Two Percent Power (Book 1): Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

Everyone nodded their agreement. Trevor and Broadband were giddy about the new toys, and the new role they had in helping the group out.

  Another couple of weeks passed, with plenty of action for the team to deal with. Some days they would walk around during the late afternoon, although most of what they did occurred when the sun set behind the city skyline.

  Most nights it was just about increasing their presence, to dissuade the small time criminals preying on neighborhood residents, but their most recent conflict put them in the right place at the right time. A group of thieves breaking into a jewelry store found themselves up against more than they bargained for as Boost, Black Paralysis, and Man-vil greeted them. A news story, later that week, reported about a group of high-tech burglars that had been detained and are now under questioning by authorities. The story failed to mention their group’s involvement, which is how Patrick preferred it to go down. They weren’t doing what they did for attention, and with the Visionaries still a threat, shining a spotlight on them would put more people around them in danger.

  Broadband used the drones to spot a van parked in an alley and flagged their activities as super suspicious. The three heroes moved in on foot. They arrived to find a group of men wearing dark fatigues, with no markings or insignias, drilling into a building from the back. The would-be burglars had some futuristic gear they were using to get through the wall of the jewelry store. The wall that the safe was up against.

  The fight that took place was short, with three of the group’s toughest supers involved. Black Paralysis found himself right in the middle of the brawl from the jump. He dropped three of them on his own with each paralyzing strike marked with a small pulse of light in the drone’s feed. Boost subdued the fourth before he could blindside Black Paralysis. A fifth man, the driver, caught them off guard, when he started the van and tried to take off. The front grill folded around the iron statue planting its shoulder in the path of the escaping van. Man-vil returned to his normal form and stepped back, as Boost tipped the utility vehicle onto its side to prevent another escape attempt.

  By this time, the police sirens were already converging on the scene. The improved response time was something the group had noticed a few days earlier. The neighborhood was far more active about reporting crime whenever they saw suspicious activity. Of course, in this situation, the potential crime they reported was three costumed men converging in an alley, since the van masked the actual criminal intent.

  Authorities arrived at the scene at the tail end of the battle. Although they weren’t eager to applaud Man-vil, Black Paralysis, and Boost’s actions, the police didn’t put much effort in pursuing the heroes once they left the scene, leaving their mess behind. This was the first time their heroics ended in an actual arrest. Most of the time, they had no real authority to have the criminals they fought locked up. Just issuing out a beating or two to protect the victims of the crimes, rather than putting the offenders behind bars. Not the best way to go about it, but their vigilantism did help to save some lives, and protect people from injuries.

  “Did we record the encounter?” Patrick asked.

  “No, I didn’t think to add that kind of setup,” Broadband said. “I guess we should do that, so we can look at it later, or use it to pass on information if necessary.”

  “Yeah, but a bunch of masked vigilantes handing out fuzzy drone footage isn’t what I call ‘slam dunk case’ evidence,” Patrick said. “It would help us to get a better feel for how we’re doing things, and help us put some action plans together for various situations, though.”

  “And we could put it up on YouTube,” Trevor was spinning one of the quadcopter propellers with his finger.

  “Why would we want to do that, again?” Patrick asked.

  “Ad views. Make some extra cash to fund this operation.”

  Trevor’s suggestion didn’t seem so vain anymore. “Probably not a bad idea.”

  Months in, and the team was a well-oiled machine. Most of the time, a few of the members hung back at the warehouse for backup, or just took the night off to rest. They were on the streets out four out of seven nights most weeks, as more of a supplement to the increased law enforcement presence. Much of the patrolling was now done with the drones. They had a dozen in all now. At any one time, they had at least four in the air. The footage was archived for review if anything interesting happened.

  When they did find themselves out patrolling, their powers and abilities matched, complemented, and even multiplied each other when mixed. The usual tactic was to stick to pairs, or sometimes three in a group, using the information that Trevor and Broadband passed to them to set up the best approach. Much like in chess, they had opening moves, based on the terrain, opposition, and which heroes were involved.

  Patrick’s fighting skills matched well with Black Paralysis. They both had super abilities to subdue opponents, although Patrick lacked the lasting effects, and Black Paralysis lacked the range. Both also paired up with Manerpillar for similar reasons. He didn’t have the same level of fighting skill, but his ability had both the range, and the lasting effects the other two didn’t have.

  Boost and Man-vil were both powerhouses, with immense strength and durability. Boost, the irresistible force, and Man-vil, the immovable object. Anything requiring brute force, or any foe deemed too dangerous were tasked to these two.

  Speetah and Beat Boxer excelled at mobility. They could outmaneuver most opponents, keeping them on their heels. The perfect combo to bring down the next item on the agenda. A half dozen thieves, using hit and run tactics and speed to snatch handfuls of high priced items from local stores, and disappearing before anyone could figure what was happening.

  The hit and run thieves were all teens, hired by someone else to do the dirty work. Hitting a block all at once, six young runners all targeted the same store, and each grabbed high profile items, small enough to tuck into their bags while they made a break for the exit. Their numbers and agility were too much for the security personnel to handle when they struck. After they hit the third store in a week, Broadband spotted them on the move and called the speedsters in.

  Speetah was the first on the scene, but the teens made it to the rooftops before she could reach them. The cornering and tight spaces of the typical fire escape meant she wasn’t able to put her full ability to use. Effectively eliminating her advantage. Beat Boxer, on the other hand, was already heading them off.

  The world around Abby was muted, covered by the soundtrack in her ears. It was the music that mattered most right now. It guided her movements and painted her vision with the optimum path to take to keep the rhythm. Surfaces stood out. Gaps shone brighter than the surrounding obstacles. She moved like a cat, with the glowing red wave drawing the smooth curved paths she took.

  Every time her targets changed directions or levels, she was sending information back to the others over the radio. With her earbuds in, Abby couldn’t hear the reply, but she knew her brother had already adapted to her actions. She sped up, still leaping, avoiding, and scaling anything in her way, without fail. The thieves regrouped on the building ahead, ready to duck inside. Beat Boxer knew that she would lose them, if they made it through the doorway. The gap between buildings was connected by the bridge of red light as she flew through the air. She landed in a controlled front roll, and skidded to a halt just yards away from the group.

  She pulled the music player from her pocket, and paused the song. “You kids pay for all that?” She waved the player in her hand at the merchandise they had tucked into bags.

  They looked at each other. Each wore the same incredulous expression, wondering if this was a test, or a trap. Convinced that she was alone, a smile stretched across their collective faces. Fanning out, they were now blocking her only route ahead. Behind her was a five-story drop to the alley below. She could already hear Speetah clanging her way up the fire escape, forced to move as slow as the average person.

  Abby looked back at the boys club and cycled through her pl
aylists. She found the one titled ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ and moved through the list of tracks. The list was all fast paced music perfect for tangling with multiple opponents. One of the teens stepped forward and she held up a finger to stop him. “Ah, ah. Don’t interrupt me now.” Once she was satisfied with her choice of tunes, she hit play, and tucked the music player back into her pocket. The world around her was once again on mute, the audio track replaced with Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. The group all rushed in at once.

  Speetah reached the roof just in time to enjoy the show. Six teenagers, all in excellent shape and ready to tangle, attacked the smaller young woman in front of them. Beat Boxer whirled around avoiding all of their attempts to tackle her. She used them as step stools, walls, just another object she needed to climb to get into a better position. The red light trails she left behind further served to disorient them. She was enjoying this too much. Not treating these guys like the serious threat they posed.

  One of the teens, frustrated by the intangible victim, took a wild swing at her. She ducked out of the way, with no room to spare. The blow clipped her hood as it passed by. His fist found its mark on the face of one of his buddies instead. Beat Boxer retreated several steps staring lasers into the thieves.

  “Did he just swing on me?” She asked.

  Speetah nodded in response. “I believe he did.”

  The look on Abby’s face could strip the paint off walls. Her feet kicked up pebbles as she ran into the fray once more. This time her trails were harsh and rigid. Each movement was angular, tracing a line from one victim to the next. Her fighting style lacked the grace of her fluid acrobatics, but there was no doubting the effectiveness. A whirlwind of vicious knees, elbows, and head butts. All while climbing and launching herself off of the others in the group. Like a rabid monkey moving from one frightened victim to the next. Raining vicious blows down until none of them remained on their feet. Bloodied and beaten, the six large, muscular teens were too frightened to stand back up, not wanting to face that threat again.

  Speetah approached and stood next to the much shorter Beat Boxer. “You guys ready to have a conversation, or is it my turn?”

  Most were more than willing to blab and give up their boss, too. After what they went through with one angry young woman, the sight of two standing over them was too much to fathom.

  Most of the goods were returned to the store. The rest didn’t survive Beat Boxer’s onslaught, and were too damaged to return. The owner didn’t seem to mind, and appreciated them recovering what they could.

  Speetah and Beat Boxer returned with a name for the leader of the ring of thieves, but not much else to go on. Like the other information they gathered on the streets, it went into the file. The name alone wasn’t enough to mobilize the team, but it was more than enough to begin the hunt.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Patrick finished the rest of the milk in the small bottle. He wiped a corner of his mouth with his thumb, and secured the cap on the empty container. His toes were hanging over the edge of the building’s roof. He looked down between his feet to the street below. The trash can is all the way down there he thought. I don’t want to litter, now do I? He stashed the bottle in an empty pocket, spread his arms out, and let gravity pull his body over the edge. It was a four-story drop. More than enough to end his crime fighting career if he wasn’t ready for this test.

  Patrick’s body leveled out in slow motion. Once his feet left the edge, time caught up. With both hands, he reached out with the middle and ring finger on each hand to pull the release levers on his new cuffs. They were the first new addition to his costume, courtesy of Manerpillar’s tech guru. No longer did he have to deal with the loose dangling hooks from his previous designs. These tabs sat flush with the heel of his palms, and were always right where he needed them. Two white tendrils lashed out, hooking a streetlight. Patrick’s body followed the direction of his swing, with almost no slack that would always cause the painful yanking on his arms before. His control was improving. As his momentum carried him past the light pole, he released one of his milk lines, riding the swing to its apex. He reeled the other line in, shortening his arc on the return.

  On the way down, he released the light pole, and prepared for his landing. This was always the toughest part for him. Patrick fired the milk from both cuffs as fast as he could, while maintaining control, and ‘constructed’ a ramp that he could use to ease his decent, and bleed off the momentum he built up on the drop. Too many times, he hit the ramp hard. His hips, tailbone, knees, and elbows all sported bruises from failed landing attempts throughout the weeks he practiced. This time, he was going to try a more active landing, adjusting the top lip of the ramp to catch himself. If he overcompensated one way or the other, he was looking at hitting too low on the ramp, or missing altogether.

  Patrick couldn’t rely on his eyes because of his speed and angle. There would be no way to make the necessary adjustments. He, instead, had to rely on ‘feeling’ where the ramp was in relation to his body. A spatial awareness, like knowing where your hands and feet are without having to see them. He had to treat the milk as an extension of his body. Not in the metaphorical way one uses when talking about weapons training. Patrick’s power gave him not only the ability to control the liquid, but now he could also feel its presence. A sort of kinesthetic sense, letting him know where it was when he was near it.

  The edge of the shimmering white slide touched the outstretched foot of one leg, and the bent knee of the other. The right side of his body was flush with the surface, as his right arm was up over his head. It was the smoothest landing he had ever accomplished. He closed his eyes and just rode the curved surface to the ground below. It was exhilarating pulling off such a perfect landing after so many attempts. He felt his body as it rotated to horizontal along the ramp’s slick surface.

  He tried to picture how cool it had to look to someone watching from the sidewalk. The ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the impressed onlookers. Then, his boot hit the street’s surface. The rubber sole bit down hard on the textured asphalt. His leg was pulled under him, as he tumbled into the gutter. His roll was stopped when his elbow found the mailbox on the corner. The impact sent out a nice gong-like sound effect, letting him know he had once again failed to stick the landing.

  “Whoa, you almost got that one,” Trevor said over the comm channel.

  Patrick rubbed his padded elbow and was glad he remembered to wear additional protection this time. “Yeah, it felt great. I think I’ve figured out the hard part now.”

  “No, it looks like your elbow figured out the hard part,” Beat Boxer tapped the mailbox with the toe of her boot.

  Patrick let the comment go. “Did you see it?” The ramp stayed semi-solid after his dismount, so he was able to pull most of the fluids back into the pouches, through his cuffs.

  “Yeah, it looked much better. No broken coccyx this time.”

  “Bruised,” Patrick smiled, more out of pride than the comments from the peanut gallery. “I think the rest should be easy to figure out. Just gotta keep my eyes open.”

  “Speaking of eyes open,” Broadband spoke up. “We’ve got another rerun scenario.”

  A ‘rerun scenario’ was the term the group had decided to use when they ran into a situation like the multiple synchronized muggings from one of their first outings as a group. It had happened one other time after that, as well. Multiple crimes all occurring in the same window of time. The second rerun scenario was different. The bad guys were much more careful and didn’t just send out similar groups. Patrick was concerned that they were being watched and studied. He had Broadband running the drones with a bit of software to look for any possible reruns after that. Anything happening in multiple locations, all too close in time would send an alert. And it looked like it was happening again.

  “I’ve got a carjacker here,” Speetah said. “You think that’s connected?”

  “I’m almost certain,” Broadband sa
id. “If you can get your hands on him—”

  “Got it,” Speetah said, before he finished. “Man-vil, I need a roadblock on Eighth and Simmons.”

  “As you wish, m’lady,” Man-vil replied.

  “It’s getting pretty crazy out there. We’ve got arson, vandalism, and general mayhem all over. I’ve only got three drones up, so it’s hard to track it all.”

  “I’ll get another drone prepped,” Trevor said.

  “Guys, this may be a trap, but this time there are people in danger,” Manerpillar said to everyone listening in.

  “He’s right,” Black Paralysis said. “We have to get in there and help.”

  “Just keep your eyes open, and let’s watch each other’s backs,” Patrick said. “C’mon.” He signaled to Beat Boxer, as he ran toward a plume of smoke coming from the block ahead.

  “Patrick,” Broadband said. “Manny is already dealing with the fire you’re headed towards.”

  “Ok, where do you need us?”

  “Trevor just got the fourth drone up, and I just spotted something else. It looks like Visionaries. They’ve just attacked the doorman in front of an apartment building.”

  “Where are they?” Patrick asked looking around.

  “I don’t know if it’s rerun related, because it’s so far out of the radius we’re monitoring. You and Abby are the closest ones, though.” Broadband passed the location to them.

  Patrick turned to see Beat Boxer tucking an earbud into her ear and scaling a nearby building with ease, like she was going for a jog in the park. He pulled the tabs on his cuffs and followed.

  Patrick hit the ground rolling, and popped up, just as Beat Boxer landed next to him. They ran to the apartment building as a couple of Visionaries exited, dragging a family out with them. One had a woman and her daughter in their grasps, while the other shoved an older man forward. Two more waited by an all-black sedan. The car wasn’t running, but the backdoor was open, awaiting the new occupants.