Designated Archnemesis

On the day of the Tiamat Event, Chokepoint was having a coffee with her prospective archnemesis. 

It was, to be honest, a pain in the ass. She hadn’t had to do one of these for years, banking on her reputation to deter most hopefuls. Unfortunately, most did not equate to all, and the Commission was really holding this one over her head. 

“Shouldn’t you be looking for a snobby art-critic type or something?” she asked, flatly. 

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” 

The person across the table flashed a smile from behind her mask. Supposedly she was an up-and-coming “villain” named after some obscure French art term that Chokepoint had already forgotten. As far as Chokepoint knew, her exploits had so far been limited to vandalizing art galleries, which generated lots of publicity despite being relatively harmless. 

“Besides, no offense—I don’t think any of you people have been creative enough to make that your theme. Unless you want to try it out.” 

Chokepoint snorted.

Her Emergence was more concerning. It was color-related—possibly some kind of electromagnetic manipulation. If that extended beyond the visible spectrum, it could be dangerous. Chokepoint made a mental note to keep an eye out for the specifics.

In any case, this interviewee had the general demeanor of a Monet painting, and dressed like one, too. A billow of pastel-green hair puffed out from underneath her mask. (Sometimes it felt like no one in this city wore a mask that was effective for identity-concealment—and yet, for some reason, Chokepoint was the one getting strange looks for wearing a motorcycle helmet inside a café.)

She sighed.

“Listen, I don’t do… this stuff.” Chokepoint waved a hand in the air. “The sponsorships, the pageantry. The designated nemeses. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all a bunch of bullshit.”

“Wowee, she swears.” The wannabe villain—Camus? Camera?—clasped her hands in mock-delight. “Shall I fetch the smelling salts?”

Inside the helmet, Chokepoint rolled her eyes.

“Remind me of your name again?”

“Ca-maï-eu,” she replied, with deliberate slowness, like she was sounding out a word for a child. Then again, given that Chokepoint had forgotten the first time, she supposed it wasn’t completely unwarranted. 

“But no, really,” Camaïeu continued, without missing a beat, “I know about all that. Who doesn’t? You pay out of your own pocket or use whatever leftover funding the SELC throws your way, and you never do anything flashy, but you always get the job done. That’s our Chokepoint! The humble everywoman.” 

Camaïeu stirred a horrific amount of sugar into her coffee. Her voice lowered. “It’s all very romantic, you know. With that helmet and everything. You really don’t try to sell yourself.”

“Hold on. Let me get one thing straight: I’m not yours, or anyone else’s. And more importantly,” Chokepoint said, jabbing her spoon in Camaïeu’s direction, “I’m not in anyone’s pocket.”

“I know, I know,” Camaïeu said airily, finally taking a sip of the coffee. “I hate sucking up to corporate just as much as you do. But what I’m saying is—there’s nothing inherently wrong with the designated-nemesis system. In fact, I think it makes things more interesting.” 

Camaïeu held up her index finger. “If you make a show out of it, then we’re all like actors. Or characters in a comic. And nobody wants something to go so wrong—for people to get hurt so badly—that the whole story has to end.”

She made a gesture in the air with both her hands, like she was spreading out a canvas.

“Just think about it! Camaïeu and Chokepoint. The Whimsy-Artist and the Most Boring Hero in the World. You don't take offense to that, right? It's a perfectly valid aesthetic choice.” 

Chokepoint ignored that part. “But then the primary goal isn’t saving people,” she countered. “It’s getting better ratings.”

“Ooh, deontology. How enlightened.”

“Jesus Christ. That’s not what I’m saying—” 

It was at that moment that the window burst into a thousand sparkling pieces. 

At the moment of impact, Chokepoint had instinctively thrown out her hands to raise a pressurized barrier. It encircled those closest to the window and deflected most of the glass, but a few shards made it in anyway, whipping around the barrier with terrible speed. 

Outside, slithering down the street, was something enormous. 

From inside the café, only the lower portion of its body was visible. It was serpentine, covered in dark blue scales, and had no visible legs. The thing stretched for at least a block and disappeared around a corner. Additionally, it was about as thick around the midsection as the street itself—its undulations were what had broken the window. 

Chokepoint grit her teeth. “You were saying?”

“Pretty sure you were the one just talking.” Camaïeu was nonchalantly standing up and brushing herself off. “But I see your point.”

“I’m going to evacuate these people. Either help or stay out of my way.”

“Ah, don’t think I can do much on that front. I’ll see if I can distract it. There must be more of you people out there already.”

And then she was darting out the window, stepping quickly between the jagged glass that still stuck out from the bottom. Despite the aesthetic, Camaïeu was surprisingly agile. 

When Chokepoint glanced outside, the… snake-kaiju had passed this block and was heading west. Towards the city center.

“All right,” she said, turning back around to the people in the store. Most of them looked appropriately terrified. “When the tail of that thing gets out of sight, you’re going to head out of the back door. Even when I turn around, keep heading in the opposite direction from where it was going. Get as far away from the city center as possible, and don’t stop until you reach the station on the east end. Try to shelter there for now.” 

One of the baristas was taking out the key to the door. “I’m sure most of you already know where that is, but just in case. And stick together.” Chokepoint peered out the window again. The street seemed clear now; there was no sign of the kaiju, not even at the furthest ends of the street. 

“Come on.” She propped the door open with a localized pressure-wave, then watched the small crowd file out. When the last person had exited, she followed behind, keeping an eye on the buildings around them. Far away, she could hear a loud crash, and an echoing screech. 

After a few blocks, Chokepoint thought it might be about time to turn back. Just as she did, however—she heard a similar screech from the direction they were heading in.

Damnit. Were there more of those things?

Her suspicions were confirmed when a massive verdigris-colored head rose up from beyond a building directly ahead of them. This one was a little smaller, but still filled half the street. There were gasps from the group of people, which quickly turned into panic when it coiled around the building and headed in their direction. Its scales made a rasping sound as they slid against the pavement. 

Chokepoint deployed another barrier, completely surrounding the group. This was bad. The thing didn’t have enough individual limbs to crush with her abilities, and they were limited while still shielding the group. She could try to lure it away, but without her motorcycle, she wouldn’t be able to move nearly fast enough. 

Still, she had to try.

“Hey, asshole! Look at me!” She ran to the other side of the street, waving her arms. “I’m a lot tastier than those normies, so get over here!”

To emphasize her point, she clapped her palms together. Several hundred yards away, the last few feet of the monster’s tail crumpled, bones crunching under the pressure. It hissed, head snapping around and moving towards her direction.

Chokepoint turned and ran. Unfortunately, the thing was much faster. If only she could reach her motorcycle…

Its shadow fell over her. She whirled around, making a fist. More of its body crumpled—further up the tail, near the middle—but this time, she didn’t break bone. And the head seemed reinforced. Further down the street, its tail was lashing wildly—if she lifted the barrier to make one for herself, then the group would be vulnerable. 

The head bent down, until she could see the acid dripping from its fangs.

Suddenly, a low humming filled her ears. The kaiju jerked violently, as if stung, and spasmed around before rearing away. Unfortunately, it also managed to headbutt Chokepoint in the process. This flung her back several yards, until she hit a wall and slumped to the ground. 

When she opened her eyes, Camaïeu was standing there—although, at the moment, she looked more like a greenish-blue blur. As if anticipating Chokepoint's question, she gestured in the direction of the people from the café. 

“Some of your buddies from the Commission showed up. I just tailed them.” Sure enough, Chokepoint could just barely see the brightly-colored figures swooping around, one of them escorting the group of people.

Chokepoint rubbed at her forehead. “...What the hell was that?”

“Just a little trick I call ‘electromagnetic field generation.’ Not as fun as messing with colors, but those things didn’t seem to like it.” 

Camaïeu looked up. Chokepoint followed her gaze. Far up in the sky, an object was floating. It resembled a giant isopod.

She groaned. “Those things came from that?”

Camaïeu shrugged. “Apparently. But it doesn’t seem to be releasing any more of them, for now.”

As they watched, the object drifted in a vaguely westward direction, eventually fading out of view entirely. Chokepoint closed her eyes. She’d had enough weirdness for one day.

“Ha,” she mused suddenly. “It seems like you just saved my life. Pretty sure that disqualifies you from being my designated archnemesis.”

Then she passed out.