3.2

10:25 PM, 17th April, 1989.

Location: Flying over Paris.

Bored, can't sleep. Patrolling in casual gear.

Dreams have been rough lately, stupid subconscious punishing me for killing bad guys. And Louise kicks in her sleep. While May drapes her arms all over me… I really can't wait for the base to be cleared out, if only so I can sneak over there to get some real sleep.

Not to mention I'm a teenage boy with all the problems that brings. A few hours of alone time to relax would be nice. I really need all those cold showers.

Anyhow, the city is spread out beneath me… and is shockingly quiet.

People are out but it's the mood, it seems calm tonight. But then again appearances can be deceiving. Someone down there is running on rooftops. Correction three people. I catch a glimpse of all three running line abreast.

I float down, just to check.

"Hello, what are you three doing out here at this time of night on a rooftop?" I asked hovering in front of them.

They came to a stop, before one of them answered. "We call it parkour."

Oh. Right, that originated here. It's still early days for them.

"Some kind of exercise regime?" I asked, evasively. It probably isn't common knowledge yet.

"Something like that, but also like an obstacle course in the real world." He answered.

"Well… you haven't done anything wrong, so I'm not going to do anything. Do keep in mind, you look like burglars running around this late at night. I'll check the name to be sure." I chuckled. "Do keep an eye out for actual criminals and alert the police if you continue to run around like this at all hours." I paused. "Also… it sounds like a useful skill. Would it be possible to ask for lessons and demonstrations? I have a feeling some of my colleagues would be more than willing to learn."

The trio smile at that request, one offering a business card to contact him with, should I find interested people. I wave a salute and rise into the sky, earning envious exclamations from them.

Moving over a cheaper, rougher part of town I smell smoke briefly.

Circling around I find a burning car. And two young people wearing bandannas over their lower face, one of whom is carrying a petrol can. They're watching and dancing… one seems to be female. I shake my head at that. From my belt I uncoil a five metre length of wire, section it off into halves and send it down.

The girl squeals when a loop of wire seals around her wrist and fuses together into a solid hoop. The other hand is caught in the wire and coiled around, winding the two hands together like a winch. She screeches at the guy, who I assume is her boyfriend.

He has his own problems as the second half of my wire catches him around the ankles and leaves him falling onto his chest on the road. Wires connect and wind until they meet and fuse, again. The excess wire unwinds, leaving a solid pair of loops connecting the girl's wrists and the guy's ankles.

Then the excess wire repeats the same move, connecting the boys wrists with the girl's ankles, leaving them back to back in an awkward looking 96. I felt a 69 would be considered sexual harassment.

I called the incident in on my radio, shifted them onto the curb and generally made sure the burning car didn't cause any further damage by moving it out onto the road, away from anything flammable while sealing the gas tank securely to ensure there would absolutely not be an explosion followed by a rolling, burning tire. It's too much of a trope to ignore.

Any excess wire returns to me, which it turns out is most of it. I only lost about two foot as cuffs. More than four metres left. I like this trick. Makes a good way to control normal people with minimal fuss.

The pair attempted to squirm away like a weird caterpillar as the sound of police and fire brigade became obvious.

I floated lower, to be in the way.

I held the bridge of my nose in response to their stupidity, shaking my head.

"Just give up already. You morons danced in front of a car you lit on fire. Whatever happens, you're going to see a jail cell." I announced, surprising them.

"You!" The boy shouted angrily.

"Who is it?!" The girl asked, unable to turn her head to look.

"Bubbleboy!" The boy spat out. "Fascist tool!"

"Oh my God, I love him! Can I have your autograph, Bubbleboy?!" She shouted out in excitement.

"I don't give autographs to felons." I responded.

"Not fair! Come on, I'll do anything you want…?" She asked, with a sultry tone.

"Are you propositioning a minor? I'm adding that to your charges." I responded. I get enough teasing of that sort I can't morally or legally accept at home. I won't take that from random criminals too!

The police arrived in a timely fashion and the pair exchanged my wire cuffs for the real thing quickly. It didn't stop the girl from continuing her aggressive and suggestive advances… up until she was shoved into the police car.

Only, the responding officers were female and proceeded to fawn all over me, insisting on paperwork that they needed to help me fill out. Thus I spent the following ten minutes in their car, being swapped from one lap to the other as they 'checked' my statement. And cooed over how 'cool' and 'cute' I was.

Ugh… when I finally escaped I turned toward home, flying low looking for a snack bar of some kind for a drink before returning. Instead I found an armed robbery… it doesn't rain, it pours.

The man was using a knife to stab the attendant as I entered, I had a good view of everything. Looked like a junkie desperate for a fix.

Wire leapt around the lanky, pale drug abuser's throat and yanked him back from the cashier. The wound itself looked shallow, the cashier a portly guy who got a knife in the gut. It didn't cut deep enough to kill. I took a brief scan of the makeup of the steak knife, it was blunt. Very blunt.

I floated inside, as the druggie struggled, clawing at the wire holding him still by the neck.

I split off a thread of wire and in a smooth motion sutured the wound shut.

"I'm fairly sure it was too shallow to have perforated your intestines. I'd recommend calling for an ambulance to check the seriousness and ask the doctor for a tetanus shot. That knife is rusty as hell." I told the older, wounded man. "Also please ring the police."

I turned back to the robber. "Let me go, you little bitch!" He roared.

I laughed. Too funny. Trying to intimidate me? Me?!

More loops of wire caught his arms and brought them outstretched at his sides. In his wrist and inner elbow were numerous needle track marks.

"Bitch? I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You were going to tell me your dealer's location, in exchange I was going to make sure you don't resist arrest and accidentally break your arms." I responded, voice dripping venom. I glanced around, security cameras aren't very common and very expensive right now. Seems there isn't one in this store. And the victim is in the back making the call.

"You wouldn't! You're Bubblebutt, a soft little pissant..." The Scum began screaming a moment later as I snapped his right arm.

The victim poked his head out of the backroom in apprehension.

"No problem, the robber attempted to throw his knife at me. I had to break his arm." I told him. He nodded, as the knife in question hovered in front of my face, like it was actual evidence of wrongdoing. He actually dropped it when I pulled him away. But theatrics are important for this line of work.

"You…" The Drug Addict said, between gasps.

"Me." I responded, grinning like the devil I knew… my father. "So, you were saying? Your dealer. I want details… and in return you get to remain able to wipe your ass tomorrow in jail. Or not."

"… fine. I give up." The Drug Addict finally admitted. He then gave me details.

Progress!