After The Storm:Eddie

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The black-clad corpse lay on the bare concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse, shattered glass around it. The rain falling through the broken skylight above slowly washed away the pool of blood.

A white flash of lightning tore away the shadows and the raindrops seemed to hang in the air like scattered diamonds. Then all was dark again.

Three. Two. One.

A peal of thunder like front row seats next to the amplifiers at a metal concert blotted out every other sound.

The corpse sat up.

"Fuck me."

The corpse's voice was soft, feminine, and very, very tired. She methodically checked if everything was present. Head. Check. Arms. Check. Legs. Check. Body armor. Check. 9mm. Check. Mask. Check. Duster. Check. Combat boots. Check. Pants. Check. Gloves. Check. Rat chewing on her leg. Check.

She reached out and grabbed the rat with her left hand. A sickly greenish glow enveloped her hand and the rat. It twitched once, and died. "Sorry. Barely enough life in you to heal my ribs."

She staggered to her feet and looked up into the falling rain. "Last time I try to catch a helicopter."

Lightning crackled across the sky again, revealing the universal biohazard symbol haphazardly spray painted in yellow on the front of the black hood that covered her head and face.

Thunder echoed through the concrete canyons again.

As the last rumbles faded, another sound started. The wet sound of fists on flesh and muffled groans of pain. The woman's head snapped to the right. There. Just outside the warehouse.

She started running, picking up steam, and smashed through the door to the alley.

Two men. Punks. Thugs. Working over an old homeless guy, lying on the flattened waterlogged remains of his cardboard shelter.

She grabbed the nearest one with her left hand. He screamed as her hand glowed green. She tossed him aside.

The other took one look at her and started backing away. "B-b-biohazard!?"

She stood as tall as her 5'6" allowed, silent, her black duster flapping in the wind.

The man turned and ran.

The figure ignored the groaning figure of the thug on the ground and knelt next to the homeless man.

She could feel his life fading. Broken ribs. Punctured lungs. Shattered orbital.

She gently lay her right hand on him, and a warm yellow light spread from her hand and wrapped around the man.

Her ribs cracked. She felt her vision dim as she suffered head trauma. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth.

No pain, Never any pain. Nothing but her sense of her own life fading.

The homeless mans injuries faded. His eyes opened. "Ahhh! Ahh. Ah?"

"It's OK. You'll be fine now. Fine as any of us get."

She touched the fallen thug with her left hand again, and felt her injuries heal. It was close, but she left him just enough to survive.

She'd given up the Hippocratic oath years ago, along with her failed medical career. But life wasn't something to take just because she could.

Bio/Hazard stuffed her hands in the pockets of her duster and strode out of the alley and into the night.

If she was lucky, she'd get to the convenience store in time for her shift. The rent was due, and being a hero didn't pay the bills.