the brick wall, the same that Amstrad’s been training on. He seems surprised when Amstrad lands on his feet against the wall and stays there. He jumps up, and punches Amstrad unconscious again.
Again, Amstrad wakes up only a fraction of a second later.
This is unsustainable! We need to do something!
“I know!”
Amstrad tries to grab the Manager’s collar again, but the Manager takes hold of his hand and twists it. He steps on open air and twists his whole body around to avoid his wrist getting snapped. With him upside down and the Manager standing, Amstrad grabs the hand that’s holding his other hand, locks in with both of them, and heaves the Manager up into the sky. The Manager flips in the air and smacks into the wall.
Amstrad spins around, holds the Manager’s head against the brick, and charges upwards. The Manager with his hair held by Amstrad and his face scraped along the wall kicks off of it, sending both of them through the high opposite wall.
They collapse into a haze of smoke and debris in someone’s bathroom. The Manager pulls the sink off the wall and crushes it over Amstrad’s head. He goes unconscious.
Two seconds later, he’s up again.
The Manager has him by the neck again. It seems that Charomrag undid the piping in the walls and attempted to impale the Manager with them. Amstrad becomes aware of the fountain of blood pouring down his face and hands.
The Manager tightens his grip. Amstrad tries prying away his fingers but they won’t move. He knows if he relents his psychic defense even slightly, the Manager’s grip will crush his entire throat.
The door to the bathroom opens. Kiki fires her sniper rifle at the Manager with about five feet between the barrel and his face.
Though the bullet stops, the psychic power in the Manager’s grip lessens significantly as the energy is diverted to defense. Amstrad tears the hand away and dives at the Manager.
“KIKI FUCKING RUN!” he screams.
He loses track of her as they shatter another wall and tumble into a living room. Amstrad is beginning to fade from consciousness without help now, his body is just too tired. The Manager throws a punch that Amstrad narrowly avoids. It hits a table, which becomes stray wood chips. Charmorag tears down the ceiling fan, breaking it over the Manager’s head, and Amstrad uses the opening to step into the air and punt the Manager’s face. There’s a crack.
The Manager’s face is covered in blood as well now. His nose is far out of place.
Amstrad smiles.
The Manager runs at him and tackles him into the main hallway. They brawl until they reach a far window, and fly. They continue until they’re flung out into the middle of the road at the entrance of the apartment.
It’s a thunderstorm out here. Heavy rain paints the road with reflected neon signs and police sirens.
The jawbreakers are back in their vans, holding up their guns and shields, waiting for this to resolve. Amstrad supposes they don’t want their heads twisted off their bodies. The Manager stands in front of them, bright red blood dripping onto his rain-soaked dark gray suit. He loosens his tie.
Amstrad stands in front of the ruined apartment’s main gate. Smoke drifts out from the building on all sides, blood stains the walls, bodies litter the doorway. The survivors are waiting behind pillars, watching him with equal reverence, awe, and terrible terrible fear. Kiki and Sam are back there. This isn’t when Kiki gets arrested. It can’t be. He won’t let it be.
Cameras and snipers line the roofs above them. Down the road on either side, five blocks away, there are massive crowds of people. It occurs to Amstrad that he’s certainly on national television.
“Give up, kid.” the Manager spits. “Nowhere to go. You can’t fight everyone. The building's already rigged with explosives.”
…
Amstrad turns to those behind him. He chokes for a second, but gathers himself. “Kiki. Sam. Get them out of here. This isn’t a fight we can win.”
Sam agrees. Kiki hesitates, but sees something in Amstrad’s certainty. They run back to the cafeteria.
The Manager looks past Amstrad. “They’re still under arrest.”
“It’s like I said. You’re gonna have to get through me first.”
He lowers into a fighting stance again. Both of them have a wide empty space of asphalt around them.
The Manager and Amstrad resume beating the other to a pulp. Their blood sprays onto the road and their clothes rip and Amstrad uses every underhanded tactic he can think of. He bites, he gauges, he pulls hair. But the Manager cracks his steel fists on Amstrad’s ribs over and over again, breaking more and more of him as the fight draws on. He gets punched one time too many. The Manager breaks his jaw, and he falls to the ground.
An army of jawbreakers swarm him, push him down, and handcuff him with a strange glowing metal machine. Charmorag is screaming in Amstrad’s ear. Their power is far lower after such a taxing fight. Amstrad can hardly move anymore. He’s lifted up and shoved into a swat van. As he passes the Manager, he sees him giving the orders to charge the building again.
Amstrad hopes they got out. How could they have? He hopes they did.
That’s all you can really do.