Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. We’re meeting these people with the understanding that it’s just an informal discussion, and all of their identities will stay private.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to start telling everyone their names,” Trevor said.

  “No, but I know you would take pictures of any costumes that you think are goofy looking.”

  “Yeah alright, I admit that. Just promise you’ll call me after you get back. I have to know what kind of superhero team we’re going to be stuck with.”

  “Deal.”

  “Because I don’t want a reject version of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants running around.”

  Patrick had to laugh at that. “Who puts the word ‘evil’ in their team name?”

  They ended their conversation, with the promise that they would talk about what the other supers were like.

  Patrick hung the phone up, and took his jacket off. It had only been a few days since his shoulder was dislocated, but it felt almost normal already. The suffering was worth it. Plus, the rush he was getting from drinking milk was almost addictive. It was refreshing, like pulling in a deep breath in cool crisp air, after a fresh snowfall. His shoulder was still sore, but he had complete range of motion back, and he could almost support his weight with his right arm again. Patrick circled it a few times to loosen the joint, and hung his costume back on the hook on his door.

  It was like packing, days before going on an exciting trip. The meeting wasn’t until Friday night, three days away, but here he was, making sure his costume was all in order before then. The batons he carried were lost in the parking lot battle, and he didn’t like the idea of stepping out into the streets without a pair for backup when he wasn’t able to use his powers. The old replacement pair were mismatched, not only in appearance but in size as well. That bothered him more than not having them.

  Now was as good a time as any to rely on his powers. A few years of karate training, and too many hours spent watching martial arts flicks just wasn’t going to be as good as his powers could be on his best day. Besides, cracking people in the head with steel batons was something he never liked doing, and more often than not, he was pulling punches.

  “The milk man cometh. It’s time to deliver justice…ugh, I can’t believe I just said that.” Patrick glanced around the room to make sure no one overheard him. “I need to get some sleep.”

  The streetlight in front of the warehouse flickered off for the third time in ten minutes. Patrick sat on the curb, watching his breath as it formed small clouds. It rained an hour before he arrived, but the moisture still hung heavy in the cool air. He sat out front, until Speetah, Boost, and Manerpillar arrived.

  Each nodded, mumbled, or grunted their casual greetings before shuffling inside. Patrick was the only one that seemed to be enjoying the weather. The others, probably spending too much time patrolling in bad weather, preferred the clear skies. They used a back entrance where trucks would park and unload their packages through a rolling door. The heavy door creaked on the rusted rollers as it rose, and shrieked as it slammed shut.

  Speetah turned to Boost as they stepped into the warehouse. “I know it’s a little cold, but that knit cap isn’t working for you.”

  “What? No way, it makes me look—”

  “Like a child. It’s too big for your head, and the way it sticks up looks ridiculous,” she interjected.

  He gave up and plucked the comfortable hat from his head, fixing his hair with the other hand.

  Two others had already arrived earlier and sat near the entrance. If the door startled them, neither one showed it. A girl with Persian features sat on an old wooden cable spool, talking to a young black man sitting opposite her in a beat up wheelchair. They both shifted their attention on the new arrivals.

  “What’s up, guys?” The girl said.

  They were both smiling, like they just shared a laugh before the others walked in.

  “You must be Speetah,” the man said. “I watched that park footage so many times, trying to figure out how fast you can move.” His physique and intimidating costume were a stark contrast to his warm glowing smile.

  “Uh, thanks. I think.”

  The young girl leapt to her feet. Her head cocked to one side as she looked each member up and down. “I recognize you from your online avatar, Manerpillar. Other than bad security camera footage, and portrait mode phone video—”

  “Right!?” Boost interrupted, excited that someone agreed with his preferred screen orientation.

  “—I don’t know the rest of you,” the girl continued, after his outburst. She wagged a finger at the other three, with a wry smile on her face. “So how do we know we can trust you?”

  Patrick wasn’t sure if she was asking a serious question or messing with them. He glanced back and forth between the two. The man in the wheelchair was leaning on one of the arm rests, watching the scene over his shoulder, while the young girl stood firm, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

  The seated man couldn’t maintain the seriousness, and let out a small spurt of laughter, which set the girl off into her own laughing fit. Manerpillar stood to the side smiling and shaking his head.

  The other three let out nervous chuckles while looking at each other.

  “Hi, I’m Beat Boxer,” the girl held her hand out to Patrick. “Or at least that’s what I’m calling myself online.”

  “I’m Patrick.” He returned the handshake.

  “That’s some nickname,” she said.

  “I don’t have a nickname yet,” Patrick’s voice trailed off. He was almost tired of introducing himself to other heroes.

  “I’m Boost,” he offered his hand. “Beat Boxer, huh? So where did you learn how to box?”

  She seemed more bothered than confused by the question. “I don’t know any boxing.”

  “I thought...I mean...So your powers let you fight better? Like a boxer?” Boost asked.

  “No not exactly. My powers help me move. With the beat of any music I’m listening to. A perk of that movement is the ability to deal with anyone stupid enough to knuckle up.” She held her hands up in a fighting stance.

  “Ah I see. So that’s why you chose Beat Boxer?”

  “No, I picked the name, because Dance Dance Revolution was taken.”

  As Boost and Beat Boxer talked, Patrick and Speetah walked to the man seated in the old wheelchair. Manerpillar was replying to incoming text messages, as they introduced themselves.

  “Speetah, Patrick.” He shook each of their hands. “They call me Black Paralysis.” He sat back in the chair with a look of pride.

  “You mean, like the original Black Paralysis? The guy from the 80s?” Speetah was more knowledgeable about superhero lore, it seemed.

  “The one and only.”

  Patrick smiled and nodded. His eyes shifted from the man to the wheels attached to his chair. “Oh, so you’re using the name because…”

  “Yup, because he’s my dad. He passed his powers on to me. Once he realized that, he trained me to follow in his footsteps.”

  Patrick raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. He wasn’t sure how else to respond.

  “Oh, right. I guess that was a bit rude.” Black Paralysis stood up, kicking the chair back out of the way.

  Speetah and Patrick exchanged confused looks, not sure how to proceed.

  “Wait, you thought... No, no that chair was here when we arrived. I just sat down because I’m lazy.”

  Beat Boxer’s laughter grabbed their attention. “How crazy is that? Black Paralysis, actually paralyzed.” Everyone had started laughing by then.

  As the laughter died down Patrick said, “When you said your dad trained you to ‘follow in his footsteps…’” A new round of laughter was kick started.

  “That was bad. We shouldn’t be laughing about that,” Patrick struggled to get his words out between breaths. He wiped tears away from his eyes. “We’re terrible.”

  More people arrived as the night
went on. About a dozen in all. They all mingled and talked with each other, laughing, hugging, shaking hands. The group seemed to know each other very well, although none had ever met in person. This was a close knit group of supers in the city, and Patrick could tell that this may be what was needed to deal with the Visionaries.

  “Hey, everyone. My name is Patrick. And before you start asking or commenting about my alias, no I don’t have one. I’ve been trying to come up with a good one, but I guess I thought I never needed it.” He paced in front of the crowd of heroes gathered to meet in the abandoned warehouse. “I just. I just maybe thought that we could possibly use first names to address each other.”

  A wave of groans and dissenting muttering answered back.

  “No, I’m not trying to figure out identities or anything like that. I just feel weird addressing people by superhero names.” He was met with a wall of unconvinced stares. “You guys don’t feel odd addressing people by saying ‘hey, Snackmaster’, or ‘good morning, Black Belt Jones’?”

  “Why do you have to point at me when you say that?” Black Paralysis asked.

  The joke helped to ease the tension felt by the crowd.

  Still, they were unconvinced, but Patrick looked at it from their side. Here he was, a newcomer, costume fresh out of the package, telling them that they need to reveal their real names.

  “You know what, you’re right. Nevermind. I’ll leave it up to you. If you’ve got a normal sounding name you wouldn’t mind us using, fake or not, just let us know.”

  Patrick motioned to the crowd. A half gesture inviting anyone else to introduce themselves.

  “Hi. Guys. And uh, girls. I’m Speetah, but you can call me…Crystal.” She was fidgeting side to side, massaging the fingers and knuckles of one hand with the other. Her body language and staggered delivery was her way of dealing with her nervous energy, rather than her normal heightened metabolism. She finished with a mini hand wave and sat back down.

  “You all know me by now. I’m the Mighty Manerpillar. I think Patrick is right. Sort of anyway. It is kind of weird using super aliases, but we will respect that if you want to stick with it. But in my case, it even sounds weird to hear it, so you can call me Manny.”

  “Is that short for Manerpillar?” Boost asked, smiling. “If so, then you can call me Boo.”

  Manny spoke up over the crowd’s mild chuckling, “It’s short for Manuel.”

  “Hey, everyone. I’m Bulletproof Larry.” A waif of a man stood up. He wore the classic ‘corporate camouflage,’ a short sleeve light blue button up, tucked into khaki pants.

  “So, can we call you Larry?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah, but I just wanted to let you know that Larry isn’t my name.”

  “Why are you calling yourself ‘Bulletproof Larry’ then?” Patrick was curious and confused.

  “Because Bulletproof Bill sounds too cartoonish,” he replied.

  “So, your name is Bill?” Boost asked.

  “Uh…no.” He paused far too long before answering.

  The room was silent with everyone exchanging awkward glances.

  “Welcome, Larry. We’re glad you could make it.” Patrick did his best to sound genuine.

  The introductions went around the room, with most of the group opting to stick with their aliases. Black Paralysis used his real name, Sean, as did Beat Boxer whose name was Abigail, though she preferred Abby. Patrick had learned the real names of his two friends, Crystal aka Speetah, and Graham aka Boost. The remaining roster included some interesting characters, besides Bulletproof Larry. Weed, a tall tan-skinned young woman. She looked to be in her 20s, with a long athletic build and a head of tangled hair pulled back into a loose pony tail. Car Tune, a stocky guy, built like two normal men standing side by side, with a week’s worth of facial hair, and wearing what looked like car speakers mounted to his shoulders and chest. They appeared more decorative, than functional. The final member was Dark Justice. Patrick couldn’t tell if he had any powers, judging by the amount of military and law enforcement gear that hung from various clips and belts of his costume. He was dressed like a SWAT team member, with small modifications, and flair that made it look more a costume that he slapped on top of body armor.

  Patrick discussed the idea of teaming up, in order to protect themselves from the Visionaries. An organization ramping up, fast becoming a threat to every other hero hoping to help anyone in need. Most of the gathered heroes weren’t convinced that such a small group could even the odds against a large group.

  Weed and Car Tune left early in the discussion, using this as a possible opportunity to hang up their capes. Dark Justice felt he could work better alone, convinced operating in a large group would put too large a target on their backs. He wished the group good luck, and bid them farewell. Seven more of the gathered supers also found the exit before the night was over.

  The remaining heroes, Beat Boxer and Black Paralysis, were on board. Counting the Mighty Manerpillar, they doubled their numbers. Not a bad bump, although the majority of the super social network bailed.

  “Numbers are important in keeping us safe, but we also have to be more diligent about how we operate,” Patrick said.

  They sat in an informal group, rather than having one person standing up front to address the rest.

  “Yes, communication is going to be very important,” Manny added. “These Visionaries have the backing and numbers to pose a great threat.”

  “That trap they set for us took a lot of resources,” Boost said.

  “How did they get so big without anyone noticing?” Beat Boxer asked.

  “Yeah, they kind of came out of nowhere,” Black Paralysis said. “We’ve never seen any of these guys until a couple of months ago. They’re already active in the south eastern section of the city.”

  “Who is Sight?” Speetah asked. “One of the Visionaries mentioned his name when Patrick and Graham were fighting them last month.”

  “Sight may be the leader of the entire organization,” Black Paralysis answered. “I’ve heard the name a couple of times as well. They like to throw it around as a threat when cornered. I guess he’s supposed to be kind of a big deal.”

  “Sounds like we need some support to gather information as well,” Patrick said.

  “My brother is pretty good at finding crap on the Internet,” Beat Boxer said.

  “I’ve got a guy that’s pretty good with gear, if we need any tech,” Manny said. “He put this lovely ensemble together.” He stood to model his costume. His was the most professional looking outfit out of everyone there. Even compared to Black Paralysis, who had modeled his costume off his dad’s old outfit. Manny wore a fitted jacket with padding in key places. The sides were split from under the sleeves, all the way down. The front and back flaps were secured together by hidden magnetic strips. It allowed him to change forms, without having to worry about how it affected his costume. He was free to grow to his full height, and use his abilities without any major adjustments.

  “Can he make something for me?” Patrick asked.

  “I’m sure he can throw something together. Anything in mind?”

  “I’ve got some sketches I’ve been working on.”

  “Can you model it on the runway for us?” Speetah asked, smirking.

  The small group of heroes had settled in and started comparing powers and abilities, when a loud crash halted their conversation. The front door had slammed shut and now swung back open, after the latch failed to secure it closed. The heroes all watched as a wall of muscle sauntered in to cover the distance. His cocky walk and facial expression made it look like he had just caught them all red handed, and couldn’t wait to rat them out.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Black Paralysis said.

  “Who invited him?” Beat Boxer was also none too pleased.

  “Who is this guy?” Patrick asked.

  “That’s the Man-vil. I invited him,” Manny said. His lowered voice communicated an underlying guilt.


  “Looks like I’m not too late to join the party,” Man-vil said. His voice matched the overconfidence of his actions. He was built like a blacksmith. Heavily muscled arms bolted on to the massive torso of a body builder in the off season. A big, bushy, black beard sprouted out in every direction, like he was underwater, or in zero gravity. The top of his head sported a slicked back rectangle of hair, matching the color of his beard. There was a visible gap on the sides of his head, where it was shaved clean.

  He wore a kilt, colored all in a dark reddish brown, instead of the tartan pattern most people would expect to see. It was adorned, instead, with metal studs, straps, and pockets. His upper body was covered with a black tank top and a beat up brown leather vest, so everyone knew he was always bringing the gun show wherever he went.

  Loosely laced combat boots clacked on the concrete floor, and a large, ‘do-it-yourself’ sledge hammer bounced with each step on his massive shoulder.

  He dropped the head of the hammer on the floor and rested his palms on the upright end of the handle. “What’d I miss?”

  Already his attitude was getting to the others. Even Patrick. “Nothing really. Just introductions,” he said.

  “Good. If you ladies are done exchanging business cards, we can start talking about the real work. Crushing these Visionary losers.”

  Speetah rolled her eyes, and made no attempt to control the volume of her exasperated sigh.

  “You can call me, the Mighty Man-vil.” He ignored the snub.

  The others looked to Manny for some type of explanation.

  Man-vil continued “Yeah, he’s also using ‘Mighty’ in his name as well, but you gotta admit…it works better for me than it does for him.”

  “I was using it first,” Manny mumbled.

  “C’mon.” Man-vil cocked his head to one side and raised his arms out, palms up, as the hammer balanced in place. Content that he had won the argument, he continued. “Yeah, so I never got to meet any of you in person. I don’t even know much about what you all can do.” His eyes fixed on Speetah and Beat Boxer far too long, like the rest of them weren’t even in the conversation.