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Two Percent Power: Delivering Justice

Page 24

by Brian Manning


  He suppressed a shiver, as the near ice cold water sent waves of chills through his body. It was almost spring, but this fountain sat in shade, and the air still carried enough of a chill throughout parts of the day. Nolan could feel his body drawing in the water, filling out his torso and limbs. He kept at it, passing his normal sticking point. His once loose sweats and shoes strained as his body grew. He was uncomfortable as his own clothing pressed against his flesh, and the bloated feeling had him panicked.

  In his mind, he focused beyond his body, and to the water itself. Nolan shut his eyes tight and pictured the liquid not only settling on the surface of his skin and muscles, but inside as well. Filling all of the gaps around his bones and organs. He felt his body and the water merging and becoming a single substance. The bloated feeling had passed and he opened his eyes. He was still kneeling, but much higher than he had expected to be. Floating in what little water was left were shreds of fabric torn from his sleeves. H2Grow looked up at the glass front entrance of the building next to the Watchtower, looking at his reflection on the dark glass.

  What stared back was a creature eight feet tall, packed with muscle, and coated in a smooth gray shark skin. His shirt was torn, and hanging from his shoulders. His pants were also shredded along the bottom and his shoes had long given up the struggle, and sat at the bottom of the fountain. His face lacked any discernible features, with two almond shaped bulbous eyes sitting over a tiny bump of a nose, and a slit for a mouth. No brow ridges or cheekbones only a smooth face plate. H2Grow snapped out of his fascination, and tugged away at the swatch of fabric around his neck, running to join his friends in battle.

  He felt heavy and sluggish, but it was easier for him to move than before, even with the larger frame he packed on. Cutting up the distance in long strides, he reached the outliers as they looked for an opportunity to attack his friends. With a long backhand swipe, H2Grow cleared several Visionaries out of the way, as easy as brushing a curtain to the side. Two more spun around, stunned by the behemoth towering over them. He laid a huge catcher’s mitt on each of their shoulders, and slammed their bodies together, like a child combining two lumps of clay in a violent collision.

  The tide of battle turned, as the Visionaries all turned to take on the new challenger. H2Grow’s appearance had split the forces, as half of their numbers switched focus to take him out. Most were unarmed, but a few had clubs, brass knuckles, or other improvised weapons. He could feel the impacts, but none of the pain registered, as they struck his bulked up surface. With his size and reduced speed, he could only swipe at them with his oversized arms, hoping to catch a few in the path. It didn’t take long for them to catch on to his tactics, and develop a rhythm, moving in and out to strike, avoiding his counter attacks.

  When one of the attackers timed his actions wrong, H2Grow was able to grab hold of the man’s arm, and swing him across the group, extending his own reach by the man’s full body length. It was enough to take several more out of the fight, and force the rest to regroup.

  “Don’t stop now. The fun’s just beginning,” he taunted. His voice sounded odd even to his own ears, like a bubbling spring, granted a voice of its own.

  The Visionaries still in the fight found themselves trapped. A hulking brute blocked off their escape, while a group of heroes prevented them from retreating back into the Watchtower. Still, Nolan had to admire their resolve. None of them were willing to surrender, as they all stood in fighting positions, ready to throw down to the last man.

  Before the heroes could end the battle, blaring car horns, smashing glass, and rattling and pounding beats echoed from the streets around them. A cacophony chaos rang out, as soldier after solider came pouring out of every alleyway, and intersection, rushing back to join their friends. It was the groups of Visionaries sent out to wreak havoc earlier. The groups covering the areas that the heroes never reached. H2Grow powered through the last of the Visionaries in front of the building to stand shoulder to shoulder with his friends. With their backs to the front entrance, they looked on as their enemies replenished their numbers, swelling to a larger force than they had faced earlier.

  “I’m not sure how much more of this we can handle,” Patrick said.

  “We’re about to find out,” Beat Boxer said.

  The raucous crowd formed a semi-circle, shouting, beating their chests, and pounding any surface around them with makeshift bludgeons and chains. They were a pack of wild dogs, bristling up and ready to lunge for the throat. A feeding frenzy on the verge of kicking off. A few jumpy soldiers broke formation and bolted towards the group, only to meet H2Grow’s thundering fist, as he drove it into the lead man, and clipping a second.

  Once again a blaring car horn blasted through the streets, and once again, a shouting crowd washed over the intersections. But this group wasn’t the faux military men and women facing the heroes. It was the citizens of the city, rising up to finish what they had started in their own neighborhoods. All of the able-bodied men and women, willing to stand and fight were approaching now, like the riders of Rohan answering Gondor’s call for aid, led by the Mighty Manerpillar and Dark Justice.

  Without stopping to reform the lines, the people rushed into battle, a wave slamming into the unprepared Visionaries. Manny fought his way around and met up with the others. The Manerpillar stood before them, ready to join the fight.

  “Did I miss the party?” he asked.

  “Brother, it looks like you brought the party with you,” Black Paralysis said, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

  “I guess my invitation got lost in the mail,” a booming voice came from behind them.

  The group spun to face the speaker, Man-vil.

  He stood striking as imposing a figure as ever, flanked by two large Visionary soldiers. Next to anyone else, they would have appeared gigantic, but Man-vil’s massive body dwarfed his own allies.

  “How’s the hand?” Speetah asked, anger and contempt bleeding into her tone.

  “Oh, you mean this?” Man-vil brought up his right hand, held in a loose fist. The skin was covered with a dark, dull metallic coating, like he dipped his hand and forearm in molten iron. “Look what I can do now.” He held up his left hand, and clenched it into a fist as the same dull coating worked its way up from knuckle to elbow. His fists clanged as he struck them together.

  “The people need your help,” Broadband’s voice squawked over the radio. “They won’t be able to hold out against all of those Visionaries.”

  “We’ve got to get inside and end this,” Patrick said. “Sean, can you take Crystal and Nolan to help Dark Justice and the others?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Patrick turned to Boost, Beat Boxer, and Manerpillar, “We’ve got to take these three out fast so we can get to Sight.”

  “Man-vil is mine,” Manny said with his eyes locked on the super villain. “You guys go.”

  Abby patted Patrick on the shoulder, “Take Boost with you, I’ll help Manny with Man-vil’s henchmen.”

  Patrick nodded and signaled for Boost to follow. Before Man-vil’s bouncers could move to intercept them, Beat Boxer was already in motion, giving them more than enough to worry about. Patrick and Boost ran inside and headed straight for the stairwell, as the glass doors muffled the sounds of battle outside.

  CHAPTER

  26

  “Which one do you think he’s on?” Boost asked, panting as they reached the sixth floor.

  “Probably the top,” Patrick said. He too was struggling to keep his breathing relaxed. Climbing stairs after an extended melee wasn’t part of their typical training.

  Boost looked up at the placard with the number six posted next to the door. “Not even half way.” He took several deep breaths and pulled on the handrail to continue the climb.

  By the time they reached thirteenth floor, the two heroes sat leaning against the wall, trying to catch their breath. Their progress was stopped short by a gate blocking the stairs heading up to the next level.

/>   “I’m pretty sure that’s against safety regulations,” Boost said, tugging at the gate.

  “It’s a strong possibility Sight has the fire marshal in his pocket as well,” Patrick said.

  Boost grabbed the gate with a firm grasp, and braced to pull it open.

  “Wait,” Patrick said. “Let’s not give up the element of surprise if we don’t have to. There might be something, or someone here.”

  “Well then, looks like our destination is lucky number thirteen.” Boost pulled himself up and opened the door to the stairwell just a crack to look down the hall. “Looks clear.”

  They moved through the short hallway, leading to a single door, which brought them into a huge open area. Even though no one else was in the room, the noise and buzz of activity filled the air around them. Music from an iPod docked into a speaker was looping through the selected playlist. Arcade cabinets beeped and flashed, enticing players with their attract modes. The hum from a wall of vending machines filled the audio gaps from everything else. Boost’s jaw dropped as his eyes took in every detail; the weight room and heavy bag of the makeshift gym, the flat panel TVs and gaming consoles in front of the overstuffed couches, and of the mini kitchen, overflowing with empty cans and bottles and junk food wrappers.

  “Once we kick this dude’s butt, I’m moving in here,” he said.

  Patrick chuckled. “I’m not sure that’s how you legally transfer the lease.”

  “How about I just grab one of those consoles on the way out then? That’s some next gen hardware that I can’t afford on my superhero salary.”

  “You get a salary?” Patrick raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

  “No, but I’m about to get some perks.”

  “We should focus on the mission. Look, here’s an elevator. It probably reaches the top.”

  As they turned to leave, the flat panel TVs flickered to life, showing a live feed of the man they were after. Sight stood in front of an expensive hardwood desk, dressed in dark robes, with black plastic plates covering his shoulders and elbows. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  “Is that Sight? This is the guy we’re after?” Patrick asked.

  “What’s he wearing?” Boost asked. “That’s some cult type stuff right there.”

  The man on the screen was delivering a self-important speech about how they made a grave mistake coming into his home and challenging his rule. How he would make sure they paid the price. He was in the middle of his impassioned explanation of how he would make examples of them, so that others wouldn’t dare repeat such a fool’s errand. But Patrick and Boost were still whispering to each other, half listening to the threats.

  “Dude is seriously rocking the ponytail like it’s still 1999,” Boost said.

  “Look at those chains on his cult leader robes. He’s like a reject from an 80s metal band video,” Patrick added. Both men could no longer contain their laughter.

  “Enough!” Sight snarled, stepping close to the camera.

  “Man, look at those choppers! His teeth are way white,” Boost said, loud enough for Sight to hear this time. “Like, that’s his power…super white teeth.”

  Patrick’s laugh broke through his strained facial expression with a snort. The man on screen lost his composure and killed the video feed with a blow to the camera.

  “Alright, let’s go finish this,” Patrick said.

  They turned back to the elevator, just as the doors shut behind Deadeye. They had failed to hear the ding, signaling its arrival while they were focused on Sight’s webcam show.

  “He’s right about one thing,” she snapped her visor to the left, exposing the dark glowing eye. “You’ve made a grave mistake coming here.”

  Before she could attack, Patrick had already released the tabs and threw a wall up in front of them. Droplets of milk burst out in a mist as Deadeye’s beam punched a volleyball sized hole through it, while Boost and Patrick dove to the side. The liquid barrier splashed to the floor as Patrick took cover behind the couch, and Boost had his back to one of the vending machines.

  “If she’s down here, that means Sight is upstairs, unprotected,” Boost said. “I’ll keep her busy while you make a break for the elevator.”

  Patrick nodded, and reached his hand out towards the milk pooled on the concrete floor. Half of the liquid slid across the floor giving away his hiding position. A bolt of writhing purple energy took a chunk out of the couch, forcing Patrick to flinch back. He reached out once more to “grasp” the milk, and popped his body up over the cushions, hurling a shimmering white disc at his opponent.

  She leaned to one side as it whipped by, splattering the wall behind her, just as Patrick vaulted over the remains of the sofa. Another crackling purple beam tore out a chunk of concrete behind him as he ran for the elevator. Whipping his hand across his body, he pulled the rest of the puddle off the floor and dragged it across, like a pole swinging at knee level. Deadeye dove forward and rolled to avoid the trip. Patrick reached the elevator panel and pounded away at the button, hoping the car was still on the same floor. He put his back to the wall to face the Visionary super soldier.

  She rose to her feet inch by inch, like a predator preparing to pounce and unleash the killing blow. Boost’s shout, half agony, half rage grabbed their attention. The vending machine he was ducked behind, now had its full weight settled on his shoulder. With another furious battle cry, Boost hurled the industrial glass and steel box toward Deadeye. The ding of the elevator panel let Patrick know the doors were opening, as everything switched to slow motion. He stumbled backwards into the elevator car, just as Deadeye’s lethal energy blast cut the vending machine in two. Even she wasn’t sure her feat was possible, as she flinched and covered up while the two uneven pieces crashed and rolled to either side.

  Patrick slapped the number 14 on the control panel, and watched as Boost rushed Deadeye, closing the distance, as the door wiped in front of his view of the fight. The elevator rattled and shook from the battle taking place just outside, as it lurched and began its ascent to the top floor.

  “Has anyone heard from Patrick or Boost?” Broadband asked everyone in broadcasting range.

  “We’re a little busy here at the moment,” Beat Boxer shouted over the noise of the raging battles.

  “Is everything alright?” Black Paralysis asked. “Do we need to make our way inside?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re both ok still. It’s just that I lost contact with them as soon as they stepped into the building. I didn’t notice until I tried to tell him about a minor hiccup in our intel.”

  “What kind of hiccup?” Speetah asked.

  “We thought it was only Sight and Deadeye in the building and—”

  “Are there more soldiers inside?” Speetah asked. “Are Boost and Patrick running into a trap?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. Well…”

  “Spit it out.”

  “I’m seeing several references to another super in the Visionaries. A bodyguard that’s always with Sight. A big man named Tension.”

  “That guy’s a super?” H2Grow asked. “Guess I never got a close enough look at him. I thought he just lifted a lot of weights”

  “He’s probably one of the most powerful supers they’ve got on in the organization, according to what I’m seeing here,” Broadband said.

  “I’m going in after them,” Abby said.

  “No. You’re needed out here,” Black Paralysis said “We’re vastly outnumbered, but Boost and Patrick are walking into a two on two situation, if you don’t account for Sight.”

  The ten second trip took hours in Patrick’s mind, as he ran through his plan of attack. Chances are, Sight would be locked away in some room, like a coward. Maybe he could toss a few clever quips at the mastermind and trade some verbal blows. The elevator chimed, as the doors slid open. He expected to see light filling in through the gap as the two halves of the elevator’s entrance split. Instead, the light from the fourteenth floor had difficulty getting aroun
d the massive bulk of the man standing to greet the new visitor.

  Patrick looked up at a seven foot tower of pure strength, almost as wide as he was tall. The brute’s facial expression didn’t even move when he stepped inside, grabbing a huge fistful of Patrick’s jacket. The man’s face was a granite mask, with thick candy bar eyebrows and a bushy beard. With little effort Patrick was hoisted up, pulled out of the elevator, and pinned up against the wall. His feet dangled as he hung from the lapels of his own jacket.

  Acting on instinct, Patrick pulled the release tabs on his cuffs, finding that they were already opened. He remembered that he had lost his “grip” on the milk fighting against Deadeye, and didn’t have a chance to retrieve it before stepping into the elevator. He was all out of ammunition. Drawing next on his fighting skills he raised and arm up, and drove an elbow down hard into the wrist of his captor. Patrick was unable to sink his weight into the blow as it thumped on the meaty appendage, as harmless as a blow from a child. Again he tried, this time he pushed off of one of the man’s legs with his feet to get some elevation. Another leathery paw caught Patrick’s strike on the way down, swallowing his whole forearm.

  With a twist, the brute tossed Patrick across the room. He covered half the distance in the air, and the other half tumbling across the carpet until his body slammed into the far wall. He looked up to see the mountain walking to engage him again. Each foot step sent vibrations through the floor. How heavy is this guy? Patrick rolled to one side, standing up with some more breathing room between them. The man stepped forward reaching out again as Patrick shuffled to the side and threw a roundhouse kick, driving his shin into the top of his opponent’s meaty thigh. His leg found only densely packed muscle, harder than bone. Patrick grimaced and limped away, avoiding another attempted grab. As the large hand passed, he drove a hard fist into the big man’s face. Patrick saw the jaw muscles tighten, even through the thatch of dark whiskers, just as his punch found its mark. The shockwave shook Patrick to the core. If he wasn’t wearing gloves with the hard shell knuckle protection, that would have been much worse.

 

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