Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk

by Brian Manning

  “Let’s go over what we’ve got so far,” Sean said.

  “Manny, if we’re taking your van, you’ll have to bring up the rear,” Crystal said. “We can’t risk the Brotherhood spotting you before the rest of us are in position. Take Nolan and Patrick with you. It wouldn’t hurt to grab a couple of extra gallons of two percent for him.”

  Sean said, “Graham, you and I will be taking the back streets on foot. We’ll approach from here.” He pointed to the intersection behind the Missile Silo.

  “Aw yeah. Power Man and Iron Fist, back in business.” Boost clasped hands with Sean.

  “Abby, you take the lead with Juliana and Genevieve, coming in high,” Sean said. “If you can get to this rooftop here, you can leap across this gap and get inside the building from the west.”

  “You can count on us,” Abby said.

  “I’ll be taking this straight shot right here,” Crystal said. “And if he can keep up on that bike, Stringfellow will be backing me up.”

  “I’ll be there to hold the door open, and pull your seat out when you arrive,” Stringfellow smirked, twirling one of his throwing spikes in his hand.

  “That leaves Bryson and Nathan,” Crystal said. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Nathan?”

  He turned over the small plastic inhaler in his hand. He took a short puff and nodded. “I have to clean up my mess, with Armageddon. You can count on me.”

  Patrick walked out of the locker rooms, wiping his face and mouth with a wad of wet paper towels. “Remind me not to do that again.”

  “Tomorrow,” Graham said. “Tonight, we need the milkman in full effect.”

  Patrick held one finger in the air, then turned and headed back to the locker room with a hand over his mouth.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Sight paced back and forth around his old office on the 14th floor of the Watchtower. His home. Still in disarray from the final confrontation almost a year ago. He ran his fingers along the torn door frame, as he walked over to his desk. A thin film of dust sat atop the stained hardwood. Sight bent over to pick up the high back leather chair and hoisted it upright. Dusting off the seat, he settled his weight in the familiar cushion and propped his elbows on the table.

  His loyal bodyguard, Tension, stood just outside the door to the office. His square head pivoted to scan the room. With his muscle-packed frame, Tension was unable to turn his head all the way to the side without his shoulders turning as well. The brute was still every inch the man he was before, his fitted suit still clinging to his gigantic body. The only difference was the thick bushy beard he grew while locked up at Black Lake prison. That and the fiery rage that lit his eyes up anytime he looked at something reminding him of Patrick, that milk-slinging do-gooder.

  Sight’s rescuers stepped past Tension. Warhead and Ground Zero each gave a nod of respect to the bodyguard as they ducked into the room. As they stood to their full height, it was evident to Sight that Tension was a mere decoration if these two decided to change the arrangements of their working relationship.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust that we’ve seen to your needs sufficiently.” Sight tilted his head and gave a crooked bow.

  “Nice digs you got here,” Warhead said.

  Ground Zero walked up to the bar in the corner and kicked the mini fridge door shut. Sight’s memory of the obnoxious cape pulling ammunition to defeat Tension pulled his jaws together. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing to relax.

  “So…” Sight steepled his fingers and touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. “Now that we’ve opened the eyes of the citizens, what’s next for our merry little band?”

  Ground Zero held an expensive bottle of liquor in each hand, comparing the two. “We don’t need a plan. We take what’s ours.”

  “The city’s broken. There ain’t no one can stop us now,” Warhead said.

  “That hornet’s nest of heroes you stirred up is a tenacious group,” Sight said. “They won’t give up until they see us locked up again.”

  Warhead’s deep throaty laugh echoed off of the floor to ceiling windows.

  “We gave ’em three chances, and they couldn’t stop us,” Ground Zero said, setting one of the bottles back with a clank. “Everyone saw how weak they are. Every chance they had, those scared little pigs stood back, just outside the ring, too afraid to tangle with the best.”

  “And when one of them did have the guts to trade with us, we squashed ’em to the mat.” Warhead brought one palm down onto the other with a meaty slap.

  “When the people rally behind the heroes, I foresee a potential problem,” Sight said.

  “The people? They’re already rallyin’ behind us.” Ground Zero pointed two thumbs at his chest. “This whole building is full of loyal Brotherhood members, ready to get out there and enforce our law.”

  Sight kept his smile hidden. He continued from his position of feigned ignorance, letting the two tag team champions reveal every step of their plan, every thought they had on the situation. He would make a note of any and every weakness they exposed to him, exploiting the information when the time was right.

  “What is it you need me to oversee?” He disarmed them with a fake grin.

  “Just do what you do best,” Warhead said. “Put our actions into words, so there’s no mistakin’ what we’re sayin’ when we speak.” He held up a clenched fist at shoulder level.

  “Show the people that we mean business. That, I can do. And how shall I expect my compensation for such services?” Sight lifted an eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry about your money. You’ll get your cut.” Ground Zero switched the bottle of liquor to his other hand and grabbed another before turning to leave.

  “Tell you what, you get to stay in this lavish little office you’ve got here too,” Warhead said. “We’ll take the floor below. It’s more our style.”

  The two men left, headed to the thirteenth floor. It was where Sight had first set up all of the recreational equipment for his Visionaries. Warhead and Ground Zero were right about how fitting it was for them. Tension leaned his head into the room and looked over at Sight. He gave them bodyguard a quick smile and dismissive wave to let him know everything was fine.

  With the immense strength of Armageddon and the numbers bolstered by their fanatics, Sight had everything he needed to rebuild and accomplish his vision. The XGH could be a huge boon to his organization. A perfect way to reward his most loyal and willing Visionaries, and enhance their effectiveness. Passing it out like candy to anyone raising their hands was foolish. Those muscle brains were going about it the wrong way, and squandering away a huge advantage.

  He had to make them see things his way, to align their vision with his. Sight turned his chair to face the window. It’s a setback for now, but I will finish what I started. His eyes drifted across the cityscape.

  The image displayed on Broadband’s laptop monitor shook as the drone rolled underneath the next parked car. The camera rotated in a full circle clockwise, and then after several more seconds continued forward.

  “This is going to take forever,” Boost said. “Do we have to watch the whole process?”

  “They’re running an automated sequence right now,” Broadband said. “If the coast is clear they move under the next parked car. I just have to watch for any significant gaps that need my guidance.”

  Boost sighed and leaned back in the chair, covering his face with both hands.

  “You know you don’t have to be here, right?”

  “Crystal and Sean want me monitoring the route with you. This is the street that I’ll be taking into the Watchtower.”

  “Missile Silo,” Broadband said.

  Boost huffed. “Missile Silo. I can’t keep up with all the villainous lairs changing names all the time.”

  “This is pretty much the only criminal lair we know of, and it just changed names the one time.”

  “Focus on your little bugs there, and get them moving quicker.”


  Broadband noticed the flashing icon on his taskbar, letting him know the second drone reached a gap. He switched the view to that drone, keeping the feed from the first in a smaller window.

  “They’re not bugs. They’ve got wheels, and names, and families, and feelings,” Broadband said. “Besides, Wilbur is cleared for takeoff now, so you may want to pay attention.”

  “Wilbur?” Boost asked. “Is that the best name you could come up with?”

  “Off of the top of my head, yes.” Broadband toggled a couple of on-screen switches. The image shuddered as the motors for the quadrotors spooled up. The image stabilized as the drone took to the air.

  “Why the low approach anyway?” Boost asked.

  “The Brotherhood has been on the hunt for our eyes in the sky since they ambushed Bryson. Two of my babies have fallen so far. I know Manny’s tech guy has some deep pockets, but even he doesn’t want to keep springing for replacements.”

  “Is Wilbur one of the newer ones?”

  “Yeah. I had the combo, ground and air drone on my wish list. Figured it was a good reason to pick up a couple.” The first drone reached an open area, and Broadband switched the command for that one to take flight as well.

  “Should you fly that close to the Watch—I mean the Missile Silo?”

  “I’ll keep it far enough to avoid prying eyes,” Broadband said. “Check this out.”

  The drone maintained the camera’s focus on a particular point, adjusting the angle as it elevated. With an abrupt stop and short shudder, it settled on the corner of the building across the street.

  “And now to adjust the view.” Broadband shifted a slider in the drone’s control interface, and the image zoomed closer.

  Boost let out a low whistle. “Impressive, my man.” He clapped a hand on Broadband’s shoulder.

  “I have my moments, regardless of what Abby says.”

  He positioned the other drone on the roof of another building on opposite side of the Missile Silo.

  “This is where I think the best approach for Abby and the others would be.” Broadband zoomed in on one of the third story windows. “There’s no glare this time of day, so you can see right into the office, or whatever Armageddon uses that room for.”

  “It looks empty,” Boost said.

  “Most of these rooms are either barracks or storage,” Broadband said. “This one seems like it no one is occupying it yet. From there, it’s a straight shot to the door, and up the stairwell.”

  “What’s up the stairs?”

  “The XGH, based on the data I dug up.” Broadband took control of the drone again and took off. The view climbed, as the camera tilted to level off. “Right here on the tenth floor, it looks like they’ve got the shipments stashed. Only a few boxes right now, but I saw a truck pulling into the underground parking an hour ago.”

  Boost counted on his fingers. “BP and I sneak around and get in through the back. Beat Boxer, Weed, and Ringmaster enter from a third story window. Speetah and Recurve bum rush the East entrance. What about the others?”

  “Striker is going to take Battlelord in through the underground parking structure,” Broadband said. “And Manerpillar, H2Grow, and Patrick are going kick in the front door when the party jumps off.”

  “When is this happening?” Boost asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. I’m going to bring the notes to Crystal, Sean, and Patrick right now.”

  “I like it.” Boost was rubbing his hands together, grinning ear to ear.

  CHAPTER

  33

  Boost walked in front as Black Paralysis trailed behind. It was the early pre-dawn hours, but even with the reduced light, they didn’t want to risk any lookouts spotting Black Paralysis’ signature outfit. Though they both wore dark colors, Boost wore a much less conspicuous costume.

  They reached the corner across from the Missile Silo and sat back in the shadows. The sun was starting its ascent, spearing the streets with thin shafts of light, but there were still plenty of dark corners to hide in.

  “In position,” Black Paralysis whispered.

  “Ok, switching the eye on now,” Broadband said. “Looks like there are a couple of guys posted on the corner. If you can take them out quietly, you’ll have a clear shot to the entrance.”

  “He said quiet, so you’re going to have to hang back,” Black Paralysis said to Boost.

  “Ha ha very funny, BP. You know you can’t leave me behind, because wherever Lightning goes, Thunder follows.” Boost pointed at himself as he finished his statement.

  “Just let me handle those fanatics, though. The last thing we need is you bellowing like your head is about to pop.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ll cross here, get their attention, and you take the sentries down with your Judo chops,” Boost said, slicing the air with his open hands.

  “That’s a terrible idea. We just need to—”

  Before Black Paralysis could finish Boost was already tucking his goggles into his collar and jogging along the crosswalk. When he reached the sidewalk, he strolled with his hands in his pockets.

  “Is he whistling?” Broadband asked.

  “Yeah I believe he is.” Black Paralysis moved behind a parked car, waiting for his opening.

  The two lookouts followed Boost, calling out to him. Black Paralysis could hear the conversation going on in his earpiece, and then again a split second later across the open air. He kept his posture low and jogged across the street behind the two BoA fanatics.

  “You heard my friend,” one of the sentries said, giving Boost a shove on the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing on our turf?”

  “We’re looking for our lost dog,” Black Paralysis said.

  The two men turned, startled at the voice that sneaked up behind them. Black Paralysis turned his body whipping his heel across both of their faces in one smooth arc. The wheel kick connected with both sentries. The first spun half a rotation and collapsed to the sidewalk. The second was dazed, staggering to his right. Before the man could get his bearings, Boost planted a hand on the side of his face and smacked him into the concrete wall of the Missile Silo.

  Black Paralysis gave him a thumbs up and pulled a pair of flex cuffs from his belt. Both sentries were gagged and restrained, tied to the base of a light pole.

  “Think they’ll be spotted if we leave them here?” Boost asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. We just need enough time to get all the pieces in play, and then we’ll let Armageddon know we’re here ourselves.” Black Paralysis bumped fists with his partner. “Lightning and Thunder.”

  “We’re in position,” Boost said. “Thunder and Lightning are ready to strike.”

  “Copy that,” Broadband said. “Signaling the others now.”

  “That’s our cue,” Beat Boxer said. She crouched at the edge of the roof across from the west-side of the Missile Silo. She watched the window with a small monocular, making sure no one had entered before they made their move. The two buildings were separated only by a narrow alley. An easy distance for the three women to leap across.

  Ringmaster focused inward and summoned her strongman form, telepathically broadcasting the appearance of a tall, broad-shouldered woman wearing a pink animal leotard. Her strength was enhanced by her telekinesis to complete the persona. “What’s my part again?” Her glowing bushy mustache wriggled when she spoke.

  “You need to take that window out,” Beat Boxer said. “Weed and I will move in the instant that glass breaks, so you need to nail your timing. Once we hit the floor, you follow right on our heels.”

  “How about when we get inside?” Weed asked.

  “Let’s hope everyone in there is still asleep. Our entrance should wake the fanatics up, but they’ll be groggy.”

  Ringmaster held her hands out, one palm up, the other palm down. When she closed her fists, they wrapped around the handle of a comically large wooden mallet, manifested from her will. Beat Boxer and Weed took several steps back, giving her room to swing
. Ringmaster grasped the end of the handle, spun her body several times, and released the telekinetic object across the alley. It turned in a horizontal arc, almost floating in a straight path from her hands to the glass of the window.

  Beat Boxer and Weed pushed off and ran for the edge, hurling themselves into the air. Trails of bright red light shone behind Beat Boxer, and scores of beige tendrils sprayed forward from Weed’s arms. The glass shattered as the hammer dissipated in a splash of energy.

  Beat Boxer passed through the opening and rolled along the rough carpet ending up on her feet. Weed snagged a series of ledges and cracks with her hemp fibers and swung into the opening to follow. She slid to a stop before retracting her arm wraps. Seconds later, Ringmaster, the acrobat, darted through the window head first, rolling and standing with a flourish worthy of applause.

  “We don’t have much time,” Beat Boxer said. “The stairwell is out the door and to the left.”

  The three capes stepped through the door and turned to face a group of fanatics, alert and ready for action.

  “Guess they didn’t need the wake-up call,” Weed said.

  The face-off had lasted only a heartbeat before the two groups rushed to meet each other in combat.

  Beat Boxer took the lead, sliding between the legs of the attacker in front. She turned face down as she passed, hooking the man’s feet with her hands and dropping him, face first, to the ground.

  Weed planted a foot on the downed man’s back as he tried to stand, using him as a springboard. She propped her hands on the shoulders of the next in line as she flipped over him. The wrapping around each of her arms coiled around his chest and shoulders. She landed behind the fanatic and bent forward, using her momentum to hurl the man into another of his colleagues.

  The fourth attacker held his hands up, attempting to keep the two women at bay when a bowling pin cracked him on his forehead. He fell back, rendered unconscious from the blow.

  Beat Boxer and Weed looked back to see Ringmaster, dressed as a juggler, rhythmically tossing and catching four more glowing pins.