Ground Zero moved into the crowd, grabbing a cameraman before he could get clear. The big man turned the camera to face him again. “We’ve been proving to everybody for the past two years, that Warhead and Ground Zero are the two strongest supers on the planet.” Droplets of spit speckled the lens. “There ain’t none of you heroes big enough, tough enough to stop Armageddon.”
Warhead shouldered his way in front of the camera again. “All you zeroes out there, thinking’ you got what it takes. Why don’t you all gather your girl scout troops and meet us a week from now, nine p.m., in front of city hall? Let’s do this group to group. Man to man. Our kind of fight.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and leaned in close to the camera. “And if you’re too scared to show, I wouldn’t blame ya, but every day we gotta wait to beat you chumps up, is another day these people are gonna suffer.”
Ground Zero snatched the camera from the man’s shoulder and held it up to his face. “Next week, nine at night, city call, Armageddon is coming, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop it.” He crushed the device between his hands and hurled the rest to the ground.
The duo moved back onto the ruined stage and headed into the main entrance of the mall. Brotherhood fanatics scattered into the crowd lost in the sea of bodies as the wail of police sirens filled the air.
The heroes watched as the entire event unfolded on several news stations.
“Who are they?” Crystal asked.
“Armageddon,” Trevor said.
“Yeah we deduced that from them shouting it,” Abby said.
“Warhead and Ground Zero. They’re professional wrestlers,” Patrick said. “A tag team from the World Wrestling Organization.”
“The WWO?” Sean asked. “Like that fake stuff that kids watch on TV?”
Patrick, Trevor, and Graham all shot an icy stare his way.
Trevor’s voice was quiet and steady. “I know it’s staged, but it’s real to me.”
Sean held his hands up in surrender, backing away.
Troy brought up some information on his smartphone. “David Teixeira and Horace Von Vader were two of the WWO’s most—”
“Von Vader? Is that his real name?” Abby asked.
Troy let his sister’s question hang in silence and continued. “Teixeira and Von Vader were two of the biggest names in the WWO ten years ago. Five years ago they were the only non-super title holders in the organization. Two years ago they—”
“They were still wrestling?” Abby asked, interrupting Troy again.
“I’m sorry, do you want to take over?”
“Forgive me, M’lord.” Abby bent over in a mocking bow. “Please continue, Professor.”
“Skip the pop culture lesson, and get to the point,” Crystal said. “You said these guys were non-supers five years ago. Let’s jump ahead to where that changed.” She gestured to the still frame displayed on the news feed, showing the two hulking figures.
Patrick stepped in to continue. “They were pretty open about using steroids in later interviews, hoping to keep up with the super-powered wrestlers the WWO kept bringing in.”
“Armageddon’s abilities manifested during a match in 2011.” Graham tagged in to continue the explanation. “Warhead and Ground Zero seriously injured their super-powered opponents. I think the fans were a little too into it. Those people running around in the black t-shirts call themselves the Brotherhood of Armageddon. A fanatical following that has been growing fast, since the duo was released from their contracts two years ago.”
“I just want to point out that their explanation took longer than mine,” Troy said. Crystal looked at him, letting her clear annoyance halt any further complaining.
“Is anyone else the least bit worried about those two giants running the show?” Abby asked. “I mean, they’re calling us out.”
“It’s nothing we haven’t faced before,” Patrick said. “We’ve dealt with our fair share of powerhouse types. Tension, Man-vil, and just recently Bull Dozer.” He counted them off on his fingers.
“Yeah and Armageddon is past their prime. Those guys have to be in their 40s by now,” Trevor said.
Sean and Crystal shared a concerned glance.
Graham did his best to help the mood. “Sight was a criminal mastermind with an army of supers at his disposal. Armageddon is a couple of muscle-heads, with a bunch of wild fans who will all turn tail and run when we bring down their leaders.”
“We’ve got a week to prepare. Graham, Trevor, Troy, let’s meet upstairs and start writing up everything we know about Armageddon so that we can discuss a plan.” Patrick started walking toward the stairs. “The rest of you, just do what you think is best until we figure things out.
“But I was just about to find out what Weed’s powers are,” Graham protested.
CHAPTER
7
Striker stepped into the back locker rooms, pulling his tactical belt from its hook, and fastening it around his waist. He shouldered the back scabbard for his “bokken”, a replica katana, made of a polycarbonate material, without the hand guard. Weed walked in, just as he put on a lightweight jacket, and dropped a pair of police night sticks into a ring on each side of his belt.
“You going to bust some heads?” she asked.
“We don’t know much about these Armageddon guys,” Bryson said. “So yeah, I guess you can say I’m going to bust some heads. I want to get my hands on a couple of those goofballs running around with the black logo shirts, and see if I can’t knock some information loose.”
“Need some company? I just finished my warm-ups, but my workout was interrupted.” Juliana unwound, then rewound one of her forearm wraps for a better fit.
Striker donned his mask and cowl, giving Weed a smirk and a nod as he holstered a super short double barreled shotgun on his thigh.
“Do you expect things to get that serious?” Weed was a bit perplexed by the mix of martial arts weaponry, and a modern firearm.
“Bean bags and airfoils,” Striker said, showing her one of shells before shoving it into an elastic loop on his belt. “Non-lethal, but still painful.”
“I’m coming with you.” Manerpillar joined them in the locker room. He grabbed his costume and started changing.
“There’s a lady present,” Bryson said.
Manny stood in his underwear, very aware of his soft body, as he glanced over at Juliana. He scooted behind a row of lockers and continued, his blushing glow almost visible around the corner.
Nolan strode in, dropped a bag onto one of the benches next to Striker. “I’m in too.” He stripped down to his boxers and started rifling through his bag for the costume.
“You two are something else,” Bryson said. “There’s a lady present.”
Juliana waved it off, chuckling.
Nolan, very aware of his thin, pale body looked up, shrugged and continued getting dressed.
The Mighty Manerpillar st`epped out into the open, sporting a new costume, with strategically placed padding and plates for protection. With Bryson’s resources, Manny’s tech guy, the Architect, was able to provide a better costume for Manny, and an actual functional outfit for Nolan when he became H2Grow.
“Ready when you are,” Manny said.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Weed said.
Striker headed back out. “I’ll drive. We’re not taking that cartoon you call a van.”
Speetah stood out in front of the team’s headquarters. She leaned with one shoulder against the wall; her tail pulled across the other shoulder. “I’m not sure he’s taking this as seriously as he needs to. I mean, I don’t know anything about these wrestler guys, but Patrick is pretty much brushing them off because we’ve faced big tough guys before.”
Black Paralysis sat on the concrete, with his back to the wall. “Maybe he’s still thinking about scaling back. Like he doesn’t want the rest of us to be bothered with one more problem.”
“That’s what I mean. He’s looking at this as just another chance encounter,
with a couple of supers causing trouble.”
“Let’s just talk to him after they come up with a plan.”
“Why are we even being left out of the planning?” Speetah asked. “He’s sloppy. This is going to get someone hurt.” She slid down the wall to sit next to Sean.
“Why don’t we just head upstairs now and let Patrick know how we feel?” Beat Boxer asked. She whipped a bottle cap across the parking lot, watching as it bounced off of Manny’s front tire, before sitting to join the others.
“You’ve seen Patrick when he gets like this,” Speetah said. “He’s trying to take on all of the responsibility because he thinks that’s how he can protect us. He doesn’t realize how much more dangerous that is, not letting us add our strengths to the plan.”
Sean and Abby stayed quiet, nodding in agreement.
A faint rhythmic buzzing came from Speetah’s pocket. She pulled her phone out and swiped the screen to check her incoming text messages.
An uncomfortable silence dragged out before Speetah tucked the phone back into her pocket, and got back up to her feet. “Call me when the planning is done. I need to clear my head.”
Before Sean could reply, Crystal had already pushed off, bolting down the street.
“She doesn’t seem too happy about all this,” Beat Boxer said.
“I don’t blame her,” Black Paralysis said. “Patrick is fooling himself if he thinks we’re just going to sit back and let him shoulder the burden.”
“You know, this would be a lot easier if we had Broadband’s eyes in the sky to help us pinpoint one of these guys,” Nolan said.
“You know, this would be a lot easier if you just sat back and let the grown-ups manage this,” Bryson shot back.
“Just trying to pass the time.” Nolan sat back, crossing his arms.
“I agree with you, Nolan, but Troy is tied up with Patrick, making plans right now,” Manny said. “I think Bryson has the right idea by scouting the neighborhoods near the mall. Those guys wearing the BoA shirts are probably still hanging around.”
“Stop the car,” Juliana said, tapping Bryson’s shoulder.
“What do you see?” he asked, pulling the car over.
She didn’t even wait for the car to stop before opening the door and moving across the street. Manny and Nolan did their best to watch her from the cramped back seat. She was on the other sidewalk by the time they caught a glimpse of her moving into the alley. Weed whipped a hand up, and the hemp fabric on her right arm unraveled into thin tendrils, snaking through the air and snagging an unseen support in the alley. As she was pulled up and around the corner, the driver side door closing caught Manny and Nolan’s attention. Striker was halfway across the street when the pair exchanged glances and struggled to escape the two-door vehicle.
Manny and Nolan reached the buildings, looking for their teammates. The alley had a small street, some back doors to the buildings on either side and not a soul in sight.
“Where did they go?” Nolan asked.
“I think they went in further. We should hurry, in case they need some backup.” Manny was moving ahead as he spoke. “There, it turns left up ahead.”
The duo made it around the bend and spotted three people talking to each other. Two were wearing black t-shirts, and the third, a woman, wore a gray sweatshirt. They turned to face the newcomers, Manerpillar and H2Grow. It was then that the heroes could see the distressed, hand-printed Brotherhood of Armageddon logos on the front of their shirts.
Both groups faced each other in a loose standoff. A smile crept across the faces of the three Brotherhood fanatics, starting with the man on the left, and moving across the other two faces, like a wave.
“Say, folks, you wouldn’t happen to know where our friends are would you?” Manerpillar asked. “Mean, dark, brooding fella, and a tall, athletic woman. I’m sure you would know them if you saw them.”
“Yeah, yeah I think we saw them go that way,” the woman said, pointing to the dead end past where they stood.
The three thugs walked forward to get closer.
“I guess now’s not the time to point out that I don’t see any water nearby.” Nolan’s voice was higher than a whisper, meant only for Manerpillar’s ears.
The largest of the group was close enough to hear Nolan. “You thirsty, little man?”
“Just stay back, I’ll take care of this,” Manerpillar said, pushing Nolan back with his arm.
“Five on one? Terrible odds my friend.” The man in the middle finally spoke.
“Terrible for you, maybe. Wait, five?” Manny swept his eyes side to side, and spotted two more Brotherhood members, carrying a small fabric bag, stepping out of the back door to the building the others were behind.
The woman, seizing the momentary lapse in attention rushed in to attack. Manerpillar thrust a palm forward shooting a spray of fine silk strands ensnaring her legs. The woman tripped and rolled as two more made their move. Manny was able to hold them at bay long enough to tangle them up in more silk, lashed to each other. The training with Black Paralysis and Patrick was already paying off.
An unseen fist connected with his jaw, blasting his senses with stars and bells. Another attacker tackled Manerpillar, dragging him to the concrete. He could see the woman, now free of her silk bindings, holding a small knife. One of her partners had an arm around Nolan’s neck in a choke hold. Manny shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused inward, summoning his power. The two men restraining him scrambled away as fine silk threads whipped around, pushing outward from the prone figure. The Mighty Manerpillar, a 7-foot massive creature with a series of small appendages lining his elongated torso between his stubby arms and legs, stood up.
The crowd moved back, giving Manny’s new form some fear and respect. The Brotherhood fanatic still held on to Nolan’s neck, using the young cape as a shield. The woman held her small knife, as one of the others slipped a set of brass knuckles on his right fist.
Manny stole the initiative and snapped a burst of sticky webbing at the man holding his friend, covering the left half of his face, and part of Nolan’s shoulder. It was enough to make the fanatic’s breathing difficult, loosening his grip. A glint of steel caught Manerpillar’s eye as the woman’s blade sliced a deep gouge through his ectoplasmic silken carapace before it caught one of the hardened plates attached to his new uniform.
A brass-wrapped fist shot forward, as the man did his best to reach the taller hero’s face. Manny brought his arms up and cushioned the blow, staggering back on his stubby legs. This group was far more aggressive than he expected.
Striker made it to the alley in time to see Weed pull herself up to a ledge, and swing across to the roof of the building across the alleyway. He pulled a device latched to his harness, and fired a projectile up to the edge of the rooftop. The missile spun in flight, spooling out high-tensile line, and releasing three prongs forming a grappling hook. With the line secure, Bryson scaled the wall, using a series of motors in his harness to assist, making the ascent smoother.
He pulled himself over the ledge, as Weed turned to face him with one finger in front of her lips, telling him to be quiet.
“What do you see?” He kept his voice to a low whisper, as he made his way to where she crouched.
“They came into this building. Two of them, wearing the BoA shirts. We have to move carefully, so they don’t realize we’re up here.” She spoke over her shoulder, making her way to the opposite end of the rooftop.
Striker searched a couple of his pouches and let out a curse under his breath. “I forgot my recon gear. I had a snake cam we could have used to take a look inside.”
“Looks like we’re doing this my way, then,” Weed said. “How much do you weigh?”
“Two-ten maybe. two twenty with all this gear.” Striker did a quick pat-down, estimating the additional weight of his equipment.
Weed extended her right arm, almost as if she wanted him to take her hand into his. As he stepped forward, the wrapping on he
r arm split into dozens of thin tendrils, shooting out and wrapping around his hips and waist.
“Whoa, hey. Don’t you think that’s a bit personal?” he asked.
“Don’t drop me,” Weed said, as she stepped back and rappelled down.
Bryson’s feet had slid a couple of inches before he was able to sink his stance and dig in with his boots.
He looked around for something to do with his hands before deciding that holding them out for balance was his best bet.
“What do you see?” he said, keeping his voice low. “I guess you can’t hear me, huh?”
“I can hear you.” Weed’s voice warbled, emanating from the taut fibers lashed to his body. “I see two men, shaking down an older man.” The sound was eerie like someone passed everything Weed said through several sets of spinning fan blades.
“Wow, uh...are they armed?” Bryson struggled to keep the discussion focused on what she saw, rather than how she was able to communicate through the fibers.
“I don’t see any weapons. Wait, they’re leaving now.”
“Do you need me to pull you back up?” he asked, gripping the fibers in his hands.
Before he could finish the question, she stepped up, as the wrapping around her right arm pulled itself back, reforming the hemp bandage.
“You hear that?” Striker asked. “Sounds like there’s some kind of commotion.”
Weed closed her eyes and listened. She nodded and both heroes moved along the rooftops to the end of the alley, no longer concerned with staying quiet.
Manerpillar created a small dense shield, using the tightly packed ectoplasmic silk, to parry the incoming blade swipes and brass knuckle blows from the attackers. He kept himself between the BoA followers, and Nolan.
“Get clear, kid,” he shouted back over his shoulder.
Nolan gave him two firm pats on the back to acknowledge, and put some distance between himself and the rest of the group, running back to the alley to look for his teammates. He remembered seeing Weed pull herself up when they first followed. Nolan started scanning the nearby rooftops, hoping to find a clue, when he saw Striker drop onto a delivery van, and shoulder roll to the edge before hitting the ground below. It was quiet enough to allow him to sneak up on the attackers, but he chose to spoil the advantage instead.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 4