The first bullet came streaking past him to shatter a glass window. The second bullet shattered the bottle of Asian hot sauce on the counter in the restaurant beyond the shattered window. And the third one took out an innocent bowl of fried rice. He counted himself lucky that was the only thing the bullets had taken out. 

Elliott ran. He bolted like Usain Bolt down the street and AWAY from the path of bullets. All he'd been tasked with doing was delivery. Why had this been the end result?! What the hell had he delivered to that Asian restaurant? It wasn't in his job description to ask those sorts of questions, but HOLY CRAP! The second he'd exited the building, there had been a drive by.

He took a moment to jump from street level to the first balcony of a fire escape. The ladder leading to the ground was still up. No ground pursuers would be able to follow. The car somewhere behind him would be unable to follow by the planet-destroying beauty of New York traffic. He ran up the stairs and towards the building's roof. 

Elliott really hated tests. This was what this had to be, a test. Because there is no other reason one would suddenly get shot at for delivering Chinese.

His package he had delivered had been in a Chinese to-Go box. WHAT THE HELL HAD BEEN IN THE BOX!? He didn't know. The green man had a sneaking suspicion it had been drugs, because that was one alternative explanation for why someone would shoot at him. Wrong territory, wrong thing, wrong day, wrong color of clothing (or green not-mutant-shut-up alien skin), wrong everything.

He had recently met up with a potential new client. A new boss who could give him loads of jobs. He'd delivered something in a crappy night club to them as test one of employability. That isn't a word, employability, but he didn't care. He'd shown Cybele he meant business. Two more jobs from her had predated this one, and now here was THIS ONE. The jobs had been simple drops. He hadn't even had to run very far. And no bullets. Maybe it hadn't been the package. Maybe they just hated him.

Tires screeched. Somewhere below, a metal car door slammed. None of this plexiglass and fiberglass garbage of modern cars. The car was old, he sensed. Old and sturdy. Reliable and fast. And someone had gotten out of it. Another bullet pinged one level below him, and made Elliotts ears ring.

God, for once he hoped the police actually showed up!

Barry VonFowler was your regular average usual troubleshooter. He worked for a very reputable man with a great reputation (which is why someone is reputable. Don't you check Webster's Dictionary to tell me that isn't right). In his line of work working for the reputable man for whom he worked, he was a trouble shooter. Which meant that when there was trouble, he shot it. Reputations and being reputable are two very different things. You were tricked for a moment, weren't you?

Today, his job involved aiming a silenced gun up at a green man climbing the stairs of a fire escape. The guy had some mad hops skills. Barry would have to let him know how impressed he'd been after he killed him.

Sparse of hair, with what little he had being brown and curly around the edge of the top, Barry was not a lady's man. Sure, he had his occasional luck, and his position certainly helped him score points. Women like money. They also like security. Knowing a big strong man is with them and will defend them is great for their peace of mind. Knowing a balding, middle-aged muscle for one of New Yorks up-and-coming wannabe-crime bosses is by your pillow isn't quite as good for peace of mind. But it does come with some nice monetary fringe benefits!

Barry couldn't climb the fire escape. The ladder was down. Luckily for his boss, Barry was not a hapless human like so many sheep thugs. He could climb walls like some sort of greasy spider. Which he did, starting now.

Ugh, yuck. He was following. Hey! Look! Someone had left a potted plant on the fire escape perfect for throwing at people! And what was that? A Fern? Beautiful. A potted fern sailed down to crash into a million pieces directly to the hired help's head. Momentarily, Barry was glad it wasn't a bowl of petunias. Not again.

Elliott made a running leap and turned it into a roll as he hit the ground. He hadn't been too far up, and was particularly skilled at doing this sort of thing, having done it his whole life. And for his next trick, while thuggy thug was climbing, he made his way for thuggy thug's car. It was still running. Maybe the hunted would become the hunter?

Barry shared a curse word he was quite fond of. The shattered fern pot was not entirely unappreciative. He'd left the key in the ignition, AND he still had payments on that thing. If the kid stole it, he would be hearing things from the old lady. He lacked the kid's skill at taking falls and making landings, so he did the next best thing and began climbing slowly down.

Now that Elliott was in the car, where would he drive to? He was sure he'd know in a minute! And what was that on the radio? Country. Next station, please!

The police station. That was the big joke. At least, that's what he thought, up until a second thug landed on the wind shield of the car. A spiderweb of cracks spread from the center of the impact point, outwards. A four letter word consisting of an asterisk, an at symbol, an exclamation point and a skull and crossbones exploded out of Elliott's mouth as the green alien swerved. Now they were falling from the sky? What the hell kind of operation was this!?

Winded, Barry pedaled harder on his stolen bicycle. Purple streamers streamed. He had called in backup. A favor from a little friend he liked to call The Pygmy. Able to fit in small places like crawl spaces, and gifted with a skill for blow dart guns and being nigh invulnerable to your basic car crash type impact, the Pygmy was not the kind of person one wanted to fight. Luckily, he had been in the area! Within jumping distance, too. He had hard skin and leaping skills like a flea. Pygmy Flea Mutant, yeah. That was a perfect description for the little man. With a poisonous blow dart bite.

The borrowed car stopped on a dime that happened to be in a curbside trash can. The impact caved one head light and part of the hood. Now that he was stopped, Barry would be able to gain on the kid. If the Pygmy didn't kill him first.

His antennae twitched as Elliott staggered out of the car. He slammed the driver's side door. "Uck!" What the hell was even happening today?

The little mutant bounded from out of nowhere to land in front of him like an acrobat. Elliott blinked. "Really nailed that landing. Your arms are even up like some kind of street performer. What's your name."

It would have been highly inappropriate if the Pygmy had answered him in some string of pseudo language that sounded like Pygmy or African. There was no guttural language, no tongue clicks. He replied in an off-putting deep baritone. "Yo."

Black antennae twitched yet again. "That really isn't an answer, man."

The little light-skinned flea mutant threw a peace symbol.

"Two?" Elliott pondered.

"How many pieces I tear you in," The Pygmy replied.

"Ah."

And then they fought.

So, there they were. Fighting. About a block from the nearest police station. Police would certainly soon be on the scene. It was a small miracle they hadn't already been more active in the area, what with the gun shots and the car crash. But then, a silencer does help a little with avoiding attention. Grand theft little girl's bicycle, less so.

Barry continued pedaling. He was getting pretty winded on that little pink Huffy bike.

Narrowly, Elliott avoided getting tackled by the flea. Brutally, he responded with an aimed kick to the face. Unfortunately, said kick hit air. The Pygmy was fast for a flea. Fleas are fast for fleas. The whole statement was sort of redundant.

Pygmy came in with a flurry of blows, which Elliott had expected. He moved his body a little bit in advance to evade the hits from someone with mutant speed. Then, he leaped into the air while the little man was in one place, post-punch. Pygmy's eyes rose, up up. Elliott's foot came down, down in an ax-foot strike. It wasn't really something out of any martial arts manual. It was more something he'd dreamed up on the fly. And it hurt. The blow struck the pygmy's shoulder and smooshed him into the concrete. Fleas are resilient. He didn't die. The impact still staggered him and put him on the ground. Elliott followed with a few swift kicks to the back.

"Why! Are you! Chasing me!" He punctuated every kick with a word.

From behind him, a bike bell dinged. Barry roared in what many might consider a very guttural and impossible to understand voice. "WHEREISRACHEL?"

"Come again?" Really. Elliott hadn't understood that at all.

"Where," Barry repeated, slowly. "Is Rachel?" He waited for Elliott to reply, acting calmer than he felt. As if the act of repeating the question would answer the kid's query. As if it would make perfect sense, because really, how could it not?

It did not. The green-skinned man tilted his head at the balding guy. Antennae twitched. "I'm sorry. I don't know any Rachels in New York."

"She's blonde. She can turn into a bear. And the bear and her are both about the height of my right hand."

Blink, twitch, blink. "That sounds really fricking tiny," Elliott announced slowly.

"Why yes. It does." Barry replied. "Think for a second about what you just delivered. It should come to you."

It came to him, in a nasty flash. Human trafficking? With super tiny teddy bear mutant girls in a box? Um. He suddenly was very frightened of his employer.

"I. Just delivered. A package... " He began slowly. "Are you telling me this Rachel girl was in the box?"

"Why yes," Barry's teeth were tinged yellow and bared in a sneer. "That would be one explanation as to why the Pygmy and I chased you." The only one, really. Hadn't he realized that?

Dude. "I already delivered her. I'm not sure what you want me to do..."

"Why, get her back, of course?" His tone was dangerous. Elliott was vaguely intimidated.

"No can do, bro. Bad for business, carrier going and taking their package back. But..." He hesitated.

"Yes?" Barry waited impatiently.

He hated doing this. If word got back to Cybele, her outfit would murder him. It would absolutely devastate his reputation in New York. And then he'd have to move, and find new employers and new work and it was all such a hassle, but... ugh. It was the... he almost tasted bile as he thought about it... "right thing to do." Barf. Gag. Hurl. Uck. But damn him and his crazy soul if he didn't have the bare bones of a tiny cricket conscience. "I may be able to help you, so long as you never mention I did and it never comes up again."

"Deal." Yellowed teeth went away, mouth closed grimly tight.

The trip back to the Asian place took longer than he'd thought. Good deeds often do. Barf, again. 'Good deeds'. The thought that he was doing this for free made him sick. But hell, he wasn't into human trafficking. He wasn't that into the idea of helping them steal someone from his employer, either. Cybele was a badass, as far as connections were concerned. Hell, she could have been a badass in general. That salt and pepper hair and low cut top could conceal a lot (somehow). He was still weighing the pros and cons of simply turning around and shoving a shiv in Barry's back. The Pygmy's blow dart gun was the only thing aside from a conscience that was holding him back.

The plan was simple. He would be a distraction. They would do all of the heavy lifting. He would buy food. He'd go up to the register, order food, apologize for the shots fired, and pray the cops had not shown up during the intervening minutes.

The cops had shown up during the intervening minutes. The place was surrounded by blue and red. Barry used another word for poop. The Pygmy parroted it back. Elliott turned to look at the duo. "This is getting a bit hot for my tastes. Let's see if there's an entrance around back."

"I like the sound of that," Barry chuckled. Elliott gave him a disapproving look. "I, uh, meant it doesn't attract much attention and I am all for that," Barry said wryly. "Not the other thing."

"Sometimes," The Pygmy commented. He patted Barry on the back. If looks could kill. Barry glared at him.

"Shut up."

Turning, they started around to the rear of the restaurant.

There weren't cops around the back. Thank goodness. That was a welcome piece of luck. Elliott led them to the back door, and tried it. Another piece of luck. It was unlocked. He glanced back at them. If his employer found out he was double-crossing her, things would be bad. He had no reason to trust these two people. That was food for thought.

"It's unlocked," he said. He opened the door and entered the building. Looked back. Said "Wait a minute. I'll be right back." They waited.

Outside the restaurant, the Pygmy and Barry looked at each other. There was a grimace on the Pygmy's face. "You think he's setting us up?" he asked in the deepest voice imaginable.

Barry didn't say a damned thing.

~*~

The back of the restaurant was dark. This was the delivery entrance. There had been abandoned wooden crates and things out by the trash cans. It took him a minute of walking before he reached the employee areas and the kitchens. Those were brighter, lit by overhead lights. There was some staff on-hand. He caught their attention immediately. Two men, burly and of unknown Asian origins. Or probably from Jersey. They didn't have to be from Asia to have Asian qualities. That was a ridiculous assumption.

"Hey..." He said slowly. "I delivered a package earlier... we need to talk."

They looked at each other, and loomed.

Loomed, and listened. And he talked. He told them about the guys out back. He glanced back a few times, like he was checking to see if they were still waiting patiently. Or maybe because of a guilty conscience. Because this was sort of backstabbing, and doing so for an employer even after he'd finished the job.

This next part would take delicacy. It had to come down right.

He went back to the alley, and talked to Barry alone for a minute. Pygmy really didn't like waiting out of hearing range, but he just had to deal. Then, came the hard part.

Elliott had told the two men he would be bringing two men in to talk about the package. He'd told them he expected them to act however he acted, and that he was doing this all in good faith. He wasn't one to screw an employer. These guys had tried to screw with him, and the easiest way to handle it had been to screw them back, harder, and to let it be up to the employer's discretion as to how she handled them. He hadn't really felt out what Cybele's opinion on matters like these was yet. He knew he would learn soon enough. Hopefully, she felt his honesty was worthwhile and believable, even when the next thirty seconds erupted into casual mayhem.

The first thing to happen was Barry cursing him out when he saw the two guys. Guy one pulled a gun. Guy two whipped out a knife. Pygmy reacted as was expected, having not known what Elliott was up to. He leaped at Elliott in a blind rage, big knife in hand.

Elliott wasn't sure where the little man had stashed the knife. It was easily half his size (and yes, he may have been exaggerating). He sidestepped it easily enough, and Pygmy came down behind him. As he turned to bring a kick around to the Pygmy, Barry moved on the first guy. He hit him with a high haymaker just as Elliott missed the kick on Pygmy by bare inches and hit guy two. The kick sent him clattering into pots and pans with a deafening crash.

Pygmy whirled, and brought his knife around, but here, it was Barry to the rescue with a brutal karate chop to the back of Elliott's neck. Whatever Vulcan Kung Fu Chuck Norris Jackie Chan wu tang clan school of martial arts had taught him his beer-bellied battle style had done it right. Elliott promptly went unconscious, which left the next few seconds up to the security cameras to decipher.

Pygmy didn't kill Elliott. It looked like he had contemplated it for a second, but Barry kicked Elliott's gut several times, and they both got distracted by a couple more men. They handled them like freaking ninja, and it really made the security guys scratch their heads later. But there was nothing Elliott could have done. He was unconscious. He'd been out of the fight. Barry and the Pygmy went off-camera. The next bit on another camera was hazy. Someone threw something at the cameras that may have been food. Or it might have been cooking ware.

***

"And that's what I remember..." Elliott spoke quietly.

The guy interviewing him looked at him like he was a paramecium. Unintelligent, basic, but of some value in gaining knowledge. Unfortunately, he hadn't provided much more than they'd already known. "So the duo jumps you, coerces you into helping them break into our establishment and steal back a package YOU had just delivered. You backstabbed them, tried to help us, and ultimately got put on your ass?" He summarized, each word a jagged point wrapped in a bad Italian accent.

"Yeah, pretty much." Elliott lied. 'And you guys bought it like donuts.'

"I see. Well. You need to learn to freaking fight. You knocked out one of your own guys and got taken down a second later by a freaking karate chop. You're lucky that little guy didn't open you up like a Christmas package. Christ. Idiot."

"Single-celled lifeform, that's me." Elliott drawled.

"What?"

"No brain of which to speak. Let Cybele know I'm sorry I wasn't more help. If she doesn't want me for the next job, I understand. We'll be in touch." He rose to go.

"Hold it." A hand on his back caused him to pause the 'rising' act. He looked at the hand's owner, a big meaty guy who looked like he was smuggling hams. Then, he looked back at the first. "She says you did great, given the circumstances. You were out for a while. We already spoke with her. It was a difficult situation. You did right by her. No harm, no foul. But she told me you need some training. If she's using you in the future, there's a guy she wants you to meet..."

Thus, Elliott screwed over an employer and was rewarded with a shiny new gym membership plan.