“That’s my body armor,” Abby said. “Besides, I don’t want anyone to confuse the two of us when we’re fighting side by side.”
Crystal smiled as she draped her towel over one shoulder, and ruffled her fingers through Abby’s hair, who stood almost two full heads shorter.
She tossed a small wrapped box to the shorter girl. “Happy Birthday.”
Abby caught it and looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Troy brought it up when I was talking to him about something else.”
She unwrapped the small box and pulled out a small red aluminum-encased digital music player.
“It’s already loaded up with the songs from your playlist,” Crystal said. “The headphones are in the box too.”
“Thank you,” Abby said with a quiet voice. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know when your birthday is.”
“That’s because I like to keep that information a secret,” Crystal said. “Plus, I don’t have a brother who talks too much. He sure does love filling the void when there’s too much silence.”
“I’d give you a hug, but all that sweat is still too gross.”
Crystal stepped forward and threatened to embrace her friend.
Abby jogged away laughing. She pulled her hood back up and sat on a nearby parking block. “You ever think about quitting?”
“Yeah.” Crystal’s eyes dropped to the ground as she used to the towel to dry her hair some more. “Sometimes I just want a normal day to day life, like everyone else, but...” She pulled her tail over one shoulder and let it and her words hang.
“People know who you are after last year, though. You’ve got fans now.”
“Not what one would call a normal existence, is it? Careful what you wish for, I guess.”
They let the silence go on for a few more beats.
“I wonder what Patrick wants to talk about,” Abby said.
“He’s been making a few comments about dialing all of this back,” Crystal said. “The police aren’t giving us a full pass to operate, and things have been much safer. Maybe it is a good time for a vacation.”
“I’d have to dust off my journal to see what I’ve been missing.” Abby mimed opening a small book and running a finger down the page. “Boys, clothes, Facebook. I can finally get back to the stuff that really matters.” She closed her “book” and stood up.
“You’re young. Don’t throw your life away chasing the bad guys.” Crystal dropped her towel into a slim backpack, zipped it shut, and shouldered the strap. “Trust me; you’ll never catch them all.”
Warhead pulled the semi-trailer doors open and climbed into the back. it was full of pallets stacked with boxes, all wrapped in plastic. He tore through the tacky film lining of one stack and pulled a box out. He tossed it to Ground Zero and grabbed a second box on his way out. They both inspected the contents. Each one contained two dozen smaller cartons, containing a small disc-shaped inhaler with multiple doses of the experimental growth hormone, XGH.
Armageddon had been approached by a chemist months ago, with a plan to mass produce a newer faster-acting formula. It lacked the punch of the original, but it could be used to power up a group of loyal supporters in a matter of days, instead of years. Tex bit down on one of the inhalers, triggered the spray and sucked in a deep breath. He and Hoss no longer needed XGH, but they still enjoyed the surge of energy.
“Still a rush.” The small plastic device almost disappeared behind Tex’s thick fingers.
“Time to put the call out?” Hoss asked.
Tex used a thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, let’s start recruiting.”
The driver of the semi, a stout man wearing a black t-shirt with the “BoA” logo for the Brotherhood of Armageddon, stepped around and handed the keys to Hoss. “Here you go, boss.”
Tex dropped the inhaler, back into the box, pulled a stack of cash from his back pocket, and handed both to the driver.
Hoss put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “For you and your friends.”
“Thanks,” the man said. “We won’t let you down.”
Tex flashed a quick smile, but Hoss let his face switch to a fearsome mask that said “You better not” and gave the faintest of nods before walking the man out.
CHAPTER
5
Manny, the Mighty Manerpillar, fiddled with a rack of weights in Bryson’s “Justice Gym”, the team’s newest base of operations. He grabbed a pair of 25-pound dumbbells and started doing a few curls. After four reps, he realized he had been leaning on his powers too much, and neglecting his body. the fifth repetition sent the painful burn of exertion through his upper arms.
Juliana Barbosa, known to the team as Weed, walked in still wearing her costume. She wore a pair of faded black durable cotton pants from a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu gi, with reinforced knees. Her shirt was a black sleeveless surfer’s rash guard with reinforced stitching, commonly worn by grapplers to avoid mat burns during practice. Her long torso peeked out from where her shirt ended and her pants started, showing the telltale definition of a well-developed core underneath. Long beige strips of hemp fabric covered each of her forearms, starting just above the elbow, covering her fists, like a boxer’s hand wraps.
“Hey, Manny. Warming up?” She gathered her long black hair into a ponytail and stepped into the workout area.
Manny looked at the weights in his hands. He knew this was the kind of weight most people brushed by, on the way to grab the “real” iron. His first thought was to play it off like he was just getting started but ended up sticking with the truth.
“I think I just hit my limit.” He placed the weights back onto the rack with a sheepish grin, rubbing his left bicep.
Juliana smiled, appreciating his honesty, and started warming up on a pull-up bar.
“Who’s leaving this stuff laying around?” Bryson stepped into the gym pointing at the barbell sitting in the middle of the free weight area loaded up with 405 pounds. “I know this is you, Graham. I’m not cleaning up after you like your mom.”
Graham poked his head out from the upstairs office. “No way, dude. I don’t use those kids’ weights anymore.”
Sean stepped by Graham and jogged down the stairs. A thin powdery layer of grip chalk coated his hands. He wore a weightlifting belt, loosened two notches from his typical workout setting. “I’m sorry, man. I was just up there taking a quick break between sets. I’ll clean that up.”
Bryson pushed the barbell with his foot, sending it rolling further back and out of the way, then gave Sean the “I’m watching you” two finger eye pointing gesture.
Patrick held the door open, letting Crystal, Abby, and Troy into the headquarters.
“I can’t believe Manny still drives that eyesore parked out front,” Crystal said to Patrick.
“That van has served me well all these years,” Manny said.
“You’ve been doing this for years?” Juliana asked, dropping down from another set of pull ups.
“No, he delivered food before all this,” Troy said.
“And now I deliver justice.”
The room fell silent. Most closed their eyes and shook their heads, but Juliana tried to get a feel for how to react without hurting Manny’s feelings. Her first reaction was to laugh, but the silence squashed that instinct.
“Come on, guys, it wasn’t that bad.” Manny did his best to recover.
“No, it was. That was worse than all of Patrick’s cheesy lines,” Abby said.
“Hey!”
“I thought she was going to take a shot at me,” Boost said, keeping his eyes and voice low.
Patrick stepped into the center of the room. “Alright, there’s plenty of time for making fun of me later. Let’s get to the reason I wanted to get together today.”
The rest of the group gathered around. Trevor slid down the final few feet of the stair’s handrail and joined them.
“I know we’ve been doing a lot of good for the city. And I know that the
police and other city officials have been giving us a bit of space.” Patrick seemed to choose his words with care. “I think it’s time we start scaling back. Maybe only have a presence on the streets two or three times a week.”
The others sat, waiting for him to finish.
He held his hands out, palms up, in an almost apologetic gesture. “The city seems to be getting stronger every day, and now they’ve got a Supers Task Force. I think we’ve done our part. I feel it’s time to enjoy the fruits of our labor.”
“Do we still get to hang out?” Trevor asked.
“Do we still have to hang out?” Sean asked.
Crystal jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow, as he chuckled and clapped a hand on Trevor’s shoulder.
“I was just starting to get into the swing of things, but you’re more than welcome to stop by here anytime,” Bryson said.
“So what are your powers, anyway?” Graham sat next to Juliana after the group’s discussion about reducing their crime-fighting presence. “Do you grow, or stretch your limbs out? Do you strangle people?”
She held her wrapped hands up, with her palms facing herself. “I just —”
“Hey, everybody. What did I miss.” Nolan Taggart, a.k.a. H2Grow walked into the gym. He looked like a waif of a man, walking by the racks of weight plates, barely filling out his clothing. Nolan had the ability to absorb water, increasing his size and mass, which also bumped up is strength and toughness. When he wasn’t using his powers, he looked like a dehydrated bantamweight fighter, trying to cut for his next bout.
“Where do I start?” Patrick said, walking up to shake his hand.
“They took down The Wrecking Crew while you were at your grandparent’s cabin,” Trevor said.
“Bull Dozer and Pulverati?” Nolan asked. His eyes glowed with child-like awe. “You guys never cease to amaze me. How many of you did it take to bring Bull Dozer down?”
“Just Sean,” Graham said.
Nolan’s jaw dropped. “That guy is enormous! I heard he’s a very tough fighter, and strong as an ox.”
“Bull,” Patrick said. “Sean showed him why we call him Black Paralysis.”
“Stop, you guys are gonna make me blush.” Sean brought his right arm up, flexing.
Abby reached up and gave his upper arm a squeeze, and gave a short nod of approval.
Manny, Crystal, and Troy came down from the upstairs office.
“You guys need to see this,” Manny said. He pointed a remote and turned on the large flat screen above the workout area.
They all watched a local news crew covering a scene of panic at the opening of a new mall in the commercial district.
“What’s going on?” Abby asked.
“I don’t know, but maybe it’s a bit premature for us to scale back now,” Patrick said, stepping closer to the television.
CHAPTER
6
Warhead and Ground Zero, Armageddon, were on a mission. Their original plan, to team up with Sight and his Visionaries, hit a snag before they arrived. They knew this visit to the city would still benefit them, though. The Brotherhood of Armageddon just had to take on a bigger burden a little earlier than expected. With their fast-growing following and a shipment of XGH stashed away, Warhead and Ground Zero had the means to recruit a powerful army, and make an enormous splash on the scene.
It would have to be a big show, with prominent coverage, to get the ball rolling. They would make a splash, sending the BoA soldiers out to create chaos while Armageddon took center stage, and let the city know they had arrived.
The city had a number of supers helping to clean up the streets, so, of course, it stood to reason that it also had its fair share of supers just as willing to join the Brotherhood of Armageddon. With a legion of powerful allies and loyal fans, Warhead and Ground Zero could take the city over in a matter of weeks. The key would be to put on a convincing enough performance to draw out the city’s protectors, and show everyone that nothing could stop the arrival of Armageddon.
“We just need to draw the capes out. Get them out of our way,” Warhead said.
“Let’s take the Visionary’s original building, the Watchtower,” Ground Zero said.
“Not enough eyes on it. It has to be something that the media can get to at a moment’s notice. Sight’s old dwelling no longer has the punch.”
“How about the grand opening of the mall?” A thin, pale man with greasy brown hair held up a phone with a smudged screen, showing the local news channel’s website, featuring a story about the city’s new mall that was set to open the next day.
Warhead plucked the phone from the man’s hand with a thumb and forefinger and brought the screen up close. “Perfect.”
“Jennifer Wells with Channel 12 news, here at the grand opening of the city’s largest shopping mall.” The woman wore a blue skirt and blazer, brown hair struggling to stay in place, and the network’s logo displayed on the microphone flag. She brushed away a few errant locks, caught in a brief gust of wind as she made her way closer. “We’re going to talk to the man behind this project, Ronald Guinn, and get his thoughts on this momentous occasion.”
The mall had a soft opening a week earlier, with several stores already open for business. Today’s opening was well publicized, however, and drew a much larger crowd, along with the local TV and newspaper reporters covering the event. The real estate mogul, Ronald Guinn stood on a makeshift stage, holding a pair of giant novelty scissors, typical at a ribbon cutting ceremony, and spoke to several microphones and digital recorders held aloft.
Most of the shoppers milled about, talking to each other and waiting for the stores to open. The crowd was light for a mall of this size, but still large enough for the news to take notice. Guinn finished his dry, cordial speech, and snipped the ribbon right next to the big bow, to some mild, courteous applause.
A buzzing and murmuring flowed through the crowd, starting from its outer edges, like a general excitement to get in and start spending money. As the sound made its way to the front, it was full on panic and screaming. People were shouting and shoving their way forward, trying to escape toward the stage. Ronald did his best to try and calm the people down, but several unfortunate shoppers were pulled underfoot, trampled by the herd rushing in.
From the back of the crowd, a group of discarded youth wearing ratty jeans and black shirts, emblazoned with the “BoA” logo signifying their allegiance to the Brotherhood of Armageddon, cackled, pushed, and harassed the people. Anyone questioning their actions, or trying to step up, were promptly struck and shoved back into the mass of frightened bystanders.
The people packed in around the stage. News cameras faced the crowd, trying to find the source of the trouble. Again, Ronald Guinn picked up a megaphone trying to quell them, before a riot broke out. His words, even mechanically enhanced, were drowned out. Half the cameras filmed the instigators in the back, and the other half stayed fixed on the mogul when two muscle packed meteors struck the stage, shattering it on impact. The lead figure rose, silhouetted in the dust, raising both fists above his head. He thundered two hammers down, once again throwing up a fusillade debris. Timed with the first man’s thunderous blow, the figure behind stood up, with his arms flexed, and fists held out to his sides.
In a packed arena, with pyrotechnics timed to the display, Armageddon’s signature entrance was a sight to behold. Up close and personal, swept up in chaos and fear, it was downright terrifying.
“Jennifer Wells, Channel 12, caught in the middle of what appears to be two new super-villains terrorizing the people at this once peaceful grand opening.” Her speech was clipped. She crouched low, as she did her best to shield herself from the free-falling shattered remains of the stage with her free hand. Though Jennifer was duck walking, an impressive feat in her heels and skirt, the shot was still from a lower angle as the camera operator did his best to keep her in the shot while laying on his stomach.
The dust settled, as Warhead and Ground Zero stood, visible to
the crowd and cameras. Warhead stepped to the side and swept the unconscious body of Ronald Guinn into the crowd, as he slammed his foot into the shrieking megaphone. The crowd flinched like the stomp sent an impact wave through the people.
Warhead’s eyes washed over the crowd, making sure all eyes, organic and digital, were on them. The big man walked over to his tag team partner and gave him a hard slap on the chest. “Let’s wake this city up, brother.”
Ground Zero moved into the crowd, targeting the nearest news crew. With one long stride, he lunged toward the newswoman, and her camera operator, laying in front of the remains of the stage. A group of loyal Brotherhood followers yanked Jennifer and her camera operator up with rough hands, making sure their leaders got the news coverage they needed.
Ground Zero’s hand swallowed Jennifer’s as he grabbed the microphone. “All you fat, lazy, wannabe heroes on your couches, stuffing your fat mouths with cheese-flavored chips, sitting there with your fat orange fingers and faces, come on out and challenge us.” He whipped the mic to the side, tossing the news reporter tumbling to the ground with it. She scrambled to her feet and ran to safety. Like a true professional, Wells held on to the mic and continued covering the chaos. “Face Armageddon!” Ground Zero continued roaring his threats, addressing the crowd, his voice still overpowering the screams and cries of fear.
Warhead stepped in; his thundering voice rumbled through the streets. “A few months of peace and quiet and you little pigs think everything is over?” He chuckled, a deep throaty rattle. “You got no idea what’s knockin’ on yer door. The big bad wolves.” With his thumb, he indicated himself and his tag team partner. “And when the big bad wolves show up, you got two choices: run with the wolves, or hide like little pigs.” Warhead swept a finger across the people scattering for cover, as the Brotherhood of Armageddon moved through the crowd bullying and taunting anyone within reach.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 3