Chapter Eight
The sirens screamed louder, nearly drowning out the whir of helicopter blades overhead as police and news choppers circled, capturing every wild moment of the chaotic chase erupting from Toronto General Hospital in the heart of downtown. The streets were in gridlock, packed with honking cars and confused drivers, many craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the madness barreling down the outbound lanes. Amidst it all, the vintage Volkswagen bookmobile hurtled forward, its backdoors flapping open with every wild swerve. Books and magazines cascaded from the vehicle, fluttering through the air and slapping against the windshields of the pursuing police cars.
Psychedelic gripped the wheel with a maniacal gleam in her eyes, her laughter echoing in time with the rhythmic blare of the sirens. She veered around the cars in front of her, undeterred by honking drivers and startled pedestrians. To her, they were merely colors in a swirling mosaic, obstacles to be plowed through or danced around as she tore through Toronto’s streets. Every erratic lane change sent more paperbacks and children’s books flying from the bookmobile, causing officers to curse as they struggled to dodge debris and keep their sights trained on her path.
“Read up, boys!” she hollered, tossing a heavy dictionary over her shoulder. It careened out the open doors, slamming into the windshield of the nearest cruiser, sending it swerving into the opposite lane. She giggled, blissfully unfazed, pressing the gas pedal to the floor as she wove through the chaotic mess of Toronto’s grid-locked streets. The world outside was an explosion of noise, light, and colors, and in her mind, she was the maestro of the whole chaotic symphony.
She steered with one hand, her other reaching into a box of books precariously balanced on the passenger seat. Her fingers brushed across covers as she scanned her options, deciding what was worthy of being tossed into the chaos behind her.
“No, that’s a fantasy classic,” she muttered, setting the book aside with surprising reverence before digging for something else. Her hand landed on another title, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Eugh, young adult vampire romance?” With a flick of her wrist, she whipped the book out the window, sending it spiralling into the open road and narrowly missing a police cruiser. “Out you go!” she crowed, watching it slap against the windshield of an oncoming car.
She dug further, eyeing a slim book of poetry. “Oh, no, I like her poetry,” she murmured, setting it safely aside before grabbing the next in line. This one—a cheesy romance with a cover featuring a swooning couple—earned an immediate, “Nah, I’m doing society a favour,” as she hurled it over her shoulder.
In her mind, the sirens and honking horns only added rhythm to the wild beat of her escape, an unpredictable symphony orchestrated just for her. She grinned, eyes flashing with twisted delight as she prepared her next literary volley.
“A shame more book critiques aren’t this proactive!” she cackled, her fingers closing around another unfortunate title she deemed literary offal. With a gleeful flick, she hurled it out the driver’s side window, narrowly missing a police cruiser. The book spun through the air like an errant missile, slamming into a windshield with a satisfying thud.
The officers were forced to swerve, the fluttering pages momentarily blocking their view, and she let out a peal of laughter, her grip tightening on the wheel as she barreled through Toronto's gridlocked traffic.
She hummed and with a deftness of talent she started to steer the wheel with her knee as she reached in her tote bag for gauze the lighter and a particularly loathsome book she had spotted in the box. “Misogynistic, pedantic and utterly uninspired” she noted with a pretentious air as she used the gauze a splash of something flammable and the lighter setting a blaze. “Normally I’m opposed to book burning but in this case I will make an exception!” and with that a flaming bestseller became the next weaponized paperback.
She hummed a lively tune, a glint of mischievous focus in her eyes, as she deftly steered with her knee, her hands rummaging through her tote bag for supplies. She found gauze, the lighter, and a particularly loathsome book she'd spotted earlier in the box.
"Misogynistic, pedantic, and utterly uninspired," she sniffed with a pretentious air, dousing the book in a quick splash of something delightfully flammable before wrapping it in gauze. With a flick of the lighter, the pages burst into flame, casting an eerie glow over her gleeful expression.
“Normally, I’m opposed to book burning, but in this case, I’ll make an exception!” she declared, and with one swift motion, the flaming bestseller went flying out the window, hurtling toward the nearest police cruiser. The officers barely had time to react as the fiery paperback hit the hood, forcing them to veer off in a frantic attempt to extinguish the unexpected projectile.
In the rearview mirror, she watched the chaotic scene unfold, a satisfied smile on her face. "Now that's what I call a hot read," she muttered, already eyeing her next choice from the box.
She sighed, glancing at the remaining books scattered within arm’s reach—all of them ones she actually liked. The thought of using them as projectiles felt wrong, almost sacrilegious. No, they would stay safe with her. With a quick snap of her hands back on the wheel, she surveyed the road ahead. She’d been having the time of her life, but reality was setting in: the police were about to get organised. Soon, they’d have roadblocks, spike strips, maybe even the RCMP involved. She needed to lose them—and fast—before they closed in from all sides.
"And so I took the road less travelled..." she crooned with a mischievous grin, veering abruptly toward an exit lane that led off the main thoroughfare and into the web of winding streets and narrow alleys. Let them cover Main Street if they wanted. The maze of alleyways, hidden side streets, and back routes would give her all the cover she needed. Pursuing her here would be a chore for even the most determined officers, and she was ready to dance her way out of this city’s grasp.
With a gleeful howl, she veered across the painted lines, cutting into oncoming traffic. Horns blared, and drivers frantically swerved to avoid her, tires screeching and vehicles skidding as she expertly dodged and weaved between the incoming cars. The chaos she left in her wake only seemed to fuel her, a manic grin spreading across her face as she spotted a massive big rig barreling down the opposite lane.
"Let’s play chicken, big guy!" she muttered, gripping the wheel with both hands and steering straight for the towering truck.
The truck's horn blasted like a furious beast, but she held her line, her eyes wide with excitement as the rig came closer and closer, filling her vision. At the very last second, she swerved sharply, her tires screeching as she whipped past the truck's front end, just inches away.
Behind her, the truck driver slammed on the air brakes in panic, his rig skidding as the trailer jackknifed across the lanes, blocking the entire road. Police cruisers in pursuit screeched and skidded, smashing into each other or coming to a jarring halt, trapped behind the massive barrier she’d left in her wake.
With a laugh that echoed down the street, she raced away from the tangled mess, her pursuers temporarily thwarted, her path forward clear.
***
Coraline slipped out of the boardroom with a carefully neutral expression, her mind racing as she picked up the faint sounds of the news report crackling from the office radio down the hall.
"Mayhem unleashed by an escaped patient from Toronto General…" the announcer’s voice relayed, detailing the chaotic path carving through downtown. Her colleagues were riveted by the broadcast, whispers of disbelief filling the room. Coraline seized the opportunity, finding the perfect moment to step away without raising suspicions.
Once outside, she ducked into a narrow alley and quickly dialed John. The line picked up almost immediately.
“John,” she hissed, barely containing her frustration. “Bring me the car—and one of the suits. As quickly as possible.”
“On it,” he replied without hesitation, already understanding the urgency.
How could one woman cause this much havoc? It seemed utterly beyond belief, even to her.
The Silver Kit pulled up smoothly, the engine purring as John leaned over to unlock the passenger door. He wore a Halloween mask and his oil-stained coveralls, his gloved hands still faintly smudged with grease. Coraline slipped into the seat and shot him a smirk.
"Ah, mechanic man here to save the day," she quipped, shimmying out of her blazer as she began changing into her armor.
John chuckled, glancing sidelong at her. "Well, somebody’s gotta keep you from tearing through those fancy clothes."
"Someone’s got to be the grown-up, I suppose." She grinned, her fingers deftly fastening the straps and plating. As she adjusted her gauntlets, her eyes grew serious, fixed on the road ahead. "If even half the radio chatter is true, this one's a real wildcard."
“She’s already got half of downtown in a tailspin,” John said, the worry evident beneath his light tone. “Not the usual type of troublemaker.”
“Good,” Coraline replied, pulling her mask over her face. “I was starting to get bored.”
John shook his head, the rubber monster mask looking utterly ridiculous. Coraline couldn’t help but stifle a laugh; it was the only thing he had on hand.
“Remind me to get you something cooler to wear if I actually need you in the field, Wolf,” she said with a smirk, finishing her transformation. Her work clothes lay discarded in the backseat, replaced by the armour she liked to think of as her real uniform. She manoeuvred herself into the passenger seat, settling in and strapping down. “Pedal to the metal. Get me as close to that van as you can.”
He smirked slightly, eyes bright with the challenge. “You’re letting me drive your car? I’m touched.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She gave him a wry grin. As he pushed the pedal down, the Silver Kit exchanged its usual smooth purr for a mechanical snarl, roaring forward with power.
But Coraline wasn’t worried. She knew John was a damn good driver, one who had been involved with fixing, building, and operating vehicles since long before he’d had a licence. If she trusted anyone with her precious Silver Kit, it was John “Wolf” Bane.
The Silver Kit glided onto the Toronto streets like a silver bullet, gleaming in the midday sun. Its sleek, classic Jaguar frame already turned heads on any day, but today it moved with a purpose that set it apart from every other vehicle on the road. With a polished silver paint job, it was unmistakably luxurious—yet this car was no ordinary Jaguar. Underneath the refined exterior lay a fortified layer of high-grade armor, gadgets that would make Bond himself envious, and an engine that roared with power far beyond the original specs.
The Silver Kit’s handling was a marvel in its own right, finely tuned to perfection. John had poured hours into keeping it ahead of the curve, incorporating cutting-edge upgrades and experimental tech designed to enhance speed, agility, and resilience. He was far from finished with the mods he had in mind, but for him, test-driving these upgrades in a real-world scenario was exhilarating—maybe even more exciting than the chase itself.
Gripping the wheel, he could feel the power thrumming beneath him as they surged forward. The wild, chaotic spectacle of the rogue bookmobile was weaving recklessly up ahead, but the Silver Kit was a beast all its own, built to respond to its driver with absolute precision. As the police tried to keep up with the chaos in vain, John and Coraline had a singular focus, and the Silver Kit was more than up for the job.
Psychedelic caught sight of the gleaming silver Jaguar in her side mirror, gaining on her with calculated precision. She let out a sultry gasp, her eyes lighting up with wild delight. "Well, hello there, sexy," she purred, tossing her hair back as if she were on a joyride instead of a high-speed chase. "Now, you look like a pretty kitty I can have some real fun with!"
She swerved the bookmobile erratically, feigning to the left, then sharply right, daring the Silver Kit to keep pace with her unpredictable manoeuvres. In her mind, this wasn’t just an escape; it was a dance, and her partner had just shown up looking perfectly polished and oh-so-serious. With a wicked grin, she reached into her bag of chaos, ready to up the ante.
“Let’s see if you can keep up, little kitty cat!”
John gritted his teeth as he veered the Silver Kit, narrowly avoiding the impact of a makeshift Molotov cocktail that exploded into a patch of burning antiseptic on the highway. The Jaguar handled the erratic obstacles with ease, swerving past the flaming patch and dodging a hefty thesaurus that Psychedelic had hurled from the back of her wild ride.
"What the hell are we dealing with here?" he muttered, hands steady as he closed the gap between the Silver Kit and the bookmobile.
"Someone dangerous and unhinged," Vulpes replied, her voice focused as she rolled down the passenger side window, already preparing for her next move. She leaned out, adjusting her mask as she braced herself against the wind. "Just get me close, then peel off. Make sure the police don’t get a clear shot at you—I’ll handle our little joyrider and meet you back at the Den once this is wrapped up."
John nodded, keeping the car steady as he brought it up parallel to the bookmobile, a sliver of distance between them. "Good luck, V," he said, sparing her a quick, respectful glance. With that, he executed a flawless drift, maneuvering just close enough for her to make the jump.
Vulpes locked her gaze on the bookmobile, her muscles tensing. "See you soon, Wolf," she said, and with a swift, decisive leap, she launched herself across the gap.
The retractable claws on Vulpes' gauntlets gripped tightly into the metal frame of the bookmobile as her electro-magnets activated, anchoring her to the side of the speeding van. She glanced up, her focus razor-sharp, as Psychedelic spotted her in the side mirror.
"Oh, the foxy lady! This is even better than I thought!" Psychedelic’s eyes gleamed with wild delight as she let out a mad cackle. With no hesitation, she jerked the wheel sharply, weaving recklessly between cars and coming dangerously close to mailboxes, street signs, and even a few unsuspecting pedestrians. The wild swerves forced Vulpes to grip tighter, her body bracing against each jolt as she clambered up, finally hauling herself onto the roof to avoid the obstacles.
Balancing herself against the rush of wind, Vulpes locked eyes with Psychedelic through the mirror, her own determination a stark contrast to Psychedelic's manic thrill. It was a deadly game of cat and mouse at high speed, and Vulpes was ready to bring it to an end.
In that moment, realization hit the Vulpes like a punch to the gut—this was Doctor Lyra Sinclair. The woman she hadn’t been able to save, exposed to an overdose of her own creation, now transformed into this deranged persona causing mayhem across the city. For a split second, her heart sank, guilt seizing her as she clung to the roof of the wildly swerving bookmobile. The chaos, destruction, and any lives lost on this mad joyride—it was hard not to feel responsible, wondering if her own failure to extract Lyra from that gas chamber had given birth to the nightmare she was now facing.
But Vulpes knew she couldn't afford to let guilt cloud her judgement now. If anything, it strengthened her resolve to put an end to this, for the safety of everyone Lyra’s path of madness endangered.
Vulpes swung down into the open back doors of the book mobile to the back that was fairly roomy with how much of its contents were now strewn across downtown Toronto."Stop the vehicle Lyra, I don't want to hurt you, I just want to get you the help you need" said Vulpes firmly as she advanced towards the driver's seat.
Psychedelic without missing a beat snapped back "Lyra's not here man!" then giggled at her own joke before tossing a glass vial full of something back at the Vulpes.
Vulpes swatted the vial out of the air, expecting it to shatter harmlessly against the floor. But as it hit the metal surface, a hissing vapor erupted, filling the back of the bookmobile with a thick, pungent cloud that stung her eyes and throat even through her mask.
Coughing, she took a cautious step forward, her focus unwavering as she steadied herself. "This is serious, Lyra," she called out, her voice steely despite the smoke. "Whatever you're doing, it’s going to end here."
But Psychedelic just laughed, a wild, gleeful sound. “You're a total buzzkill, Foxy!” She whipped around briefly to flash a manic grin, her eyes alight with a crazed delight. "Lyra tried to control the world, but I’m just here to watch it spin out of control, baby!"
Another bottle came hurtling toward Vulpes, this time shattering in her path and spilling an oily substance across the floor. Vulpes’s boots slid as she moved, throwing her off balance. She reached out to steady herself but could feel her footing slipping. Just as she regained her stance, Psychedelic jerked the wheel, sending the bookmobile swerving wildly.
“Oops, Foxy! You really gotta be careful!” Psychedelic called out, swerving once more, sending Vulpes slamming into the side of the van.
Gritting her teeth, Vulpes tried to close the distance to the driver’s seat, but Psychedelic was ready. In a fluid, unexpected movement, she slammed on the brakes, sending Vulpes flying forward. She barely managed to brace herself before Psychedelic suddenly hit the gas again, tossing Vulpes off balance and toward the open doors.
“I think it’s time for you to hit the road, Foxy!” Psychedelic cackled, hitting a sharp turn that sent Vulpes tumbling backward. Vulpes clawed at the edges of the open doors, but with a final swerve, Psychedelic managed to fling her out, sending her rolling across the asphalt as the bookmobile sped off.
Vulpes’ claws scraped helplessly along the doorframe as the inertia of Psychedelic's wild swerve sent her flying backward. For a fleeting moment, she clung to the edge, desperately fighting against the momentum. But gravity had other ideas, and her magnetic grips couldn’t hold against the sheer force pulling her back. Her fingers slipped, and in the split second before she was launched, her heart hammered with a painful realization: she was going to hit hard, and there was nothing to soften the fall.
As she hurtled through the air, time seemed to slow, adrenaline sharpening every detail. She braced herself, recalling her grandfather’s specific, almost eccentric lesson on what to do if thrown from a moving vehicle. “Keep loose,” he’d said. “Let yourself roll. Don’t fight it.”
The impact hit her like a hammer, her armoured body slamming into the pavement as she instinctively tucked into a roll. Pain shot through her, each scrape and jolt a sharp reminder of her misjudgment. The rough asphalt bit through her suit, but she let herself keep rolling, each revolution lessening the force of impact as she skidded to a painful stop.
Dazed and aching, Vulpes dragged herself onto her knees, her vision swimming as she forced herself to focus on the shrinking taillights of the bookmobile. She could barely make out Psychedelic’s silhouette, her mad laughter carried faintly on the wind before it was swallowed by the hum of the city.
Vulpes touched her bruised shoulder, wincing at the sting beneath her armor. She had severely underestimated Lyra Sinclair. The woman she’d hoped to help had been completely consumed by something far more chaotic and dangerous—a force that couldn’t be reasoned with.
This was no longer a battle of wills. It was a fight for survival, and Psychedelic had drawn first blood.
The Vulpes gritted her teeth, her entire body radiating a dull, insistent pain as she managed to pull a small device from her belt. Each movement sent a new jolt of discomfort through her battered limbs, but she pressed the button with determination. The device would send an alert to John—a call for a much-needed pickup. She allowed herself a deep breath, steadying her vision and hoping that her helmet had done its job well enough to keep her from a concussion or anything worse.
She braced herself, pulling up to her feet with a wince, one hand instinctively reaching to check for injuries along her shoulder and side. The bruises were already making themselves known, aching with each breath, each shift of her weight. Nothing felt dislocated or broken, but she could tell she’d be feeling this encounter for a while. Her gut tightened with frustration—this misjudgment had cost her.
She squinted down the street, eyes straining to keep from blurring, and began pacing herself, each step measured as she fought the urge to just sink down and wait. She needed to stay focused, to keep her body moving until John arrived.
The Silver Kit roared into the alley where the Vulpes had managed to drag herself, and the passenger door flew open in invitation. With an audible groan, she heaved herself into the seat, her face set in a grimace as she settled back.
John's face twisted with worry as he looked her over, his voice tense. "Holy hell, what happened?"
She gave a short, pained chuckle. "The woman behind the wheel was Lyra Sinclair, she's… more than I anticipated." She took a shaky breath, her hand pressing against her side. "Got a tracker on the bookmobile during the scuffle. We’ll deal with her once I confirm no internal bleeding."
John slowly nodded, revving the engine as he steered them out of the alley, his jaw set. "Hold tight. We’ll get you back to the Den—let’s make sure nothing’s broken."
As the city blurred past them, Vulpes leaned back, letting the pain settle in as she mentally prepared for the next round. She had underestimated Psychedelic, but next time, she wouldn’t make the same mistake.
***
Psychedelic barreled down the road, taking erratic, unpredictable turns, her mind delighting in the thrill of pure, chaotic movement. She had no clue where she was headed—and that was the best part. The sirens and helicopters were just a symphony to her now, adding to the rhythm of her escape. As she glanced in the rearview mirror, her grin stretched wider, the memory of the Vulpes tumbling from the back of the bookmobile playing on repeat in her mind.
"Ooh, I guess that makes me a supervillain!" she mused with a gleeful laugh. The thought thrilled her, yet she wrinkled her nose, eyeing her reflection. The stolen doctor’s coat and hospital garb felt drab, lacking the flair a true supervillain should have.
"Well, we’ll fix that soon enough," she murmured, already envisioning something with a lot more color—and panache.
But first, she had to lose the helicopters whirling overhead like mechanical vultures. Tapping the gas, she swerved into a narrow alley, the bookmobile skidding dangerously close to the walls as she zigzagged her way through the tight maze of downtown. She laughed wildly as tires screeched and horns blared behind her—this was her world now, and she was just getting started.
The Helicopters were not an easy tail to loose, and she didn't have much choice. She pondered a few options and then extracted her magic eight ball gave it a shake and asked "Should I ditch the Book mobile?"
The answer slowly floated to the surface in the murky triangle: "Yes, definitely."
Psychedelic grinned, giving the dashboard a fond pat. "Sorry, old girl, but looks like this is where we part ways." She surveyed the area around her as she sped down a side street, searching for the perfect spot to make her exit.
With a final swerve, she skidded the bookmobile into a dimly lit alley between two abandoned buildings. As it rolled to a stop, she spotted a fire escape ladder just above the van’s roof. Perfect.
She grabbed her tote bag, stuffed with her makeshift supplies, and climbed out through the driver’s side. Giving the bookmobile one last, nostalgic glance, she whispered, "Thanks for the memories."
With a mischievous grin, Psychedelic wedged a brick against the bookmobile's gas pedal and yanked the gear into drive, sending it lurching forward. The vehicle sputtered to life, picking up speed as it hurtled out of the alleyway and back onto the street, driverless but barreling forward with reckless abandon.
She leapt onto the fire escape ladder as the bookmobile swerved wildly, dodging and weaving through oncoming traffic, creating a whirlwind of chaos in its wake. Horns blared, brakes screeched, and the helicopter overhead adjusted its course, spotlight focused on the runaway vehicle, assuming she was still behind the wheel.
As she climbed higher, she watched with a satisfied gleam as the bookmobile continued its erratic path, drawing the helicopters and police cruisers away. Psychedelic chuckled, watching the chaos unfold below before slipping out of sight onto the rooftop. She vanished into the shadows, her path clear and her head full of new ideas for whatever delicious disorder she’d bring to the city next.
