Beat Cop (Open)

The chase stalled all for one unexpected interlude. The steady stream of scummy water flowed relentlessly on, alone unchecked by uncanny arrivals. Policemen originally recoiled and appeared to anticipate trouble. Pix himself was not at an appropriate angle to ascertain their hesitation. Indecision was indecision. He took this opportunity to regain breath; devoid the physical fitness of your average law enforcement officer. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't outrun his pursuers.
 
Turning his attentions briefly to the girl, Hugh spared her a thought. If indeed she presented an obstruction to these officers then he didn't have anything to worry about. Yet she did nothing, said nothing, committed nothing. This stranger was more awkward than helpful. That's just what he needed – someone to make the cops feel a little silly later.
 
As far as he could fathom she had no reason to help him. Especially when abetting a fugitive could get you a weekend in jail. It would be reckless to fight an authority that easily outnumbered you. Therefore, the stranger was either crazy or unwilling. Regardless, her bumbling had presented him a chance to think and increase his distance. Without looking back, Pix high-tailed it further down the ditch. Whatever her story, he would never know.
 
Sergeant Copper lowered his gun and barked at his men, “Move!” They couldn't very well pusy-foot about when time was of the essence. So what if a second metty had crawled out of the woodwork? They couldn't legally prosecute this other one. Let her remain down here like a bridge troll. Though if she so much as raised a word in defence of the pixel-man – then two freaks were making a journey down-town.

Increased water-pressure transmitted into a roar by the time the wave had broken. Splash-back impacted Hugh's calves, causing him to slow until a dive-bombing figure brought him to a total stop. Double-taking, Pix tried to interpret what had just happened. She'd moved the water, a lot of water. An impossibility. Unless she were one of those super-powered people. Yet the chances of two metahumans meeting in the world of late was astronomically small. Let alone pooling their resources.
 
At last the stranger spoke. For someone inclined to glibness, Hugh didn't think much of those silent types. Her speech was brief. Simple words for a simple purpose. Devoid of clarifiers, justifications, or reason. But under the current circumstances they were perfect. Pix felt inspired.
 
(0_0) “But...” It went against his common sense. You didn't go looking for trouble. If you had to break the law you planned it so the authorities never even had a whiff of you. Attacking the police in broad daylight wasn't done. Not unless you were inclined to fight super-heroes. Pix was no arch-nemesis. He could barely hold his own as it is. Perhaps he was even a coward.
 
“You'll get us killed.” (>_>) The sprite turned to face their foes, “Do it my way. Disarm them. Batons first. Bloody lucky if their guns work.” Most guns claimed to be water-tight these days, but Pix was more concerned of a bludgeoning than a bullet his body would just spit out.
 
Fishing out his cap, Sergeant Copper was up alongside his fellows in short order. A disagreeable stench clung to his skin, burning his nostrils and adding to his ire. He would have to eat a whole case of doughnuts to himself after this. The girl had gotten involved. So be it. Extending his collapsible baton, he strode ahead of his peers. Sure shooting the wretches would be faster, but he wouldn't resort to fatalities. That would imply the metties had gotten the better of him. Gene and his subordinates would grapple the criminals into submission. A baton just made the restraining holds easier.

Second-guessing your decisions was necessary if you wanted to adapt to changing circumstance. Thankfully Pix didn't need to reconsider taking a stand. The stranger proved to be a highly capable fighter. Her wrist-hold had rendered the officer's weapon useless. Scratch that, it had rendered the man himself useless. Hurray for competent allies.
 
Pix didn't want to press his luck by repeating this manoeuvre on another officer. Instead he hopped to the downed man's side and swiped his firearm. A unanimous response was achieved, as every other policeman unholstered their own pistols. Out of reflex he brought his gun level with theirs. Then second-guessing, he lowered it to the Sergeant's head.
 
"Put it down!" Cried an officer.
 
"You heard the man." Pix addressed the group, clicking free his safety, "Put your guns down." The fast escalating situation reached a stand-off. Police didn't like to negotiate with would-be murderers. Especially when one of their own was at risk. They needed more coercion.
 
"Hey, you've just seen me severe my arm to no ill-effect. I can also take bullets in my stride. Who's to say she won't fair just as well? If you fire, your boss dies. Not us. Try explaining that to Internal Affairs without him there to cover your ass!"
 
Slowly, reluctantly, the guns lowered. They were dropped into water, followed shortly by each man's truncheon. Agreeably, Pix removed his barrel from the Sergeant's head. No need to antagonise them further.

A troublesome frown befell Pix as he registered the meaning behind Hydra's last sentence (=O). An example could only suggest one thing. Termination. And after the men had willingly disarmed. It would be a gesture of underhanded insincerity. Certainly lacking in the morality of combat.
 
Pix replied in hushed tones, "An example? I don't want every cop in the city on my ass because I whacked a group of their- oh wait. I've a secret identity. Screw it." Pulling the gun, he managed to fire a single shot before the firearm backfired. Pix swore as his fingers smashed to pieces, quickly reforming. One of the cops jerked backwards, struck by his bullet.
 
"Like I said. Lucky if the guns work." He grimaced, seething with pain, "You can finish them off if you want. Don't wait on my account."

Their threats given, Pix made a 'watching you' motion with his fingers as he backed off. His eyes flashed from side (<.<) to side (>.>) until he considered the distance safe enough to look away. The immediate impulse was to follow the stranger, for her presence here still left much in question. Pix began to walk parallel with her.
 
"We've never met." Came the statement, "No this isn't an opener for a magic trick. Never before have we crossed paths. So you had no reason to... lend me assistance." Pix continued, choosing his words deliberately to siphon the glory, "Altruism doesn't exist. No matter how much the super-heroes may pretend. It's just a matter of figuring out your ulterior motive."
 
A number of possibilities occurred to the sprite, but he wanted to know first if she would be forthcoming. Always more rewarding when you offered information of your own free will, "Did you mistake me for someone else? I do bare a striking resemblance to Tom Cruise. Many a girl would have been happy to help him out." (;D)

Registering her use of the term 'your race' Pix took another look at the girl. Webbed hands. That was unusual to say the least. His eyes widened as he took in its implication, (0_0) "You're not from around here, are you? And I mean really not from around here." It wasn't significant, he guessed. Though it wouldn't hurt to be more observant about his allies in the future.
 
The stranger had a negative view of his situation back there. Pix was loathe to admit he'd been in peril and quickly formulated his counter argument, "I think you're overly simplifying things. Just because I can take a bullet, doesn't mean there isn't a dozen other methods which can put me down. Strength means nothing if you're going to be damned reckless about it!" He withdrew, suddenly regretful about that last outburst. What did it matter if this girl thought less of him?
 
"Forget I said anything. Nobody ever listens to me." The gang he was a part of treated him like the teenager he was, ignoring his opinions, "I-I have to go post bail for my boss now." The sprite went to depart, before turning back as if having remembered something, "Who are you? They call me, Pix. For obvious reasons."

"Suck up?!" (>﹏<) Pix spluttered, grieved that she had come to such an opinion of him. 'Mia' had gotten it all wrong. The impulse to set her straight momentarily made him forget that he was leaving.
 
The excuses started, "It's responsibility! My boss, his crew, we're all looking after one another. This is a choice! And before tonight I never met one of these gifted people you're so adament to go out on a limb for. They never made my life any easier. They're not my kin. You should go home." One good deed did not an allegiance change. Pix was convinced that he had people who cared about him back at that tannery. This girl should be as much an outsider as the sergeant.
 
"Or was that a dead cop lying on your front porch back there?" (>_>)