DN - Flying Tackle

Calamity waits until he’s near the mouth of an alley, and then steps out from behind the cab of a parked panel van. Her magnum barks twice. A car window near him explodes, and he drops his gun. Calamity is back in cover before he knows what’s going on. The robber snatches up his gun with his other hand, loops his cash bag over his shoulder, and ducks into the alley. It’s narrow, crowded with empty milk crates and dumpsters. I wait until he’s about halfway down the alley, and then spear down from the air. I anchor myself in the lattice…

When he hits me, it’s like he ran full-tilt into a concrete post. My injured ribs give a faint cry of protest, but he gets the worst of it by far. I can feel his body bend around me, his flesh press and stretch, his bones flex. It is unspeakably gross, and for a terrified moment I’m scared he will burst upon me. He bounces off me and lands flat on his back. A heartbeat later, he heaves convulsively, his bruised chest gasping for air, and he curls up in pain.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” I take a step forward.

...

I can see the fear seize him. He’s older than I thought he was at first, and his face is rough and lined. Thick salt-and-pepper stubble covers his chin, and when his lips pull back in fear I can see crooked, rotting teeth. He’s holding one of his hands tight to his stomach, and three of his fingers are badly broken. For a moment I feel pity for him. Nobody ends up looking like this if they have an easy life.

- Dreadnought, Chapter 17