by C. S. De Mel
Lucas punched wildly at his captors. It was a three on two fight, but Mark and Lucas had the advantage of surprise on their side, and that was enough to turn the tide in their favor. Lucas had disarmed one of Scorcher’s men and taken his assault rifle. Oh how he wanted to unload the entire clip into these punks and waste them all. But he settled for using it as a blunt weapon in front of the police. He clubbed down another with the butt of the gun and then noticed the kid—it was Molly. She was standing next to a tall plant, absolutely petrified. Lucas stayed low to the ground and ran towards her.
“C’mon, let’s go!” Lucas grabbed the kid and carried her over his shoulder.
“Well, will wonders never cease,” Mark remarked to his brother, while running beside him.
“Helping her as much as ourselves, I think.” Lucas replied, with a gleam in his eye. “Show me a lawman who’s going to be a hard-ass to a couple of guys that just saved a kid’s life.”
Scorcher had taken cover behind the concrete sitting wall in front of the bank. Upon witnessing Scorcher being tossed outside by Bruce, a handful of Tony’s men had followed after him and were now providing support fire from the window. It was the only window the police did not have control over. Scorcher was lying on his belly, with his hands over his head as gunfire passed over him. In all the commotion, it took him a moment to realize that he was no longer sick. Scorcher rubbed his stomach in amazement. My god. He felt alive again. Puking out that poison was the relief he needed. He was feeling formidable now. Scorcher rose up with both gauntlets glowing. With a swipe of his arm, Scorcher unleashed a torrent of fire that arced through the sky and spat at the opposition.
“Get back!” Varick yelled, as the flames rained down. He pushed Morring to the ground, an instant before the flames grazed past them. He was still stationed outside with the police that didn’t enter the bank. Bruce had instructed Varick to wait outside due to his injury, for in a battle of this scale, his injuries made him a liability. And like any good soldier, he did as he was told.
As if armed with a flamethrower, Scorcher’s right hand targeted the nearest squad car and torched the vehicle. Using his flame tactics as a diversion, Scorcher retreated back inside the bank to get another shot at Bruce.
Santos had entered the fray through the main doors with the police. The firefight had begun from the moment they crossed the threshold into the bank. Behind the protection of ballistic shields, they stayed low to the ground and pressed forward. Santos spotted Hachiuma and Bruce inside the vault: the two of them were locked in mortal combat. Santos’ attention strayed to Scorcher, who climbed in through the window and charged into the vault. Not good. Santos left the safety of the police and ran towards the vault as well.
Bruce already had his hands full with Hachiuma, and now, Scorcher was back for another round. He lunged and brought his arm down hard. Bruce blocked Scorcher’s hammer fist, but was caught in the side by Hachiuma’s strike. Bruce backpedalled to get both his opponents inside his field of vision. Scorcher stood by Hachiuma, looking triumphant. “Well, isn’t this quaint. Our own little private arena, here in this vault. A nice place to make your last stand, Kasparov...”
Santos was ready to even the odds and make it a two on two fight. Santos sprinted towards the vault but was suddenly forced to jump back when the blade of a machete struck the floor in front of him. Three men obstructed his path. Their faces were concealed by shemagh scarves, and each one was brandishing a carbon steel machete... It was Hachiuma’s mercenaries. “Well, this should be interesting...” Santos muttered.
They began the attack. Their blades sliced through the air at frightening speed. Santos backpedalled to avoid being cut to ribbons. He was effectively managing to keep out of striking distance, but was being herded away from the main fight where Bruce was. Santos glanced to his left as one of the mercenaries darted to the side. Another to the right. They were spreading out to encircle him. He quickly found himself with no escape route. He was trapped. The mercenaries swarmed around Santos, keeping him inside the eye of their storm. They slashed at Santos while continuing to circle him in violent fashion. But Santos was nimble. And he was quicker. Even with no room to step out, he managed to dodge and evade three machete blades. He could feel the wind from the blade swipes wash over him. This dance was far too dangerous to continue a second longer. Santos focused his mind and allowed raw energy to permeate through his hands. The energy he and Bruce had learned to harness all those years ago in Tibet. A blade came down and Santos met it with a glowing right fist. The first mercenary’s blade snapped in two and Santos was unharmed. He spun a backhand, striking at the second mercenary’s blade before it was thrust at him. It too was broken. The last armed mercenary sprang up into the air and aimed to plant his machete right through Santos’ skull. Santos sidestepped the blade, which impacted the floor with such force that it cut into the granite tile and left the blade stuck in place. With the mercenary down at waist level, Santos caught him in the face with a side kick. He was instantly knocked out and hit the floor hard. His blade remained lodged in the tile. But even unarmed, the two mercenaries on their feet were deadly. Mercenary one grabbed Santos around the neck and pinned one of his arms behind his back in an attempt to restrain him. Mercenary two unleashed a flurry of punches, catching Santos off guard. Santos grunted in pain as he endured the brutal beating. He tried his best to defend himself, but the mercenary attacking him was much too skilled an opponent to be fended off with one arm. But one arm was all he needed to attack. Santos threw a fist backwards into the face of the mercenary that was holding him. The mercenary released Santos and took another blow to the face—this time an elbow. He was down. One mercenary remained on his feet. He did not waiver and continued to press the attack on Santos. Lighting fast strikes from both men were delivered, but the gap in skill was quickly evident. Santos caught his attacker’s hand, then pulled him in and finished him off with an uppercut to the stomach. Santos was truly one of the best the Legion had to offer.
Bruce was pulling out all the stops—Hachiuma and Scorcher attacking together were a force to be reckoned with. Deadly gunfire from outside the vault continued to ring in their ears. But neither Bruce, Hachiuma, nor Scorcher showed any concern for it. They couldn’t afford to, for any distraction from a fight of this calibre would be disastrous. Their world at this moment was confined to everything within the walls of the vault.
From his open hand, Scorcher unleashed his flamethrower attack and watched Bruce run. Bruce arced inwards towards Scorcher while gaining tremendous speed. Without a break in his pace, Bruce leapt towards Scorcher, spinning in the air to connect a hurricane kick into his face. Scorcher hit the ground hard; his flamethrower arm shot wildly into the air. As Bruce landed, Hachiuma charged in for a tackle, like a linebacker sacking the QB. Hachiuma had Bruce around the torso, but instead of dropping him to the ground, he powered forward. Hachiuma was adamant to drive Bruce into the wall and break every bone in his body. Bruce pushed out of Hachiuma’s grip, giving Hachiuma room to throw an uppercut into his stomach. And another. Bruce took the punishment and landed a strike across the side of Hachiuma’s head. Hachiuma appeared unfazed and continued to exchange blows with Bruce and force him back. Without warning, Hachiuma dropped to the floor and smashed Bruce across the kneecap with both hands locked together. Upon seeing the opening, Scorcher recovered as quickly as possible and fired off an energy bomb. Bruce’s hands shot up to cover his upper body and face as the attack made contact. He was blasted off his feet and crashed into the wall. Scorcher pounced on him. He picked up Bruce by his shirt and threw him to the opposite end of the vault. He hit the floor with a thud. Bruce looked up; his entire body was aching. Hachiuma fired off three energy projectiles. Bruce scrambled to roll out of the way; the balls of energy flew past him and exploded through the wall of the bank. Hachiuma charged, with Scorcher following right behind. Bruce was shaky, but on his feet. He began to gather energy in his right hand for a counterattack.
Bruce
placed his left arm under his right for support and aimed. As Hachiuma drew close, Bruce began to fire. But Hachiuma was no easy foe, for he had phenomenal control of energy himself. He generated a protective shield that encased his entire body as he charged. To an unknowing eye, the energy shield gave the appearance of a man on fire. Hachiuma dodged and swatted away Bruce’s barrage of energy blasts as he closed in. Bruce gritted his teeth. He did not expect Hachiuma to sustain his charge. He needed more power...so be it. Bruce increased the intensity in a heartbeat. The flames around his arms grew large and white hot. This energy transferred into his attacks and Hachiuma got struck with several of the blasts at close range. There was only so much his energy shield could withstand. The collision of energy particles engulfed Hachiuma in a cloud of smoke and fire. He dropped to his knees, severely injured. Bruce’s focus on Hachiuma allowed Scorcher to get within striking distance of Bruce. Scorcher threw punch after punch at him; both his hands were generating incredible flames that were dancing on his fists. One strike from a punch like this would inflict serious burns on a normal man. Bruce dodged and countered with strikes of his own. Hachiuma crawled towards Bruce and grabbed him tight around the ankles.
“Get off!” Bruce yelled. He was temporarily immobilized. As Bruce tried to shake him off, Scorcher landed a fiery fist on Bruce’s chest. He screamed out. Bruce’s entire body engulfed itself in flames. But this was not Scorcher’s doing. Bruce had created a fire shield of his own. He grabbed Scorcher around the wrist with both hands and threw him into the wall. He then kicked out at Hachiuma, connecting his flame-shielded boot into his face. With this strike, Bruce was able to break free of Hachiuma’s grasp and go after Scorcher. Bruce broke into a run. He jumped up and grabbed Scorcher by the horns and used them to hoist himself up and accelerate his attack, driving a flaming knee under Scorcher’s chin. Bruce got in one more punch as Scorcher fell to the floor. Just for good measure. Bruce’s flames slowly died down and eventually disappeared. Bruce glanced back. Hachiuma was still on the floor—battered and beaten, but conscious. His eyes watched Bruce darkly.
Scorcher was now lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He began to cough—a cough which gradually turned into a weak laugh. “I told you, Hachiuma... I told you. He’s too much. Good job beating him.”
“Move, move, move!” Police covered the flank while the hostages were escorted out the front doors to safety. The Solly brothers had joined the mob being rushed towards the exit. It was a collective relief felt by every hostage to be outside the bank and be greeted by the cold November air. Captain Morring and several police officers were waiting outside to debrief them.
Molly was still safely being held by Lucas. He turned to the nearest cop to hand her over. “She ain’t mine, but I couldn’t just leave her in there,” Lucas told the officer. The cop graciously took Molly from Lucas and thanked him for his courageous act. “What’d I tell you,” Lucas muttered to his brother. “Brownie points.”
“I’d ask everyone that was inside the bank to please bear with us,” Captain Morring stated, addressing the hostages. “I know each of you has been through a harrowing ordeal, but we kindly request your cooperation in assisting us with…” Oswalt pushed through the crowd and locked eyes with the Solly brothers. He approached them and stood behind them mock-casually.
“What did you two do?!” Oswalt demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Was what happened inside the bank somehow your doing?!”
Lucas didn’t look back and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Does it look like it? We’re victims here, just like everyone else,” he hissed.
Mark lifted up his shirt to reveal bruises on his back. “We were lucky to get out of there alive.”
Oswalt yanked Mark’s shirt back down. “Stop drawing attention! You know what, forget it. I don’t even care to know the details, just get out of here. Where’s your car?”
Mark scanned the street. We came here with Wells—the car’s gone.”
“Alright, walk out of here, then. Quickly. With all the commotion, no one’s going to notice.”
Lucas nodded. “We were right to bring you on board.”
“I better not regret it,” Oswalt muttered.
Hachiuma struggled to get himself to an upright seated position. He dragged himself across the floor with his hands and leaned against the wall of safety deposit boxes.
Bruce looked at the two villains, with the trace of a smirk. “Well, you took a gamble and you lost.” Bruce waited for some sort of reaction but received none. Outside the vault walls, the gunfire continued. “Why don’t you call off your men, Scorcher? Tell them to give up.” Bruce walked over to Scorcher and nudged his arm with a boot. “It’ll make things easier for everyone.” Scorcher was still lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t appear to hear Bruce.
Santos poked his head into the vault. “You alright, Bruce?” He glanced down at Hachiuma and Scorcher, who were both on the floor.
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I got things under control. How’s the situation out there?”
“Captain Morring’s men have them pinned down.”
Bruce grinned. “You hear that, Scorcher? It’s only a matter of time. Call them off. Tell them you’ve lost.”
Scorcher forced a laugh, despite his injuries. “Always the bald face—you gloating prick. You didn’t think I anticipated this? I was sceptical that Hachiuma would be able to do what I couldn’t, and rightly so—I’m not oblivious to the track record.” He unclipped the walkie talkie hanging from his belt. He held the receiver to his mouth and mumbled into it: “Come get us.”
Parked in close proximity to the bank, a truck revved to life upon receiving Scorcher’s dispatch...
Coincidentally, the walkie talkie Varick had with him began to buzz, moments after Scorcher used his. “Varick, come in.”
Varick stepped away from the chatter of the police to answer the call. “Yeah, I’m here, Finch.” On the roof, Arthur Finch was their eyes and was keeping communication with Varick.
“I see something coming. A truck...a big truck... It bypassed the roadblocks...”
Varick could faintly hear the rumbling. The police were taking down notes and gathering information from the hostages. Morring was at the center of it, trying to keep everyone calm and keep things running smoothly. Varick pushed through the crowd to reach Morring. He nudged his arm to get the captain’s attention. “Little busy here, Varick,” he said, without looking up from his notebook.
Varick ignored his shooing away. “Morring, are you expecting any reinforcements? More police?”
Morring stopped writing and turned to face Varick, slightly annoyed. “No... What are you on about?” Varick’s eyes narrowed. He turned and began to walk towards the road. He stopped on the sidewalk. Morring was behind him and followed his gaze. He could see it now too... Off in the distance...coming up the street. Traffic had been blocked off by police, but nevertheless, a large vehicle could be seen driving towards them...and it was picking up tremendous speed. Morring stared. “What is this...”
Varick held the walkie to his mouth: “Finch, take it down now, TAKE IT DOWN!”
Arthur opened fire on the vehicle. His sniper rounds were bouncing off the vehicle’s armor. He managed to put a few rounds in the tires, but the vehicle was still moving smoothly. “Shit…” Arthur put down his rifle. “Varick, it’s bullet proof. And the tires gotta be some sort of heavy-grade composite run-flats.”
Varick dropped his walkie and turned to the crowd. “Everyone, get to cover!” he bellowed. The police and hostages looked at him, bewildered. Varick wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew it was nothing good.
The armored truck barrelled down the road and hopped the curb, driving straight at the bank. Morring rushed to his squad car to retrieve his megaphone. “Take out that truck! Open fire, OPEN FIRE!” The truck continued to pick up speed.
“It’s no good, Morring!” Varick yelled.
Police began to fire upon the vehicle. The pinging o
f bullets could be heard as they bounced off the truck’s armor plating. A narrow metal slide on the side of the truck opened, and the barrels of two rocket launchers peeked out. Inside the truck, Gregory Pike and Ulysses Frost aimed their armaments. Pike grinned. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this.”
“Get behind the swat van!” Morring yelled to the hostages. The rockets flew in and blew up two squad cars. The men and women outside the bank scrambled for their lives.
“Reload!” Another two rockets were fired. They were clearing a path. The armored truck was now directly in line with the bank doors. It rammed past police vehicles and drove up the steps…
Bruce could hear the explosions coming from outside the walls of the bank. With both hands, he grabbed Scorcher by the neck and thrust him into the wall. “What did you do?!” he snarled. Scorcher simply smiled at him. He punched him across the face, knocking Scorcher to the floor. “ANSWER ME!”
Scorcher’s face was pressed against the tile. He lifted his head, just enough for Bruce to once again see that stupid smile of his. “Why don’t you go look for yourself?”
The armored truck had smashed through the front doors of the bank. The officers by the entrance cleared out to avoid being run over. Police had already damaged the doors when breaching them with the battering ram. The truck was the icing on the cake that tore the doors clean off their hinges. Lee, the truck driver, pulled the wheel to a hard right and slammed the brakes. The truck swerved to a stop in the middle of the bank, in-between the police forces and Tony’s men. Ulysses Frost picked out new toys from inside the truck: smoke grenades. He held a grenade in each hand. “Let there be…disharmony.” Through the metal slide, Frost tossed the smokers towards the police. They began to hiss and fill the police-controlled side of the bank with smoke. Tony’s troops made their way to the truck.