Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk

by Brian Manning

  “If you say so.” Boost was circling his arms to warm up. “This bout is scheduled for one fall.” He spoke with a deep voice mimicking an announcer’s delivery.

  Ground Zero looked at Patrick and then to Boost before stepping forward. “Two falls.” He reached out with his right hand to grab Boost by the neck. With practiced repetition, Boost was able to crouch low, ducking underneath the big man’s arm, before lunging forward, wrapping an arm around a tree trunk of a leg.

  Before he could hoist the powerhouse off balance, Ground Zero wedged his arms onto the side of Boost’s head and kicked his leg out to regain his balance.

  “You think that Greco-Roman crap is gonna work on us?” Ground Zero’s voice thundered, the veins in his neck and arms bulged as he wrapped Boost up in a front headlock, trapping one of his arms.

  With strength and skill belied by his build, Boost maneuvered his way out of the hold before being dragged down by his much larger foe. They faced each other as Ground Zero attempted to figure out how this smaller, puffier man escaped his grasp.

  “Freestyle. Greco-Roman doesn’t allow leg holds,” Boost said, brushing the dust off of his pants.

  “Here, you can hold this leg,” Ground Zero shot back.

  “What?”

  Ground Zero drove a foot into Boost’s chest, launching him back into a group of fanatics, punching a hole through the crowd.

  Patrick staggered back, almost losing his balance. He fired a short blast of milk into Warhead’s chest, hoping to stop his advance while encasing his other hand with a white gauntlet. The wrestler looked down at his chest and wiped a few beads of milk away.

  “Is that seriously the best you got, kid?” he chuckled.

  “Well if you want, we can just go right for the finish.” Patrick stepped forward and threw a powerful right cross, aiming for Warhead’s solar plexus to knock the wind out of the big man. He focused on his liquid glove, adding as much additional energy as he could into the punch.

  Warhead never broke his stride as the blow connected. The impact shook Patrick’s entire upper body, as the white shielding splashed off of the man’s stomach.

  “My turn.” The brute pulled his left arm back, winding up. He delivered an upward forearm strike aimed at Patrick’s head and chest. More instinct than planning a ball of milk popped up, like the airbag from a steering wheel, between the two combatants.

  As Warhead’s blow landed, The milky pad burst into a plume of liquid, showering everyone in a 20-foot radius with warm two percent milk. Patrick was hurled up and back, toward the cheering crowd. The BoA cameraman tracked the flying superhero’s path. The unfortunate fanatics, which didn’t make it out of the way in time, broke Patrick’s fall.

  Boost helped him to his feet. “I think we’re winning.”

  Patrick looked at his friend, unable to tell if he was joking.

  They were in the midst of the crowd, backing up as Armageddon stalked them again. Standing in the middle of the street, Patrick grabbed Boost’s arm and pulled him free of the army of BoA fanatics. “We can’t stay and fight.”

  “Well we can’t just let these two run free around here,” Boost said.

  “Listen. Sirens. The police are en route. Let’s stay out of their way, so things don’t get too complicated.”

  “I’d say this situation has gotten pretty complicated already.” Boost tugged his arm free.

  “Graham, you can’t stay there,” Broadband said. “The city has the Supers Task Force on the way. They’re going to round up anyone they see wearing a costume, capes and masks, just to be sure.”

  “Striker and Weed need our help getting the rest of the people clear. It’s not going to be pretty when the STF shows up.” Patrick looked Boost in the eye. “We’re just not ready for this.”

  Boost shot a look at the two enormous masks approaching before looking back at Patrick and nodding. They broke free of the crowd as the approaching sirens grew louder. The cheers from the crowd did little to soften the defeat.

  “Look at’em runnin’ away,” Ground Zero said.

  Warhead turned to address the camera “A couple of fat little pigs, crying wee wee wee all the way home!”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Patrick called Trevor and Troy down to the floor level of their headquarters. Bryson, Juliana, and Manny walked in from the side entrance where they kept the vehicles.

  “I don’t think we took those guys seriously enough,” Graham said, still wiping away at the huge dusty footprint on his chest.

  “Whoa, did Boost just say that?” Trevor asked. “I thought you and I don’t take anything seriously enough.”

  Graham grinned. “Imagine that.”

  “Did you reach the others?” Patrick asked Troy, keeping his eyes fixed on the news report looping the “highlights” of their tangle. The Brotherhood of Armageddon sent the footage to the networks shortly after Warhead and Ground Zero escaped from the city’s STF.

  “Just got off the phone with Abby,” he said. “Sounds like Sean and Nolan picked up a couple of new capes.”

  Patrick looked away from the TV. “New?”

  Troy said, “Yeah, these two got into town recently. Neither are listed under our known affiliates.”

  “Manny, are you still active in the online supers community?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah, I know a few capes and masks have headed this way since last month,” Manny said. “Bull Dozer and Pulverati were a part of that latest migration.”

  “Great. How about anyone with some good intentions?” Patrick glanced back up at the screen just as the news broadcast cut to a life insurance commercial for seniors.

  “I’m sure there are a few. Last two I tracked were Striker and Weed, though.” Manny gestured to Bryson and Juliana.

  Patrick turned to Juliana. “Is there anything you might be able to tell us? I don’t want a repeat of Man-vil. We have to know who we’re letting in.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been a bit too busy to check Facebook, so I’m out of the loop.”

  Bryson crossed his arms over his chest. “I know that Man-vil thing is still pretty recent, but let’s see what these new supers are like before we pass judgment.”

  “You sure you want them knowing where we hang our capes if either one turns heel?” Graham was using a wet paper towel to wipe away the remaining dusty footprint.

  “Heel?” Juliana gave him a puzzling look.

  “It’s wrestling jargon,” Trevor said. “It means they switch sides, and joined the bad guys.”

  “As long as we’re dealing with Armageddon, I have a feeling Graham is going to be pretty unbearable with his professional wrestling fandom,” Bryson said to Juliana, keeping his voice low.

  “Before we get too caught up planning our welcome party…” Troy walked to a nearby table and picked up a tablet, swiping through several menus.

  “Is this the footage I asked for?” Patrick asked

  “Yeah. Drone feed of City Hall, after the police showed up.” Troy aimed the tablet at the large display hanging over the workout area. The screen showed what was on the handheld tablet, large enough for everyone to see.

  “How did he do that?” Bryson asked. “I hope you didn’t mess with my source inputs.”

  Manny put a hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “It was my guy, the Architect. He put something together to let Troy use any screen in here.”

  The television showed a high-resolution video feed of the chaos below. Smoke billowed out from another barrage of smoke bombs as the Brotherhood fanatics spread out. The police scrambled to capture as many as they could while the Supers Task Force members moved in to deal with Warhead and Ground Zero. The team stepped into the smoke, disappearing from view. Small bright spots appeared in quick bursts.

  “See that?” Troy asked. “It’s the muzzle flash from their weapons.”

  “Whoa, these guys mean business,” Graham said.

  “It’s gotta be non-lethal,” Bryson said. “Rubber bullets, bean bags,
that kind of stuff.” He tugged on his tactical harness, loaded with a variety of less than lethal solutions.

  They watched the scene unfold as more police cars arrived, as the officers scrambled to apprehend anyone wearing BoA clothing. The smoke cleared as task force members kicked the canisters clear of the area. Two of the officers were on the ground, unconscious as the scattered parts of their rifles lay around them.

  Before Patrick could ask, Troy said, “Hang tight, I’ve got the infrared footage too.”

  He swiped to a second recording. This one was of far lower quality and only showed images in grayscale. The smoke screen appeared as slight screen noise while the task force members did their best to spot Armageddon. The two hulking figures stood out, glowing bright white on the screen. Warhead and Ground Zero each grabbed hold of a nearby task force member, kicking off the shooting. Even in the confusion, the STF officers maintained impressive discipline, only firing when they had a clear line of sight on their target. No small feat in the billowing clouds of smoke filling the entire intersection.

  “Pause it,” Patrick said.

  The screen showed the moment that Armageddon left the area. They targeted the two officers on the south side of the scene, using that opening to head down one of the smaller streets before disappearing out of the frame.

  “So we don’t know where they went from here?” Patrick asked.

  “That feed comes from the only drone with infrared, but Armageddon are not in any of the other shots after they’re out of the frame,” Troy flipped through more thumbnails for the various videos before splitting the screen into four different windows.

  “That’s them,” Bryson said, pointing to the video on the lower left. “They’re in that van.”

  “How can you tell?” Graham asked, looking closer. “Is it riding lower on the suspension?”

  “Wow, can you see that in the video?” Trevor also got closer.

  “No CSI tricks here. I’m just basing it on how I would do it.” Bryson pointed to the upper right rectangle. “Rewind them all.”

  Troy pulled the video feed for all four windows back 30 seconds.

  Bryson drew his bokken from his back scabbard, using it as a pointer for the elevated screen. “This is where Warhead and Ground Zero turn down the street, but you don’t see them here.” He pointed to the lower left feed.

  “Yeah, but you don’t see the van, either,” Juliana said.

  “Well, then that means they’re either still in that building, or…” Bryson waited until the van appeared onscreen. “They hitched a ride.”

  “Can we find out where they went?” Patrick asked.

  Troy said, “No, but now that we know what to look for, I can probably set something up to alert us if one of the drones catches it again. Chances of that are pretty slim, though. We’re only flying the quads to cover you guys on the street.”

  “Looks like we do this the old fashioned way,” Bryson said. “Feet on the streets, until we got eyes on the prize.”

  After a long pause, Graham said, “Did you just make that up? Because, wow that was bad.”

  Sean and Nolan converged on the corner where Crystal and Abby dealt with the Brotherhood goons when the chaos erupted. The two new heroes followed, issuing small, nervous nods at each new face they encountered.

  “What’s with the hair club for lips?” Abby asked, waving a casual hand at the two new heroes.

  Nolan did a double take when he saw the young woman with Sean. She wore a pink tux, top hat, and billowing trousers tapered at the knees, and on her upper lip was a glowing pink mustache curled up to point on either end.

  “I like your style young miss,” The man with Nolan said, twirling the tip of his own powerful handlebar lip warmer. “Cheers to you all. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Stringfellow Archer, but you lot can call me Recurve.” He greeted everyone with a deep bow, tucking one hand against his stomach, and waving the other out to the side.

  “Stringfellow Archer? Wow, what are the odds?” Sean plucked at the tip of his bow.

  “Well, I mean, of course, that’s not my second name.”

  “So Stringfellow is your first name?” Abby asked.

  “I…no, it’s—”

  “Is that a fake British accent? Your European lingo is awful like you’ve never paid attention to how they speak.” Crystal’s eyes narrowed.

  String fellow lowered his gaze and paused for several seconds. “Yes…I’m from Mississippi.”

  “So why the fake accent?” Nolan asked.

  “Don’t answer that. I don’t care,” Crystal said. “So what’s your deal?” She turned to the other new face.

  “I’m Genevieve. I don’t have a hero name, though.” She tucked her chin and looked up at Crystal from beneath her brow.

  “Genevieve will do,” Crystal’s expression softened as she offered her hand. “I’m Crystal, but you can call me Speetah.”

  “Like cheetah, but starting with S-P instead of C-H,” Nolan said. “And they call me H2Grow.”

  “My name is Abby or Beat Boxer.”

  “And I’m Black Paralysis. I know that’s a mouthful, so you can call me BP or Sean.”

  Abby tucked her phone back into a pocket. “We should head back to the HQ, guys. Something big just went down at City Hall.”

  “Something big just went down city-wide,” Nolan said. “What could be bigger than all this?”

  “Armageddon,” Genevieve said.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Speetah looked in Patrick’s direction as she walked past, giving him a small nod. “You guys alright?”

  “Yeah we’re all in one piece,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Fine.” She nodded again. Her face warmed when she saw Manny and Graham. She headed up the stairs to join them in the office. Nolan and Abby flashed a quick smile to Patrick before following.

  Black Paralysis shook hands with Patrick. “She’s got a lot on her mind. You two need to talk.”

  “Yeah I can see that,” Patrick said.

  “Soon.”

  Patrick looked Sean in the eye. “Soon.” He looked over at Recurve and Genevieve. “So who are the new recruits?”

  Genevieve and Stringfellow shared formal introductions, while Patrick and Sean gave them a quick tour of the rest of the team’s headquarters. After learning that the two heroes made their way separately to join the fight against the Brotherhood of Armageddon, Patrick filled Sean in on the situation at City Hall. He told everyone about how they used smoke to conceal their actions, and how Warhead and Ground Zero got away.

  “Those two are going to be a handful,” Sean said.

  “That’s why we’re here to help,” Genevieve said.

  “Well then, let’s get this job interview under way.” Patrick gestured for everyone to head to the training floor.

  The entire team gathered around the mats in the team’s gym, leaving plenty of room for the two new capes to demonstrate their abilities. Genevieve stood in the middle, no longer dressed like a lion tamer. She wore a simple outfit, dark gray capri pants and a loose salmon cotton top. Her curly hair cascaded down just above her shoulders. The reddish-golden color complimented her light brown skin.

  “I could have sworn she was taller,” Nolan whispered to Sean.

  “Show them the lion,” Sean said.

  She seemed sad, not wanting to let Sean down. “Well, the lion takes a lot out of me. It will probably be a while before I can do that again.”

  “So you’ve just got the whip until then?” he asked.

  A corner of her mouth pulled up into a half smile. “I’ve got more than that.”

  She twirled in place as a flash of pink light burst out, revealing a skin-tight white outfit adorned with thick swirling pink lines. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Genevieve tumbled around, flipping and cartwheeling with an almost supernatural grace.

  Trevor elbowed Abby repeatedly, just a bit too hard with each hit.

  “I get it
,” Abby snapped. “She flips around too. Ease up with the ‘bows.”

  Genevieve crouched in the middle of the mat, and in another flash, she was wearing a black and pink leather outfit, with straps and buckles along the length of her arms and around her waist. She was juggling five glowing pink knives. Without breaking rhythm, she hurled two of the knives, one after the other, into the six-foot heavy bag hanging near the free weights.

  “Hey,” Bryson said.

  Genevieve stopped, holding the other three knives in one hand, covering her mouth with the fingers of her other hand. “Ah, oops. I’m sorry.”

  Bryson looked at the bag. Two small slits cut into the center of the company logo on the bag. He shrugged, “Damage done. I can replace that.”

  Just as he finished speaking, she twisted her body, ending in a crouch, hurling the remaining three “blades” in a single throw. Each of the blades thudded into the bag, dissipating in a puff of pink powder, leaving only the puncture wounds.

  “Hey!”

  “What? You said you were replacing that.”

  Bryson held his hands up, surrendering the point.

  “That’s a very impressive power,” Patrick said. “Sounds like you’ve got three useful forms you can switch between.”

  “I’ve got a few more, but it’s tiring,” she said.

  “So they’re all circus related?” Sean asked.

  She looked down at her feet. “Yeah.” Her voice was small as she answered.

  Sean placed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades. “Don’t let something like that get you down. Most of us would love to have your abilities.”

  “Yeah, your powers are amazing,” Graham said.

  “You need a superhero name,” Trevor said. “I say we call her Big Top.”

  Crystal slapped Trevor on the back of his head and stared daggers through him.

  “Let’s not worry about that now,” Patrick said. “Trust me. You can take your time coming up with something.”

  “Now it’s Robin Hood’s turn for show-and-tell?” Abby asked.

  Stringfellow stepped out onto the mat, readying his bow with a flourish. “Allow me to demonstrate.”