He didn't even see either of the two people moving to stop her. But he had been distracted with climbing and trying to get a connection. Did he just miss an attack?
A crackling sound suddenly erupted in his ear, bringing him back with a jolt that almost sent him tumbling off the building. Only his slime tendrils, still stuck to the crumbling brick wall, kept him from falling.
Faint static poured through the headset as Mateo struggled to decipher the voices. It sounded like... panting? In the background he could hear yells and crashes. Were Henrik and Akira in trouble too?
Mateo shot more tendrils upward to reach the top of the building where he could get a better view of what was happening to Alex, and maybe strengthen the radio connection.
"Henrik, Akira, can you hear me?" He whisper-yelled into the connector. "We need backup near the Cemetery. You can find our location with the trackers."
No response. Only static, and the growing sounds of yells and shrieks. It sounded like they had their own hands full, and Mateo couldn't go rushing to their side because of the mess Alex had gotten herself into.
He finally reached the rooftop, careful not to let the obviously-not-allies see or hear him. Below, the woman in the chrome tech suit was already walking toward Alex's motionless form, picking her up like dead weight. Alex didn't move a muscle in her grasp.
Mateo's heart sank. Was she really dead? No. He had to believe Alex was too tough to die so easily. With Reeves too far away and Henrik and Akira occupied with their own danger, Mateo was alone.
He had to save Alex.
The two strangers finished their conversation and began walking away, the woman carrying Alex over her shoulder while the man in the white coat led the way deeper into the ruins. Mateo had preserved his element of surprise—now was his time to use it before it was too late.
He shot two tendrils from his palms, anchoring them deep into the rooftop. Jumping backward and retracting some slime into his skin, the tension in the tendrils grew tremendously. By secreting fluid from his feet to the ground, he anchored his lower body, keeping the organic cables taut. He crouched forward like a cat ready to pounce, continually adjusting his position until he had aligned with where the man in the white coat would be in the next five seconds.
"More than enough time," he whispered as he prepared to use his signature move.
Slingshot.
He released the slime from his feet. The tension from the tendrils snapped forward, slinging him through the air like a stone from a catapult.
The white coat's head swiveled back at the whooshing sound of Mateo cutting through the air.
But that won't matter, Mateo thought as the distance between them shrunk rapidly. He was already moving fast enough that he was sure they wouldn't be able to react properly before he hit.
Or so he thought.
While absorbing the intense g-forces from his sudden acceleration, he could clearly see the man's eyes—calm, calculating, and locked directly onto his own. As Mateo raised his arm to deliver a hydraulic punch that would neutralize the threat quickly, his muscles suddenly failed him.
Mid-flight, he suddenly couldn't control his arm anymore. Or the rest of his body. He was still hurtling forward, and before he could even comprehend what was happening, a flash of lightning erupted from his left.
A literal bolt of electricity shot toward him. Before he could react, the crackling energy slammed into his midsection.
The electrical force neutralized his forward momentum, sending him crashing into the dusty, debris-filled ground.
"Why are these rookies picking fights with us?" the woman said, planting her armored boot on Mateo's cheek and grinding his face against the concrete through his mask. "They get pushed through the Atlas Academy meat grinder and think they're pro heroes already?"
Mateo tried to move, but all his limbs remained completely paralyzed. When the woman saw the defiance burning in Mateo's eyes through his visor, she pressed down harder with her foot. The air crackled, smelling faintly of ozone and burning fabric as thousands of electrical volts coursed down from her leg.
Mateo convulsed from the sudden electrical discharge, his limbs flailing wildly from the current flowing through muscles he still couldn't control. The mysterious paralysis remained even as electricity forced his body to spasm.
A second later it stopped, steam rising from his costume as the final sparks died out.
"You aren't supposed to kill the specimens," the man in the white coat said, his tone completely indifferent.
"Don't worry, this one's tougher than he looks." She grabbed Mateo by the horn on the side of his visor, hauling him upright. Yes, Mateo was still alive. His slime had activated automatically when his body failed—a survival instinct that had released protective layers when it sensed mortal danger. The woman's casual mention of "specimens" only validated his assumption that the shock had been meant to kill. His slime had absorbed most of the electrical current, with only a fraction actually reaching his nervous system. Still, his nerve endings screamed in agony. The protective slime was scalding against his skin, and being unable to move only made it worse. He was certain this paralysis was the man's quirk. But how was he doing it? Mateo needed to understand the mechanism if he had any hope of escape.
"We still need them breathing if we want to extract their quirks for the King. You can carry both of them, right?"
"Leaving all the work to the lady. Chivalry truly is dead." The woman slung Alex over her shoulder and began dragging Mateo across the bumpy ground by his horn.
He was still unable to lift a finger. Still unable to do anything in this precarious situation. Was his career as a hero going to end before it even began?
Because of how she was dragging him, he could only see what lay ahead. He couldn't see Alex's condition on the woman's shoulder—couldn't hear a sound from her. He could only hope she was paralyzed like him and that was why she wasn't moving.
The man in the white coat continued walking deeper into the ruins, leading them toward some unknown destination. What did fate have in store for Mateo Mendoza?
As his mind scrambled for answers, something appeared at the edge of his vision.
A bright-green butterfly with black and pink spots, about the size of a dollar coin, fluttered past with noticeable urgency before rising toward the woman carrying them.
"Oh, hey there," she said, pausing to observe the butterfly. Then her eyes narrowed as she scanned the ruined cityscape around them. The place was a desolate wasteland of isolated or destroyed buildings. Not a single shred of life remained in this sector. No greenery. No flowers.
No reason there should be a butterfly here.
Her eyes widened as realization hit. The butterfly had already landed on her exposed neck, and in a single fluid moment, it transformed. Its delicate wings dissolved as the butterfly's head shifted from a tiny black dot with antennae into something far more dangerous—the compact, deadly form of a blue-ringed octopus, its rings pulsing with warning colors as it latched onto her throat.
Her hands shot up like lightning, but the creature had already detached and transformed again—this time into a sparrow that darted away from her grasp. The damage was done.
The woman let out a strangled cry as she suddenly collapsed, her limbs going completely rigid. Mateo and Alex tumbled to the ground as her grip failed.
"What the hell?" The man in the white coat spun around, his attention snapping between his fallen partner and his still-paralyzed captives.
Mateo knew the answer all too well, even as he lay helpless on the debris-strewn ground.
Backup had arrived.