Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

Deadeye’s vision was flooded with the purple tint as she prepared to paint the parking lot with the remains of her unfortunate victim.

  Before she could unleash the final blast, her vision was obstructed. Her breathing became difficult. Someone had thrown a glue like substance at her. She reached up to clear her eyes and mouth, only to find that her right arm was pinned to her body. Had her victim been able to hit her with that white liquid before she could fire the killing blow? A second blast of the sticky substance pinned her other arm to her face, as she reached up. She could hear the other troops panicking, trying to find out where the new attack was coming from. It wasn’t the injured hero on the ground, feigning injury, this was someone else.

  She struggled pulling at the sticky silk strands, trying to clear her nose or mouth. The yelling and chaos was disorienting, as the undisciplined Visionaries bumped into her, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Deadeye hit the ground hard as a group of her own men bowled her over trying to escape. Escape from whom? She needed to get free and find out.

  Once her mouth was free, she gulped the air like she had just resurfaced from the deep end of the pool after jumping off of the platform. Her head cleared, and she was able to get her bearings. Deadeye fired a blast from her eye. The pressure from the blowback felt like it would rupture her eardrums, or fracture the orbit the blast emanated from. She tore at the strange stringy substance, but it was difficult with her arm’s mobility restricted. It felt like wet rubber bands. The slimy coating made it difficult to get a good grip. The blast had torn some of it already. She gritted her teeth, and let loose another purple bolt. The blast tore a hole through the obstruction.

  She watched as a tall, corpulent sleeping bag of a man turned the corner heading down the street, away from the parking lot. It took several minutes to pull the rest of the sticky stuff from her face and body. Several more to look around and survey the damage. The three heroes had escaped. Two of the Visionaries were bound by a pinkish, silky, fibrous glue. The others worked to help free them as well.

  A wave of heat rose up her face. Deadeye’s anger was palpable. Like bile. Or was it the disgusting crap she was just shot with? Her breathing was forceful but still shallow. She was about to lash out at the remaining Visionaries with her force beam, but then thought better of the idea. It took great composure, but that did nothing to get rid of the massive headache that hit her like a sack of doorknobs. Maybe just one blast.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Boost carried Speetah, as Patrick and their rescuer trailed behind. They had made it a few blocks away with no one pursuing. At least not that he could see or hear. Boost was following the vocal prompts of where to go. They ducked into an alley, where a vehicle was parked. A beat up van blinked its headlights, and let out a chirp as they approached.

  “It’s unlocked,” the stranger said.

  Boost hoisted Speetah up on to his shoulder, as he pulled the side door open along its track. The rust and debris that would have made the task difficult for anyone else, was no match for Boost’s strength. He placed Speetah’s unconscious body on the musty bench seat with great care, like handling a piece of porcelain pottery. Never mind that she was trading blows with their foes, just like the rest of them.

  Boost climbed back out, just as the passenger door shut behind him. He turned to face their savior. He wasn’t sure what he saw as they made their escape, but this time he got a solid eyeful.

  The man stood on short squatty legs, but still towered at least seven feet tall. Several sets of stubby limbs ran down the length of each side of his body, sprouting out in pairs. The top pair was a normal length for a set of human arms. His torso was a bloated tube, with ‘segments’ defined by regular intervals of fleshy folds. His round face was surrounded by soft pouches and bulges, all covered in alternating black, white and yellow stripes.

  An uncomfortable amount of time passed in silence, until he spoke. “My name is Manerpillar.” Several more seconds stretched on. “We should go.”

  Boost shook out of his stupor and nodded in agreement. He stepped back into the side door, pulling it closed behind him. He sat next to Speetah cradling her head in his lap.

  As Manerpillar passed by the front windshield, Boost watched as he ‘shed’ his outer layers in a mist of fine silky webbing that seemed to float off in the air. A normal sized man with a normal sized body took the driver’s seat. He had the same facial features as the being he spoke to seconds ago.

  Looking back, Manerpillar had a sheepish grin, “Buckle up, ladies and gentlemen. I haven’t replaced the shocks on this thing yet.”

  Patrick struggled to get his seatbelt across. The pressure from the strap across his dislocated shoulder was almost too much to bear, but he was able to click the belt secure. He turned to face the driver. “Thank you.” It was all he said. It was all he could say, passing out seconds later.

  Most of the bodies that had been strewn about the parking lot moments ago, had been cleared out. The Visionaries that were still standing did their best to help their friends. The heavier, or more injured soldiers were left behind. The Visionaries weren’t Army Rangers, there was no code of honor here. Deadeye watched as they scrambled like roaches when the police sirens approached.

  The spotlights and battery banks had been stowed away, and she was already seated in one of the trucks hauling the gear. “Let’s get a move on, people,” she said. If they were too slow to get with the program, they could join their fallen buddies downtown in a holding cell. She slapped her hand twice on the dashboard and the convoy of trucks departed.

  Deadeye watched the rearview mirror as the sirens and flashing lights converged on the scene. The anger still clouded her thoughts, and her head still ached, but the silky glue had dissipated on its own. From the eye witness accounts, they were ambushed by a fourth super. Someone who could fire out that pink webbing they were all hit with. The thought of that fat sausage man getting the drop on them made her furious.

  She had underestimated their abilities. The three of them alone were far more capable than she had expected, but the appearance of a fourth proved that she didn’t do enough research into the team. A foolish mistake she was not about to repeat. The only positive she could see coming out of this mess was the fact that she now had worthy adversaries. Deadeye found the motivation to continue her mission, but it did little to assuage her anger. The laughter that overcame her, equal parts frustration and amusement, made the other Visionaries uneasy.

  The drive was uneventful, and the silence uncomfortable. Patrick was unconscious, Speetah would wake up for brief moments, before closing her eyes again, and Boost just kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He didn’t pay attention to where they were headed. His mind replayed the ambush out over and over again. He had dragged his friends into the fight. Boost couldn’t help but feel responsible for the outcome of the evening.

  The driver, Manerpillar, or at least his more presentable form, turned his head to talk, but kept his eyes fixed on the road. “I’ve got a safe place in mind, but if you know of a better location, just let me know and I’ll get us there.”

  Boost didn’t know this part of the city. Truth be told, the group had no back up plans for safe houses, or hidden locations to rest and recover. He did little to hide his own identity, and now realized how careless his behavior was. Boost shook his head and grunted his assent.

  “Alright. We’re about half an hour out,” Manerpillar said. “You should get some rest, too. You took some pretty heavy shots back there.”

  “I’m fine,” Boost’s voice was low. He kept his gaze locked on the white dashes whipping by. They looked like old video game laser blasts, the steady pace helping him to maintain his focus.

  Patrick and Speetah both opened their eyes, like they were tuned into the same alarm. Both bolted to full alert, confusion and concern painted across their faces. Patrick’s shoulder reminded him of the events that led up to this point. Speetah freaked out, scrambling around the back
of the van before Boost could calm her.

  “Where are we!?” She yelled.

  Voices overlapped, all trying to explain the situation. All of them delivered the same message, but none of them said anything in the same order as the others. She wasn’t able to decipher the words, which made things worse. Speetah planted a foot on the back wall of the van, ready to rush the driver, until Boost stepped right into her path.

  She realized who she was looking at and finally calmed down.

  “Where are we?” She repeated the question.

  “It’s a long story,” Boost said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll start in the middle.”

  She nodded and fell hard onto the bench seat next to him, as her shoulders dropped.

  Boost recapped the story as best he could. Patrick filled in parts based on his point of view, but he was unable to articulate his side, distracted by his dislocated shoulder. She remembered most of the battle. Her last clear memory was the straight shot she had at their leader. Before the entire battle turned upside down for them.

  None of them knew much about Manerpillar, so they left the introduction to him. “I’m the Mighty Manerpillar,” he said with far too much pride in his name. From there he continued telling them everything he knew about their foes. The Visionaries. Manerpillar was part of a small group of other heroes sharing information in small online communities. The Visionaries were a local group founded a couple of years ago, operating in their city. All of the information he had on the organization was based on other heroes that had run ins with them, as well as witnesses, and victims to their criminal activities.

  He told them about Deadeye, the woman they tangled with earlier. “No one really knows much about her, other than the fact that she is the right hand to the leader of the group, Sight. Her powers have never been witnessed in action, so,” Manerpillar stopped the van and turned to face them, “you three are the first to have that pleasure.” He turned the van’s engine off, and kicked the door open. “We’re here.”

  The four of them headed inside an old dark warehouse. Speetah refused Boost’s help, although she had a visible limp that she did her best to hide. Manerpillar helped Patrick, keeping his shoulder as steady as possible. They had helped him to slip his bad arm out of the sleeve, tucking it inside his jacket like a sling.

  “You’re going to have to have that looked at,” Boost said.

  “You need that popped back into place,” Speetah added.

  Patrick nodded. The thought of that much pain was too much to deal with right now. “Yeah, I’ll have to put that on my to-do list.”

  They looked back at Manerpillar, who seemed more excited than concerned. “I didn’t know supers were operating in groups. This is pretty exciting stuff,” he said. “Are there any others in your group? Did you guys meet online?”

  “We didn’t even know about the super social networks,” Speetah said.

  “Yeah, we kind of just crossed paths, tangling with those Visionaries,” Patrick said. “We’re all new to this as well, but it sounds like you’ve got a lot more information than we do.”

  “How did you know about that ambush?” Speetah asked.

  “I didn’t know it was a trap. I just knew there were a bunch of Visionaries spotted in the area. No one wanted to tangle with them, but I figured someone should gather some intel on their activities.”

  “Fine bunch of heroes you’ve befriended.” Speetah didn’t hide her contempt.

  “We’re not organized like that,” Manerpillar said. “It’s more of a casual, information sharing kind of thing.”

  “Maybe we should organize like that,” Boost said. “That wasn’t a training session we stumbled across earlier. They set that up. Maybe to catch us, maybe to catch anyone stupid enough to mess with them.”

  Patrick sat on a stack of pallets. “He’s right.” He winced as his weight settled. “We weren’t prepared for this. They were. They had more information about us than we did about them. We need to reach out to your networks. We need to organize better.”

  Manerpillar’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Yes, we do!” He pulled a smart phone out of his pocket. The bluish glow lit up his rounded facial features, accentuating his broad grin.

  “What, now?” Speetah asked. “Shouldn’t we discuss this further?”

  “Why not now?” He asked.

  “We’re not exactly in any condition to start auditioning sidekicks,” she growled.

  He paused and looked up. “I just thought that we shouldn’t waste any more time.”

  “Moving too fast is why we got into this mess!” She stood toe to toe with Manerpillar, looking down at the shorter man. Her voice echoed off of the rusted skin of the building they were in.

  “She’s right. We should take a moment to figure things out. We’re not ready to start a war with an enemy we know nothing about,” Patrick said. “Besides, maybe this should be a lesson for us. Maybe we’re not cut out to skulk around fighting crime. Maybe we should put in more training hours. Or maybe we should hang it up.” He let the last statement dwell.

  “It’s not going to hurt to at least reach out to the others,” Boost said. “More information will help us make a better decision about our next move.”

  The silence hung heavy in the air, until each of the heroes nodded in consent.

  “Fine with me,” Speetah said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “I’ll start sending out the requests,” Manerpillar said.

  “Let’s regroup later,” Patrick suggested. “We should take some time to lick our wounds and clear our heads before we start talking about our next plan of attack. How about next week?”

  “Good. We need some time to get the punch and cookies for the big meeting,” Boost said.

  “Actually, I could use some milk.” Patrick said with a pained smile.

  The screaming was deafening, even within the large open space. Patrick’s pain was broadcast, and repeated in echoes off of the skeletal structure and bare metal walls. At some point he didn’t even register that it was his own screams he was hearing. Boost held his body still while Manerpillar pulled his arm, trying to put his shoulder back in its socket.

  Even after the ball joint found its way home, the pain was tremendous. Patrick still couldn’t move it, but now every bounce and jostle didn’t send pain arcing its way through his body. It was stable enough to support in his makeshift jacket sling.

  Speetah returned from her snack run. None of them had eaten in hours, and the effects from the fatigue and exertion were taking its toll. She tossed a bottle to Patrick. He caught it with his left hand, after fumbling it.

  “Milk,” he was smiling. “Thanks.” He held it up, offering her a toast before struggling to get the cap off.

  “I figured you would need it, judging by your screams,” she said.

  “Sounded like someone was torturing you,” Boost added.

  “Yeah, you two clowns.” Patrick said, as he started drinking from the bottle.

  For the past few weeks he had grown to enjoy the taste of milk, regardless of the pain and discomfort he suffered from it. Ever since the convenience store battle, Patrick realized there was a physical effect, beyond just giving him greater control of his powers. He emptied the bottle in several large gulps. Each swallow released a chill throughout his body. Like he was injecting the cool liquid into his bloodstream.

  Within minutes, Patrick’ fatigue was gone, and he felt much more alert. The pain had subsided, although he was still unable to move his arm very much. I wonder if this will help me heal faster, too. A few days of suffering was something he was willing to go through in his experiment, if it meant he would be on the road to recovery much quicker.

  “Does a body good, huh?” Boost asked.

  Patrick threw the empty bottle in his direction. It missed by a good margin, and the hollow plastic skittering filled the large empty space.

  They spent the next couple of hours discussing the best way to present all of the information for th
eir planned meeting next week. The superhero community wasn’t the most social of social networks when it came to face to face meetings. Getting them to stop by, much less open up was going to be a challenge. One they would have to overcome if they had any hope of defeating the Visionaries. This was going to be more than just sharing information. This could be the start of something big for the city. Something Patrick had hoped to help build ever since he started slinging milk at purse snatchers and bike thieves.

  Boost and Speetah left the warehouse, opting to find their own way to their homes. Patrick was in no mood to grab a taxi, so he just hopped in Manerpillar’s van for a ride back to his apartment. His shoulder was already feeling much better. His stomach, not so much.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Like The Justice League!?” Trevor’s voice was too loud for Patrick’s cheap phone, distorting the sound.

  He held the device away from his ear. “Yeah, we’re going to meet in a few days and talk.”

  “You gotta let me come along,” Trevor said.

  “Not a chance. There’s no way anyone is going to think you belong there.”

  “We can convince them. Just put some milk bottles in my pocket, and you can make me fly around.”

  “Are you still convinced I can do that?” Patrick asked.

  “No, I asked if you could make yourself fly. I’m pretty sure you can make me fly.”

  “That’s got bad idea written all over it. You’re like the perfect guy to go to when I need a do not do list.”

  “Fine, I’ll handle it myself. I can make my own batarangs.”

  “One more item for the list.”

  “C’mon man, you gotta let me tag along. I’ll just tell everyone I’m your butler.”

  “Alright, that actually sounds like a fun—”

  “Your butler with a secret origin, and ninja fighting skills,” Trevor continued. Trademark vocal steamrolling.