Officer Ellis Richardson of Sergeant Barron's squad held his breath as O'Neil prepared to open the door. His heart was pounding, and he almost felt lightheaded.
It wasn't his first raid, of course. He'd had to participate in other arrests of suspects who were considered dangerous. But this was the most nerve-wracking.
Not only were there lieutenants present, they'd even called in reinforcements from the First Branch of the military. Eighteen squads from the Third Branch were gathered, and twelve from the First. They weren't all going in the house, of course. Most of the squads were dedicated to partitioning off the area and evacuating civilians. Several blocks had been cordoned off.
If their information was correct, Paris himself was just beyond that door. They had to arrest him and get him locked up until a trial could be conducted.
Beside him, Richardson heard Barron curse under his breath. The sergeants who'd seen the fight between Paris and Achilles two short days earlier all thought this was a bad idea. Achilles was still hospitalized and they didn't know exactly what Paris' capabilities were. He'd seemed to be toying with everyone.
Medics were on standby a block away, ready to rush in at a moment's notice. This might have been the biggest military operation Arx had ever seen.
Lieutenant Galvan gave the signal and O'Neil zapped the lock open before swinging the door open as hard as he could. Several officers marched in as one, splitting into three as they came across a fork. A flight of stairs, and what looked like the two main sections of the lower floor.
Richardson walked with them, concentrating on holding his raygun steady and staying aware of his surroundings. Tunnel vision could be costly.
The TV was on. A man was sitting on the couch watching it. Richardson quickly moved to the left, circling around so others could aim properly. About five rayguns were trained on the man's head. Barron took a few steps forward and announced them, startling the man.
"Dustin Charles, I presume? Or should we call you Paris? You're under arrest for acts of terror."
It was strange. Dustin Charles looked like any other person on Arx. And yet he was the very same Paris who'd nearly killed Achilles.
Richardson refocused himself, making sure there was no other information pertinent to the situation. Shelves of memorabilia. A worn blanket. The couch was leather. Paris' hands were empty. But he looked pissed.
Danger.
"Don't move or we will shoot," Barron said coldly. Paris just glared in response.
"You're no fun, Officer. This isn't how the game is played." He stood and held his hands in the air, eyes burning all the while.
"This isn't a game, Charles." Barron reached for his handcuffs and started to approach. Officers shifted positions as he did to keep their rayguns trained on Paris.
"You're right. It's a story. A story about me and Achilles. And nameless schmucks don't get to take down the villain of the story. Only the hero gets to do that."
"So you're aware you're a criminal?" Barron was almost at Paris.
"I prefer supervillain, Officer. And I'm going to teach a lesson to that busybody who told you who I am."
"What busybody? We're good at our jobs."
Barron was bluffing. They had gotten a phone call after the attack aired on the news, informing them that one Dustin Charles, born 2592, was acting as Paris. Richardson didn't know more than that, so how could Paris know exactly who it was?
"Please. You haven't even gotten a sniff of Phantasma yet." Paris' face twisted into a smile at the mention of her name. "And there's only two people who could identify me as Paris. One is Phantasma, who I'm certain you aren't in touch with. The other one is the seamstress who made the suit."
Wait, this guy got a normal tailor to make his outfit? When he planned on criminal activity? How did he plan to not get caught? Richardson pushed the unnecessary questions away and refocused.
"Well, you can make some more acquaintances in a nice cozy cell." Barron reached for Paris' wrist, but he dropped quickly to the floor and green mist started rising from the floor.
Several raygun shots went off, but none of them hit Paris. Three hit the TV, while the others hit either the couch or the wall. Barron reacted just as quickly, leaning down to try and cuff Paris, but the villain rolled across the floor and towards the door.
"Masks on!" Barron yelled. "Alert!"
An officer from the First Division pulled out a talkie and quickly relayed that Paris was running to the other officers. Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Richardson relaxed slightly as he quickly put on the makeshift gas mask they'd developed for this operation.
Since the properties of the gas were unknown, HQ decided it'd be best to prevent any from being inhaled at all. The masks were quickly thrown together based on a couple old blueprints and they had enough for about fifty officers.
Richardson was grateful for the foresight. He took another shot at Paris, but missed by a hair.
Damn! Were his hands shaking?
Focus, Richardson, focus!
As Paris frantically fought to get out of the house, the gas started billowing more and more. He ducked into a closet to avoid the raygun shots, looking pale. Richardson held back, giving the others ample space for their work. The entire time, the green mist kept spiraling up and out from Paris.
It was getting harder to see. The Achilles fight hadn't been anything like this. But back then, they'd had Lightning and Jumper. Now the higher-ups had decided the military could handle this on their own.
Richardson shuddered as his nose began to burn.
They couldn't handle this.
The gas masks weren't enough. He saw other officers with tears in their eyes, trying to fight what must have been a painful searing in their airways.
"Out!" Barron ordered, waving towards the door. The afflicted officers began filing out, while others took their place. Richardson helped hold the line a bit longer before following.
Outside they formed a barricade. A couple officers were fanning the gas away, hoping it would dissipate harmlessly. At least it shouldn't cause any more problems for the officers.
Richardson steadied himself again. Freaking out was never an option.
They dug in and waited for Paris to emerge from the house.
Paris huddled in the closet, terrified. How dare she! How dare she betray him!
Oh she would get it. He would make sure of it. Nobody was allowed to interfere in his battle with Achilles.
The house was no longer viable. He'd have to find somewhere else to live, somewhere that Dustin Charles had no connection to or they'd just find him again.
How did Phantasma do it?
Cold sweat poured down him, making him shiver. The poison was hanging thick in the air, thicker than he'd ever made it. So thick he could barely see.
Help, he begged silently.
But who would save a villain?
He felt worse than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He was freezing cold and shaking uncontrollably, sweat dripping down his face and body. And his stomach felt weird.
Instinct drove him and Paris stumbled out of the closet, only to lose control of his body for a moment. Vomit spurted from his mouth and onto the floor. Tears started coming, and Paris dropped to his knees, silently pleading with the universe to save him. His mouth and throat burned.
Ha. Wouldn't it be pathetic if he died here while the military waited outside? But he couldn't die. He couldn't die and he couldn't get caught.
Paris shakily got to his feet and wandered the house, looking for any other escape route. He knew there wasn't one, but the need for survival drove him beyond what his rational mind said.
As he walked through the house, he noticed a girl sitting on the floor of his house. Her messy hair was hidden under a beanie, and her sloppy sweater and jeans looked like they'd been dragged through the sewers. Her toes poked out through her worn socks and she looked up at him with hollow eyes.
"Paris?" she asked.
"What's it..." He couldn't get further. His legs gave out and he collapsed on the floor. At least he hadn't spit anything up again.
"You're in bad shape, man," she muttered. "Want some help?"
Paris rolled onto his back and stared at her. She sat on the floor, totally unaffected by the poison. He weakly gestured to it.
"How...?" The girl looked at him in confusion for a second before shrugging.
"I don't exist so the poison can't hurt me. Well, that's a simple way to say it. Here, I'll help you get out."
She stood up and left for a few moments before coming back.
"Military don't look like they're coming in. Can you turn off the gas so I can work?"
Paris shook his head weakly.
"Shit. Guess we gotta figure something else out. One sec." She sank down into the floor and out of sight. Paris wasn't coherent enough to question his eyes.
A few moments later, he heard a hissing sound from below. A light shone up. He closed his eyes and listened to the noise. And then he fell.
"Not bad if I do say so myself," the girl said, tossing a tool away. "Good thing nobody was home here. Now let's get outta here." She leaned down and picked him up, slumping him over her back.
Paris didn't respond. Or he couldn't. Was this all some weird dream? Maybe. That would make sense.
"Damn, you're heavy. And turn off the damn gas already," she grunted as she walked slowly towards the door. Paris' feet dragged on the floor behind her.
Paris fully lost consciousness as she kept muttering something about the military.
