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Description
       The rain dripped against the concrete below her. The light drizzle wouldn't affect her objective. She lifted a leg to rest atop the lip that circled the roof she stood on. The wind whipped around her, causing her coat to flap and twist behind her. Harsh black eyes never deviated from the transparency of the window that had caught her attention.
       She lifted her arm to point out to the right and distant sounds of light footsteps in the puddles of the street three stories down could be heard running; guns cocking. Still, her attention never deviated.
       The man behind the panes of glass was casually painting. Abstract colors of red and blue meshed together like a yin-yang of water and fire. When the door burst open and camouflage clad men filed into the apartment, the painter hardly even seemed surprised. Slowly, he put the paintbrush down and turned to face the ten rifles pointed at him.
       For a moment nothing happened. It looked as though they were talking. Then the guns went off all at once. Smoke filled the apartment, glass crashed outward, screams were heard from the neighbors. Complete chaos ensued. Undoubtedly, the police would be called and on their way soon. With any luck, it would be over by then.
       Shouted orders of the rebel in charge of the slaughter could be heard from her perch. As the smoke filtered out of the window and up to the cloud covered sky, she saw why. Glittering like diamond, standing in the middle of the room, was the ice covered form of that calm painter. He had deflected every shot as if they had been slinging pebbles at him. She made no motion to intervene. It was not the soldiers purpose to win; their purpose was to die. She would let them serve that purpose.
       The ice melted off of the male in steaming wisps that gave way to flames. It inspired the first response from her. An eyebrow lifted in a gentle arc of curiosity. One of the artists hands extended, followed by the other. Each sent a burst of flame into a couple of the gun wielding men. They disappeared beneath the flames and never emerged again. Though the men attempted to fight back, their clips had been expended and fists against fire and ice just didn't cut it. They were dispatched like the fodder they were. Ash and scorch marks covered the once pristine apartment. The artist stood in the middle of the room, naked and seemingly calm. That was her cue.
       Hands fell to the holsters on either side of her hips, pulling the pistols out in a loose grip. Her body dipped low as the muscles in the leg resting on the lip of the roof tensed and pushed her over the edge in a seemingly impossible lunge. Like a diver to the water she lifted her hands out in front of her, squeezing the trigger over and over again as she passed through that broken window. Each bullet hit its mark on the artists' body. She landed in a roll that hardly seemed to slow her as she popped right back up.
       A single motion unlocked the empty clips, letting them fall to the floor as she slammed the butts of each gun against her thighs where extra clips were hidden. Defensive posture was held as she waited for the smoke to clear. No facial expression greeted the seemingly shocked look of her adversary. "Exuro?" She asked, as if making sure it was him.
       "What the hell do you want with me?" He screamed back at her. Dark liquid flowed from each of those bullet wounds. Any normal human would have been dead.
       "Target acquired. Obliteration commencing."
       "What the… " She began shooting again, not even waiting for him to finish his thought. Each clip was emptied, but this time he was ready for it. The clattering of metal against solid, told her that he had entered that icy state again. The guns were thrown to the side; they would do her no more good.
       A gentle crackling sound, like perpetual static cling, echoed throughout the room. Blue light moved around her in short bursts as if she were the source of a lightning storm. Her opponents' eyes widened and she interpreted the emotion as fear. He should be scared. She had a kill rate of one hundred percent.
       She extended a hand forward that sent a bolt of that electricity barreling into him. It was met by a pillar of flame he had sent back to her. She leapt to the side as the flames overpowered her electricity, narrowly escaping the fate of those before her. She landed near the window she had come through and backed closer toward it.
       "Who sent you?" His harsh voice spat toward her.
       Her eyes began to disappear behind the crackling blue light of her power. She made no motion to answer. Instead, she threw herself backwards and out of the window. She let her ankles just barely catch the edge of the sill, flipping her right side up so that she could catch the edge of the next window and hold onto the side of the building. He did exactly what she expected him to do. He rushed to the window and leaned over, no doubt expecting to see her splattered on the concrete. What he actually found was one of her hands as it abandoned its perch and reached up to send a raw burst of electricity into him.
       The blood-curdling scream could have been heard in the next borough over as his body tumbled out of the window and toward the ground, slamming into the street so hard that it created a crater the city would be spending the next month fixing. She watched without a single sign of emotion as his body lay unmoving.
       She released her grip on the window and allowed herself to fall to the sidewalk below, landing in a kneeling stance. Slowly she rose to her feet and made her way over to the body. Peripheral vision noted the crowd gathering around, but she didn't change course. Eyelids narrowed as she found herself looking down into the vacant eyes attached to a broken metal dome. This was not the hero she was looking for. It was a machine.
       She turned around in a swift motion to survey the crowd. This was his home, he should have been there. How had he learned of the ambush? She saw a familiar face in the crowd and seemed to be making her way over to it when a piece of the street itself seemed to launch itself upward from behind her and slam into the back of her head. She fell forward and everything went black.

-----

       He stepped forward from the crowd, pushing the glasses up on his nose with a sigh. "That was my best robot. It took me two years to get him right."
       The illusion fell from the dead "hero," leaving only a destroyed metal frame in its place. The police had finished taking statements and released everyone to their business. Since there was no proof anyone was hurt, no charges were pressed. He knelt down beside the woman who had been responsible for the loss of his masterpiece, only to find that she too was someone's masterpiece.
       "Interesting." He said as a woman walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
        "I never understood why that thing meant anything to you anyway. Why don't you just don the suit yourself? You have enough power on your own."
       He scoffed. "Look at me. My name is John, I'm five foot six and I can be outmatched, strength-wise, by a golden retriever. Who the hell would believe I had any power? It doesn't matter though. She'll make a fine replacement."
        "If that's what makes you happy, I guess." She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek before turning to make her way back into the building. Their secondary apartment was a mess. She had a lot of cleaning to do.
       He reached over to lift the woman's hair up, showing the metal that his boulder had exposed. Beneath that "wound" he saw it. The numbers that indicated the villain this fantastic specimen belonged to. That information would come in handy.
       He lifted his hand slightly, and the street followed his command. A slab of it broke off and lifted the bodies of the fallen robots to the broken window, where he would have an easier time retrieving them for repairs.

Description
       The rain dripped against the concrete below her. The light drizzle wouldn't affect her objective. She lifted a leg to rest atop the lip that circled the roof she stood on. The wind whipped around her, causing her coat to flap and twist behind her. Harsh black eyes never deviated from the transparency of the window that had caught her attention.
       She lifted her arm to point out to the right and distant sounds of light footsteps in the puddles of the street three stories down could be heard running; guns cocking. Still, her attention never deviated.
       The man behind the panes of glass was casually painting. Abstract colors of red and blue meshed together like a yin-yang of water and fire. When the door burst open and camouflage clad men filed into the apartment, the painter hardly even seemed surprised. Slowly, he put the paintbrush down and turned to face the ten rifles pointed at him.
       For a moment nothing happened. It looked as though they were talking. Then the guns went off all at once. Smoke filled the apartment, glass crashed outward, screams were heard from the neighbors. Complete chaos ensued. Undoubtedly, the police would be called and on their way soon. With any luck, it would be over by then.
       Shouted orders of the rebel in charge of the slaughter could be heard from her perch. As the smoke filtered out of the window and up to the cloud covered sky, she saw why. Glittering like diamond, standing in the middle of the room, was the ice covered form of that calm painter. He had deflected every shot as if they had been slinging pebbles at him. She made no motion to intervene. It was not the soldiers purpose to win; their purpose was to die. She would let them serve that purpose.
       The ice melted off of the male in steaming wisps that gave way to flames. It inspired the first response from her. An eyebrow lifted in a gentle arc of curiosity. One of the artists hands extended, followed by the other. Each sent a burst of flame into a couple of the gun wielding men. They disappeared beneath the flames and never emerged again. Though the men attempted to fight back, their clips had been expended and fists against fire and ice just didn't cut it. They were dispatched like the fodder they were. Ash and scorch marks covered the once pristine apartment. The artist stood in the middle of the room, naked and seemingly calm. That was her cue.
       Hands fell to the holsters on either side of her hips, pulling the pistols out in a loose grip. Her body dipped low as the muscles in the leg resting on the lip of the roof tensed and pushed her over the edge in a seemingly impossible lunge. Like a diver to the water she lifted her hands out in front of her, squeezing the trigger over and over again as she passed through that broken window. Each bullet hit its mark on the artists' body. She landed in a roll that hardly seemed to slow her as she popped right back up.
       A single motion unlocked the empty clips, letting them fall to the floor as she slammed the butts of each gun against her thighs where extra clips were hidden. Defensive posture was held as she waited for the smoke to clear. No facial expression greeted the seemingly shocked look of her adversary. "Exuro?" She asked, as if making sure it was him.
       "What the hell do you want with me?" He screamed back at her. Dark liquid flowed from each of those bullet wounds. Any normal human would have been dead.
       "Target acquired. Obliteration commencing."
       "What the… " She began shooting again, not even waiting for him to finish his thought. Each clip was emptied, but this time he was ready for it. The clattering of metal against solid, told her that he had entered that icy state again. The guns were thrown to the side; they would do her no more good.
       A gentle crackling sound, like perpetual static cling, echoed throughout the room. Blue light moved around her in short bursts as if she were the source of a lightning storm. Her opponents' eyes widened and she interpreted the emotion as fear. He should be scared. She had a kill rate of one hundred percent.
       She extended a hand forward that sent a bolt of that electricity barreling into him. It was met by a pillar of flame he had sent back to her. She leapt to the side as the flames overpowered her electricity, narrowly escaping the fate of those before her. She landed near the window she had come through and backed closer toward it.
       "Who sent you?" His harsh voice spat toward her.
       Her eyes began to disappear behind the crackling blue light of her power. She made no motion to answer. Instead, she threw herself backwards and out of the window. She let her ankles just barely catch the edge of the sill, flipping her right side up so that she could catch the edge of the next window and hold onto the side of the building. He did exactly what she expected him to do. He rushed to the window and leaned over, no doubt expecting to see her splattered on the concrete. What he actually found was one of her hands as it abandoned its perch and reached up to send a raw burst of electricity into him.
       The blood-curdling scream could have been heard in the next borough over as his body tumbled out of the window and toward the ground, slamming into the street so hard that it created a crater the city would be spending the next month fixing. She watched without a single sign of emotion as his body lay unmoving.
       She released her grip on the window and allowed herself to fall to the sidewalk below, landing in a kneeling stance. Slowly she rose to her feet and made her way over to the body. Peripheral vision noted the crowd gathering around, but she didn't change course. Eyelids narrowed as she found herself looking down into the vacant eyes attached to a broken metal dome. This was not the hero she was looking for. It was a machine.
       She turned around in a swift motion to survey the crowd. This was his home, he should have been there. How had he learned of the ambush? She saw a familiar face in the crowd and seemed to be making her way over to it when a piece of the street itself seemed to launch itself upward from behind her and slam into the back of her head. She fell forward and everything went black.

-----

       He stepped forward from the crowd, pushing the glasses up on his nose with a sigh. "That was my best robot. It took me two years to get him right."
       The illusion fell from the dead "hero," leaving only a destroyed metal frame in its place. The police had finished taking statements and released everyone to their business. Since there was no proof anyone was hurt, no charges were pressed. He knelt down beside the woman who had been responsible for the loss of his masterpiece, only to find that she too was someone's masterpiece.
       "Interesting." He said as a woman walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
        "I never understood why that thing meant anything to you anyway. Why don't you just don the suit yourself? You have enough power on your own."
       He scoffed. "Look at me. My name is John, I'm five foot six and I can be outmatched, strength-wise, by a golden retriever. Who the hell would believe I had any power? It doesn't matter though. She'll make a fine replacement."
        "If that's what makes you happy, I guess." She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek before turning to make her way back into the building. Their secondary apartment was a mess. She had a lot of cleaning to do.
       He reached over to lift the woman's hair up, showing the metal that his boulder had exposed. Beneath that "wound" he saw it. The numbers that indicated the villain this fantastic specimen belonged to. That information would come in handy.
       He lifted his hand slightly, and the street followed his command. A slab of it broke off and lifted the bodies of the fallen robots to the broken window, where he would have an easier time retrieving them for repairs.