Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  “However,” again she paused. “However, if I just cut you three down now, by myself, well then,” again, she motioned to her Bad News Bears. “That would take all of the fun out of their evening.”

  “Here’s what I propose.” She placed a forefinger to her pursed lips, contemplating her choice of words. Wagging the finger, she continued. “These fine young men and women, these Visionaries, need more experience. They need to get their hands dirty.”

  “You don’t want to break a nail?” Speetah was on edge. Only seconds away from pouncing. Her breath hissed in and out through her flared nostrils.

  Deadeye shrugged. “No need to get my hands dirty.”

  She turned to walk away. Reaching the edge of the crowd she raised a single finger, and made several small circles. The crowd roared and rushed in.

  Patrick reached for his collapsible batons. Two telescoping steel clubs that extended out to 21 inches with a flick of his wrists. More than enough to knock the fight out of anyone that took a shot from a full powered swing. He wasn’t sure how well he would be able to use his power this close to his friends, while surrounded by enemies. Relying on his close combat weapons, he was sure of his abilities.

  The crowd was untrained, and did more to get in their own way than to prevent him from landing his blows. Patrick’s batons landed solid blows on any heads, arms, and legs in the path of each tight swing. Every target was fair game, and every strike accomplished the task of knocking some sense into his foes.

  The crowd in front had slowed their attempts to bridge the gap, fearing harsh steel lessons Patrick doled out. At some point, he had moved further from Boost and Speetah. Now, the three of them were each surrounded, contending with their own group of foes. Patrick took a second to make sure they were holding their own, when he noticed that more jack booted thugs kept arriving. Fresh bodies to take the place of anyone that was taken out of the fight, or just decided that they didn’t want to play this game anymore.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Boost stood firm, feet planted, trading blows with anyone dumb enough to take him on toe-to-toe. He was operating like a machine. For each enemy fist or foot that found its mark, he fired one in return. Each blow he absorbed, he dished right back out. The only difference was he remained standing while the recipients of his punches either collapsed in a heap, or faded back into the crowd. Probably running away to go cry in their car.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Patrick whipping his dual batons in tight arcs, doing his best to keep the attackers at bay. He was able to avoid most of the incoming blows, and even the strikes that did land, were half-hearted. His attackers’ fear of steel retaliation outweighed the motivation to land a solid blow.

  More punks filled in the gaps between the three heroes, as they were driven apart. Boost could feel blows raining down from all sides. He was now only landing a single strike for every three or four that he took, and starting to feel overwhelmed, as each impact hurt more and more. He covered up, mentally steeling himself for his counter offensive.

  “You think you can take me out? This isn’t even my final form!” Boost shouted as he plowed through the crowd. He kept his head low, as the fear stricken faces sucked under his feet during the rush, passed by. He broke their ranks and turned to face the crowd as they regrouped. Boost could feel his strength return with his confidence.

  A lone idiot, fueled by foolish pride let out a battle cry and surged forward. Boost brought the poor soul down with a double leg take down, honed by repetition on the wrestling mats in High School. He stood over the young man staring down with a sadistic grin. “You like pro rasslin’, boy?” he asked in a purposeful drawl.

  Boost hooked one of the man’s feet under each of his armpits, and started spinning. He executed a pro wrestling giant swing, using the assailant as a weapon against his own allies. Anyone that wasn’t already knocked clear was scrambling to escape. With one final rotation, he sent the man flying, bringing down a young woman who had her back turned.

  Staggering and struggling to maintain his balance, Boost stomped each foot to combat the dizziness, and let out a loud guttural shout. “Who’s next!?”

  He looked up to see the next wave approaching. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, Boost prepared to meet the rush of fresh opponents.

  Speetah met the crowd head on as they rushed in. They wouldn’t be able to deal with the speed of her approach, and she used that to great advantage, as she drove through them like a wedge. The first several rows were rag dolls tossed to either side, caught in the wake of a speeding hero.

  Speetah paid for the technique, though. She wasn’t tough like Boost, and plowing through them bruised her shoulders and arms. Speetah covered her face and head to absorb the impact, but now she had difficulty making and holding a fist. She was able to make it all the way through before her momentum was sapped. Speetah turned, and saw that they still weren’t sure what just happened. In the precious seconds it took the crowd to change direction, she had already taken several more out, using powerful, well placed kicks and tail whips.

  Speetah was now locked in combat against multiple attackers. Her increased strength and reflexes helped her to maneuver in a way to keep the bulk of her attackers, blocking their own friends. One fell from a front kick planted deep into his solar plexus. Two more dropped as she crouched low and kicked their legs out from under them. Another from a spinning elbow strike. And another from a powerful knee to the groin.

  If they thought she was going to roll over and give up, Speetah was sure that they had now changed their minds. The nearby emergency rooms were about to see a surge of bodies in triage when she finished here tonight.

  She avoided most of their attacks, with a few punches sneaking through. Each blow that found its mark only served to fuel her rage. Every opponent she lashed out at would feel that rage first hand.

  Her hands, knees, feet, and even head, ached from the barrage of techniques she used to thin the crowd. She saw early on that for each punk she took out, one or two more arrived to fill the ranks.

  Speetah fought her way to the back of the parking lot. Deeper into enemy held ground, where the leader was. The woman calling the shots. Speetah’s progress was slow, with new attackers greeting her just as she dispatched the last. She brought down another with repeated elbow strikes pounding his face and head, and was halted yet again. A girl, about 19 years old, stood in a fighting stance. A boxing stance. The cold steel gaze didn’t phase Speetah as she sucked in a deep breath to fill her lungs with fresh air, ready for another round.

  Before the opening bell could sound, a flying body crashed into the girl. Both out cold before their bodies came to a halt. Speetah snapped her eyes up, she had a clear path to the woman with the visor. She seized the opportunity. Her shoes found solid purchase on the textured parking lot surface as she ramped up to near top speed.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Deadeye was enjoying the show. The three heroes held their ground at first, punishing the new recruits, wave after wave. It made her happy to see all of the punk kids eating their humble pie. They were all being assigned some real world homework from the school of hard knocks. But each Visionary that hit the pavement was replaced by another from the shadows. The rest of the teams she had out as bait were all converging on their position.

  She knew most of them would fall to the combined might of the three heroes, but in the aftermath, each of them would all be ground down. Worn to a nub and unable to put up much more of a fight when she stepped in to finish them off. This was a good night. The spineless worms would be strained out of the organization, running away rather than facing the threat. The others would take their lumps, and learn some respect. At last, she would get the pleasure of taking the heroes out herself when the dust settled. A good night, indeed.

  Sight sat motionless in his chambers, lounging back in a recliner, relaxing his body, as he observed the battle from Deadeye’s point of view. Her tinted v
isor was locked to the left, so the picture in his mind was washed with a purple hue. The darkened vision from her good eye cast shadows over parts of what he and she saw.

  Why was she sitting back? Why was she content with letting his soldiers rush in, only to be squashed by these upstart heroes? It was difficult to watch, as his precious Visionaries hit the ground in groups and pairs. Sight held his breath, watching in despair, as Deadeye sat back enjoying her front row seat.

  Helplessness washed over him. Sight didn’t want to call her and reveal that he had a real-time window to observe the actions of his elite guard. As Deadeye scanned the battle, he was forced to follow along as she controlled the ‘camera,’ and watched what she felt was the more interesting battles. Just as he was getting a good sense for a certain hero’s abilities, Deadeye would shift her gaze, breaking his concentration.

  The Visionary numbers thinned, with all of their reserves already involved in the brawl. Sight’s heart raced, worried that their targets would escape the trap. At this moment, Deadeye adjusted her posture, preparing to leap into the fray. She whipped her head to each of the heroes, preparing to take on the first one to break through.

  Her gaze locked on to the woman in the group. They locked eyes, with no one standing between them. The woman, crouched like she was getting ready to leap into the air and fly away. Then, in a heartbeat, she was sprinting toward Deadeye.

  Sight raised his arms to block the incoming strike, just as Deadeye raised hers. Their movements were synchronized, but it did little to stop the assault. The flash in Deadeye’s vision was enough to snap Sight out of his connection. He screamed in terror, startled by the first person experience of being attacked by the superhero.

  Sweat streamed down his face and chest in rivulets, as his heart pounded in his chest. He hands were shaking as he reached to grab his drink, a white Russian, to calm his nerves. He needed to know what was happening, but the thought of reconnecting with Cassandra’s vision was too much for him right now.

  Deadeye did her best to cushion the impact, but the cat woman had landed a fierce forearm strike to the side of her head. The mirrored plastic shattered, and she could feel the burning sensation from a dozen small cuts on her cheek and around her eye. Her good eye. Deadeye’s blood boiled, and she screamed as the black bolt surged from her right eye. The wild tendril of force moved in an erratic pattern, chipping, cracking, and breaking everything in its path. She focused the beam toward the woman who had dared lay hands on her.

  Her rage made it difficult to aim the beam, and her target was too fast. The cat-like creature was able to avoid each furious blast. Deadeye rose to her feet, still firing pulse after pulse. One of the parking lot’s metal light posts groaned and fell from the force of her blast, taking one of the spotlights with it. Several Visionaries were unlucky enough to be in the proximity of her intended victim, struck down in the crossfire of Deadeye’s powerful beam.

  Cassandra was growling, like a lioness, letting every other animal know they had crossed into the wrong turf. Her gaze wiped back and forth, looking for the other woman. She hadn’t noticed the Visionaries had stopped fighting the other two heroes. Many were trying to decide if they should continue the attack, or run away. She looked at them all, with a wildness in her eye.

  “Kill them! But leave the cheetah alive! She’s mine.”

  The blur of movement to her right snagged Deadeye’s attention as she fired. The flailing black whip shot out, padding just over her opponent’s head. Speetah was too fast. She was able to get under the shot, closing the distance once again, driving a fist into Deadeye’s ribs.

  The blow landed hard as Deadeye hissed through clenched teeth. She doubled over, but her instinct was to reach out, wrapping her arms around her foe. They both tumbled to the ground, rolling along the asphalt. Before the cat could pounce away, Deadeye grabbed onto the tail like appendage, and wrapped her other hand around the woman’s throat. Her short fingernails dug into the soft flesh. Deadeye rolled Speetah over, and drove her weight downward to increase the pressure of her choke.

  Her victim clawed away at her hand, trying to pry it away. The the helpless sight of it incited laughter. Loud, angry laughter. Deadeye released the tail and used both hands to strangle her opponent. She watched as the stupid cat woman’s eyes rolled up. The black orb in her eye socket started glowing, small tendrils of purple light danced around, crawling across her face. Deadeye’s teeth were digging into her own lower lip, but she didn’t even notice the pain, or the trickle of blood as the adrenaline coursed through her body. She didn’t notice the other hero standing behind her.

  Boost looked over to where Speetah fought the group’s leader. His friend was pinned underneath, while the other woman strangled her. He ran over to help, tossing a few more bodies out of the way as he went. Boost arrived just as Speetah was on the verge of passing out. He stopped right behind the woman, and wrapped her up in a bear hug, pinning her arms against her body. Hoisting her straight up, he started squeezing with all of his might. He felt several pops and eased his grip. The last thing Boost needed bouncing around in his mind was the thought of how it felt to crush the life out of someone.

  The back of the woman’s head smashed into his face, hitting him hard on his teeth. The pain caught him off guard. Boost wasn’t prepared for the blow. It hurt him far more than he was expecting it to, as he released her. She planted her foot hard into his stomach. The blow didn’t hurt, but it separated the two.

  The woman turned to face him and turned her upper body side to side. “I guess I can cancel my chiropractor’s appointment next week.” She unleashed a crackling purple and black bolt that struck Boost full on in the chest. He was hurled back, staggering on his heels. The fence halted his regression, but he collapsed as his legs gave out.

  All Boost could manage was to clutch both hands to his chest. The blast was far more powerful than anything he had ever been hit with. His breath came in ragged gasps. He was unable to pull in a full breath, and he started to panic. The world around him closed in, wrapped in a darkened screen, but he was still conscious. He just needed to sleep. Maybe close his eyes for a few minutes. He should be ok after that.

  Boost’s head hit the pavement with a slight bounce.

  Patrick watched in horror as the woman, the villain, caught Boost with a direct hit from the beam weapon she was using. He shouted to get her attention, while running to cover the distance.

  She turned to face him, the purple pulsing glow ramped up in intensity. Without breaking stride, he hurled one of his batons at her head. She twisted and ducked, just as a beam fired out, carving an arc along the parking lot surface. Patrick missed with the throw, but it gave him the opening he needed.

  As she turned to fire another blast, Deadeye’s legs were wrapped up and bound together with a white cable, glistening in the remaining spotlights. Her legs were pulled out from under her, but she absorbed most of the fall, slapping the ground with her arms, like a Judo practitioner. She sat up to fire another blast, but a new pain from her legs stopped her. Patrick focused his attention on the milky rope he had wrapped around her legs. The cable braided and wound around itself, tightening like she was caught by a python. She screamed in anger, clawing at her bindings. Out of desperation, she fired another blast at Patrick. He dropped out of the way, and pulled her closer. The sudden jerk spoiled her aim, as the beam cut a few bricks out of the building behind him.

  Deadeye skidded closer as he swung downward with his remaining baton, looking to finish the fight fast. The steel tip chipped a bit of the asphalt, as she was able to twist out of the way. She pulled a foot free, and planted a solid side kick into the side of his knee. Patrick wasn’t able to maintain focus, giving her too much slack. Stupid move.

  Her kick twisted his knee, causing it to buckle and drop to the ground. Deadeye popped back up to her feet and unleashed another bolt. As the black tendril leapt from her eye, Patrick rolled the other direction to avoid the blast. He wasn’t able to get back to
his feet, but he came up in a kneeling position, firing another blast of his own.

  The shot hit Deadeye in the shoulder, turning her body enough to alter the angle of her retaliation. Her next shot hit Patrick in his shoulder, as well. The hard protective shell, added to the shoulder of his jacket, exploded. A spray of shrapnel sliced a webbing of abrasions across Patrick’s pale skin. But the pain was nothing compared to the throbbing, pulsing signals his dislocated shoulder fired across his nervous system. The powerful blast sent him spiraling to the ground. Pulling his injured arm close to his body, he pushed back with his feet, trying to scramble away.

  Every bit of ground he gained, she just took right back, stalking him. A predator moving in for the kill. The smile on Deadeye’s face was dripping with bad intent. Patrick struggled to pop the tab on his good arm, but the pain was unbearable whenever he released his other arm.

  There were only a handful of people still standing. All on her side. They formed up behind their leader, waiting for further orders. Most were fresh, but a few had shown signs of being battered from the brawl.

  Deadeye looked back and surveyed the battlefield. Many Visionaries littered the ground, or fled in fear. Far more than she expected. Among the fallen were the other two heroes. Both were still alive, but out of the fight. She looked back at her remaining foe.

  He clutched an arm close to his body. It had to be a broken arm, or a dislocated shoulder. “I’m surprised it’s still attached.” She gestured to his injured limb. The crooked smirk on her face stretched across on its own. She didn’t bother to contain her pleasure. Deadeye reached up for her visor, getting ready to flip it over. She only remembered that it had shattered when her thumb raked across the empty frame, laced with the sharp remains of the mirrored plastic. Her smirk melted away.