"Pilot Test"
"Let's get 'em!"
She held up her hand. "This is part of your training. You may not use your powers."
"What?"
"If you can use your abilities, you will not learn to fight."
I eyed the group of thugs clustered around the truck. "If I pointed out that they're bigger than me, and have, at least, crowbars, would that make a difference?"
One side of her mouth quirked upward. "I will restrict myself to trained fighting as well."
"That makes me feel ever so much better. Is stealth and misdirection acceptable tactics as well?"
The other side of the mouth rose. "Always."
"Then attend."
I rounded the corner, sauntering toward the quartet. I was vaguely pleased to see that they were a diverse mix. New Philly might have its problems, but race-based gangs weren't one of them. Well, unless you counted the Skinheads.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Do you know how to get to Carnegie Hall?"
They all started and looked at me. Whomever was supposed to be the look-out had been watching the break-in. "What?" said a fellow in a denim jacket.
"I said," I continued, walking toward them, smiling in a disarming fashion, "do you know how to get to Carnegie Hall?"
"What the fuck you talking 'bout, asshole?" opined another another. He was warm-blooded, apparently, dressed only in a white muscle shirt. He had the physique for it.
I sighed, shook my head. "Do. You. Know. How. To. Get. To. Carnegie. Hall?"
The guy with the crowbar laughed. "Hey, it's a joke. I heard this one."
"At last," I said, stopping just out of immediate reach. "A man with classical training."
"Where the fuck is Carnegie Hall?"
"No, asshole, it's a joke. The answer is, 'Practice, practice, practice."
"I don't get it."
That's when Amorpha came quietly around the end of the truck and lightly drove the butt of her hand into the side of muscle shirt's jaw. It looked like she barely touched him, but he turned halfway around as he slumped to the ground.
"Hey!" shouted Denim Jacket, reaching into the garment. The fourth, heretofore silent thug, also turned toward her, said something I didn't catch, and headed her way.
Crowbar glanced at her, then moved toward me, brandishing the item in question.
It would have been educational, probably, to watch my instructor at work, but my gaze was limited to a very tall man with red hair and tattoos rising along his neck past the cheap jacket he wore, and his raised hand and the long length of steel he was wielding. I stepped back hastily as he swung down, then executed a very neat punch to his chin.
"Gah!" I said. That hurt.
"Rrg," said Crowbar, along with a few other choice words. He shook his head and raised the crowbar again. I saw Amorpha standing there, arms crossed, a trio of thugs at her feet, watching me. Great.