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Greetings everyone!!submitted by COD_Mobile_Official to CallOfDutyMobile
It is finally time for a brand-new update. You can find a large majority of the information about everything out today, but also a great many things are coming later in October or early November. We’ll be detailing that all a lot more on Tuesday October 14th at 5 pm (PT) once Season 11 Anniversary releases, but before we jump into the patch notes we just had two topics to bring up in advance.
End Tier Camos A while ago we had some discussion around the Damascus camo, since it was in a public test build, and we had said that we didn’t plan to release that camo as the final tier camo. However, it has been quite some time since then and we have decided to release Damascus today in this update! Here is a sample of that camo on the KN-44:
However, we also have one other final/top tier camos coming down the road in another in-game update: Diamond. Keep an eye out for more information on that in the future and best of luck to everyone grinding for Damascus in this release!
XP Card Changes Just a quick note, but we've adjusted XP card prices in the wake of Gunsmith and how weapon progression has changed due to that feature. The prices have been significantly lowered. We have also completely removed the lowest tier XP card, so now there are only blue and purple XP cards. You can find all of those adjustments in the store now.
Those are all of the extra call-outs for this post, but please head below for the full update notes and see you all again on the season release!
It's the End of the World and you're invited! Call of Duty Mobile's 1st Year Anniversary Season is here. Join the party of a lifetime in the season-long celebration. Major feature drops with party themed Battle Pass content, BR update, Halloween, and all new Mythic Weapons.
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[Wraith: Of Villains] - Chapter 2.2
Carmen thanked Theo and left the Blancandrin Building. The day had begun to move into the late afternoon by the time he emerged into the cheery sunlight. Glancing about to ensure no one else was around, he moved off the path toward a decorative shrubbery and pulled out his comm.
His earpiece beeped several times before the comm connected. A groggy voice snarled, “Whadda ya fuggin’ want, Carmen?”
Behind him, Carmen heard the door to the Blancandrin Building open. Hiding his comm, he glanced back to see Theo bustling out to head home. Theo nodded toward him, so with a grin, Carmen waved farewell.
“Ser’ously, Carmen,” the voice growled in his earpiece, “you fuggin’ woke me up for this shit!”
Grinning after his friend, Carmen muttered into his comm, “I have a target for you. I need you to take him out today.”
After a moment of silence, the voice muttered, “I only got two hours of sleep, man—”
“Today, Snap,” Carmen hissed, dropping the smile and turning around after Theo finally moved out of sight. “This is paramount.”
Snap sighed and begrudgingly grumbled, “Who’s the target?”
Carmen glanced over his shoulder and replied, “Theo Dore. He’ll get on the silver line tram at Lindolen Corner Station in approximately twenty minutes. He gets off at Rodelyn in two and a half hours. Make sure he’s dead before he gets off.”
“The public tram? You’re fine if civilians get caught in the crossfire?”
Carmen gritted his teeth, but he replied in a low voice, “It would be better if it didn’t look targeted.”
He heard only snide laughter in his earpiece before the comm link abruptly cut off.
Mollified by Peter’s promise to tell her everything, Delia let the matter drop as they made their way back home. She cuddled close to Peter’s side as the third tier tram rattled through the city, twisting her fingers in between his. He stared out the window as Caledan flashed by. Buildings, lights, hovermobiles, raised tracks—it was a forest of steel, all run by the aether dust that Vaise supplied for Earth. It was as if the entire world mocked his failure. Furrowing his brow, he pulled his gaze from the window and closed his fingers around Delia’s. It had been a nice day, but now that it was over, he had to admit that no matter how nice it was, it had not gotten him anywhere.
Most of the other passengers looked tired after a long day in the city. In the back, a mother surrounded by shopping bags held a sleeping toddler. Three teen girls, only a few years younger than Peter, chatted quietly near the front. A young man across the aisle irascibly rattled off recondite medical terms to some unfortunate employee on his comm. A gentle tone from the speakers beeped station arrival, and Peter glanced up at the digital sign alerting passengers to the next stop. They were only at Three Steeples Station. He and Delia still had another seven stops to go.
The train paused at Three Steeples, and the doors hummed as they accordioned open. The mother with her toddler hustled off, and a crowd of Steeples Street shoppers surged aboard. Among them, a bedraggled man stumbled on, coughing moistly. His hair hung in oily clumps, and his clothes were in tatters, and he looked as if he had lived off the streets for a while. A sudden, inexplicable dread gripped Peter, and he turned his head to keep an eye on the pediculous newcomer.
The stranger coughed and swayed, and he scratched at his scalp and at open sores on his face. He was pale and twitchy and his pupils were severely constricted, but there was an unsettling, focused quality to his darting gaze. As the doors closed and the train started forward again, he began to stumble toward the front of the train car, shouldering past other riders who wrinkled their noses and shrank away.
Peter tightened his grip on Delia’s hand.
The vagabond shambled haphazardly forward, flakes of skin sloughing off his scalp as he continued to scratch it. His other hand moved to a pocket on the inside of his patched coat.
Peter glanced up at the digital sign and saw they had two minutes until Rodelyn Station. If the lousy bum did not get off on that stop, he and Delia would.
The vagabond stumbled past Peter and continued on with his lurching pace, shuffling forward until he reached the center car door just one bench past Peter and Delia’s seat.
Swaying with the movement of the tram, the vagabond stared out into the deepening, light-streaked dusk of the city, shuffling back and forth crabwise before the door as if he could not keep still. Delia finally lifted her head from Peter’s shoulder and looked at him reproachfully, for he was squeezing her hand.
Eyes riveted on the vagabond, Peter whispered, “When I tell you to, duck below the seats.” He had no idea who the man was or what he was going to do, but something was definitely wrong, and Peter had no intention of letting Delia get hurt.
She followed his gaze, and when she saw the filthy stranger by the door, she grew tense and huddled closer against his arm.
Peter jumped as a hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Delia squeaked as he spun. To his surprise—and relief—he saw the blond-haired Tony in the seat behind him.
“Hey, imagine running into you two again!” Tony grinned, leaning his elbows on the seat back.
Delia instantly perked up and cried, “The Gallafex guy! What happened to your bike?’
“At the shop,” Tony replied as Peter glanced forward to check on the vagabond. He had not left his spot by the door. Tony smacked the back of his hand against Peter’s shoulder again, drawing his attention, and went on, “I gotta thank you, man. I mentioned the drunnel attachment rods to my mechanic like you pointed out. He hadn’t even noticed them before! He was going to just replace the drunnel heads and leave it at that!”
“Then he’s a shitty mechanic,” Peter replied distractedly, shifting to keep the vagabond in his peripherals. It was not until Tony started laughing that he realized he had said it out loud.
“Well, Hayden is a childhood friend, so I guess I let that blind me to the truth,” Tony chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m serious, though, you’ve got an amazing eye for machines. Did you learn all that with your small-time shops?”
Peter snorted despite himself, for the three shops where he currently worked were run by idiots. “No, I kind of picked it up over time. I’ve liked vehicles since I was a kid, and I would read the user manuals.”
“Just hovermobiles, or spacecraft, as well?” Tony asked, sounding genuinely interested.
“Everything,” Peter shrugged, thinking back. It was the only thing about his childhood that retained any semblance of happiness. “Engines, computers. And I liked tinkering when I could get my hands on something no one wanted.”
“Tinkering is a good way to really get to know something,” Tony commented conversationally. Peter checked himself. It was disturbingly easy to talk to this guy. Nonetheless, he could not see anything threatening about him.
“Peter’s big dream is to build his own Gallafex bike,” Delia giggled, and Peter cringed as Tony laughed again.
“I only said that once,” he hissed at her, but she fluttered her eyelids at him.
“And you said it with passion, babe,” she grinned, and he nearly melted in embarrassment as Tony just laughed harder.
“Well, you certainly know your Gallafex engines,” Tony spoke up, his laughter subsiding. “And I am beyond grateful for your keen eye. In fact, I hope you’ll let me pay you for catching—”
Peter interrupted, “No, I didn’t do anything—”
Delia piped up, “Don’t be rude, babe!”
“I insist,” Tony pressed, tapping his Kyp on his wrist. “If you hadn’t noticed anything, I’d have driven that bike until it exploded. This is the least I can do. We can call it a diagnostic fee... er, gift.” As he spoke, he swiped through controls on his Kyp that Peter couldn’t see, since the screens were designed to only be seen from the angle of the wearer. “I know you’re not licensed or anything, but I’ll pay the Heroes’ rate. Direct credits.”
Peter watched him with uncertainty for half a second, suspicious of the man’s unbridled generosity. But direct credits were untraceable, as liquid as solid cash, and he was not so proud as to deny that he needed it. His own Kyp beeped as it received the funds, and he lifted it to see how much the Heroes’ diagnostic fee actually was.
Wait, Heroes’ rate? Was Tony a—?
All of a sudden, a BANG exploded just behind Peter, nearly rupturing his eardrums. Delia screamed, as did several of the tram passengers. To Peter’s left, the man who had been engaged in his business meeting on his comm promptly slumped over into the aisle, a hole torn out of his chest from sternum to spine.
Peter’s eyes grew wide. He had not been paying attention to the vagabond! He spun to face the man by the door. His eyes were wide and skin pale—but he was not the culprit. Instead, one of the teenagers at the front of the tram car held the gun. The blond, spiky-haired girl grinned broadly as she clicked the vio-shaft, refilling the pysa chambers, and the twin crystal catalyzers began to glow in the depths of the double barrels.
“Get down!” Peter shouted at Delia, shoving her head down behind the seat and throwing his weight over her just as the teenager fired again. Chaos erupted on the tram as everyone dove or leapt into the air or froze in terror, as suited their proclivities. The vagabond huddled by the door, screaming nonsense. Someone panicked and pulled a fire alarm that began blaring over the tram car’s speaker system. The entire train lurched to a sudden stop in the middle of the cableway, suspended over the city, and the doors flung open in accordance with the emergency procedures.
Adrenaline pumped through Peter’s veins as gunshot after gunshot blasted through the small tram car. Beneath him, Delia shook and sobbed, and a surge of anger threatened to overwhelm him. He had to do something! He could not let Delia get hurt! Cautiously, amid the caterwauling of terror all around, he peeked his head over the back of the seat in front of him.
Cackling madly, the young woman spun on her toes, firing her gun at random. “Calamity!” she cried, her murderous dance bringing her closer to Peter. “Oh, beguiling beauty!”
Peter gathered his legs beneath him, ready to tackle her once she got in reach. But before he could move, she abruptly halted, and he found himself staring down her pistol’s twin barrels.
“Scream, love,” the young woman tittered, and she pulled the trigger.
Accipitridae perched on the edge of the roof, gazing over the city. The Avalon Tower was the tallest building in the Council, affording her sharp eyes the perfect roost from which to watch over Caledan below. The sun had begun its descent, and the silver city cast back its light in shimmering glory. Every window became a star, every road a lightning bolt, every rooftop a brilliant flame. She clicked her beak in irritation, for the gorgeous display made it difficult to keep a decent vigil.
She straightened when she saw the small form of Carmen circling the tower from far below, steadily climbing into the air. His Ray speeder whined as it fought the altitude change, for it was designed for horizontal flight. When he reached the top, he landed his Ray on the platform behind her and jumped off its wing with a heavy thump.
Wind ruffled Accipitridae’s plumage as she turned to face him. Wasting no time on propriety, she asked, “Did you get the results back yet?”
“What? Oh, the glove,” Carmen muttered distractedly, squinting his green eyes as he peered out over the city.
Snorting, Accipitridae remarked, “As if I haven’t asked about it every single day since we got it.”
“Yeah,” Carmen replied, entirely unperturbed by her sarcasm. The Shield was aptly named, and more than for his physical impenetrability. “About that. I did see my buddy over in forensics today, and he finally got the results.”
Accipitridae immediately brightened. “Well?”
He finally met her gaze, letting out a heavy sigh. Her mood instantly dropped again. “I’m sorry, Celeste,” Carmen told her regretfully. “There was nothing on the glove that could identify our mysterious Wraith.”
“Not even a single flake of dead skin!?” she snapped incredulously.
“The material of the glove was designed to damage any DNA beyond sequenceability,” Carmen explained. “Not even that dock worker’s DNA was on it.”
Accipitridae’s feathers fluffed up in frustration as she paced away from him. “I thought for sure that we had something!” she cried, clicking her beak. Reaching the edge of the rooftop, she paused. “That type of material is hard to come by,” she mused, turning to face Carmen again. “So that means Wraith is rich.”
“Then why try to steal aether dust?” Carmen pointed out. “Most villains with money just buy it at the Horsehead Nebula markets.”
“Sponsor,” she shrugged. “He’s got a rich sponsor, but he’s proving his worth. Aether dust can be used for anything, so it’s not as relevant as his tactics. He’s discrete, but not opposed to killing.” Her feathers ruffled again at the thought of the deaths Wraith had caused. Turning to look out over Caledan, she muttered, “In fact, the aether dust is just child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. Unless it was...”
Carmen stepped up to her shoulder, frowning. “Unless it was what?”
Her golden hawk eyes met his green eyes as she suggested, “It was a distraction. And if so, it worked.” She let out a disgusted breath and snapped, “He’s smart! Crafty! And Jaxon still won’t put him on the watch list!”
Carmen put a hand on her shoulder consolingly. “We’ll keep looking for him. In the meantime, though, perhaps we should focus on the villains who are on the watch list—”
Accipitridae snapped out a hand so quickly that it smacked Carmen’s chest quite painfully. Her downy, tufted ears perked up, and her pupils rapidly dilated as they focused on something in the distance. Carmen went on high alert as he tried to see what her sharper eyes discerned.
“Trouble on the tram,” she said abruptly. “Rodalyn.” She held out both arms from her side, and her flight feathers flared out as they caught the wind. “You need a lift?”
“Go! I’ll be right behind you on the Ray,” Carmen called as he pivoted and sprinted for his speeder. Accipitridae nodded and dove off the edge of the Avalon Tower. The wind roared in her ears as she plummeted, her skirts whipping around behind her, but she spread her feathers and caught an updraft. Weightless, she flew rapidly toward the tram that had halted in its tracks. Even in the glare of the setting sun, she could see the flashes of gunfire. The Ray speeder whistled shrilly behind her as Carmen took up pursuit. Illustration
Peter threw himself in front of Delia, smashing her back against the wall, as the murderous teen fired her twin-barreled pistol. Flooded with fear and adrenaline, reacting purely by instinct, Peter wrested his power from its slumber and pushed. Delia screamed, but only the vociferous gunfire could be heard.
Over the roar reverberating in Peter’s ears, he heard the teen girl screeching with delight, and she spun away from him to wave her gun at someone else. Without even thinking, Peter lunged at her, tackling her against the far wall. He wrestled for her pistol, smashing her hand against the window. Just then, a searing heat began to awaken in his left shoulder. Sharp pain stabbed deep into his chest. He cried out, his grip on her arm weakening almost involuntarily. He noticed a huge pool of blood down the front of his shirt, and he realized he had been shot before and only just now felt it. His push had ricocheted the bullet away from his vital organs, but he had not been able to deflect it completely.
“Peter, look out!” someone cried behind him. Something slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground amidst terrified passengers. Flat on his back, he saw it was one of the other teenaged girls. She looked identical to the first, except her spiky hair was longer, and one spike over her left eye was dyed blue. Grinning madly, she pressed a short-barreled handgun against his forehead. He would not be able to dodge this time.
Tony suddenly appeared behind her, grabbing both of her arms and hauling her off of Peter. He spun and flung her back towards her two friends at the front of the tram, and Peter scrambled to his feet.
“You alright?” Tony asked, pointing at Peter’s shoulder where he had been shot earlier.
I’ve had worse, Peter thought as he nodded and turned his attention back to the assailants.
The third teen had sat placidly in her seat through the entire ordeal, but she stood now as her friends flanked her. She, too, was identical to the others, her hair styled in a backward-curving mohawk.
Her thin lips twisted into a sneer as she said, “Don’t play Hero, boys. It’ll only end up poorly.”
“Funny you should mention Heroes,” Tony rejoined with a smirk. “You do know what city you’re in, right?”
“Superheroes fight villains,” she replied sardonically. She reached into her purse and withdrew a huge, twenty-pound beast of a gun. It was a miniaturized rail-gun, its cross-shaped barrel capable of firing fifty energy blasts per second. They were ubiquitous in the black markets, and almost every do-badder had one. The Rynarail, designed by Villain Tia Ryna over a hundred years ago, was Exhibit A for why aether dust was now highly regulated. Settling the gun on her shoulder, the mohawk-sporting girl smiled, “I am just your friendly, neighborhood psychopath.” Raising her hand before her face, she pressed her thumb and middle finger together and said, “Snap.”
The triplets snapped their fingers simultaneously. Peter crooked an eyebrow; for all their insistence that they were not villains, the corny name introduction was a villainy staple.
Outside the tram, a peculiar whistling sound began. Not two seconds later, the roof suddenly caved in and burst open. Massive talons, tawny feathers, and turquoise skirts crashed into the train car in between the triplets and their intended victims. The entire car rocked violently on its cables from the impact, flinging its passengers about as they screamed. Startled, the Snap triplets stumbled back, knocked off balance, and Peter and Tony both clutched the tram’s overhead handrails to keep their footing.
In the back of the car, a young man sobbed joyously, “The Heroes are here!”
The superhero Accipitridae dug her talons into the steel floor of the tram car. With a shrill cry, she launched herself into the air again, beating her powerful wings as she flew up through the hole in the ceiling. The entire floor ripped with a shriek of metal, crumbling the center of the tram car like an aluminum can. In a single motion, the superhero tore the tram entirely in half, folding the floor upwards and enclosing the triplets in their portion.
However, rupturing the tram left it unbalanced on its cable bearings. Everyone screamed as the back half of the tram pitched forward with a disorienting lurch, and they scrabbled for handholds as gravity overtook them. Corpses of those the Snap sister had shot tumbled out of the front end.
Peter was thrown off his feet as the tram swung chaotically, bouncing on its cables like a salt shaker. He hit the floor and began sliding down the center aisle. Wind whipped at Peter’s hair as he slid towards the gaping hole in the tram car, grasping for any sort of lifeline before being dumped out into the city of Caledan below.
Finally, he managed to grasp a bench leg just at the mouth of the tram’s rupture, moments before being cast out into open air. The car’s center accordion doors hung on their track bearings, and the frontmost benches where Delia and Peter had been sitting dangled out the open end. Peter’s heart leapt into his throat as he feared for Delia. But he only saw the vagabond clinging helplessly to one of the doors, his feet kicking the open air.
“Peter!” Delia screamed. With a start, he craned his head to see her huddled on the floor where he had told her to hide just before the evening went to hell. She had backed herself underneath the seat and grasped the legs in a panicked vice grip, tears streaking her face.
Peter’s relief was only momentary, for the bench leg that he held suddenly tore away from its bolt fastenings. His hand slipped, and he fell. Delia screamed, and Peter caught one glimpse of the vagabond reaching out a hand to try to catch him, and then just the darkening city all around.
FALLING! FALLING! FALLING!
The images of Electrum smashing into the pavement flashed before Peter’s eyes as he plummeted. He had no troposki to call to his aid—no jet pack, no handcopter, no gravulsion boots. Powerless, helpless, he could do nothing as the city reached out to draw him into its death.
A weight slammed into him. Sharp daggers pierced his wrist, and his arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket as his downward trajectory abruptly changed course. Crying out in pain, Peter grasped at his bloody shoulder and looked up to see Accipitridae had snatched him out of the air. She held his wrist firmly in one talon as her wings pumped the air to bear his weight.
Spreading her tail feathers, she banked and shot towards a low building, depositing Peter on its roof. After dropping him unceremoniously, she whisked off to pursue the Snap triplets once more.
Peter hit the roof hard and rolled, feeling every ache and bruise, old and new, reawaken as he pushed himself to his feet and looked up. Accipitridae soared gracefully skyward, swooping without effort between other trams and cables and railways. Higher above, just beneath the dangling back half of the silver line tram car, Peter saw a Ray speeder spiral into the fray. From the speeder’s nose, mooring cables shot towards the nearby skyscrapers, and in no time a safety net was stretched beneath the tram in case anyone else fell. Already, a swarm of civil service workers began to converge on the tram to carry the passengers to safety.
Cheers and plaudits from the tram passengers filled the air as Accipitridae and the speeder pilot joined each other beside the folded half of the tram wherein the triplet psychopaths were trapped. It had been perched precariously on the edge of a narrow building just below the third tier rail line. From his own rooftop haven, Peter watched the two Heroes consult each other from a distance, much too far away to hear what they said. Just then, he wished he had his visor to help pick up on their conversation. Snap had been right when she said superheroes only dealt with villains. What happened when Heroes detained mere criminals—or, more importantly, vigilantes?
The two Heroes concluded their brief discussion, and the hawk woman Accipitridae struck out into the air once more. Diving like a comet, she angled toward Peter and landed on the edge of the roof before him.
Her eyes flashed in the last light of the dying sun. “That was wild, wasn’t it?” she said jovially. “Let’s get you to the ground.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Hey, you look familiar. Have we met?”
Nervousness roiled inside of Peter at the thought of being recognized. Swallowing, he ducked his head and muttered, “Just one of those faces, I guess.” He kept his chin down, cradling his wounded arm. “What will happen to those girls?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested.
Mantling her feathers nobly, she declared, “Such villains will pay for their crimes. Rest assured, citizen. They shall torment this city no longer.”
His mind reeled with concern, and he protested, “They’re not villains, though. Murderers, but not villains. Shouldn’t they be dealt with in the lower courts—?”
“All evil is villainy,” Accipitridae interrupted, “and the Council stands for equal justice for all people. You and your loved ones are safe.”
For some reason, unease chilled him to the bone, but he did not have a chance to say anything more as the superhero took wing and plucked him up in her talons. In seconds, she descended toward the street far below and gently set him down next to the growing crowd of tram passengers being transported by the service workers.
The moment they landed, an explosion suddenly penetrated the air. They both spun to see a crimson beam of light burst out of the folded tram car. It was Snap’s Rynarail gun! In a single slice, the pulsating laser chopped open the crumpled side of the tram, and the metal sheet exploded outward like a popped bottle cap. The sheet of metal slammed into the Hero who had been standing guard, knocking him off balance. He swung his arms as he teetered on the edge of the building, and the three Snap triplets leapt out of the tram car and jumped into the air. The soles of their boots began to glow a brilliant neon purple. They had gravulsion boots! In moments, the three flew away through the air, disappearing into the forest of skyscrapers all around—but not before the Snap triplet with the blue spike kicked the Hero in the chest, sending him plummeting.
With a shrill cry, Accipitridae launched herself into the air to catch him. Some of the civilians around gasped in worry and awe, but Peter knew she would reach the Hero in time. Another day, another rescue. He watched her fly back up to the other Hero, cradling his wounded arm as he cogitated on Accipitridae’s last words to him. They disturbed him greatly, though he could not quite place his finger on why.
“Peter!” a delightfully familiar voice cried, and he turned in time to catch Delia as she flung herself at him. “You’re alright! You’re okay! I was absolutely terrified when you fell!” she cried, joyful tears soaking his shirt.
Peter held her close, moved by how distraught she was over his well-being. “Are you hurt?” he asked, finally pulling away.
She grinned almost madly, probably from shock. “Nope, but the penguin is!” With a somewhat hysterical laugh, she hoisted up the large stuffed penguin that he had won her at the amusement park. Part of its neck had been torn out, as if it had taken a gunshot to the face. It even had a bit of blood on it, and Peter absently wondered if it was his.
The thought reminded Peter of his own wounded arm, and the pain flared anew. Grimacing, he plucked at his bloody shirt. Noticing the hole in his chest for the first time, Delia gasped, her hands flying to her face. “Oh my goodness, you’ve been shot!” she screeched.
“I’m fine,” Peter automatically replied, but Delia grabbed his arm and tugged him forward.
“Come on, you need a medic!” she cried. “Medic! Medic!”
“Delia, please,” Peter tried to calm her down, but she was inconsolable.
Tony suddenly stepped in front of them from where he had been kneeling next to a frightened old woman. “Peter,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Peter’s arm. “Celeste showed up just in time, didn’t she? I’m glad you’re alright. Let me see your shoulder...”
“I’m fine,” Peter protested, pulling away.
“You got shot in the chest,” Tony pressed, but Peter stepped out of reach. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and just wanted to be left alone.
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” he lied, casting about for anything to get their attention off of him.
Delia fixed him with a stern look and snarled, “You need medical attention!”
“I’ll go to the emergency room later,” he maundered. He had no intention of doing so, for he did not have insurance. But neither Tony nor Delia heeded his protests. Before Peter could dodge out of the way again, Tony reached out a hand to touch Peter’s wounded shoulder. The moment his fingers touched Peter’s arm, a soothing warmth blossomed and spread throughout his whole body, pouring from Tony’s fingers.
In an instant, all the pain was gone. The searing bullet wound, the recent bruises, even the dormant aches from Peter’s recent battles with the Hero Vaise and Supervillain Naku, all vanished. His cloudy mind cleared, and he felt energetic and enlivened.
He stared at Tony wide-eyed, suddenly realizing who he was. “You’re The Medic,” he stammered. “You’re a Hero.”
Tony smiled and said, “Just a sidekick.”
Just then, a flurry of feathers and a thud of footsteps sounded beside them, and they turned to see Accipitridae and the other Hero alight on the ground. Only then did Peter see that it was Carmen, The Shield.
The sight of him filled Peter with rage and terror.
“Tony!” Carmen called out, looking towards them. Peter froze as Carmen’s eyes met his for a moment. Carmen and Wraith had not crossed paths yet, but would the Hero be able to see the hatred in Peter’s countenance? He hoped against hope that he would go unnoticed. His heart hammered against his ribcage as he stared into Carmen's green eyes, locked in that millisecond.
But no recognition registered in the Hero's eyes. Thankfully, Carmen’s gaze passed on to Tony, and he shouted again, “Hurry! Celeste needs help!”
Only then did Peter notice that Accipitridae leaned heavily against him, her tiny frame appearing frail and fragile against Carmen’s large bulk. As he watched, her feathers seemed to recede into her skin, her talons melding back into regular bare feet, and her beak reshaped itself into a human face. She looked exhausted.
Tony hastily trotted over, muttering as he went, “How many times do I have to tell you that he’s too heavy for your wings to carry...”
Celeste smiled weakly and replied, “Not too heavy. Just too strong.”
Whatever joke lived in her grin, Peter did not care. Disturbed by the recent events and revelations, he grabbed Delia’s hand and whispered, “Let’s go. Now.”
She had been staring wide-eyed at the famous Hero Shield, so when he yanked on her arm, she yelped. “What? It’s The Shield! I’ve never met him in person before!”
“Please,” Peter insisted, tugging harder.
But she jerked her hand out of his grasp and said stubbornly, “No! I want to meet him! I’ve always wanted to kiss a Hero—and he’s the most famous!”
“Kiss...?” Peter gaped. Whatever, he thought, shaking his head. “Fine. But I’m not staying.”
“Peter, wait!” Delia cried, spinning and grabbing his arm. “I just went through a traumatic experience! How could you leave me alone!?”
“I’m not,” he grumbled. “Go get your fifteen minutes of fame with the Heroes. I’ll meet you by the tram lift.”
Giving her no chance to protest further—and giving the Heroes Carmen and Celeste no opportunity to recognize Wraith—Peter snatched up the bloody stuffed penguin and left. As he went, he caught sight of the pediculous vagabond hovering at the edge of the crowd. He still shuffled left and right, scratching at his flaky scalp, and he stared at Peter with wide eyes. That inexplicable dread filled Peter once more. He wrenched his eyes away from the man’s unsettling gaze and quickened his pace.
(C) 2020 RLK