The New York Public Library was supposed to be a place of silence, but as Sloane and Rebecca skidded to a halt across the street, the air was filled with the screaming of car alarms and the literal grinding of stone on stone.
"Okay, remember," Rebecca panted, her eyes darting between her phone and the massive marble stairs of the library. "In every Shonen arc, the first villain is always a 'Tank.' High defense, low speed. You have to out-maneuver him, Sloane! Don't try to trade punches with a literal statue!"
Sloane didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might stretch right out of her chest. She adjusted her glasses, took a deep breath, and let the suit flow.
The obsidian shimmer raced over her skin, turning her into a dark, liquid shadow against the city lights.
"I'm going in," Sloane whispered.
She didn't run. She coiled her legs like heavy-duty industrial springs and launched. She cleared the street in a single, massive arc, her body stretching into a long, graceful curve before she slammed onto the library’s stone plaza.
Standing by the iconic lion statues was a man who looked like he had been carved out of a mountain.
Arthur "Artie" Miller. He was seven feet tall, his skin a jagged, grey granite that seemed to pulse with a dull, orange light from the cracks in his joints. He was holding a massive bronze door like it was a piece of cardboard, tossing it aside as he stepped into the main hall.
"Hey! Rock-head!" Sloane yelled, her voice echoing off the columns.
Artie turned. His eyes were glowing embers set deep in stone sockets. He didn't look like a monster; he looked tired. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—literally.
"Go home, kid," Artie rumbled. His voice sounded like a rockslide. "I’m not here for you. I’m here for what’s inside."
"The books?" Sloane asked, her arms lengthening as she settled into a combat stance. "I didn't know stone giants were so into literature."
"The vault," Artie growled. "There’s a collection of rare minerals in the basement. They say some of them have... healing properties. My daughter... she doesn't have much time."
Sloane froze. The daughter. She saw a crumpled photo tucked into a gap in his stone chest—a little girl in a hospital gown. This wasn't a bank heist. It was a desperate father's last stand.
"Artie, stop," Sloane said, her voice softening. "If you tear this place down, they'll hunt you forever. You won't be able to see her again. We can find another way."
"There is no other way!" Artie roared.
He lunged. For a big man, he was terrifyingly fast. He swung a fist the size of a wrecking ball.
Sloane reacted by instinct. She didn't move her feet; she moved her center. She flattened her torso into a thin, two-inch sheet of rubbery muscle. The stone fist whistled through the empty space where her stomach had been, smashing into a marble pillar behind her.
CRACK.
The pillar shattered.
"Whoa!" Sloane yelled, snapping back into shape. "Okay, we’re doing this the hard way!"
She lashed out with a long-range kick. Her leg stretched thirty feet, her foot expanding into a heavy, flat mallet. It slammed into Artie’s chest, but instead of knocking him back, Sloane felt a jolt of pain shoot up her leg. It was like kicking a skyscraper.
"Ow! Ow, ow!" she hopped on one foot. "Rebecca was right! You’re a literal tank!"
Artie grabbed her extended leg with a stony grip. "I told you to leave, kid."
With a grunt of effort, he began to spin. Sloane screamed as she was whipped around in a circle, the world becoming a blur of grey and gold. Artie released her, and Sloane flew across the plaza, her body stretching into a thin wire as she hurtled toward a bus.
Think, Sloane! Think!
In mid-air, she didn't panic. She imagined her body as a parachute. She widened her arms and legs, the suit expanding into a broad, flat sheet of obsidian. The air caught her, slowing her down just enough to land on the roof of the bus with a soft thud instead of a bone-shattering crunch.
She scrambled up, her glasses somehow still perfectly in place. Artie was already turning back toward the library entrance.
"I can't out-punch him," Sloane whispered to herself. "So I have to out-wrap him."
She leaped from the bus, but this time, she didn't aim for a hit. She aimed for the environment. She stretched her arms in opposite directions, grabbing two massive lampposts. She pulled herself back, creating massive tension in her chest, and then launched herself directly at Artie’s legs.
As she flew past him, she didn't let go. She used her momentum to orbit him, her body wrapping around his stone legs like a high-speed winch. Once, twice, three times she circled him, coiling her elastic limbs tighter and tighter.
Artie roared, trying to pull her apart, but the "Snap-Back" physics Sloane had practiced in the warehouse were on her side. The more he pulled, the more she retracted.
"I've... got... you!" Sloane grunted, her face turning dark with effort.
Artie stumbled. The sheer tension of her rubbery body was enough to throw his center of gravity off. With a thunderous crash, the Human Rock fell to the pavement, pinned by fifty feet of shimmering black "Lastic" cord.
Sloane stood over him, breathing hard, her arms still wrapped three times around his chest.
"I don't want to hurt you, Artie," she said, looking down at the stone man. "But you can't just break the world because you’re hurting. Let me help you. My friend... she’s a genius. We’ll find a way to help your daughter."
Artie looked up at her, the orange glow in his eyes flickering. The rage was gone, replaced by a hollow, crushing grief.
"You're just a kid," he whispered. "Why are you trying to save a monster?"
"Because," Sloane said, retracting her limbs so she could stand on her own two feet. "I’m a 'monster' too. And we have to stick together."
Before Artie could respond, the sound of sirens flooded the street.
"Go," Sloane whispered. "Before they box you in. Hide in the subways. I'll find you."
Artie didn't wait. He rolled to his feet, gave a single, stony nod, and smashed his way through the pavement, disappearing into the dark tunnels below just as the first police cars swerved into the plaza.
Sloane watched the hole in the ground for a second before she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Sloane! That was... that was incredible!" Rebecca was beaming, her phone still recording. "The 'Slingshot Wrap'! That’s totally a signature move!"
Sloane didn't feel like a hero. She felt tired. She looked at her hands, which were still slightly vibrating from the impact.
"He's only the first one, Becca," Sloane said, looking at the city lights. "There are six more out there. And I don't think all of them are going to be as easy to talk to as Artie."
In the distance, from the top of the Empire State Building, a single spark of green light flickered—the fast, frantic buzzing of a Human Bug beginning to stir.
60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡr2zsJcJvGv
60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHWhYN9Hsqp
60Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTf7yqqHY5d
and then Add to home screen.