Two Percent Power: Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  The Fear Mongrel rolled away with a chunk of fabric between his teeth. Boost wiped a hand across his now exposed shoulder, looking for blood. Patrick could see that the skin had not been broken, although there were deep dents gouged into his flesh.

  “You’re good,” he said. “No blood.”

  “Oh, man, I thought I was going to transform and start sparkling in the sunlight,” Boost said, as relief washed over him.

  “That’s not…never mind.”

  Black Paralysis clutched his arm close to his body. His right elbow was throbbing from being tossed against the side of a parked car, by Hair Devil’s powerful tendrils. The throw almost pulled his arm out of its socket. There was a cut over his eye, and on the same side of his upper lip. The blood was salty on his tongue, with a slight metallic tang.

  His boots and gloved hands shuffled and scraped bits of broken glass away, as he took his time getting back to his feet, never taking his eyes off of the super villain he was fighting. Some fight. This was the most one-sided affair since the all day arcade marathons where Sean and his friends found themselves losing quarter after quarter to the neighborhood Street Fighter champ. He could feel the energy building up again, sending tingling sensations trickling down his arms.

  Black Paralysis pressed a thumb into the fleshy mass of muscle at the top of his forearm, and sent a small pulse of energy into his own arm. The pain subsided more and more with each beat of his heart. The feeling from his elbow down was deadened, but the rest of the messages still got through just fine. He was still able to make a fist, although he couldn’t feel the pressure of his own fingers constricting. He opened and closed his hands several more times, noting how odd the experience was.

  His opponent, Hair Devil, stood and postured, with his tongue wagging, while he belted out imaginary power chords on his air guitar. “Is this where I pull out the b-sides and deep cuts, or would you like to go right for the encore?” His fingers deftly worked their way down the invisible fretboard.

  “I hated most of the music from the 80s, and your whole hair metal vibe doesn’t work for me at all. But, I do appreciate puns, so allow me to introduce you to my top 40 hits.” Black Paralysis stepped forward as a feint. When Hair Devil whipped out with one of his tendrils, Sean ducked underneath, and snatched up a small handful of the broken car window. With an underhand toss, the debris peppered his opponent’s face and neck. Hair Devil wound some of his hair around himself, in a cocoon, but the distraction had already paid off.

  Sean took two big steps forward, and jumped forward, turning to deliver a spinning side kick into his foe. With the hair shield up, it was difficult to judge where his foot had landed, but Sean felt like it struck high in the chest. The lanky man skidded across the sidewalk pavement and rolled once more. Sean had hoped he would have been able to send a stunning blast into his torso, ending the fight soon after, but Hair Devil wasn’t out of the fight yet. He was clutching his chest just below his left collarbone, as Black Paralysis moved in for the kill.

  The scared little man pushed back with both hands, sending waves of shiny, silky strands of his reddish brown hair forward. Sean found that most of his body had been bound up, and several smaller tendrils wormed their way up around his neck. The strands constricted making breathing very difficult. He could feel the pressure around his neck cutting off the blood flow to his brain as well. It would take mere seconds to pass out, if he didn’t break free.

  More out of desperation than planning, he wrapped his hands around two fistfuls of the hair strangling him, or at least one hand, as far as he could tell, since the other still hadn’t regained its feeling. His vision was starting to blur, as blackness crept into the edges. He pulled as hard as he could, putting every ounce of strength, every ounce of energy into escaping his fate. The pulses of his focused chi coursed through his arms.

  His breathing came a little easier, and his vision was starting to focus once again as the darkness drew back. He was holding two clumps of lifeless hair in his balled up hands. The tight binding pulled away from his body as well. Once free of the hair corset, Black Paralysis sucked in a deep, refreshing breath of air. He released the hair he was holding, watching it fall to the ground, dragging away, as Hair Devil retreated.

  He could see now what he hadn’t noticed before. Like the two tendrils he had been grasping, the shock of hair that his foot had struck a moment earlier, was also limp and lifeless. The rest of Hair Devil’s auburn locks still waved around flowing like it was being blown from an unfelt breeze, but the tide had turned. Black Paralysis rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. It was the game changer he needed.

  Without her music, Beat Boxer couldn’t see where and how to move as The Jack Hammer brought two huge fists down, trying to flatten her. Acting on instinct alone, she was scrambling to avoid his furious swings. As an overhand punch screamed toward her, Abby dove between the large man’s legs. There was barely enough room for her to get through, but she found that she was able to make it. She rolled over one shoulder and hopped back to her feet, running straight ahead to build up some breathing room.

  She could hear the big man yelling and thundering toward her, but with the head start, Abby was able to duck behind a pickup truck. Jack knew where she was, but at least this gave her something to separate the two while she planned her escape.

  Abby’s mp3 player was still laying across the street, broken and silent. Without that, she couldn’t defeat the larger threat. She poked her head up, just as The Jack Hammer arrived, standing on the other side of the parked truck. Pushing his hands forward with a shout, he released a focused beam of vibration. Abby dropped to the ground, just as the glass shattered and the steel roof supports bent. He smashed two hammering fists onto the top of the truck’s cab, crushing it further, as he clambered onto it.

  She slid to the street, under the truck on her stomach, scrambling like a lizard to the other side, just as the big man’s boots hammered onto the sidewalk. Abby shuffled backwards into the middle of the street with small quick steps, her heart raced, matching her frantic pace. The big man shifted his gaze on her, and walked around the broken vehicle to meet her. With each of his long strides, she focused her mind to deal with every possible angle and attack she would have to deal with. Abby didn’t have the music, but if she could fall back on her muscle memory, she may be able to stay alive long enough for one her teammates to help out.

  A half smile crept across the thick jaw, as if he only had control of one side of his face. He covered the last three steps in a heartbeat, looking to snatch her up in a bear hug. Her gut reaction was to go below, but learning from last time he kept his stance lower, waiting for her to try and duck underneath. A strange calm settled over her. Time slowed to a crawl, as her mind shuffled through her options. Beat Boxer settled back, and just followed her body’s lead, going with the flow. Crouching to fake her intent, she pushed up and jumped to one side, tracing a diagonal path as her back made contact with The Jack Hammer’s arm while she rotated over it before it could wrap around her. As she landed and turned to face him again, she saw a faint red trail of lights, tracing her path of escape, fading away.

  As Beat Boxer’s opponent turned back around, she found herself oddly relaxed, scrolling through her old playlist in her mind. Matching his angry, stiff moments, she settled on the appropriate mental soundtrack, as Abby could feel the music flowing through her again. The distance between them halved, but her world once again was filled with the paths of light, flowing around The Jack Hammer, and the obstacles nearby. In the calm trance-like state, she was able to use his own actions to feed her counter attacks, peppering him with knees and elbows.

  The Jack Hammer’s rage welled up, burning up more of his energy, making it difficult to use his powers to their fullest effect. Walls and concrete cracked, and windows shattered with each wild unleashed beam of pure vibration. He struggled to suck in enough breath, unable to keep up with Beat Boxer’s erratic movements. He brought an oversized foot do
wn hoping to squash her flat, finding the empty ground underfoot.

  Beat Boxer shuffled back with a short hop, avoiding the attack, and then lunged to close in for the finish. All the light trails in her mind were bright and pulsing, all converging to the same point. She drove the crown of her skull hard into the bridge of the larger man’s nose. A fine mist of sweat and blood spurted out, as he exhaled with a grunt. His hands whipped up to cover his face, as he took one big step back. She followed the trails again, running up the side of his body, swinging off of his muscular tree branch of an arm, and used his shoulder as a spring board. Her body extended and back flipped through the air, as she came down with all of her weight, driving both feet onto his extended lead leg.

  The Jack Hammer’s burly frame crumbled to the ground, as he clutched at his ankle. His eyes were reddened and swollen, as blood streamed from his nostrils. His hands cradled his shin, as his foot jutted out at the wrong direction from the dislocated ankle.

  Abby’s shoulders sagged as the exhaustion pulled her toward the ground harder than gravity did. She found herself breathing much harder, as sweat trickled down her brow. She wiped a hand across her face, as she walked to retrieve her busted music player. It was quite possible that she wouldn’t need it to use her powers any more, but that was no reason to let a good set of headphones go to waste.

  Another loud crackling blast of electricity danced toward Speetah. Once again she moved out of its path, feeling the power tugging at her skin and hair as it just missed. The muscles in her leg were loosening, but the pain from the intense cramping was still present. She did her best to put it out of her mind and ran around Kill-O-What in a large circular path, drawing his fire away from Nolan, still groggy, but getting back to his feet.

  “You can’t keep this up all day, lady,” the villain taunted.

  H2Grow tilted his head as far to one side as it would go, feeling two solid pops in his neck. The pain in his neck and jaw bled away at last, but his head was still pounding. He looked up to see Speetah tangling with the Visionary. It was less of a fight, and more a game of cat and mouse, as she kept him preoccupied. She wasn’t moving as fast as she normally did. Even at her speed, he could see she favored one leg.

  Nolan brought his hands up in a fighting stance and stepped forward, noticing that he was now the same skinny kid that got caught spying on the heroes not too long ago. He no longer stored any of the excess water, any of the mass that granted him increased strength. His heart raced as he looked around for something, or someone, to help him. In the distance, he watched as a group of innocent residents stood their ground against a trained force of Visionary foot soldiers. The numbers gave the people the advantage, but the enemy more than made up for it with raw physical ability and fighting experience. On paper, at least. The residents of the block were fighting to protect their homes. They had the most to lose, and it showed in their ferocity.

  You don’t need powers to do this, he told himself. With Kill-O-What’s back turned, Nolan moved to attack. His foe was bigger and taller, but not by much. He didn’t have the strength to lay the villain out with a single blow, but he was much lighter on his feet now. His footfalls were quieter and quicker as he approached. Kill-O-What unleashed another wave of electricity trying to pin Speetah against the wall. Nolan took one more step, and hurled his body forward. He gritted his teeth, bracing for the pain of electrical shock as he drove his shoulder into the Kill-O-What’s lower back, like he was trying to bust through a barrier.

  There was no shock, no pain as the two collided. His target let out a short hacking gasp when the blow struck, driving him face first to the street. Nolan rolled away, breaking physical contact before the man could turn and fire a bolt of energy his way. Both men rose to their feet, moving as if the world clicked to slow motion. The villain’s face was bloodied from a cut over one eye, and he pressed the back of his hand firmly where Nolan’s shoulder had found its mark. Speetah joined them, limping as she approached.

  “It’s over,” she said. “Look around you. You can’t win.” She waved a hand toward the huge melee down the street, and the other fights with her friends taking on the Visionary captains.

  He stared back, defiance burning in his eyes. A dome of crackling power grew around him, buzzing in the air. The cocky smile crept across his face gain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear what you were saying.”

  Speetah and H2Grow moved back as the force field grew. The electricity converged to Kill-O-What’s chest and shot forward. Speetah pushed off with her bad leg and ducked under the blast, sliding to a halt. Gritting her teeth to fight through the pain, she found herself within striking distance. She spun around and lashed out with her tail, landing a powerful whipping blow to her opponent’s temple, as she continued turning to face him. Her strike had landed right as he released all of his energy, preventing him from shocking her when she struck.

  With her boosted reflexes working overdrive, Kill-O-What was moving through molasses, as he staggered to the side from her tail whip. Turning back the other direction, uncoiling like a loaded spring, she drove a hard left hook into his jaw. It was a raw, undisciplined punch, lacking the crisp details a real fighter is taught, but with his momentum moving into it, and her heightened strength, it was more than enough to get the job done. Kill-O-What’s body twisted and flipped half of a rotation as his limp body slapped the street.

  “Whoa,” Nolan was looking on in pure astonishment. He ran forward as Speetah dropped to one knee. With the adrenaline fading her leg shook, no longer able to support her weight. She was wincing in pain, clutching her left hand to her chest. Nolan helped her to her feet, wrapping her right arm across his shoulders for support, walking her to the curb nearby to sit down. She was much taller, so it was like using crutches set too low, making even the short trip difficult.

  “Thanks for the help,” Speetah gave him a weak thumbs up.

  “No problem, I just figured you should be sitting here out of the way.”

  “Not that, you idiot. I meant dealing with him,” she nudged her chin to the unconscious super villain laying in the street. “You did good, kid.”

  His eyes sparkled as a wide cartoonish grin stretched his skinny face wider.

  Speetah couldn’t help but smile back as she rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to diminish his feeling of accomplishment, so she didn’t verbally check him, like she would on any other day with anyone else.

  Boost ducked under another swipe from The Fear Mongrel’s paw, slipping behind his foe. He wrapped his arms around the dog-man’s waist and clasped his hands as best he could. “Sorry, Old Yeller, but Pa says I gotta put you down.”

  Digging his heels into the ground, Boost hoisted the massive bulk with great effort, letting out an intense shout, like a power lifter trying to lock out a record lift. As The Fear Mongrel was lifted high, Boost leaned and bridged backwards, driving the creature’s head and shoulders onto the hard concrete with a textbook suplex.

  He maintained his grip as his opponent tried to scramble away. Once again, they were both back up on their feet, and once again, Boost shouted to the heavens and pulled the beast back for another slam, stunning him. Patrick could only stand back and look on in wonder, as his friend had dispatched one of the toughest foes they had ever faced, like it was just an exhibition bout.

  Boost stood and put one hand on his own shoulder, while he wound the arm in a circular motion.

  “Are you ok?” Patrick asked.

  “Yeah, I’m cool. I kinda slopped out that last one and landed wrong.”

  They kept their eyes locked on The Fear Mongrel, making sure he couldn’t catch them off guard, or make his escape. The monster had noticeably shrunk after he hit the ground for a second time. His tongue lolled as he panted, a line of drool flowing from his snout. He didn’t look like much of a threat anymore. Patrick looked up to see that the neighborhood residents had dealt with the Visionary soldiers, and now had them cornered, fearing another beat down.

  “You
r source of power has switched. Now, you’re not able to grab the fear from the people, just your own allies,” Patrick knelt next to Fear Mongrel with a smirk.

  “Maybe you can power yourself with your own fear,” Boost added. “I can smell it from here.”

  The creature deflated, as the thick fur and muscles receded and shrank back. No longer half-man, half-dog, they were looking at just a man. A scared little man, with defeat in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head, looking down and away from the heroes that had just vanquished him. “Please. No more. You win,” his voice wavered.

  Boost pressed his lips together in a tight line, content with the message as he nodded towards Patrick. “I can dig that.”

  Patrick pulled a pair of flex cuffs from his belt, and secured the man, formerly known as The Fear Mongrel, to a nearby light post.

  He looked up to check on the others, seeing that they, too, were dealing their chosen opponents. The brute of a man Beat Boxer had taken down was still conscious, but he was unable to stand. The fight had been drained right out of him, but his arms were secured behind his back all the same. Kill-O-What lay on his side, hands and feet bound. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was heavy. Hair Devil had his hands cuffed in front around another light post, and his hair had been collected into one long pony tail, with all of the additional zip ties bound around it in evenly spaced intervals.

  Police sirens grew louder as the squad cars approached. Patrick let out a short whistle, and signaled to the others that it was time to move. He didn’t want to hang around answering questions and filling out formal complaints. They had to get to the Watchtower.