Windstorm

The day has finally arrived. Sullivan Jones watches the horizon from the inside of his home, his face as stony and expressionless as ever, but the constant drumming of his fingers against the hard wood of his kitchen table belying his anxiety. He watches as a small, two-seater dune buggy roars up in the distance, kicking up billowing clouds of sand and dust in its wake.

The Ryker Brothers have finally arrived. He had been anticipating this day for over three years now. He had trained hard, he had worked himself to the bone to become stronger than he once was. His control over his power had become sharper, his techniques had become more fleshed out and varied, his natural strength had been trained to the point of rivaling that of a wild vollick, and he was confident that he had perfected his durability thanks to his polished Flash Blaze technique, the one that allowed him to tank bullets without so much as a scratch and enhance his strength and speed exponentially.

In short, while he had once been nothing more than a weak pawn in these bandits’ grasp, he was now more powerful than they could ever imagine, powerful enough to finally get his revenge. He continues watching the horizon, his fingers drumming even faster as the Rykers’ buggy draws ever nearer. His anxiety and anticipation threatens to leak out through his powerful psyche, causing brief flashes of green energy to spark across his vision before Sullivan puts a firm clamp on his mind and body, stilling his fingers and quieting his mind. He draws his fingers together into a fist, clenching his hand together so tightly that his dark skin turns pale. He clenches his jaw, forcing calm breaths to flow through his nose.

Soon. He tells himself, looking once more at the old photo of his family. A brief pang of guilt and sorrow flashes through his mind as he stares intently at the old image. If only his younger self knew what was coming for him. He seems so innocent, so naive, so…small. The years hadn’t been kind to him, or to his family. His parents died not long after that photo was taken, and his sister, May…

I won’t let you down, Pa, Sullivan promises himself and his dead father as he rises from his seat. It strikes him just how similar he looks to his old man now: the same chiseled musculature, the same short beard, the same weary determination in his eyes. May… I’m sorry. I’ll make this right.

With that, he exits his old home, gently closing the door behind him, as if he would somehow wake his family if he was too loud. He makes his way down to the center of Twin Peaks Village, to the old clock tower where the rest of the Ryker Gang were gathering. As he makes his way to the tower, Sullivan makes a noted effort to avoid eye contact with anyone, not out of shame, but out of determination. He can’t let anyone distract him now. He joins the lineup of goons as they all wait for their bosses’ arrival.

“My, my. Someone’s eager today,” Lyons’ taunting voice calls from Sullivan’s left as he creeps into the lineup himself. “I’ll bet you’ve been counting the days till now, eh? What’s it been, now? Three years, give or take?”

“Three years, seventy-two days,” Sullivan corrects, his voice empty of all emotion. “But who wouldn’t be counting? After all, it’s not every day the bosses make a visit.”

“True. It’s also not every day you find yourself free of pests to take care of,” Lyons remarks, trying and failing to contain the mischief in his voice. “And unfortunately for you, today is not that day. Scouts have reported intruders nearing the north-east border. Neutralize them.”

Sullivan barely flinches in reaction to this news, but it’s more than enough to draw a wide grin on Lyons’ strange little face. “Right now?” He asks, keeping his tone neutral and his face blank.

Lyons nods, a sinister glee shining in his eyes. “You heard me. Neutralize them as soon as possible, please. We wouldn’t want trespassers invading our territory on the day the bosses show, eh? Oh, but don’t make too much of a scene of it. Take a buggy.”

Sullivan looks down to his left, meeting Lyons’ crafty gaze. He knew. He had to know what Sullivan was planning. And what’s worse, he waited until right before Sullivan could get his revenge to spring this on him. If he wasn’t infuriated by this wrench in his plans, Sullivan would probably be impressed by the little man’s cleverness. “I can move faster than a buggy,” he points out quietly, trying to salvage the situation. “I could finish the job and be back before anyone even knows.”

“Yes, you’re fast, but you’re also loud. And besides,” Lyons finally breaks his quiet tone and lets out a barely contained cackle. “We wouldn’t want you tiring yourself out. The intruders are well away, and I’d hate to ask you to run all that way and back.” Lyons cackles once more before shooing Sullivan away with a flick of his wrist. “Go on, now. Don’t want to upset the bosses.”

Sullivan stands there, his back rigid and his jaw clenched. He weighs his options in his head, trying to gauge what the best response would be. He could pounce now, rush up and challenge the Rykers before they even see him coming, but Lyons is standing right there. No way would he let Sullivan go anywhere near his masters without intervening, let alone all the other goons who would be in his way. He’d hoped to catch the Rykers alone, while they were in the clock tower, but that option’s clearly out. He could simply drive off, wait a few moments, then sneak back in when no one’s looking, but again, he suspects that Lyons already has that option covered. No doubt he has plenty of scouts scattered everywhere, watching the perimeter of the town for any signs of trouble. They’d alert him before Sullivan got a chance to do anything.

As much as it pains him to say it, Lyons has won this round. Sullivan lets out a gruff “hmph” and nods before breaking rank and making his way to the garage where the bandits store their equipment and vehicles, making sure to crash his wide shoulders against the smaller man as he turns, much to Lyons’ giddy pleasure.

Sullivan marches through the village square and into the garage, quickly selecting then starting up a buggy before bolting out as fast as he can manage, a satisfied grin creeping onto his face as he imagines Lyons’ annoyance at the loud roaring of an engine interrupting the Ryker’s arrival. He tears out of Twin Peaks at full speed, blasting through the rocky terrain towards the northeastern border, murderous intent sprawled all over his eyes and face. He intends to find these intruders, eliminate them, then rush back to Twin Peaks as soon as possible. Hopefully, this slight detour won’t ruin his shot at revenge.

It better not… Sullivan muses hatefully, pressing harder on the accelerator and rocketing towards this little distraction.

***

“Could we maybe slow down a bit?” Peter begs from the second row of their own dune buggy, not for the first time in these past several days. He clenches the doorframe on his right so tightly that he feels like he might crush it with his fingers.

Joel lets out a loud chuckle, trying to be heard against the roaring wind. “Sorry, P.K.! Maria’s at the wheel right now. You know how she gets!” The buggy jostles against a sudden rock in the sand, sending everyone and everything on the glistening chrome vehicle into a brief free fall before they all crash back down to the ground, not losing an inch of speed. “Still, maybe you could treat this thing a bit better? It’s not in the best shape,” Joel admonishes his friend, pulling his mechanic’s goggles down over his eyes as a last-second precaution.

“Sorry, guys, but I’m not losing this feeling!” Maria shouts against the wind. She had been guiding the trio through the vast open deserts of the Western Flats for days now, tracking down the Harbinger’s lingering presence as she makes her own way through the planet. Now, however, those lingering remains of her psyche are starting to fade away, and Maria is determined to not lose track of their target. The fact that the old buggy isn’t in the best shape doesn’t help matters much, either, with all the constant small repairs and fuel stops they’ve had to make.

As if by clockwork, Joel notices the small fuel gauge near the steering wheel approaching the red line. “We need to stop for some fuel—” He shouts, his voice cut off as Maria drives over yet another stone, this time with a sickening metallic crack of a wheel rim. “And a fresh tire…”

“Right… Sorry, Joel,” Maria mumbles in embarrassment. She slows the old vehicle to a stop and the trio hop out, ready to get to work once again.

Joel makes his way to the tire in question and discovers that the damage isn’t as bad as he had feared. “Oh, this ain’t so bad. Lucky you, I just need to patch this crack a bit. P.K., can you give me a hand?”

Peter steps out of the buggy and makes his way to his friend, his expression making it clear he’s none too eager to help out. “I don’t know, Joel. This barely worked last time, remember? I nearly blew the whole buggy to pieces.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the closest thing to a blow torch I have out here. I knew I’d forgotten something…” Joel’s voice drifts off as he examines the extent of the damage to the rim. “Luckily for you, you’re not gonna be working near anything too important. I’ll take the wheel off and you can work your magic. Maria! You’re on refueling duty!” He calls out as he grabs a wrench and a jack from his stored toolbox and gets to work.

“Already on it!” Maria calls back from the other side of the buggy. She hefts up a large container of questionable content with her telekinesis and begins pouring the viscous, golden fuel into the vehicle. “This is our last full jug, by the way. We’re gonna need to find either a village or some plants out here to get more fuel.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Joel replies with a grunt as he finally wrenches the last lug nut off of the tire and sends it rolling towards Peter, who looks down at it with worry.

“Here goes…” Peter mutters to himself as he kneels down, puts the tire between his knees to stabilize it, and starts working. He ignites a small spark of psychic energy on the tip of two of his fingers and places them just above the crack in the metal, allowing the energy to sizzle and crackle and fuse the broken seam together. His face furrows in concentration as he does his absolute best to not let the energy flowing between his fingers get any stronger than it is now, a feat that is much more difficult than it seems.

Peter keeps his hand steady, his fingers dead straight, and his mind completely blank as he works, allowing himself to simply graze against the tire as gently as he can until the damage has been fully repaired. The process is relatively simple and should have been over quickly, but Peter is determined not to rush anything, for fear of outright destroying the tire, and possibly anything else nearby. When the last of the torn metal is welded shut, Peter clamps down hard on his psyche, causing the flickering blue-and-purple spark on his fingertips to wink out of existence completely. Peter sinks back onto his elbows and breathes out a sigh of relief as he kicks the wheel back to Joel. “Done,” he says simply, feeling strangely exhausted for having not done all that much.

Joel examines the sealed crack with a smile. “Perfect. I knew you could handle it,” he says as he begins securing it back onto the buggy.

“That makes one of us,” Peter groans softly, massaging his hand to work out the sudden soreness that has developed in his fingers.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, Peter. You’ve got much more control than you give yourself credit for,” Maria says encouragingly as she finishes fueling their vehicle. She places the empty fuel jug with the others and begins tying down their supplies once again when she hears a strange chittering sound coming from beneath the buggy. “Anyone else hear that?”

As Joel finishes tightening the last lug nut, he peers under the frame of the buggy, looking for whatever had made that sound. “I don’t see anything…” He mutters right as a small rodent-like creature with a pointed horn and bushy, cream-colored fur bolts out from the chassis with something metallic clenched in its jaws. “Scorching winds, it’s a nevin!” Joel exclaims, leaping out from under the buggy and pulling his pistol out on the small creature.

Before he gets a chance to fire, however, Maria snags it with her telekinesis and pulls it to herself. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy. It’s just a little guy,” she says as she grabs the metallic part out of its mouth and sets it down.

“That thing is a demon,” Joel says, waving his pistol at the small nevin. The little creature’s nose twitches in fear, its empty black eyes glistening in the bright sunlight.

“Oh you’re over exaggerating,” Maria says with a carefree tone as she gently rests the nevin back onto the sand. “Now go ahead, run along, little guy.” The nevin stares at its one-time captors and scurries off, making small chittering noises and it runs.

“Great, now it’s gonna go get its friends and bring them over for a party,” Joel groans as he begins to reattach the piece that the nevin had stolen. “Do either of you know what a nevin does? They love shiny things, and this buggy is probably the biggest shiny thing they can find out here. If we aren’t careful, they’ll come back and tear this thing to bits.”

“You’re just being dramatic,” Maria replies casually as she hops back into the buggy.

“I swear to you, I am not,” Joel says as he finishes his work and climbs back out from underneath their vehicle.

Peter lets out a casual chuckle and starts making his way into the buggy as well. “Well, luckily for us, there was just the one, right?” As if on cue, a second chittering sound comes from behind him. Peter whips around to see another nevin gnawing away on the exhaust pipe. “Hey, get off that!” He says, shooing the animal away with a hand.

Shortly after, a third nevin pops its head up from under the hood, revealing a set of flimsy tubes in its mouth. “Stop them!” Joel exclaims, leaping out of the driver’s seat and drawing his pistol. He fires at the one holding the tubes but misses the shot, drawing a mischievous sounding chitter from the nevin before it bolts away.

The nevin by the exhaust pipe dodges as Peter attempts to grab it by the scruff of its neck and darts under the buggy. Peter climbs down to follow it, only to discover a whopping total of five different nevins all munching away at the underbelly of the machine. “They’re everywhere,” he says, trying and failing to grab onto a fleeing nevin’s tail.

Maria hops out of her own seat and latches onto one of the rodents with her telekinesis, forcing it to drop the odd metal object it was carrying before shoving it away. She turns her attention to another nevin when she hears chittering coming from behind her. She turns around to see that one of the little beasts had managed to disconnect the fuel line, and the buggy was leaking fuel fast. With lightning reflexes, Maria grabs the fuel line with her mind and begins to reattach it, but she’s unfamiliar with how the mechanism is supposed to work. “Uh, Joel? I need a hand here.”

“Bit busy at the moment!” Joel calls back as he wrestles bolts from the steering wheel away from a particularly stubborn nevin. “Peter?”

“They’re stealing tools, now!” Peter exclaims as he tears a wrench away from a pair of nevins, then guffaws as more suddenly appear in a united attempt to steal Maria’s steel orb. “That’s probably too big for you, fellas,” he says, brushing the creatures aside and replacing the wrench in the toolbox before locking it back up.

Joel finally manages to grab the bolts away from the nevin he was fighting and kicks it away in frustration. “Alright, that’s it!” He says, storming towards the trunk and grabbing what looks like a small explosive from a hidden compartment. “Cover your ears!” He shouts as he arms and tosses the device into the air. Not a second later, the charge detonates, sending a resounding crash of explosive sound ripping through the otherwise silent desert.

All at once, the nevins begin to flee the scene, terrified of the unexpected crash. They drop all of the loot they had been carrying—a surprisingly large amount considering their small size—and bolt away from the buggy at top speed. Joel lets out a victorious laugh and rubs his ringing eardrums in a futile effort to soothe them.

“And that’s how you handle that,” he says, a little too loudly. “You still need a hand back there, Maria?”

“Yes, please,” she replies, her regular voice just slightly too quiet for Joel to pick up on right away.

“So? What did I tell you? Demons,” Joel says cockily as he kneels down by his friend and begins securing the fuel line back into its proper spot.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha. They’re demons, alright,” Maria acquiesces, her voice a little bitter

“I’ll help, too,” Peter says, grabbing some of the loose bolts and fasteners and doing his best to secure them where they belong. When Joel finishes up with the fuel line, he doubles back and catches any mistakes Peter had made in his work, chuckling to himself at just how many misses his friend had.

Just as the trio is about to start piecing the more severe damage back together, a strange roaring sound echoes from seemingly everywhere, growing louder by the second. “What the heck is that?” Maria asks, peering around in an attempt to locate the source of the strange noise.

The others also start scanning the area to locate where the noise is coming from, only for it to suddenly stop, leaving a strange sort of empty hollowness in the air. “It sounded like an engine,” Joel says, shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight above and straining to see where whatever machine the engine belonged to had stopped. After a brief moment, he locates a second buggy far away, at least a hundred yards or more, with a single passenger exiting from what he can tell. “Who’s—?”

Before Joel can finish his question, he is lying flat on his back, all the wind knocked out of him, only a brief flash of green giving any evidence he was attacked. Peter and Maria let out strangled gasps before they too are taken by two rapid strikes, one to Maria’s gut, and another to Peter’s uninjured shoulder as he attempts to deflect an incoming blow. Maria collapses to one knee, barely able to let out so much as a soft groan of pain, while Peter whips around, hoping to find their assailant before he returns.

Peter barely notices the flash of green before it strikes him again. He prepares a psion orb in both hands, charging them as much as he dares, before hurling them towards his foe, who simply charges right into them, unable to react fast enough to dodge the explosive spheres of psychic energy. While he doesn’t seem too damaged, he is sent far off course by the explosions, careening wide from his intended target.

A billowing cloud of sand blows past their assailant, revealing Sullivan Jones’ imposing physique and stoic face. “Is that all?” Sullivan asks, his voice cool and collected, as if he doesn’t even notice the flickering blue-and-purple smoke that is still billowing off of his body.

In response to his question, Maria’s heavy metal sphere rockets towards his face at blistering speed. Sullivan barely manages to dodge Maria’s wild assault, but she simply pulls the orb back, causing it to collide with his back with a dull metallic clang. She continues her onslaught mercilessly, rising to her feet and thrashing her arm left and right, forwards and back, sending her orb crashing into Sullivan’s flaming green psychic armor over and over again, before she finally pulls the orb back and thrusts it forwards for one final shot to his face.

Sullivan simply catches the attack with one hand, then scoffs and shoves the orb aside. He cracks his knuckles and leans forward, preparing for another strike of his own, when several bullets begin to collide with his torso and head, pinging off of his protective energy field as if they were made of rubber. He straightens himself up and casually turns to face Joel, his face bland and expressionless.

“Oh, god…” Joel says under his breath, inching away from the large man ahead of him.

Sullivan doesn’t give Joel another second to move. He rockets toward the smaller man with blinding speed, grabbing him by the face and chucking him head-first through the buggy’s windscreen before whipping around to deal with Peter and Maria. Peter fires several psion orbs at Sullivan, panic rising in his mind at his assailant deftly bobs and weaves between his attacks, drawing ever closer with each miss. After throwing one final, useless projectile, Sullivan is within inches of Peter’s face, his fist cocked back and ready to strike, when he is suddenly blasted high into the air, his legs enveloped in shimmering golden light.

“Move!” Maria shouts, readying a massive, swirling storm of sand behind her with her telekinesis, waiting for Peter to get out of the way. Peter bolts behind his friend just in time to let her blast Sullivan with the full cloud of dust and grit, swirling it around him and effectively blinding him.

While he is distracted, Peter readies a powerful psion orb, gathering both of his hands together, immensely powerful tendrils of purple psychic energy leaping between his fingers and coalescing into a single, slightly unstable orb of power. He is just about to launch the projectile when Sullivan suddenly comes roaring out of the sandstorm at full speed, two massive, green, psychic projections of fists readied behind him, prepared to strike. Peter lets out a frightened scream at the sudden attack and throws his orb wildly. Sullivan bats the orb away with one of his psychic fists, barely even slowing down in his effort. Just a second before the massive fist makes contact with Peter’s body, Maria shoves Sullivan away with all of her might, trapping him in golden light and then hurling him into the air.

While midair, Sullivan whirls around, using his psychic fists to latch into the ground and pull himself back to the sand. He stands up tall and lets out a soft growl, staring his targets dead in the eye. “Not bad,” he grunts. He readies his whole body, psychic projections included, for another round of attack, but he doesn’t notice as a third assailant sneaks up behind him, holding a strange device in his off hand.

Striking like a serpent, Joel jabs the Psycho Scrambler’s prongs into the base of Sullivan’s spine and triggers it, causing a strong jolt of crackling blue-and-yellow electricity to envelop the large man. Sullivan tenses up as the strong surge of energy courses through his body, paralyzing him and numbing his psyche, forcing his green psychic armor and psychic constructs to evaporate like a mirage. Sullivan lets out a strangled cry and collapses to the ground, convulsing slightly as the last remnants of the Scrambler’s energy makes its way through his body.

Joel looks down at the device in his hand with a strange mixture of pride, terror, and disgust. “Uh, sorry about that. I didn’t think that would…uh…” He looks down at Sullivan’s crumpled body and takes a brief step back as some lingering tendrils of smoke rise up from a few burn spots on his hunter green shirt. “Do that,” he finishes.

“Dang… Gideon doesn’t mess around,” Peter mutters. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I… I think so,” Joel replies, nudging Sullivan in the arm. Sullivan lets out a soft groan in response, mumbling something under his breath.

“He seems okay,” Maria offers, kneeling beside the large man.

“What… What happened…?” Sullivan mumbles, slowly regathering himself and starting to pick himself back up, causing the other three to jolt back, preparing for another confrontation.

“Woah, woah, take it easy, big guy. You’re in no shape to fight right now,” Peter says calmly, his hands outstretched in a sign of peace.

As if to prove it to himself, Sullivan attempts to charge his fist with psychic energy, and finds he can’t. “What did you…? How long does this last?” He demands, his previously unflappable calm starting to crack.

“I’m not entirely sure. Shouldn’t be too long. I think,” Joel says, mumbling that last part while he examines the Psycho Scrambler.

“For your sakes,” Sullivan begins, picking himself back up slowly and steadily, “You’d better hope you’re wrong.” He pounces in an instant, his bare fists making contact with Joel’s face, a dull crack signaling a broken nose. Joel collapses in pain, screaming incoherently. Sullivan then turns to strike at Peter, but Maria simply shoves him back down with her telekinesis, forcing him to lie flat on his stomach.

“Stay down!” She orders, shoving him down harder as he struggles to stand back up.

“Just take it easy! We don’t wanna hurt you,” Peter says, still trying to resolve the issue as peacefully as he can. “We just need to get through this swatch of desert, and we’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re all trespassing,” Sullivan grinds out through a mouthful of sand. “This whole area belongs to the Ryker Brothers. And besides…” He can feel his psyche regaining strength, and in an instant, it blazes back to life. He summons as much strength as he can muster and shoves against Maria’s psychic grip with his own psychically enhanced strength, breaking free of his restraints and whirling around to grab Maria by the throat all in one instant. “You’re slowing me down.”

Joel begins to activate the Psycho Scrambler, but Sullivan is already on top of that, using one of his fist constructs to put Joel in a crushingly powerful vice grip, preventing him from using his strange weapon. Joel tries to wriggle free, but Sullivan simply tightens his grip on both Joel and Maria. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” Sullivan says simply, eyeing Peter specifically, warning him not to try anything heroic.

Peter stops dead in his tracks, dropping the psychic power he had been charging between his fingers. “Listen, we just need to make it through this area, okay? We don’t know of any Rider Brothers or anything like that. We didn’t know we were trespassing. Just let us go, and we’ll be on our way.”

Sullivan seems to ponder that for a moment. He examines the trio of intruders, sizing up the battle they had just been in. He’s genuinely surprised they had all managed to last as long as they have, and considering that Peter is still loose and free to attack at any moment, it’s safe to say the fight has barely ended in a draw. With a small smirk, Sullivan drops Joel and Maria, both of whom start coughing and wheezing in pain, gasping for breath. “Alright. I’ll let you go. But I need something in return.”

“You… You want a favor from us?” Joel demands, rubbing his left side in pain, desperately hoping Sullivan hadn’t broken something. “Are you scuffing insane?”

“Yeah…” Maria lets out a hacking cough as she staggers to her feet. “I’d rather just scramble him right now and be done with it.”

“Hold on, hold on, let’s at least hear him out,” Peter says diplomatically, desperate to not start another fight.

“Thank you,” Sullivan intones casually. “It’s a simple request. I just need your help taking out the Ryker Brothers.”

“You… I thought you worked for them?” Peter asks, confused.

“It’s…complicated,” Sullivan replies, not wanting to explain too deeply. “Let’s just say they took something important from me, and I need justice.”

“So…what? You want us to help you fight some bandits? Why don’t you do it?” Maria says, her tone showing just how fed up she is with Sullivan by now.

“I already tried once before. That’s how I lost everything in the first place,” Sullivan explains, working out a knot that has suddenly formed in his throat. “They invaded my home town three years ago, and I’ve been trying to get my revenge ever since. They’ve returned today, and I plan to take them out while I can. I believe I’m strong enough to defeat them now, but if I’m not, then I’d like to have someone on my side to cover for my failings.”

“And you want the people you just tried to kill to do it,” Joel says sarcastically. “Yeah, sorry, pal, but this seems like your problem, not ours.” He makes his way over to their buggy, examining the extent of the damage it had taken during both the nevin encounter and their battle with Sullivan. “Ah, scorching winds! This is gonna take hours to fix!”

“I have a buggy of my own. I can tie yours to mine and tow it into town,” Sullivan says, capitalizing on the trio’s sudden new misfortune. “Once the Rykers are taken care of, you’ll have all the time, material, and manpower you need to fix your buggy up and be on your way.”

“You…” Joel lets out an aggravated sigh. “Know what? Why the heck not? It’s better than trying to do work in the middle of these blasted wastes.” Joel starts placing the various bits of broken or outright destroyed machinery onto the passenger seats, trying his best to keep the parts somewhat organized. “But after we get this all fixed, that’s the end of it, understood?”

“Understood,” Sullivan replies, nodding his thanks and stretching a hand out to Peter as a sign of peace. “The name’s Sullivan. Sullivan Jones.”

Peter takes his outstretched hand and shakes it firmly, trying to ignore the larger man’s painfully tight grasp. “I’m Peter. That’s Joel, and this is Maria.”

Maria waves at Sullivan dismissively, still not thrilled at this sudden alliance. “So tell me, Sully, what exactly are we going up against, here?”

Something about what Maria just said seems to strike a nerve within Sullivan. He flinches slightly at the nickname, as if he had been punched in the gut, but he manages to brush it off without much more fuss. “The Rykers have about two-dozen goons working for them. They’ll be surrounding the perimeter of Twin Peaks, looking for any signs of trouble. I was hoping you could maybe use that sandstorm trick on the guards.”

“I can do you one better,” Maria says, a hint of defiance in her voice even as she offers better help. Closing her eyelids slightly, she projects outwards with her mind, conjuring an illusory second image of herself standing side by side with her. Maria waves at the illusion, and the illusion smiles back and greets her amicably.

Sullivan nods in approval, glad to have a telepath on the team. Peter simply smiles at Maria’s illusory copy, while Joel doesn’t react at all, as if he didn’t even see the vision to begin with. “Excellent. You can cast some sort of invisibility illusion over us, hiding our approach,” Sullivan says, stroking his beard in thought. “That telepathy would also probably help fight against the older Ryker: Liam. He’s the smaller, scrawnier one with shock-blond hair. What he lacks in sheer power he more than makes up for with his telepathy. He’s mastered the art of inflicting imagined pain on his enemies. Last time I went against him, I could barely stand with how much pain he was pumping into my mind.”

“I think I should be able to counter that,” Maria says slowly, weighing the possibility.

“You said there were brothers, right? Who’s the other one?” Peter asks.

“Luke. He’s the younger brother, but he’s much larger than Liam. A physical powerhouse of a man, and a psychic one, as well. He has similar techniques to my own: he can enhance his strength and durability with his psyche, and he can create constructs with his mind.” As if to demonstrate, Sullivan conjures another psychic hand beside himself before allowing it to dissipate into green smoke and sparks.

“Great. So Maria can handle Liam, you can handle Luke, and Joel and I can run interference on the rest of the bandits,” Peter says amiably. “Sounds like a solid plan to me.”

“I’m warning you, this won’t be an easy fight,” Sullivan says slowly. “The Rykers may be simple bandits, but they’re incredibly deadly. If nothing else, Liam should be the primary target. His telepathy makes him the biggest threat in the battlefield. If he can get to us, we might as well already be dead.”

“That won’t be a problem for me,” Joel says, his voice coming in muffled from underneath the buggy. “God, is there anything those nevins didn’t destroy?”

“What do you mean?” Sullivan asks, eyebrow raised.

“I got telepathic immunity, or something like that,” Joel replies casually, as if he was talking about the color of his shirt. “Always have, ever since I was little. That Liam guy won’t have anything on me.” He pulls himself out from underneath the buggy, stray bits of metal in hand. He pulls out the Psycho Scrambler and motions with it to emphasize his words. “And besides, if anyone gets too rowdy, I can just use this.”

“Interesting…” Sullivan says, pondering this news. “Is he serious?”

“Yep, he ain’t lying,” Maria says, a playful smirk on her face. “Watch, I’ll prove it.” She once again reaches out with her mind and projects an image of Joel dancing erratically on the hood of the buggy, directly in front of the real one. Peter and Sullivan can see the dancing puppet just fine, both of them having to stifle a laugh as it continues its incomprehensible movements, all the while, the actual Joel has no idea what’s going on. He simply stares past the mirage as if it wasn’t there at all, continuing on in his work blissfully unaware of Maria’s little joke.

“Nice. So we’ll have three ways of combating Liam’s power,” Sullivan says, some genuine warmth entering his voice for the first time in what feels like decades. “Fantastic. Well, Maria, Peter, Joel. We’d best get moving. The sooner we head off, the quicker the Rykers fall.” With that, Sullivan turns and makes his way over to his own buggy at top speed, entering and starting the vehicle in seconds before he starts to drive it closer to the rest of the group.

“Are we sure about this?” Maria asks Peter, eyeing the other man carefully. “I mean, what if he’s lying about this whole revenge thing? What’s to stop him from just turning us in the second we arrive in his town?”

“Honestly, if he wanted us taken out, we already would be,” Peter points out. “I don’t think he’s playing us. He seems to genuinely want his revenge, for whatever these bandits did to him. My real question is if you can still sense the Harbinger anywhere.”

Maria’s eyes go wide in realization before she clamps them shut, straining to find the sense she had once been tracking. “It’s there. A little weaker than it was, but still there,” she confirms, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“Perfect. Hopefully we’ll be able to get this over with quickly,” Peter replies as Sullivan pulls up in his own buggy, a slightly smaller version than Joel’s, and colored black instead of chrome.

The group hurry to tie the two buggies together, secure all of the material within Joel’s buggy, then set off toward Twin Peaks Village at breakneck pace, ready to face down whoever or whatever waits for them in Sullivan’s home town.