Why did I ever open my mouth, Jericho wondered.

All around him, people screamed and ran. What had been a peaceful protest just moments ago, with people begging and pleading just for some food and supplies, had quickly dissolved into chaos as the police began firing pepper spray and tear gas into the crowd. Paintballs filled with pepper spray whizzed through the air, drawing screams from those they hit and exploded on.

And then the cops started marching forward, waving batons and riot shields, pushing people back.

They’d made it all the way down St. Charles to Calhoun street, hoping to make it to Audubon park where it was rumored there were care tents and treatment centers set up. Instead of finding out, they ran into barricades right before Loyola University. Most of the side streets were also blocked off, preventing the large crowd from going around the hastily built barriers. So they stood their ground, staring across a group of grim-faced police dressed like soldiers.

Unlike the Quarter and the eastern part of the city, the flooding and water damage here looked minimal. Some buildings didn’t even show signs of having been affected by the angel attack. Why, Jericho wondered, were these people even getting relief when so few of them had been impacted by the attack. It just didn’t make any sense.

But the tide of humanity continued regardless. The signs they carried bore their slogans, “Food for All” and “Please Help Me and My Children.” They chanted, “Share the Food,” over and over. Cassie had a bullhorn and was calling on the mayor to come out and explain why only part of the city was getting any help. Though, no one knew if the mayor was behind the barricade or even if the mayor was still alive. Still, someone had to be in charge.

Unmoved by the cries, signs, or even the children in the crowd, the police’s only response was to demand the crowd disperse. No word on relief, not even empty promises of help to come later. It was unnerving for Jericho, but the crowd wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t turn back.

For over an hour, the crowd begged, pleaded, demanded, and cajoled to no avail. The black wall of impassive figures simply stared down at them like they were nothing. Desperate, suffering masses of men, women, and children and they were unmoved.

At some point, the cops changed their stance. An order was given and, in lockstep, they advanced on the crowd. Loud thumps announced the launching of tear gas behind the front lines of the protesters. Then waves of pepper balls flew into the confused front lines. While the crowd panicked, the cops descended, beating the frontlines with batons and shields.

Jericho was lucky at first to not be on the front line, having stayed a few people deep in the crowd to assuage Trevon’s concerns. Now, he was trapped between a wall of rising chemical weaponry behind him and angry cops ahead of him. Some people were trying to push back against the cops, afraid of the caustic smoke, but their resistance was crumbling as they were shot or sprayed with pepper spray.

“Come on, do something,” Cassie yelled beside him.

“What? Take on twenty cops? No, we have to get these people out of here,” he yelled back.

The sea of bodies around them pushed them back and forth. Some tried to get away from the batons and pepper spray, but others were fleeing forward, trying to escape the smoke and unaware of the brutality they were running into. Jericho used his size, and familiarity with a scrum, to push through the crowd, pulling the reluctant Cassie with him.

Wild, terrified people screamed around him. A parent fell and their child screamed beside them. The mob didn’t see. The boy cried as adults thundered above them. Jericho pounced. Turning his back to the crowd, he grabbed the boy. Bodies surged into him. Fists, feet, and faces pummeled him. The boy wailed. He pulled the woman to her feet. He pushed the pair together. “Run,” he shouted. The grateful woman nodded and fled towards the less packed edges of the crowd.

He turned. “Come on, stop,” he shouted at his fellows. Petrified faces gazed back at him. They fell away from his anger, surging around him like a stone.

Cassie? Where the fuck was Cassie?

She was moving towards the cops because, of course, she was. An umbrella held before her like a flimsy shield, she and a few others were weathering the paintballs, sort of. Jericho cursed and started pushing back towards her. Where was Trevon? More canisters flew into the crowd. The lines broke. People ran in every direction.

Jericho nearly reached Cassie when a cop fired a teargas grenade right through her umbrella and into the young woman’s chest.

“No!” Jericho screamed as she crumpled.

In an instant, he was beside her. Snatching the canister, he barely felt it burning his hand as he threw it back at the cop who fired it. The canister smashed the cop’s faceguard and he dropped like a puppet without its strings.

He lifted Cassie with gentle hands. His back screamed as pellet after pellet struck him, some so rough and close they tore through his tight hoodie. Cassie coughed and gasped, clutching her chest.

Heat bubbled inside him. Anger flowed through his veins. People fell around him, clawing at their faces and screaming in pain.

“That’s right, crawl back in your holes,” he heard a cop shout from behind him. Three more bullets pummelled his back. Tears streamed down his face and his lungs burned.

Water rolled down his cheeks.

Water flew past him in little plastic balls.

Water misted the air, carrying the hateful burning.

Water covered him, burning and inflaming his skin.

Water was his, not theirs.

It sung to him in his blood. The signal boosted with his anger and rage.

It had been speaking to him all along.

Now he listened.

“Away,” he said. The pepper spray, his sweat, and his tears streamed away from him ribboning arcs. Bloodshot eyes cleared and then a blue haze fell over them.

Jericho turned, flinging his free arm towards the cops. Paintballs stopped in mid-flight. Behind their protective masks, eyes widened in surprise. Jericho flicked his hand towards them and the bullets reversed course. The police screamed as they were splashed with their own weapons.

Another pointed his grenade launcher at Jericho. But the water was everywhere. It wanted to serve. It wanted to protect. The grenade shot from the barrel. Water rushed into the air catching the projectile, before hardening to ice. The grenade began to burn, releasing its less-deadly munition. With a flick of his wrist, the ice melted back to water and the grenade dropped to the feet of its user.

Water was everywhere, and it all belonged to him. Cool water became mist and then flowed through and around the protestors and then up into the air. The water dragged the poison clouds with it and swirled into the air, a murky funnel that twisted and danced.

It splashed down amongst the police like a smashing tree, dropping the poison amongst them.

The crowd had continued to flee, but many now gaped at Jericho, falling back and out of his way as he carried the injured Cassie away from the madness he’d caused.