Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice
Page 6
“No, I haven’t. I don’t exactly dig through websites, looking for myself.”
Boost looked at Patrick with a smirk, shaking his head while pointing his thumb at her as if she were the weird one in the group.
“So can you, like, dodge bullets and stuff?” Boost asked.
“Well, I’ve noticed a pretty big jump in my reflexes, but not that extreme.”
She held up a hand to block any incoming questions. “Hey, let me ask you guys something. Do you find that you have to eat a lot more now?”
“Yeah, but I think that’s just because I’m still a growing boy,” Boost was too pleased with his answer.
Patrick replied, like he didn’t hear it. “A little, I guess. I just figured it was because I’m out jumping around on rooftops, and engaging in fisticuffs every few nights.”
“Huh, I guess it’s just—wait, fisticuffs?” She was amused at his word choice. “Such a hipster, with your old-timey vocabulary.”
“Yeah, yeah. So how much extra food are you talking about?”
“Maybe twice as much as normal. Maybe three times. I guess we’re talking Olympic swimmer levels of calories.”
“So how come you only had one burrito last night?” Boost asked.
She shrugged. “I didn’t do much running last night. Plus, I had a pretty big dinner before I ran into you guys.” She paused, considering her next statement. “Also, that was an awful burrito.”
Boost’s face showed genuine offense at the last statement. “I love that place.”
“No, she’s right. It’s pretty bad.”
“You know that whole ‘female cheetah’ motif is pretty played out, right?” Boost fired back, defending the honor of his favorite late night restaurant experience.
“Yes, I do realize that.” It was clear that Speetah was frustrated with the topic. “I watched Thundercats as a kid too. Seriously, look at me. What else was I going to go with?” She held her arms to the side.
“Speed…girl?” Boost suggested
“You suck at superhero names,” Patrick said.
“Yes.” She nodded in agreement “Yes, you do. What’s up with ‘Boost’ anyways?” she asked.
“Boost. Like giving someone a boost, or booster rockets,” he said.
“So your power is lifting stuff up?” Patrick asked.
“No, it’s more than that. I’m much stronger than before.”
Patrick and Speetah were silent. Unsatisfied with his reply, they waited for him to continue.
“Like, I can lift cars and trucks and stuff. Old school superhero style, lifting the wheels off the ground to prevent a getaway.”
“If you’re just lifting cars and trucks, why not call yourself Jack?” Patrick held back a smirk.
Speetah started laughing. Boost did his best to hide his smile. He thought the joke was funny too. Once Patrick joined in on the laughter, he couldn’t keep his stoic expression and gave in as well.
As they regained their composure, a group of rowdy voices could be heard along the walk way cutting through the park. The three heroes glanced over, to check out the commotion, expecting a group of people just having fun. Instead, they saw a group of five young men planting themselves in the path of a couple riding bikes through the park. The older man and woman shrunk away as best they could, trying not to provoke the bullies and their impromptu toll way.
Anger pulled Speetah’s face into a scowl. “Five jerks, all trying to impress each other.”
Against the three of them, the five punks, with matching popped collars, would all be entertaining each other from adjacent hospital beds for the rest of the week. Even against Speetah alone, they were woefully outgunned.
“I’ll deal with this,” Speetah said.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Boost said.
“I’ll wait right here,” Patrick stretched out and laid back on the table. “You two have got this.”
Patrick took his perch on top of the slide, for a better view of the impending bully beat down. Boost and Speetah had split up as soon as they reached the grass. She moved to flank the group, stalking her prey like a predatory cat, while he strolled right through the grass with an air of confidence, walking straight toward the crowd. By the time Boost reached the scene, one of the bullies had already strong armed the man off of his bicycle and straddled it, leaning his arms across the handle bars. The cackling from the group of punks made Patrick wish he had decided to join in on the fun.
“Evening, folks. Can I offer my assistance?” Boost’s voice carried through the air, as if he were a stage performer during an outdoor play.
It was difficult for Patrick to catch the back and forth between the young men as they talked to Boost. He did his best to piece everything together, based only on Boost’s loud replies. He was trying to play it cool, but still trying to command respect of the men. Like a school faculty member, trying to invoke a sense of authority over a group of problem students.
The bullies took turns pointing and commenting on Boost’s outfit. A new round of forced hyena laughter erupted with each punchline. Must be a regular stand up comedy open mic night over there, Patrick thought. Boost tossed a couple of comebacks, delivered with some rude gesturing and pantomiming. His material fell flat with the tough audience.
The five men switched their focus to target the costumed goofball, getting in the way of their evening activities. Using the shift as their only opportunity, the young couple made their escape, leaving the stolen bicycle behind. Good, no one they had to worry about if the fists started flying.
The group all turned to face Boost, giving Speetah a huge blind spot to exploit when she needed to make her move. The conversation started heating up, as the head bully poked a finger into Boost’s chest. Patrick could finally start making out some of what was being said.
“Why don’t you waddle home, old man? I’m sure your wife needs to wash that cheesy a—”
Before he could finish the statement Boost had grasped the man’s finger and wrenched it backwards. The bully let out a short, high pitched wail, and dropped to one knee. His finger was pointed back at his own neck. His wrist and elbow were torqued at a painful angle.
One of the other men rushed in to save his bro, and threw a punch. Boost tucked his chin, and took the punch full on. His head jerked back from the blow, but he stood his ground and held on to the first man’s finger. The attacker that threw the punch dropped to his knees, grasping at his wrist and nursing a swelling hand.
Boost pulled the man he twisted up, back to his feet. He grabbed a handful of popped collar and waistband and hoisted the man, like a professional wrestler, gorilla pressing his opponent up over his head. Boost seemed to have no real difficulty lifting the 200–plus-pound mass, but the angry, bellowing battle cry and slight shuddering during the lift communicated otherwise.
His scream split the air, giving one of the remaining bullies pause. He didn’t want to be a part of this group, if they had to tangle with crazed circus strongmen in the park. The young man came to his senses and began pedaling the stolen bike through the grass.
A black and beige blur trailed him. The bike tumbled down a hill as he was yanked off of the seat by Speetah grasping the back of his jacket.
The last two bullies both lunged toward Boost. Several steps in, one of them tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the ground, eating a face full of turf. As he fell, Patrick could see Speetah now standing in the space the bully once occupied. The second skidded to a halt, eyes darting at the new threat. His fight or flight instinct was slow to take over, as he whipped a few flailing punches Speetah’s way. She was able to bob and weave to avoid them all. Speetah spun to the man’s left, letting her tail whip across his face. Mostly bone and muscle, the appendage struck his neck like a fist. He staggered and his legs wobbled, but maintained his footing. A shadow swept over the young attacker, as he looked up. The last thing he saw was the flying form of his buddy, the lead bully, dropping onto him from high above. Boost had tossed the m
an at least four or five feet higher, before the two men crumbled into a heap on the path.
Even from where he sat and watched, Patrick could hear the bodies colliding. The dull thud sounded like a wooden bat hitting a softball. He couldn’t tell if that was skull on skull, or if one of their heads struck the running path. He pulled his feet up, and whooshed down the slide. As he walked toward his friends, they were taking care of the remaining bullies.
Patrick walked across the park, applauding with a mock slow clap, as Boost and Speetah finished off the remaining bullies.
Speetah flipped him off as she finished dragging one of the men to the others, underneath one of the lamp posts lights, casting a warm yellowish circle of protection.
“Thanks for the help,” Boost said.
“Eh, you guys had it well under control.”
Speetah rubbed her hands on the sides of her thighs to wipe away the grass and dirt. “What do we do with that?” She pointed to the bike the bullies had stolen from the young couple.
“I guess they’re already gone. Maybe we can secure it to a tree or something. They might come back for it,” Patrick said.
He looked back and noticed the man and woman, ducked behind a tree, looking back at the three of them standing over the fallen bullies. The woman was holding something in front of her face, while the man glanced back and forth between the device in her hand, and the three of them standing there.
“She’s filming us,” Patrick mumbled. “She’s got her phone out and she’s filming us.”
“Looks like our little superhero team up is on the Internet’s radar,” Boost said. He seemed a little too excited about the whole situation. Then, he took a second look at the phone in the woman’s hand. “Vertical? Aw man, you gotta turn that to landscape. No one is gonna want to sit through that now,” he yelled back to the guerrilla journalist.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” Patrick said, tugging at Boost’s sleeve.
“Yeah, not a bad idea,” Speetah said.
“Thank you!” the woman’s faint voice called out, as the trio turned to leave.
“Yes, thank you guys so much!” The man’s voice was a bit closer, as he retrieved his bicycle.
They turned and gave a courteous wave back.
“Seriously, though. Nice job, you two. That was pretty impressive to watch,” Patrick said, as they reached the street.
“We should make this a regular thing,” Boost said. “It feels much safer with someone watching my back.”
“Yeah, I can see this working out very well,” Patrick said.
Speetah let the statement linger a little longer before replying, “Yeah, sure. I suppose it’ll be fun to shake things up like this.”
“I’ve got a pretty good feeling about this,” Boost had an extra spring in his step.
CHAPTER
8
The fourteenth floor of the Watchtower was where the leadership met. Inside an ornate boardroom, a long hardwood conference table ran down the length of the room. Deadeye and Tension took their seats on one side of the table, facing three others on the opposite side. A large, overstuffed leather chair sat at the end of the table. This is, of course, where Sight was seated.
Deadeye watched as Sight sat silent, reading over the preliminary report. One of his teams was defeated by a few superheroes. He was unable to hide his displeasure, as the corners of his mouth pointed down slightly. Deadeye was invited along with Tension, to meet with some newer leadership Sight had promoted. He wished to discuss the matter further, giving the new supers on his team a chance to weigh in. She knew it was something they should get ahead of and deal with before more supers got the idea that the Visionaries were easy prey. Sight stood and addressed the room.
“Good evening.” He placed the report face down on the table. He began pacing the room, with his fingers steepled in front of his lips.
“For the sake of the new folks in here, I’m going to start with informal introductions. The mountain of a man, always by my side, is simply known as Tension. My most trusted head of security. The brawn to my brains.”
Deadeye kept her gaze on the three new people as Sight walked behind her.
“This lovely lady, is Deadeye,” he said. His hand hovered next to her head, presenting her mirrored half visor. “Trust me when I say that you do not want to find out first hand why the name is so fitting. She is my field general. She is in charge whenever any of my Visionaries leave the Watchtower and roam the streets.” He rested the hand on her shoulder, pausing before moving on.
He walked back to the seat at the head of the table and sat back down, with a calm demeanor.
“We, as an organization, are growing. In order to accommodate such expansion, we must add to our ranks. At every level. A few of my soldiers have proven themselves, with their loyalty, and abilities. Allow me to introduce.” He motioned to the other side of the table. “The Fear Mongrel, The Hair Devil, and The Jack—actually, are you guys stuck on the names? Do you all require ‘the’ in front of your chosen aliases? Might I suggest, dropping the article, giving each of you a more streamlined nom de plume?” He gestured in the air like a conductor. “Fear Mongrel, Hair Devil, and Jack Hammer,” He said with a smile. A moment later, his mouth flattened. “On second thought, maybe The Jack Hammer can keep his name unchanged.”
The three of them glanced back and forth at one another, gauging if the others had any objections. Satisfied, they nodded and grumbled their agreement.
“Wonderful,” Sight said, pleased with their consent.
Deadeye had the breakdowns of the three new supers. She had their briefs from when each of them were first recruited. As they each rose up in the ranks, she had been collecting files on them, just in case they needed to be dealt with. Deadeye had files on every major player in the Visionaries. Including Sight’s closest members.
When Tension’s abilities developed, his muscles and tendons increased in both size and density. He possessed immense strength, and when he flexed, his muscle fibers took on the consistency of steel cables. His skeletal structure mutated to deal with the enormous stress his musculature placed on it. His joints and ligaments were also forced to increase in density to keep up. Even his skull and jaw were altered. The man tipped the scales at just shy of 800 pounds.
Fear Mongrel was a muscle head, obsessed with sculpting his intimidating physique. At 5 feet 6 inches in height, he was almost as wide as he was tall. He could drink in a crowd’s fear, transforming into a brutish half man, half beast. Like a werewolf only with the short snout, hanging jowls, and floppy ears of a St. Bernard. He reveled in his ability to put the fear of God into his victims, maintaining his altered form by putting the fear of dog into them. He knew his ability and its limitations well, but Deadeye still didn’t like him. His ego was sometimes too much.
Next was Hair Devil. A baby-faced former indie rock star. Or at least, he claimed he was an indie rock star. Lead guitarist in a garage band didn’t count in her eyes. But it was his super ability that the organization was more interested in, not his music catalog. The living locks of his auburn mane gave him a formidable reach, allowing him to grab, entangle, and otherwise tie up his opponents. The strands were also able to pass back tactile information about anything they grasped. However, if he allowed all of his hair to grow out, his brain had difficulty dealing with the amount of sensory input, causing him to lose touch with the real world. He chose to keep the front half shorter to prevent that problem.
Last was The Jack Hammer. The odd one. Formerly Roger Simms, he had his name legally changed to Jack Hammer when he developed his powers. He hadn’t needed to work his way up the ranks like the other two. His gifts helped him surpass all obstacles, and fast track his way up. Sight liked his ability. Jack could generate vibration fields, affecting anything he touched. Given enough time, he could bring down buildings. Sight clearly saw the potential, but Deadeye wasn’t comfortable letting such a powerful individual get so close without knowing more about him.
The team met some resistance from a few minor players, new heroes, who were able to defeat the four Visionaries he sent to do the job. This job, however, was too important to trust random scrubs, so a more experienced team was tasked. None had powers, so Sight didn’t expect the four of them to defeat three unknown supers, with no notice or preparation.
He was able to contain his frustration and anger, since losing his cool wouldn’t help in this situation. This was something he planned on, but having some local supers tripping his soldiers up this early was troubling. It was possible that this was just dumb luck, but he couldn’t take any chances.
“This displeases me. I don’t want these costumed clowns thinking they can make a name taking us on.” Sight stood up from the table and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, giving him a perfect view of the northern quadrant of the city, of their turf. “From now on, major operations like this will require a heavy hitter. One of you,” he moved his finger across everyone seated at the table “must accompany the men on the field for missions that cannot risk failure.”
He pulled a small remote from his pocket, and turned on a projector. Two videos played side by side. The video on the left showed security camera footage from a month earlier. An attempted corner store robbery, thwarted by someone manipulating a white glue-like substance. Deadeye had seen this video several times already. The video on the right was taken only days ago. It was footage taken from a camera phone, showing two other super heroes taking down a group of five bullies in a park about 10 miles from the Watchtower.
He turned away from the projections, facing the window again. He kept his back turned while addressing them. “We know the group that defeated our brothers and sisters consisted of an individual who manipulated white liquid, a man with increased physical strength, and a young woman who was very fleet of feet.” He turned back waving a nonchalant hand at the screen. “It is clear that these three are the heroes they are talking about. We need to find out who they are and take them out.”