Oh yeah! My creativity strikes again!!!!
The sound of a gun and breaking glass pierced through the night. The sounds of a struggle were clear for anyone close by. Meaning only two. He stumbled backwards, taken back by the blow. It didn't last long. He kicked, punched, dodged, did all in his power to keep the other one down. His cape shadowed his every move. He was a figure in black, manipulating every thing with his tactical brain. He threw the other one against a wall, watching as he fell and knocked over a few trashcans. He was breathing heavily but prepared for an attack. Nothing. He laughed manically and tied up his victim.
“Too bad. I was looking for a better fight.”
He threw the unconcious criminal into the light of a улица, уличный lamp and headed on his way. As he passed by a side alley, he heard a small noise. He looked around, listening. Someone was crying. He started towards the sound with caution, realizing the possibility of a trap. His eyes adjusted еще and he saw it.
The girl looked up at him surprised.
“Who...who are you?”
Her voice was fearful, brown eyes wide.
“Becca, calm down. It's only me.”
He sighed. This girl, though she resembled Becca, clearly wasn't. He came closer.
“My name is Red Revenge. Let me help you.”
She looked at him as if she recognized the name, her body relaxing of tension. He stepped closer to her and watched her carefully.
“What's your name?”
“What's wrong? I heard Ты crying?”
“You can tell me, Lizzie.”
“It's all my fault! Terror is dying and it's my fault!”
She burst into tears and Sam stopped. Crying was the one thing he never knew how to react to.
“Hey it'll be okay Lizzie. We just need to get him to a hospital.”
“Yeah. Come with me.”
Sam picked up Terror gently and Lizzie stood. He led her onto the streets.
“You better take him quickly. He'll at least have a chance.”
“Take him where?”
Sam looked at her beneath his mask. He'd heard of traumatizing cases, but this was ridiculous.
“A hospital. Sheesh!”
“Well don't blame me! I've only been a teenager for a few hours!”
Lizzie took Terror without trouble and marched away. Despite himself, Sam smirked at the childlike defiance she was showing. Then it hit him. He raced to catch up with her.
“Wait how old are you?!”
“Terror сказал(-а) I was fifteen.”
“But Ты сказал(-а) you've only been a teen for a few hours!”
“Yeah. I was seven before.”
Sam looked at her and took hold of her arm.
“You best come with me.”
“What about Terror?”
“I'll get him help. But Ты might need еще than he does.”