Issue Three

A guard in the tower had taken aim. He
knew what he was seeing wasn't
possible, but he knew his job, and he
had a gun. He managed to line Jackie
up in his sights – he'd paused after
taking down the last gang member –
and pulled the trigger.
The bullet appeared in mid-air above
Jackie, pointing down towards him,
spinning gently. He'd frozen it with a
look. He cocked his head to one side,
and the bullet turned with it. A flick of
his eyes, and it shot off, burying itself in
the wall of the yard.
More guards appeared, boiling out of
the doors to the cells, screaming for
backup. They began firing. Jackie
stopped their bullets, turning the air
before him into a tableau of metal. He
stared around him and, as one of the
guards would tell the governor later that
day, he seemed to be counting the
number of dead.
Jackie stretched, raising his arms to the
sky, his hands linked. The frozen
bullets fell, clinking against each other.
He tossed the spike onto the bullets,
and then wandered towards the guards.
They stood, frozen, watching him
approach. At the last moment, three of
them broke, running for the cells and
slamming the door behind them. But
the youngest – a new recruit, his first
month on the job – kept his gun steady,
aiming it at Jackie's chest.
Jackie looked at him, pulling the guard's
eyes to his own. He blinked the last few
steps, and the guard fell backwards on
his ass, a tight gasp escaping his lips.
Jackie crouched down until he and the
guard were face to face. A little slick of
blood dotted the chest of his prison shirt,
forming a pattern of its own. Casually,
he reached forward and tugged the gun
from the guard's grip. The guard's
name was Mason and his eyes had
grown wide as saucers. He licked his
dry lips as Jackie turned the gun this
way and that.
“Can you stop shooting at me, please?”
said Jackie. It came out as a mumble.
Without even realising it, Mason was
nodding. Jackie gave him the most
dazzling smile – it came out of nowhere
and was, Mason would later tell his wife,
like the smile of a child. He held out the
gun, still grinning, gesturing at Mason to
take it. Then he blinked back to the
centre of the empty yard.
As Mason watched, Jackie cast around
for his stick, inhaling a delighted breath
when he spotted it. He crouched down
again, and began to draw, sketching
more symbols into the dust.
DUST