Time slowed to a crawl, as Patrick could hear Pulverati pull in another deep breath to blow the barrier down. A small opening grew out from the center of the Patrick’s shield, almost like a camera’s aperture. Pulverati looked on in confusion as Patrick launched a fist through the gap.
The punch connected with Pulverati’s chin with a wet snap, shutting down the signals that allowed him to remain upright. He coiled into a pile of spaghetti, mumbling “thatwasawesome,” before slipping into a deep slumber.
Boost arrived just in time to see Patrick pop up the liquid shield, deflecting one of Pulverati’s powerful attacks, and then following it up immediately with a shuffle step and left cross, through the center of his shield. He staggered up, struggling to catch his breath.
“thatwasawesome,” he said, as he bent over, huffing and grabbing a handful of pants above each knee.
“Just in time,” Patrick said. “You get to carry him back.”
“Why can’t we just leave him here?”
“Can’t risk someone with his power getting away,” Patrick said over his shoulder, heading back to help Black Paralysis.
Bull Dozer’s lower jaw hung loose, as his tongue lolled, whipping a trail of saliva with each movement. His left arm dangled from its socket, unable to respond to his commands. He sunk into an aggressive stance, and threw an uppercut, hoping to at least land a glancing blow to his opponent.
Black Paralysis read the movement with practiced ease, and slipped to the side, as the bull’s massive mitt missed its mark. He had sapped most of his energy reserves knocking Bull Dozer’s left arm out of commission but felt expending the chi to paralyze the villain’s jaw wasn’t a waste. Killing off the terrible trash talking made the conflict more enjoyable. With his opponent’s uppercut passing by, Black Paralysis thrust his heel into the side of the big man’s knee, with a crushing sidekick.
The villain’s powerful muscles and tough tendons shrugged off any damage with ease, but the kick was enough to steal away his balance, as he dropped to one knee. With the energy once again flowing through his arms, Black Paralysis moved in to finish the fight. He caught a flash of movement from Bull Dozer’s horns as they whipped around, trying to impale anything in their path. The hero slid under a swipe from the sharpened tips and ended up behind the behemoth. Sending his chi coursing out through his knuckles, Black Paralysis lived up to his name, as he landed several short strikes along Bull Dozer’s spine, each unleashing a paralyzing pulse of energy. The last strike to the small of his foe’s back sent the villain crashing face first into the street.
“Some pretty good timing, if you ask me,” Patrick said.
Boost arrived just seconds later, with Pulverati draped across a shoulder, the villain’s hands and feet bound with flex cuffs.
“Abby and I are done here. Headed to your position now,” Speetah said.
“Scratch that,” Broadband said. “The police are on the way. They’ll be there in less than a minute. Just meet back at HQ”
Boost dumped Pulverati on top of Bull Dozer’s body. “Should we cuff him too?”
“Won’t make a difference. He’d snap ‘em with ease,” Black Paralysis said.
“Cops will be here any second. They should have the means to secure Bull Dozer,” Patrick said.
In the months since the city-wide showdown with the Visionaries, law enforcement tactics had changed, securing new funding for dealing with supers. Although city officials tolerated the team’s activities, Patrick knew it was still wise to step out of the way when the pros showed up. Drawing heat from the police would only complicate their mission to help the city.
CHAPTER
2
Trevor, Patrick’s plucky sidekick, took a seat next to Troy at the console, an array of digital displays showing the feed from various cameras around the city. “What’s up, Broadband?”
“Hey Trev,” Troy said.
“So the body cams are finally up and running? What did I miss?”
Troy flipped a few switches and displayed archived footage from moments before. “They took out the Wrecking Crew.”
The screen displayed a chaotic scene, whipping around never focusing on anything long enough to visually anchor the viewer.
“I’m gonna puke,” Trevor said. “This body cam idea is not one of your best, bro.”
“Well for Sean, Patrick, Crystal, and Abby it’s, unfortunately, going to be this Cloverfield style chaos. They just move around so much when they fight.”
“Yeah, I don’t see Manny, and Graham flipping around like rabid weasels.”
Troy clicked a few keys and switched to the drone footage showing Bull Dozer versus Black Paralysis. “This is some great footage, though. I’m gonna mix some music in there, and upload it for the fans to see.”
“Just let me choose the music this time.” Trevor patted Troy on the shoulder.
Troy looked up and smirked. “You know you just show your age when you complain about my music, old man.”
Trevor ignored the comment and changed subjects. “How about the newbs?”
“You mean Striker and Weed? You know they’ve been at this longer than us, right?” Troy said.
“I meant Weed and Dark Justice,” Trevor said.
“Dark Justice changed his name to Striker last month, remember?”
“No one told me. Why would he choose such a cheesy name, though?”
Troy laughed. “Striker is worse?”
“Yeah, well, I mean, I just got used to Dark Justice.” Trevor stumbled through his explanation, never one to concede apparent defeat.
“I’ve got a cam on Striker. He prefers to get up close and personal in his fights, but the footage is still manageable,” Troy said.
“How about Weed? What’s she up to?” Trevor asked.
“I don’t have a camera on her yet, and she seems always to be in the areas with no drone coverage.”
“Are you kidding me?” Boost asked, walking into the room. “Seriously, does anyone know what Weed’s powers are?” He pulled the goggles from around his neck and unzipped his jacket.
Trevor and Troy spun to face the others as they came in.
“Hey guys, how does the situation look?” Patrick stepped past Boost.
Trevor spun his chair back to the console and pulled up the live feed. “Police are there, and it looks like the Wrecking Crew is finally out of business.”
“What’s that monstrosity?” Boost asked, pointing to the footage of several officers loading Bull Dozer into a large armored vehicle.
“That’s courtesy of the statewide funding for the Supers Task Forces in all major cities. They’re getting all the surplus military gear to deal with a more powerful breed of criminals.” Patrick was no longer watching the feed, as he took his gloves and jacket off. “Let’s regroup in five.”
The team’s new headquarters occupies a legally acquired facility, funded by their newest member, Bryson Hardy, who fights crime under the alias, Striker, since changing his name from Dark Justice a month ago. It’s a large open area that was once a boot camp gym. Bryson kept all of the equipment when he leased the building, using it for his personal training ground. When he joined the group, they were in need of a central location to meet, and his building fit the bill.
Patrick and Graham came down from the upstairs offices where Broadband’s equipment was set up. Crystal and Abby stepped into the building, Crystal sharing a brief hug with Sean as he joined them.
“I’ve got a good news, bad news situation for you,” Patrick said.
“Let’s start with the good,” Abby said.
“The city has finally secured funding for their very own STF,” he said.
“What’s an STF?” Crystal asked.
“Supers Task Force,” Sean said.
“It will alleviate some of the burdens of tackling masks when we’re spread thin,” Patrick said. He used the expression popularized in social media, after the increase in super-powered activity, dividing the good guys from the b
ad with the terms capes and masks, respectively.
“So what’s the bad news?” Trevor said, from the top of the stairs.
“The city has finally secured funding for their very own STF,” Patrick said. “This makes our lives that much more complicated.”
“How so,” said Abby.
“They’re not going to want a bunch of unsanctioned vigilantes trying to show them how to do their job,” Crystal said. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“Right,” Patrick said.
CHAPTER
3
David “Tex” Teixeira leaned against the wall of the rented warehouse. He kept his chin tucked, and his eyes closed. Massive tree trunk arms crossed in front of his chest, as Tex waited for his partner in crime. He wore a casual outfit far less showy than what he wore on a regular basis in the ring with the WWO. On any ordinary man, the t-shirt and jeans would fit loosely, but his large, muscle-packed frame pushed the limits of the clothing’s cut. His darkened, weathered skin was pulled tight, straining to contain his body’s lean mass, showing the striations of his muscle fibers when he flexed even a little. His build was somewhere between a body builder, and a strong man competitor. His skeletal structure, as well as his ligaments and tendons, adapted to match the sheer density of the muscles lashed to his bones. He now tipped the scales at close to 425 pounds, mostly muscle and bone.
Tex had grown a full 3 inches in height, and his body broadened out over the years since his powers manifested. He was far stronger than he ever was, even 20 years ago at his human physical peak. Though signs of his age were still too evident. He kept his head shaved close to avoid the reminder of his thinning hair. His beard was full and thick, obscuring the lines and wrinkles underneath. Even though he was a man pushing towards the pinnacle of human physical potential, his vanity was still a weakness.
The high RPM revving of an engine reverberated through the small street tucked behind the industrial complex. An 18 wheeler, hauling a full trailer, pulled up. Horace “Hoss” Von Vader dropped to the asphalt from the passenger side.
Every adjective someone could apply to Tex’s appearance would have an “er” added to the end to describe his tag team partner, Hoss. Tex was a physically intimidating person in every way, but Hoss was bigger, heavier, taller, stronger, and uglier (though Hoss would say he was handsome-er, tossing grammar right out the window). At 7 feet in height, and 480 pounds, he was a beast of a man, sporting a bushy mohawk and a robust, braided “sabertooth” mustache, ending in two pointed chrome caps. His physique was every bit as impressive as Tex, but Hoss had a layer of subcutaneous body fat that filled all the cracks of his muscle fibers, giving him a smoother, yet still angular shape. Still, all it took was a battle cry, and some flexing for Hoss to render the details.
He slapped his hand twice on the door, signaling the driver to pull into the open warehouse. Hoss and Tex slammed two leathery hands together and exchanged a quick one-arm hug.
“Is it all in there?” Tex asked.
“Every last drop,” Hoss said.
Their voices were low, throaty rumbles, like digitally altered audio to protect witnesses. Only, this was due to years of abuse from their former occupation, and questionable training habits.
Hoss and Tex were former tag team professional wrestlers for the World Wrestling Organization, or WWO, a long-standing professional wrestling promotion dating back to the 1960s. Starting their careers in the late 90s, they were two of the promotion’s biggest stars, well into the new millennium. Tex wrestled under the name Warhead, and Hoss took the moniker Ground Zero. Together they were known as the tag team Armageddon, the longest reigning champions in WWO history.
Popular because of its more off the wall characters, in 2006 information was released that the WWO hired a few super-powered performers for its shows, looking to gain an edge. With this knowledge now public, the people demanded more. Crowds at shows expected bigger stunts and exciting fights. By 2008 over 50% of their stars were supers, and the managers began phasing out the last remaining human stars from upcoming events, with plans on employing all supers by the year 2012.
Years earlier, since the rise of super-powered wrestlers, Armageddon struggled to keep up with the more extreme expectations. Tex and Hoss started using a synthesized experimental growth hormone, known as XGH, in attempts to stay relevant. In 2011, as the only non-super title holders, Warhead and Ground Zero were expected to give up their title belts, to a dynamic pair of supers that the promotion wanted to elevate as their new tag team champions. During the event, the steady use of XGH caused both Hoss and Tex to manifest super abilities, much to the delight of the crowd. Against company wishes, Armageddon successfully defended their titles, and the fans ate it up.
Warhead now had the ability to generate a field of pure kinetic energy while in motion, allowing him to plow through anything in his path. Ground Zero, meanwhile, could now absorb, channel and redirect kinetic energy through his body, giving him the ability to plant his feet and stand his ground against any physical attack. The powers perfectly complimented each other and made them stars in the sport once again.
Seeing another surge in their popularity, they formed the “Brotherhood of Armageddon” as an inter-organizational collective of the remaining non-super stars in the WWO. For another year, the status and popularity of all human stars spiked. However, even that waned as fans demanded more excitement from the organization. By 2014 all non-super wrestlers were released from their contracts. Although Tex and Hoss were supers, WWO management also quietly released them, as they were too old, and no longer hot with newer fans.
Enraged by the decision, Armageddon began committing high-profile acts of vandalism, causing hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage, targeting several WWO executives. Every few weeks, Warhead and Ground Zero targeted another executive, and the fans saw this as another attempt at rebooting the tag-team. Once again Armageddon soared into the spotlight, only this was all completely unsanctioned by the World Wrestling Organization. Every time the WWO released a press statement denying the acts as a PR stunt, popularity would surge.
The Brotherhood of Armageddon went viral, drawing in new fans outside of the sport of Professional Wrestling. Bootleg clothing emblazoned with the “B.o.A.” logo were sold all over the internet, and cemented the duo’s legendary status.
By the time it was accepted that this was not a WWO affiliated marketing tactic, Armageddon had already gathered national attention, with many disenfranchised youth flocking to join the Brotherhood.
Hoss and Tex arrived in the city, hoping to join forces with Sight and his Visionaries, only to find that they had been days too late. A group of heroes rose up and defeated the super villain and his once powerful organization.
Tex flashed another newspaper showing the latest heroic exploits of the city’s baby-faced supers. “These people think they’re safe from the big bad wolf,” he said.
“They’re not prepared for Armageddon, brother,” Hoss said.
They bumped their fists together, sending out a low hollow thrum from the impact.
CHAPTER
4
Patrick stood in his bathroom looking at his face in the mirror, running his fingertips along his jaw to inspect his shaving handiwork. His mind wandered, as it always did during his morning routine, thinking about his second life as a hero. A metaphorical reflection of his moonlighting activities.
Of the original crew, he was the oldest, and he liked to think the wisest, although Crystal seemed to have an edge in that department in most situations. It made him feel responsible for for the well-being of the group. All of the members were adults and could make their own decisions. In his mind, the fact that they all looked to him for guidance and followed his lead put the burden squarely on his shoulders. A burden he bore with no hesitation these days.
It was Patrick that met with local law enforcement and discussed the unofficial truce, allowing for some degree of super-heroics. Their activities were still considered vigilantism,
and as such, the police couldn’t give a full blessing. In fact about half of the police department resented what Patrick and his friends were doing. Only a small percentage applauded it, and the rest were ambivalent.
That was enough breathing room to clean up the rest of the Visionaries, with Sight and his super-powered cronies removed from the equation. But the last month had been calm and quiet, with even most petty crime on the decline. The city’s residents found a new sense of pride and set up their own neighborhood watch organizations. The communities grew much closer, and the overall sense of safety permeated the streets.
Patrick splashed some cold water on his face, toweled off, and plucked a bit of shaving cream off of his earlobe. He put on his comfortable worn out jeans and a gray t-shirt before heading out to meet the others.
Crystal’s light soled shoes scraped across the gravel as she skidded to a stop. Her skin was slick from a layer of perspiration, glistening in the late morning sun. She shook her head, flinging droplets of sweat free from her hair. She wore it longer than she had in years, knowing it could be a hassle for her when running around at even a fraction of her normal speed.
“That’s disgusting! How about a warning next time?” Abby shielded her face and neck with a small workout towel, catching most of the spray on her exposed arms.
Crystal snatched the towel and wiped away the sweat. “I know you’re not a morning person, so I thought I would help you wake up.”
“Unless you start sweating coffee, I don’t need your help,” Abby said.
“Maybe if you joined in on these morning workouts, it would help you hop out of bed,” Crystal said.
“All bright eyed, and bushy tailed?” Abby walked by and tugged at the furry appendage attached to the back of Crystal’s head, with a thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah. Not to mention, you’re starting to get a bit soft.” Crystal tapped Abby’s stomach with her tail and walked over to grab her water bottle.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 2