Two Percent Power: Delivering Justice

by Brian Manning

  “You guys get out of here. We’ve got this under control,” a woman said from the edge of the crowd.

  “Thanks,” Boost said, giving her a thumbs up as they left.

  “The police should be there in less than a minute,” Broadband said over the radio. “That was some fight, you guys.”

  “Abby, will you marry me?” Trevor added from behind Troy

  The channel was filled with groans of disapproval and laughter as the team of heroes pushed forward.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Deadeye stood posted outside Sight’s office. She could see that he was on the phone, engaged in a heated discussion with the participant on the other end. His wild gesturing served no purpose to communicate his clear frustration over audio, but it told her everything she needed to know. He was talking to their connection at the police department, and if she were to guess, the Visionary’s plan to overrun the city and flush out the heroes wasn’t going over well. City law enforcement wasn’t too keen on the boundaries they chose to push, and Sight was cashing in every favor to prevent a full on SWAT team roll out.

  Sight placed the receiver down into the cradle, like he had been talking to a local business, inquiring about their hours of operation. Ever the diplomat, no one ever saw the man lose his cool. At least not through his physical actions. The current events occurring mere blocks away from the Watchtower screamed overreaction. Deadeye stepped into the room, ready to dump even more fuel onto the fire.

  “I guess they didn’t like our little performance,” Sight said, as she closed the door behind her. He knew that it was obvious who the call was with, so he saw no need to hide the fact from her.

  “It was a little aggressive on our part,” she replied.

  “I don’t think picking up a few extra tickets to the policeman’s ball is going to smooth things over this time,” he said.

  She knew he was enjoying this, judging by the smirk.

  “They’re headed here now,” she said.

  His smirk flattened out. He knew this wasn’t about the police. He had sent her out moments before to bring back news of their hostile takeover. “What happened to the others? The Fear Mongrel, Hair Devil…” He let the other names hang in the silence.

  “Defeated. The heroes have regrouped, stronger than ever. Several more have joined their ranks, but that’s not the biggest problem. It’s the people. They’re fighting back. All over the city our soldiers are facing opposition from the residents of the blocks they’re hitting.”

  The news hit Sight hard. He dropped back into his chair, letting his full weight hit the padded leather seat. He had taken the offensive. How was it possible that the rag-tag unorganized heroes amassed such a force in such a short amount of time? His goal was to overwhelm the self-proclaimed protectors of the city. His primary concern was pushing police resources too far, but he had failed to see the people as another possible force, and not just helpless victims, ready to kneel to the rulers when the flames of battle died down. Sight pressed a palm to his mouth and wiped downward as he let out a slow breath through his nostrils.

  “Looks like we’ve got guests coming to dinner. Call the rest back home. Anyone not already fighting for their survival is to return to our front gates. Erect a wall to repel the enemy forces as they crash against it.” His voice was as calm as ever.

  “Right away,” Deadeye nodded and spun on her heel to execute his command.

  “Cassandra,” Sight said.

  She turned to face him again. He only used her real name when trying to get a reaction out of her. Most times he had failed with this tactic.

  “Call the good doctor, would you? Let him know that we are in need of the Mighty Man-vil’s services,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  Her eyebrow raised just a hair. He had, indeed, succeeded in piquing her curiosity this time. She nodded and let a slow smile pull at the corners of her mouth as she walked out.

  Patrick and the others reached the Watchtower, a pillar of glass and steel standing 14 stories high. Not a skyscraper by any means, but it was the tallest building in the neighborhood, towering over the five- and six-story structures that surrounded it. Traffic was backed up on all of the streets converging here, blocked off by traffic cones. No cars were able to drive past, and the unauthorized Visionary blockade congested the flow for blocks around. A few cars honked their horns, and shouted out open windows, but the force of soldiers gathered in front of the building kept potential road rage in check.

  It was the most Visionary foot soldiers the group had faced so far. Dozens of them, all standing just outside the front entrance, waiting for the signal to rush across the street and plow through invading force.

  “Hey, guys, I don’t think is such a good idea anymore,” Boost said. “Maybe we can come back when they’re not so busy.”

  “Sorry, bro. This is the only clearing I’ve got in my schedule,” Black Paralysis said.

  “It’s now or never,” Patrick said.

  Boost turned to face the rest of his teammates, “Alright, but we’re going out for pizza after this.”

  “Deal,” Beat Boxer said, massaging the soreness out of her wrist.

  “No mushrooms,” Boost added, turning back to face the Visionary offensive line. “I’m not a wild animal.”

  The small force of heroes stood on one side of the street, staring down the opposing army. Patrick kept his eyes fixed forward on the enemy while he took measure of his team’s strength. “Alright, no B.S. assessment, how is everyone doing, physically? Are you guys prepared for this?”

  One by one, they all sounded off in the affirmative. All of them were willing to stand by their friends’ sides, riding into battle. After everyone answered, they stood in silence. Patrick knew they weren’t all in the best condition, but now wasn’t the time to call them out.

  Speetah was limping, still showing signs of some occasional muscle spasms from the shock she took against Kill-O-What. It was a good bet that she had also broken her left hand with the final punch that laid the villain out. Crystal still had plenty of fight left, but her mobility was diminished. She still had her heightened strength and agility, and her tail could make up for the lack of her left hand in close quarters combat.

  Black Paralysis suffered from possible ligament or tendon damage in his right elbow and shoulder. It was his primary arm, which took away much of his fighting arsenal. He was still able to focus his chi into his other weapons, and in fact, he was using his powers on himself in order to fight the pain and stay active.

  The rest were none the worse for the wear. Beat Boxer had lost her music player, but discovered that she was able to still tap into her innate agility without the aid of a physical device plugged into her head. Still, it was a recent discovery of her ability, so Patrick wasn’t sure it was something she had full control over yet.

  Their team didn’t lack heart and determination, but even at full strength, this kind of opposition was daunting.

  H2Grow broke the silence. “That looks pretty promising.” He jutted his chin to the fountain in front of the building next door to the Watchtower. “If I can reach that, we can even the odds.”

  “You’re right, that is promising,” Patrick said.

  The heroes discussed their plan, while keeping their eyes facing front. Once the battle started, they would move forward, trying to break through the wall. It would serve as a distraction, forcing the enemy to bring their strength in to prevent it. That would open up a path for H2grow to head straight for the fountain. That was as far as the plan went. Patrick didn’t have time to discuss the third step, as the leader of the Visionaries let out a long fierce shout. Crying havoc, he let slip the dogs of war.

  As both sides rushed to clash in the middle, Boost could be heard finalizing the group’s plan. “Step three: profit!”

  The team of heroes shot forward like a wedge, with Patrick leading the charge. The Visionary force separated as the two groups met. The enemy may have brought a larger crew, but it wa
s clear that a few of their numbers were hoping a show of force would have been enough to make anyone back down. The stragglers in the back weren’t as gung-ho as their front lines.

  Patrick prepared for the clash, pulling the tabs on his wrist cuffs as the groups converged. He let the milk pour out through the tubing running down his sleeves, keeping it in a viscous trail as he let his full reserves bleed out onto the street. A bull of a man charged him from the front of the Visionary wave. Their eyes locked, as Patrick spread his hands out wide, pulling the two amorphous white blobs up, sculpting them with his mind. Two powerful arms appeared as extensions of his own. With one final step, he slammed his own hands together, palm to palm, as the larger disembodied limbs mimicked his movement. The bull’s eyes widened as he tucked his head behind his arms, bracing for impact.

  The thunderclap reverberated from the epicenter of the melee as two giant white hands came together with tremendous force. The man’s upper body was swallowed from the chest up. The force was too much for Patrick to control, as the limbs lost their cohesiveness long enough to allow the brute to spill forth, tumbling to the ground unconscious. He once again reformed the appendages, allowing them to float just outside of his own, following the movement of his arms as they came back up into a fighting posture, with just a fraction of a second delay between the two sets of limbs.

  Just then, a bright red trail of light, cut across him as Beat Boxer stepped in to intercept a group of her own. The trail was brighter than he had ever seen her emit before. It was difficult to track her actual movements, solely discerning what she was doing based on the trails attached to various joints of her body, like a computer tracking her motion over a stretch of time.

  Abby ducked underneath a fist, and hooked the arm as it passed. She leaped up, her grip on the arm constrained her path to a tight arc as she drove her knee into her attacker’s shoulder blade. She grabbed the extended arm with both hands and pulled, up as the weight of her body drove the man down face first onto the concrete. Without any movement wasted, Beat Boxer rolled over her shoulder the moment they made contact with the ground, and plunged right into a trio of Visionaries, lashing out like a wild animal. The light trails kept the three attackers disoriented, as they flailed out in a futile attempt to land something, anything, to end the chaos. They inflicted more damage on each other in the close quarters scrap. Abby caught a glancing blow or two, but it was only enough to keep her fires stoked. Her hands and feet struck ankles, knees, groins, and throats as her ruthless assault dropped all three in a flurry.

  After Abby took down the third, another tried to tackle her from behind. He was stopped in mid strike by a solid shuffling side kick from Black Paralysis. The foot sunk into the man’s midsection, driving the air from his lungs. Sean rebounded from the strike, pulling his foot back and firing it out once again, catching an ogre-like man right under the chin with a thrusting front kick. More Visionaries rushed in, caught up in a whirlwind of kicks. He whipped his body around, planting the heel of his foot on the jaw of a scrawny foe, dropping him with a wheel kick. Another popped up in his place, catching the full force of a second wheel kick. This time Black Paralysis planted his hand on the ground behind him, Capoeira style, as he pulled the kick through its powerful arc.

  The pace was difficult to keep up, as the hero found himself surrounded. He did his best to keep them back with a series of front, side, and back kicks, creating the space he needed to fight effectively. Anytime an opponent got too close, Sean would unleash a paralyzing pulse to an arm or leg to reduce their combat effectiveness. With his right arm tucked close to his body, his defense had a major opening, so he was unable to stop the straight left from a musclebound southpaw that bridged the gap. It was a big man that packed a lot of power in the punch. The Visionary cocked his hand back for another hammering blow. Sean was stunned, but stayed on his feet, swaying. He saw the huge ham fist thrust out like a piston. Tucking his chin behind his shoulder was the only defense he could mount.

  The fist grazed the back of his head, as he felt his body being pulled under the blow by someone else. He landed on top of his rescuer as they tumbled to a stop. Speetah was laying underneath him, still grasping his sleeves. They locked eyes, Sean with a dumbfounded look of shock, and Speetah with a softened, concerned gaze.

  “Thank me later,” she said, as she shoved him to the side.

  The muscular attacker clomped over to finish them off as she rolled onto her side and drove a heel into the front of his knee to stop him. His leg locked out, but she didn’t have enough strength to hyper-extend the joint. Speetah could pretty much guess what his next attack was going to be. Dealing with her fair share of brutish thugs, they had two common options when facing a prone victim. Reach down and pick them up, or…yup, he’s opening door number two, she thought, as the bigger man raised a massive foot to squash her like an insect. Timing her dodge was almost too easy, she waited until his full weight was driving down as she rolled to close the distance. His foot smacked the ground with a resounding thud next to her, as she used the rotation of her roll to drive her elbow backwards into the man’s groin.

  Speetah didn’t stick around to see if he was out of the fight before popping back to her feet. She heard the wheezing gasps as the big man crumpled. Her right calf was still spasming off and on, making it difficult to build up her speed as she rushed headlong to meet the next opponent; a woman wearing what looked like brass knuckles. Even with boosted reflexes, it wasn’t a good idea to try and stand toe to toe with the armed Visionary. Speetah moved to flank her opponent, but couldn’t move fast enough to overcome the trained footwork from the shorter woman.

  “Straight up it is, then,” Speetah said to her new dance partner.

  “It’s the only way I know how,” the woman said.

  Speetah cut a direct path to her opponent and threw a feint to gauge her opponent’s skill level. Her foe tucked her chin and brought her hands up in a flinch. Her hands and head moved mere inches, and just as fast as she reacted, the woman threw a counter right cross. Speetah saw the punch as the shoulder’s forward movement announced the intent. She leaned to her left, letting the loaded fist sail by, as she stepped in tight, wrapping her a long right arm around the short woman’s neck, grabbing her own left bicep to trapping her foe’s head and arm. Speetah had intended to take the woman down, but found it difficult to apply the proper leverage with the height disparity. The stocky Visionary dropped her hips, and fired her left hand over and over into Speetah’s ribs with short hooks. The angle and proximity prevented her from generating full power, but the knuckle dusters made up for it.

  After three sharp blows to her ribcage, Speetah abandoned her takedown attempt, shoving the woman away with a hard push. Her leg trembled from muscle spasms, as she tucked her elbow tight against her bruised ribs. This smaller woman was well trained and dressed like one of the more experienced Visionary soldiers. On top of all that, she was also fresh and uninjured. Both combatants fired heated glares at each other beneath sweat soaked brows.

  “Had enough?” Speetah said with a wry smile to mask her pain.

  The other woman’s face remained stoic. “That was just the warm up round.”

  The short stocky woman bobbed with a smooth, relaxed rhythmic pace, as her arms bounced half a beat behind. Speetah pulled in long deep breaths, hands held low and close to her body. No point delaying the inevitable, she was going to have to dive right in and start trading blows. Almost simultaneously both women drove off their rear legs, and lunged forward to take the center of the ring.

  Before the two pugilists met, a military style Visionary uniform full of clumps of wet noodles, flew in from Speetah’s left slamming into her opponent. Two stocky forms, a man and the woman she had just fought, lay in a tangled heap, unconscious on the asphalt. Speetah looked up to her left to see Boost staring at her with a dopey smile. He waggled two fingers in the air, and mouthed the words “that’s twice.” She smiled, as she thought back to a previous encounter wit
h another skilled fighter that had ended the same way; Boost flinging a body into her opponent, ending the fight.

  Boost gave her a lazy two finger salute and turned away, just as a foot collided with his cheekbone. The force of the kick dropped him to one knee and sent a wave of tingling pain through his neck and one shoulder.

  “Ow. That really hurt,” he said as he rose back up to his feet. “Like, no joke, actual pain.”

  His opponent matched his size and build, but that was all Boost could see, when the attacker wasted no time to capitalize. His opponent rushed in throwing two haymaker fists, one right after the other. Boost was able to step away to avoid the first, and brought his arm up to the side of his head to absorb the other. Still on the offensive, the man threw a roundhouse kick to Boost’s ribs. As the shin dug into his midsection, Boost wrapped an arm around the leg, and drove his other hand forward with a sloppy punch, half overhand, half straight. His fist pounded into his foe’s collarbone, driving the man’s upper body to the ground. The Visionary landed on his back, winded, with his right leg still trapped.

  Boost saw movement to his right, and looked up to see more opponents rushing in. He wrapped his arm tight around the leg, and reached down with his other hand to grab the man’s belt. “Need a lift?” he said to the dazed man, and with a shout like an Olympic hammer thrower, he tossed the disoriented sack at his buddies. One of the newcomers went down, but the rest were able to close the distance fast, and latch onto Boost, and bringing him to the ground under a Visionary dog pile.

  The battle was in full swing by the time Nolan reached the fountain. He had to stay out of everyone’s way, taking his time to get there without drawing any attention to his part of the plan. His heart was racing as he glanced over his shoulder. His friends were outnumbered, and their opponents were much fresher, and ready for battle. If he couldn’t tip the scales, this could all end badly. Nolan stepped into the cold water, and knelt down, pressing his hands through the surface, like he was pushing through mud.