Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  The pain took control of his right hand, as he used it to cover the place where he was struck. Patrick was still able to maintain control over the rest of his body as he planted a solid knee into the man’s solar plexus. The air hissed out of the man’s lungs, but he was still in the fight. The woman and Raspy stepped back into a loose formation, shoulder to shoulder. The leader rose to his feet behind him. Patrick noted that he had to put a lot more practice into positioning against multiple opponents when he got out of this mess. If he got out of this mess. He heard the larger man from behind, just as the two in front made their move. With one hand, he popped up a shimmering white shield in front, and with his other hand, he faced to his rear and fired a solid beam, aiming for the Riley’s center mass.

  With a quick move that belied his bulk, the big man was able to avoid the beam fired his way, just as Patrick’s defensive shield collapsed like cardboard under the assault of the other two. Splitting his focus weakened his ability. I guess I should have had a glass of milk with my breakfast this morning, he thought to himself. Before he knew it, Patrick’s feet were kicked out from under him. It had to be the woman. She was the only one with any real fighting skills. He fell to his back and his field of view was rapidly filling with the bottom of Riley’s boot.

  Patrick rolled to his left, moving his head out of the way, just as the hard rubber thundered against the asphalt. A pair of thick meaty paws latched onto the back of his jacket and he was hoisted up to his knees. Patrick did his best to cover up, but a barrage of attacks pounded into his ribs, forearms, and back.

  Gritting his teeth, Patrick pulled one of his feet up and pushed off, hoping to drive his shoulder through the leader, and allow him to open up some more space. Riley’s mass was much easier to move than he expected. Patrick accounted for a much heavier load in his mind, but the unexpected low resistance caused him to once again stumble forward and crash back to the street. He was able to roll over one shoulder this time and pop back to his feet.

  Patrick’s eyes darted across the battlefield, tracking the position of his foes. He snatched the batons off the back of his belt and snapped them open, preparing to take down the nearest threat.

  Two of his attackers focused on something, someone, to the right. Patrick whipped his gaze just in time to see a newcomer to the fight, pulling Riley back from behind, with his arms hooked underneath the big man’s beefy arms. The stranger wrapped his arms around the larger man’s waist and clasped his hands together, hoisting the panicking brute off his feet. With a twist and a pained, contorted facial expression that betrayed the ease of the throw, the stranger hurled Riley back onto the sidewalk with almost no effort. The leader covered the 15 feet or so, flailing through the air before he hit the ground.

  There was a lull in the battle allowing everyone to recalibrate. Patrick stood his ground as the woman and the raspy-voiced attacker shifted their eyes back and forth, trying to establish their next move. The chubby one, Nick, had long since made his escape. His bulky silhouette could be seen plodding down the street. Their leader, Riley, stood and dusted himself off. The new guy stood with a confidence that boosted Patrick’s morale and he gave a small ‘what’s up’ nod. A signal that let Patrick know his new ally also saw the military fatigue wearing goons as foes.

  The newcomer wore a half zip pullover top with a high collar. His pants looked like black karate gi bottoms, with a reinforced gusseted crotch. Although the man’s outfit was somewhat fitted, it still had enough slack to hide his actual physique. It was difficult to tell if the man’s thick limbs were padded or packed with muscle. A pair of dark welding goggles hung from his neck, serving as more of a fashion accessory. Patrick couldn’t help but notice the lack of any real protection. The man wasn’t wearing any gloves, and his knees and elbows were only covered in a layer of fabric.

  “Guess I didn’t get the invite to the party,” the new guy said. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing.”

  “Yeah, that’s cool with me,” Patrick said. “As long as you’re on my team.”

  The new guy looked at each of the others and replied, “Sounds good. We need even numbers, to make the game fair, after all.”

  The woman looked at their deserter and back at her leader. “It’s still three against two. We can take these clowns out no problem.”

  “So math isn’t a required class in ROTC?” Patrick asked. He poked a thumb back over his shoulder, pointing to the raspy-voiced villain making a break for it. The deserter was heading in the opposite direction of the other escapee, Nick.

  “Sight will deal with those rats later. Let’s kill these two and go home.” Riley wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. His hands formed two wrecking ball fists, cracking his knuckles as he curled his fingers.

  “Look, you guys may be Shrek and The Next Karate Kid back home, but you’re still outclassed here.” Patrick twirled his batons in full circles with a flick of his wrist. It was something he liked to do to intimidate his opponents. It never worked, but he wasn’t about to stop now.

  “Ha, because he’s big and fat, like an ogre. I get it,” The party crasher added.

  With a half grunt, half growl, Riley rushed the newcomer and landed a solid blow with his forearm right to the jaw, like a linebacker blasting through a weak offensive line. The new guy was caught off guard and shaken by the blow, but shrugged it off. Spitting on the street and brushing a sleeve across his mouth, his smile returned. “That the best you got, Shrek?” A wry smile spread across his face.

  Patrick figured his partner would be ok, and focused on taking out the woman. She used Riley’s attack as a distraction, trying for a spinning kick. He shuffled away and shot his hips backward just enough to get his body out of range, causing the foot to fall short. Patrick responded with a quick swipe from one of his batons. He still had some reservations with the idea of cracking one across someone’s jaw, so he was subconsciously pulling his strikes. He lacked the ill intent necessary for a full speed swing, giving his opponent plenty of time to lean her head back and dodge the blow.

  She spun again, this time whipping a backhand strike in a wide arc, too fast for Patrick to avoid it, but he was still able to put his guard back up and soak up the majority of the power with his arm. This time he answered with a roundhouse kick to her exposed abdomen. As his instep thumped hard into her gut, he felt a rock hit him high on his cheekbone. Patrick’s vision blurred and there was a faint ringing in his right ear. With his arm up to absorb her first swing, he didn’t see her setting up a second strike, a whipping overhand, using the momentum of her spin. The woman’s fist hit with balled up fury and rung his bell. By the time his vision stabilized everything had a slight wiggle or waver, like he was looking through water.

  His opponent was also recovering from his kick. A line of spittle dropped to the street, like little soldiers rappelling out of her mouth. Her teeth were gritted as she did her best to suck in even just a little bit of air. Patrick realized that she probably didn’t see how phased he was, so he flipped the charm switch again. “Not bad. I would have figured you hit like a girl, not a teenage boy.”

  Failing once again at witty banter and intimidation, he said just what she needed to hear to catch her second wind. The woman let out a short, loud scream, and jumped back to her feet, rushing him. Once again, Patrick was hiding behind his arms, as a flurry of punches peppered him. A couple landed hard to his ribs. He did his best to drop his elbows more, which opened him up high. A hard punch found its way past Patrick’s shell and connected with his jaw. There was a power outage in his brain, as the lights flicked off for a brief moment.

  More out of desperation Patrick dropped his stance and pushed forward. Closing the gap this much made it difficult for her to land clean shots, not to mention driving her back onto her heels. With a quick shove, Patrick opened the gap up wide enough to set up his counter attack. Dropping the baton in his right hand, Patrick thumbed the hook on his sleeve while he swung the other baton at her head in a wide path. Just as he h
oped, she once again leaned her body back, pulling her head out of the way. He continued spinning, letting his swing carry him around. Dropping into a low twisting stance, he whipped a tendril of milk out of his cuff, hooking her rear foot. He unwound his legs, spinning the other direction, pulling the woman’s support out, like a cartoon character stepping on a banana peel.

  She hit the ground with a grunt and lay there holding an ankle that twisted wrong when she fell. Just off in the distance, Patrick’s new friend sat on top of Riley, who lay heaped up in the middle of the street.

  “Wow, she was like a Tasmanian devil!” he said.

  “You mean you just sat there and watched the whole thing?”

  “Yeah, most of it. Relax, I could tell you had it under control.” He ran his fingers back through his hair, making sure it was still in place.

  Patrick was stunned at the response. Even he wasn’t even sure he was going to win when she turned on the fists of fury.

  “Just make sure he doesn’t get up,” Patrick said, as he tossed a pair of his makeshift flex cuffs.

  With the new guy’s help, they were able to cuff the woman as well. “Just sit tight until the cops arrive. I’m sure they won’t take too long once we make the call.”

  Patrick pulled the plastic zip ties closed. She didn’t have many nice things to say, as she hurled a string of obscenities at his back.

  He checked the various limbs and joints on his body to make sure they still worked, like someone coming out of a long hibernation on some science fiction space voyage. He was all in one piece, but had some rough spots from the punishment he took. Retrieving the collapsible baton he dropped, he headed over to where his new ally was standing.

  “My name is Boost, by the way.” Patrick’s new teammate said, as he extended his hand.

  The two men shared a firm handshake.

  “I’m Patr… uh, Patrick.”

  “Patrick? I’m guessing that’s not your alias.” Boost smiled and arched his eyebrows, showing an equal mix of amusement and confusion.

  “I guess I haven’t been at it long enough.” Once again he was reminded that he wasn’t prepared to start patrolling the streets, like the other costumed heroes. The name is the first thing most heroes start with. “Should we go after the other two?” he asked.

  “They’re so far away, and I’m kind of tired. Guess they lucked out today. Besides, that fat dude is already long gone.”

  “Yeah, I am kinda sore, too. I really should—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, a blur darted between the two, heading straight for the second fleeing criminal, Raspy. The two heroes watched in stunned silence as the figure, moving as fast as a car, chewed up the distance in seconds. Neither man knew who or what it was, but they watched in fascination, just to make sure it wasn’t someone they were going to have to tangle with.

  Patrick and Boost watched as the two figures tangled in the distance. They moved with two distinctly different styles. The blur with a balanced grace, Raspy with an aggressive wild flailing motion. And odd dance to watch, but a short one. It was over almost too quick to appreciate.

  They looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and looked back, right as the blur stopped in front of them. Boost dropped back into an almost defensive posture, but Patrick’s mind and body were so out of it, he just stood and stared.

  When the blur stopped and snapped into focus, they could see that it was a young woman in her early 20s, taller than both men, with a long lean torso and neck to match. Her legs were thick, but the musculature was still elongated and stretched across the limbs. She had the build of sprinter, with powerful legs and large, developed shoulders and arms. Her head and face was short and triangular. Her skin was tanned and her hair dyed a golden blonde. She had a small mouth and large eyes, like an anime character come to life. Her face bore the black stripes and ‘mascara’ like the pattern you would see on a cheetah. Swaying from side to side, connected to the back of her head was what looked like a cheetah’s tail. The fur was dyed to match the pattern of the big cat it mimicked.

  Her outfit was something you would see track runners wear for practice. Sleeveless form fitting top, pants that stopped just below her knees, and low cut lightweight running shoes. She stood with most of the weight on the balls of her feet. It looked uncomfortable to maintain, but it seemed very natural for her.

  “Since the cat seems to have gotten your tongues, I guess I’ll start. Hi,” she said.

  Hours passed in Patrick’s mind. A mere couple of seconds in the real world. “Hi,” he replied.

  “I’m Boost,” was all Boost could muster.

  Brushing the palm of her hand over her hair, pushing it forward, she continued her introduction. “You can call me Speetah. Like cheetah, but with an S-P instead of a C-H.”

  “I’m Boost.” It was like he didn’t even realize he was repeating himself.

  “I’m Patrick.”

  “Patrick?” She asked with a smirk. “Not The Shadow, or Dark Justice?” She gestured at his costume, indicating its dark motif.

  “I, uh, yeah. I’m still kinda new to all of this.”

  “Didn’t look that way from what I saw.”

  Patrick blushed, unsure of why such a simple compliment would elicit such a response.

  “I’m Boost.” This time Boost stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Speetah chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, I got that the first two times,” she said as she shook his hand.

  Patrick mulled over their brief conversation again. “Wait, what do you mean, from what you saw? Were you watching us tangle with those goons?”

  “Yeah, I heard the commotion and decided to check it out.”

  “How long were you watching?” Boost asked.

  “I was watching Patrick fight before you showed up. I wasn’t too far away.”

  “Why didn’t you help?” Patrick asked.

  “I see a group of strangers in a brawl, I don’t jump right in to figure out who the good guys are. I sit back and watch it all play out before I pick sides. Never can be too sure these days.”

  “So, what changed your mind?”

  “Once the other two took off, I figured they were just a couple of hired thugs that decided the game wasn’t much fun anymore,” she said. “Besides, you two were always waiting for them to make the first move.”

  Patrick felt the pain and swelling in his face and head now that things slowed down. He nodded and limped over to the curb to take a seat.

  “Shouldn’t we be calling someone?” Boost asked.

  “Who?” Patrick replied. “That was an empty threat to those two. It’s not like the police are going to send a unit out to pick a couple of hooligans up because we made a citizen’s arrest with no real evidence of a crime.”

  “So, what’s the point of you doing all this?” Boost gestured to the battlefield.

  Patrick shrugged. “I guess I just like the idea of protecting people.”

  Speetah rolled her eyes. “Such a boy scout. I’m with Boost here. We’re risking our health to clean the streets up.”

  “I’m out here to make a difference,” Patrick said. “You interpret it your way, I’ll interpret it mine. Bottom line is, we’re all out here busting heads when the need arises.”

  “Can we at least continue this conversation somewhere not so exposed?” Boost looked around, nervous, like they were the ones trying to break into the jewelry store.

  “Sure.” Patrick and Speetah both answered.

  They pulled the remaining two militant breaking and entering flunkies on the sidewalk and secured them back to back, piling all of their gear nearby.

  “That should keep you two safe,” Patrick said, as he patted the big man’s shoulder a little too hard, just to be annoying.

  The heroic trio walked to a nearby park with some already cold food they grabbed from a nearby fast food joint. Patrick had his hood off, and tucked into the collar of his jacket, so he could eat and talk. He sat at the base o
f a nearby slide, while Boost sat on the only swing still connected to the frame. Speetah chose to stay standing. She had a way of always staying in motion, even if it was just a slight sway from foot to foot.

  “So, how about the Avengers?” Boost asked, continuing a conversation no one remembered starting.

  “Really? Even with those movies out and a comic book using that name for decades?” Patrick said.

  “Who says we’re forming a superhero team anyway?” Speetah asked.

  “I just thought that…” Boost let the rest hang in the air.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Patrick added. “It’s not exactly safe out here for a bunch of solo acts.”

  Speetah was about to say something, but decided against it, and gave a short nod in agreement.

  Boost stood up. “Yeah, so the Defenders, right? They don’t have a movie out yet.”

  “Why are you just naming existing superhero teams?”

  “Who are the Defenders?” Speetah asked.

  “We’re not going to—”

  Boost stepped on Patrick’s sentence in order to respond to Speetah’s question. “The Defenders!? Hulk, Namor, and Doctor Strange?” He pointed at himself when he named the Hulk, and at Speetah and Patrick for Namor and Doctor Strange respectively.

  She just shrugged her shoulders in an apologetic way.

  “He’s just naming comic book teams,” Patrick clarified.

  “Oh right, I guess you don’t read comics,” Boost said.

  “Why, because I’m a girl?”

  “Well, no…I meant because you’re obviously cooler than us,” Boost attempted to recover.

  “I read them. I just don’t like the stuff with capes,” she said. “I’ve seen The Avengers, but once you start digging deeper, you lose me.”

  They spent the next few minutes eating cheap burritos in awkward silence. Patrick did his best to not seem uncomfortable. Speetah took only small bites, while kicking loose pebbles and drawing small arcs in the dirt with her foot. Boost stared at his burrito, trying to decipher its secrets, before speaking up.