JohnnyZ
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[Life is Good] Chapter 39
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:21:19 +0000 UTCThe real fun started when the bike roared into the city. The bolide—dubbed after my terrified ass and Miss Blaze's bony butt—zigzagged through traffic like a bat out of hell. The weaving and jerking were intense enough to make me question my life choices. I only stayed on the bike thanks to the skeletal "rails" that were Joan’s arms on either side of me. Fear wasn’t even an issue anymore; I was way too busy trying not to puke my guts out. And with the way things were going, I realized I desperately needed some physical enhancements alongside my energy powers. Also, a quick-release mask system might not be a bad idea because, at this rate, I was about to lose my dinner and dignity.
I didn’t even realize we’d stopped at first. The world stopped spinning violently, and my entire focus was on not spewing everything I’d consumed in the last six hours. It wasn’t until about ten seconds later that I registered Joan tapping my shoulder and noticed the noise and commotion around us.
I glanced around—or rather, I moved my eyes, because turning my head still felt like a risky move. We’d landed in one of those neighborhoods where hope came to die. Everything looked rundown, with broken or missing streetlights making it as dark as an asshole. What little illumination there was came from police floodlights and the flashing blue-reds of squad cars. Barricades surrounded a pair of four-story buildings, and a ton of stunned eyes were locked on us.
Joan had, in all her wisdom, parked her flaming inferno of a bike right in front of the police line. Perfectly discreet, obviously. Cops, bystanders, reporters—somehow even at this ungodly hour—were all staring. To their credit, the cops didn’t immediately freak out and aim their guns at us. Most kept their weapons pointed down or up, with only a couple of trigger-happy types looking particularly tense.
So there we stood: her on her demonic hellcycle, me a blazing silhouette as stiff as a board, partly because I still felt queasy and partly because, well, style points. Just picture it—a flaming bike, a skeleton biker in full-on infernal gear, and a dude radiating flames but frozen in place like he was posing for a magazine cover.
Two figures approached, one in a police captain’s uniform and the other in SWAT gear. Slowly—very slowly—I turned my head toward them. Judging by the slight ripple of movement from the cops, a couple more guns had been raised in response. Even the SWAT officer hesitated mid-step. Great start.
As the flames around me died down, I dismounted the hellcycle with deliberate care, making no sudden movements. The fire didn’t just extinguish—it felt like it withdrew into me, curling up into some seething, angry little knot inside my "container." I could feel it there, all hot and malevolent, almost purring like a satisfied predator. Somehow, it liked me. No clue why, but hey, I’ll take the compliment.
I started walking toward the two women, trying to project calm despite my shaky legs. Thank God for Yuriko’s training; otherwise, I’d have face-planted by now. Behind me, Joan’s bike roared to life. She was turning around to leave, no doubt eager to get out of here. Not that I blamed her—she’d done me a solid, and Ghost Riders weren’t exactly known for sticking around for small talk. Judging by the general air of relief from the cops, nobody was going to stop her. In fact, they looked like they’d thank her for leaving.
Finally, I stopped a couple of meters from the two women, separated only by a temporary barricade.
“Good evening, Captain Stacy,” I greeted, nodding respectfully at the tall, striking blonde who was clearly Gwen’s mom. Her sea-green eyes held a mix of curiosity and confusion. “I heard about the situation with the traffickers and hostages and came as fast as I could. My name is Tobias, but you might know me by the alias Mister Mutant. Call me Salamander, though—sounds better. How can I help?”
The alias had popped into my head just now, and honestly? Not bad. Salamander had a nice ring to it—connected to both my powers and a whole bunch of badass fictional characters, from Hanzo and Natsu, to the Salamanders of Warhammer 40K. Plus, it sounded way friendlier than “Nemesis,” which I reserved for, well, less public-friendly activities.
“Salamander?” Captain Stacy raised a brow but relaxed slightly, her posture softening as a friendly smile tugged at her lips. “It’s nice to meet you in person, though I wish it were under better circumstances. We could certainly use a super’s help…”
“Stacy, what the hell can this kid do?” The SWAT officer interrupted, her tone dripping with disdain. She shot me a look that could curdle milk. “He’s a goddamn teenager. Fresh off mommy’s tit, and he’s playing dress-up? What are you even doing here, kid? Go wag your dick at some middle-school girls. You’ve got no place in a fight.”
“Of course not,” I replied, voice calm but laced with sarcasm. “We should just leave the fighting to professionals like you. Meanwhile, kids like me should be back in underground labs, being tortured, shocked, and pumped full of chemicals by the ‘professionals’ you’re defending.”
Her sneer wavered as I stepped closer, my voice rising.
“Where the hell were you, ‘hero,’ when they dragged us out of our beds? When they beat us for refusing to sit quietly in their electric chairs? When they killed a ten-year-old girl because she cried too loudly? Tell me, where were your principles when the Secretary of Defense signed off on all that shit and then blew her own brains out when it went public?”
I was practically nose-to-nose with her now, voice low and venomous, loud enough for the journalists to hear.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, kindly shove your opinion where the sun doesn’t shine, because I’ve had about enough of self-righteous assholes telling me where I belong.”
"Alright, calm down! Sybilla, stop it!" Captain Stacy barked, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tension. Her colleague, whose face was as red as a tomato, looked ready to unleash a barrage of colorful language, but the captain's glare was enough to shut her up. With a quick glance at the breath-holding reporters, Stacy sighed and turned to me, her tone calmer now. "Let’s go, Mr… Salamander. I need to know what you can do and how you might be helpful to our team."
Miss Julia pivoted sharply, her stride toward the police command area exuding an unspoken warning: Don’t even think about starting drama. Sybilla spat on the ground but followed her, clearly still fuming. I shrugged, nodded at the group of journalists like a good sport, and trailed behind the women.
Honestly, I don’t know what I’d have done if the Ghost Rider hadn’t dropped me right in front of the police line. Probably something reckless and stupid, like trying to save my mom all by myself. I wasn’t in the most rational headspace, to say the least. If anything, the only reason I wasn’t already halfway to a bad decision was the experience of my past life keeping me somewhat grounded.
I love my mom. Really, I do. It’s impossible not to love someone who showers you with care as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. In my past life, I was a regular kid—one who sometimes hurt his parents’ feelings in that thoughtless way teenagers do. Did I regret it? Hell yes. Especially after they were gone.
In this universe… I’ll admit it: for the first few months, I couldn’t see Judy and Betty as my parents. It felt like I’d be betraying my family from my previous life. But then I thought, “Dude, the only difference between you and any other orphan is that you remember your past. These moms? They’re real. Their love is real.” And with every hug, every kind word, every warm smile, I found myself melting. I began to love them, respect them, crave their affection. There’s nothing like the overwhelming, unconditional love of a parent, and I soaked it up like a sponge, a starved man finally finding sustenance.
So, walking behind those officers, I kept my emotions in check with sheer willpower. The last thing I wanted was to mess things up because of impatience or inexperience. I wasn’t here to be some hotshot kid in tights. I was here to help. To support the professionals so the hostages—my mom included—could get out safely. My personal feelings took a back seat.
By the time we reached one of the armored trucks, I had my game face on. A map of the building was spread across the hood of a car, accompanied by a couple of cardboard coffee cups. Captain Stacy gave Sybilla a pointed look. "Sybilla, keep quiet for now, alright? And you," she turned to me, "let’s hear the details. What exactly can you do? The more we know, the better we can use your abilities effectively."
I raised my right hand in response, aiming it at a nearby light pole with a broken lamp fixture hanging over the car. Electricity sparked along my arm, pretty but not too flashy—enough to draw their attention. Stacy raised an eyebrow; Sybilla rolled her eyes and spat again.
Ignoring them, I carefully aimed the electricity, pretending I was just showing off when, in reality, I was targeting something specific. The shot from my arm hit its mark with a sharp zap, and a second later, something fell onto the hood with a metallic thud.
"Is that…" Stacy leaned closer, her eyes narrowing at the smoking, futuristic-looking gadget that now lay on the car. It resembled a high-tech rice cooker with cameras and projectors bolted onto its sides. A drone. Mysterio’s, probably. Or at least it was.
I grabbed one of the coffee cups from the hood, handing it to Captain Stacy as casually as I could. "By the way, saved your coffee."
Sybilla let out an offended huff. "That was my coffee."
Stacy glanced at the cup, then at Sybilla. With a sigh, she took a long sip before handing it over. Sybilla gave her a look that could’ve curdled milk, shook the cup slightly, and grumbled something under her breath. Stacy, ever the professional, ignored it and focused on the smoldering remains of the drone.
I scanned the area with my energy vision, double-checking for anything suspicious. Finding nothing within an eleven-meter radius, I spoke up. "No more gadgets like that in the vicinity."
"And if it had been our tech?" Stacy asked, her tone speculative.
"Then I’d have said, ‘Oops,’ and apologized." I shrugged, palms up. "But I figured you wouldn’t hang an invisible drone above your command post. Want me to continue?"
She nodded, so I laid it all out—what I could do, my strengths, my weaknesses, and how my powers worked. I left out the stuff about the Sketchy Man, though. Some things are best kept to yourself.
Now, some might wonder why I’d spill so much. Sure, I was revealing a lot about myself, but here’s the thing: you can’t just show up at a police operation, say nothing, and expect them to trust you. Besides, it’s not like my powers are a secret. After a few missions, the word spreads. Thugs from earlier encounters have probably already gossiped about my electric punches and fire tricks. So, it’s better to be upfront and look cooperative. The only thing I truly hated revealing was my energy vision, but with the drone incident, it was already pretty obvious I had some kind of edge.
"So, you can see people through walls?" Sybilla asked skeptically, arms crossed.
"I can see people, electrical devices, heat sources—basically anything with energy," I confirmed with a nod.
"And you can melt anything?" Captain Stacy asked, her tone probing.
"Anything except a certain metal you’re not likely to find here," I replied. "It’s… conceptually indestructible, as far as I can tell. But even if someone shows up in full adamantium armor, I’ll just bake them inside it like a potato."
"I’d… prefer if you didn’t jump into a fight," Julia said hesitantly. "But I do have an idea, Salamander."
"You’re thinking he should scout the neighboring building?" the special ops officer—Sybilla—said thoughtfully, glancing at her superior. Stacy nodded and turned her focus back to me.
"Here’s the plan. Sybilla, you’re going with him. Take your team, but no radios—keep comms silent. If drones like that one are buzzing around, intercepting our communications would be easy. It’s too risky. We don’t know how many of those things the enemy has, or if they’re ready to rain grenades on us." She shot a wary look toward the sky before continuing. "You’ll sweep through the neighboring building. Salamander, your job is to assess the situation in the building where those bastards are holed up. Count their numbers, see if you can get a sense of their equipment, even just a rough idea. If you find the hostages and see an opportunity to extract them without significant risk…"
She turned to Sybilla, her voice firm. "You don’t need me to tell you what to do. Cover our… guest specialist, and if there’s a chance, get our people and the civilians out. One more thing: if things go south, screw radio silence and call for backup."
"Got it," Sybilla replied, giving a sharp nod. Then, turning to me, she flashed a toothy, mocking grin. "Alright, let’s hop to it, bright eyes."
"Let’s hop," I replied flatly, ignoring her sense of humor. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except making sure this worked. Emperor, protect Mama Betty, and I’ll handle the rest, I thought, following Sybilla as she gestured to someone in a matching uniform to join us.
