The fighter attacked. It was what he was good at. It was what he had done for countless years. It was what he had trained for. He was still handcuffed, and wearing prisoner fatigues, but the fighter figured that there was no time to attack like the present.

The drivers of the prisoner transport van panicked, but only briefly, as the fighter’s foot smashed against the bullet proof glass sending deep cracks throughout the window. The fighter peered inside, seeing one of the drivers bark into a radio. This wasn’t going to work, it was time to change targets.

The fighter inspected the heavy metal doors holding the back of the van shut. He landed another kick to the center of the door, and wasn’t impressed with the results. The door had budged, but apparently the people here had some experience dealing with super strength. It was frustrating, but frustration didn’t stop the fighter. He launched more kicks, this time aiming at the corners of the door.

No good there either. The hinges were sturdy, and probably ran down the length of the door frame. That only left the fighter with one option. He didn’t know if the drivers were evil, and didn’t want the cleric nagging him for killing innocent people, so the fighter was going to take his time and break down the door.

The sound of the fighter kicking against the door reverberated throughout the van, sweat beading on the drivers. Second pass into minutes as the door is slowly bent outward. When the fighter had finally wrenched the door open, he saw a line of escort cars that covered four lanes of traffic, multiple cars to the side of the main van, and the fighter guessed there was more ahead of the transport van.

So, the fighter attacked. It was what he was good at. The fighter leapt through the air, rolling as he hit the pavement and springing to his feet. A car slammed into the fighter as he stood up, but the fighter kicked off the roof of the cruiser as he slid over it. As the fighter sailed through the air, he chose that moment to actually take in his surroundings. To the left of the highway was untamed fields and rolling hills,

Really, the choice was obvious. The fighter hit the ground running, sprinting for the open fields. The cruisers were quick to turn into the fields, spraying up dust and dirt as they chased the fighter. He had them right where he wanted them. The fighter doubled back, charging the oncoming vehicles. The fighter saw a man recoil in equal parts shock and fear as the fighter pounced onto the windshield.

The car swerved hard, and one of the fighter’s hands latched onto the hood. As the fighter pulled himself forward, the car braked hard, launching the fighter into the grass. When the fighter stood up, he saw cruisers and jeeps surrounding him, a host of men in heavy around taking cover behind doors and roof hatches, weapons trained on the fighter.

The fighter realized this might not be the best idea he ever had, but it was what he was best at.

“You going to attack or what?” the fighter demanded.

“Surrender now, or-” the chief said, the fighter rushing at him.

It was time to take initiative.

Bullets lit up the fighter’s back, sending him stumbling forward into heavy fire. As a wild spray of fire took the fighter apart bit by bit, he held his hands forward, holding the chains of his handcuffs taut. It took a moment, but stray fire split the chain and freed the fighter’s hands.

“You took my gear!” the fighter bellowed, ducking into a low sprint.

“Took my team!” he shouted, clamber atop a jeep and hauling the roof gunner up.

“What did I ever do to you?” the fighter screamed into the man, tossing him from the roof. The fighter slid into the jeep, catching a blast of shotgun fire in the chest from a soldier waiting in the armored car. The fighter’s hands snapped forward, ripping the shotgun from the man’s hand and slamming the butt of the gun into the man’s head. The fighter clambered into the driver’s seat and-

And realized he didn’t know how this thing actually worked. He had ridden horses into battle, sailed across the ocean in a host of ships, took to the sky in airships, but never anything like this. It had a wheel like a ship, along with a lot of gauges and switches the fighter wasn’t interested in.

“Hey!” the fighter barked to the man in the passenger seat, “How do I make this thing go?”

“What?” the man asked, still reeling from the hit.

The fighter raised his club again, threatening to beat the man again, only for the soldier to draw his sidearm and shoot the fighter in the chest again. The bullet ripped up a small chunk of flesh and the fighter growled in response. He swung the club again, bouncing the man’s helmeted head on the dashboard and snatching up his pistol.

Another soldier pulled the driver’s door open, but the fighter slammed his arm down over the door, aiming the pistol at the soldier’s foot and guessing it was something like a crossbow. A bullet cracked into the soldier’s foot, then two more before the fighter threw the gun at him.

A jeep slammed into the back of the fighter’s hijacked car, sending the fighter sprawling forward. He felt his foot brush against something, and knowing that the car used something to go, slammed his left foot down over the pedal.

Nothing.

“Come on!” the fighter shouted. He saw the jeep behind him backing up for another ramming strike, and decided he needed a vehicle that worked. He swung his legs up the gunner’s hatch, pulling himself upward with his arms, before flipping forward towards the attacking car. Before the fighter landed, he fired the shotgun into the windshield. The first blast bent the windshield inward as it splintered, and the second blast tore holes that the fighter smashed through when he landed.

The driver was quick, swinging a knife at the fighter as he landed, but the fighter was quicker. Dropping the shotgun, the fighter caught the soldier by the wrist, pulling the man’s arm forward as the fighter punched with his free hand, striking at the man’s fingers. The soldier dropped the knife with a cry of pain, the fighter catching it out of the air and pressing it against the soldier’s neck.

“Out!” the fighter demanded. “Get out now!”

The man hissed, his face twisting into the oily skin of a shapeshifter. The fighter stabbed in with the knife, only the alien’s body to part effortlessly with the strike. The shapeshifter whipped a long tendril across the fighter’s neck, leaving a bloody gash as the fighter picked the shotgun back up and drove the barrel into the alien’s body. It worked a lot better than a crossbow, the fighter mused as he squeezed the trigger. The burst of hot lead and burning gas ripped through the alien, leaving it hissing in pain.

The whole car rocked and shuddered as another jeeped rammed it, pinning the fighter’s door shut. Troopers climbed in from the gunner hatch, wrestling the gun away from the fighter.

“He’s an alien!” the fighter howled, “An evil shapeshifter!”

An actual club cracked the fighter in the back of the head, and the fighter slammed his head into the faceplate of whoever was grabbing him in a fierce headbutt. As the fighter was dragged backward, he kicked out at the shapeshifter, slamming his foot into the alien hard enough to send ripples across its oily skin.

“He just-” a soldier muttered.

“How?” the other asked.

A thin tendril shot out of the alien, punching through the helmet of one of the soldiers, the fighter swinging an arm out to save the remaining soldier as the tendril slid towards him. The fighter charged forward, slamming the shotgun into the alien again and pulling the trigger as many times as the gun had bullets. Five bursts of fire later, the shapeshifter was hissing in pain, and when the shotgun clicked empty, the fighter swung it like a club, splashing the alien across the shattered windshield and dashboard.

“Get over here!” the fighter said, hauling the remaining soldier into the driver’s seat, “Make it go!”

“What?” the soldier said, “What was that thing?”

“An evil shape shifting alien,” the fighter said, “And I don’t know how to detect them, and I don’t know how many more there are. So get us out of here.”

“I can’t-” the soldier said, the fighter pressing his knife to the soldier’s neck.

“You really can’t?” the fighter asked.

“They were real,” the soldier muttered, pressing down on the gas and working to drive out of the circle, “They are real. You weren’t making them up.”

“I don’t make things up,” the fighter said, keeping the knife pressed to the man’s neck.

“Hey,” the soldier said, “I have children at home.”

“Drive safe,” the fighter snorted.

“Can I radio the captain?” the soldier dared to ask.

“Is he an alien shapeshifter?” the fighter asked.

“How would I know?” the soldier asked.

“I don’t know,” the fighter said.

The soldier fumbled for his radio, holding it up so the fighter could hear.

“Sir, this is Duncan,” the soldier said, “I have a status update.”

“You are to apprehend the target,” the commander said, “Stop the vehicle.”

“You do that, you die,” the fighter said.

“Sir, I think the story of aliens was true,” Duncan said, “I just saw one kill Johnny.”

“A manifested effect,” the commander said.

“Keep moving,” the fighter said.

“We don’t know what kind of powers these people have,” the commander said.

Duncan pulled the jeep back up onto the highway.

“Which way?” Duncan asked.

“Either,” the fighter said, “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“Figure out what?” Duncan asked.

“Where I’m going,” the fighter said.

“Pull over!” the commander ordered, armored cars moving up alongside the stolen car. The fighter took Duncan’s pistol, stood up in the gunner’s hatch, and took a moment to aim.

“Projectile comes out of the front,” the fighter mumbled, “I guess those bits aim?”

The fighter aimed at the tire of an armored car, weaving his shot between the armored plate over the tire and wheel well. Two more perfectly placed rounds popped the tire, and the fighter moved on to his next target. It took some time, and Duncan explaining how to reload a gun, but the fighter’s aim meant all pursuing cars were forced to stop.

The fighter spent the remainder of the ride napping in the passenger seat, and Duncan quietly panicking.

They reached the outskirts of a city, and Duncan pulled over and woke the fighter up, the knife springing to his neck again.

“We’re at a city,” Duncan said, “What do we do now?”

“Well, I’m going to wander around looking for work,” the fighter said, “Maybe find a team.”

“What about me?” Duncan asked.

“You’re already in a team,” the fighter said, “You even have matching uniforms.”

“What am I going to do about those aliens?” Duncan asked.

“Kill them whenever you see them,” the fighter said, “Usually, they reveal themselves to me, so I don’t really need to worry about it.

And so the fighter wandered off, leaving Duncan with his fear and paranoia.