Besides, maybe it isn't really about the costume. I can't help but think, as I approach the chase, that the costume isn't who I am. Shatterforce isn't really me. Certainly, he never called me by that name, just the overly polite "Ms. Park."
No. It's not the costume, nor the name. Right now, it's him and me. That's all that matters.
That's all that matters, I think grimly as I barrel straight for his van. I pass the police helicopter, probably flashing my cotton-clad rear at their camera, and overtake the police cars as I drop in low.
"Nefarious," I mutter to myself, and reach for a hold on the van's roof.
I wake up and my head is full of felt. Angry felt.
I'm in my underwear. I'm staring at the sky, so blue with the occasional white cloud scudding by, and can feel grass crunching under my bare legs. I'm in my underwear...
Why am I in my underwear? More importantly, why am I in my underwear in public?
My heart seizes up and part of the fog over my thoughts retreats with that panicked realization. Oh dear sweet and merciless God, I'm somewhere outside in my underwear, and I don't know where I am.
I'm by the road. Okay, I'm in one of those narrow little greenswards to the side of a city street, in one of those odd little areas of Grey that's more like a small-town city strip instead of the midst of a bustling city. And anyone driving by can get a look at my underwear.
Nobody's even stopped yet, though some people are slowing down to get a look. Perverts. I sit up, crossing my legs, while I try to think, but something's...
The gas. My memory's fuzzy, but I remember seeing Nefarious toss me a canister that started to belch blue smoke. It's the last thing I can recall. I must have only gotten a tiny whiff of it, or else it's not very potent stuff, because there were cops and other emergency services everywhere around here. If I was lying here for very long at all, at least one of them would have stopped to check on me. Someone would have, right? Right?
Great. Kitty Genovese all over again.