|
Suddenly Memories: Powerbomb
By Dac
The man flew into the brick wall and heard something break as he dropped to the ground, gasping for air and trying to roll over. Footsteps echoed up the alley and something the size of a kid’s wading pool landed on his back. Any remaining air was crushed out of him and he heard several things break. He tried to push back against it, but pain lashed his body and all he could do was flop around like a fish. As he flailed awkwardly, he heard a rough, blunt voice somewhere above him.
“You’re still trying to hold out on me,” it said. “That’s not a good idea. I want information and I want it now.”
The man let out a high-pitched squeak as something else in his body was crushed. The sound wasn’t the harsh snap of something breaking, it was a prolonged crunching. The man wanted to scream, but he didn’t have the air to do it. He kicked feebly and the huge object lifted off its body, slamming to the ground in front of him. He looked up at a gigantic boot, darker than the night sky above them. As his eyes went up, they traced the enormous leg and huge body it belonged to for nearly 15 feet, and at the top was a large head staring down at him with cold detached anger. Powerbomb dropped to one knee and wrapped a hand around his prey, holding him up on an angle.
“Start talking, or I start squeezing,” said Powerbomb flatly. “There are muggings in this part of the city and I want to know about them. Give me names.”
“I don’t know,” choked the man.
“Not good enough,” growled Powerbomb, and he tightened his grip. His target cried out in pain and shock as more bones were compressed and terrible things happened inside his body.
“Kids-” wheezed the man. “Just...dumb kids...from north side of town...come here...so can’t be traced...”
“Better,” said Powerbomb, opening his hand. The man fell to the ground and lay motionless but conscious, staring up at Powerbomb in fear. Powerbomb stared straight back in disdain and pointed a huge finger at the man. “I’ve warned your kind before,” he growled. “You people just don’t listen. This is the Leader’s city, and he likes to keep things clean. That’s why people like me have to go patrolling every so often, to keep people like you off the streets. But this part of the city doesn’t belong to the Leader. It belongs to me. And believe me, whatever hell the cops might put you through is a picnic compared to what I’ll do to you, any of you, if I find you on my streets. You understand?”
The man stared at him in fear. Powerbomb waited for a minute, and when no response came he slammed his oversized fist into the ground inches from the man’s head.
“You fucking understand?” he snarled.
The man jumped in terror and Powerbomb could see urine streaming down his pant leg. The man nodded fervently and scrambled backwards, his eyes unable to go any wider. Powerbomb stood up straight again and stared down at him.
“Get out of here and spread the word,” he snapped. “This part of town, these suburbs, they belong to me, and anyone I find doing something I don’t like get their limbs snapped off one by one. Go.”
The man scrambled out of the alleyway with as much speed as he could muster, and Powerbomb watched him go, the jerking movements he made resembling a drunk man with several head wounds. Once he was out of sight, Powerbomb shrank back down and cricked his neck. He looked around carefully, checking to see if anyone was watching, and hastily vaulted the fence at the other end of the alley. He didn’t mind if people saw him laying down the law, but he had somewhere to be and didn’t want to be hounded further on the way there. The shadows dripped eerily onto the streets, and the low sound of hushed whispers and guttural voices floated through the streets. Powerbomb marched on, heedless of them. His face was one of the most well-known in the city, and even if people didn’t know it, they knew the grey uniform. The uniform was power beyond anything Powerbomb could muster physically, which was saying something; entire rooms hushed at the first sign of the grey clothing he wore, the insignia a clear symbol for all to see. In the less-than safe areas of the city, the uniform sent a clear sign to every mugger, scumbag and lowlife: DON’T FUCK WITH US. More than once, Powerbomb had walked these streets – his streets – and simply stared at people with concealed weapons. He knew what to look for, the posture, the expression, the attitude, the way they shuffled their feet. He stared them straight in the eye and they backed right off. Word was spreading. Too slowly for his liking, but it was spreading. A Guardsman patrolled these streets. Every single one that he found, he gave the same message he had just given: “this is my territory. You’re not welcome.”
He ducked across the street and arrived at an apartment complex, walking smartly inside. He punched the button at the elevator and stood calmly, waiting for it to arrive. A man was mopping up in the corner. He kept his head down, staring pointedly at his work and not looking up. Powerbomb ignored him, staring at the descending numbers as the elevator dropped. He imagined the cables, high-tensile steels all twisted together, strong enough to lift elephants, and chuckled to himself. He’d once ripped such a cable in two with his hands. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. The doors opened and a young couple stepped out. They noticed him standing there and increased their pace, moving swiftly around him to get to the door. He ignored them and advanced almost hungrily into the elevator. He pressed the button for the fifth floor and folded his arms, staring out into the lobby. Riding the elevator, he felt his anticipation grow. It had been too long since he’d been here. Too long since his last visit. Stepping off the elevator, he moved down the hallway and opened the third door on the left.
The TV was blaring inside. Some cartoon. He ignored it, stepping around the couch and into the kitchen, not making a sound. Inside, a woman was cooking eggs at the stove. She looked up when he entered and blinked. She smiled at him and crossed the room, embracing him.
“Hey you,” she said.
“Hey, Sophia” he smiled. “Sorry I’ve been away. The boss has stepped things up a bit recently.”
“So you were saying,” she responded. “Doesn’t matter. You should’ve called, though.”
“I know,” he sighed. “I’ve been busy.”
She looked at his hands and saw his knuckles. They were grazed and shredded from his earlier encounter with the mugger; not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave flakes of skin barely clinging to the rest of him. She frowned.
“Go clean up,” she said. “There’s a change of clothes in the wardrobe for you.”
“Thanks,” he said gratefully. “Where is she?”
“Homework,” she grinned. “You should have heard her complaining about it.”
He chuckled and moved to the bathroom. Her hand sneaked through with a t-shirt and trousers a few minutes later and he cleaned his hands off. Just as he was pulling them on, concealing the grey uniform, he heard Sophia’s voice call out. “Caitlin, honey! Dinner!”
A non-committal noise echoed in response. Powerbomb laughed and waited. He heard a door open and soft footsteps shuffle out into the living room. He rested his hand on the handle, hesitated calmly, and silently opened the door. He saw Sophia inspecting a young girl’s hands and sneaked up behind her. Sophia acted as though she couldn’t see him and spoke severely to the girl.
“There’s ink from where your hand was resting on the book,” she said severely. “Go and wash them first.”
Caitlin groaned and turned for the bathroom, nearly walking straight into Powerbomb. She jumped in shock and cried out. He laughed openly and she slapped him playfully before jumping up to wrap her arms around him.
“You scared the hell out of me, you jerk!” she cried.
“I know, isn’t it great?” he laughed. Setting her down, he studied her imperiously. “I swear, you get taller every time I come over.”
“You should come over more often, then,” she said. “Stop leaving it so long between visits.”
“Believe me, I would if I could,” he said. “Scratch that, I’d live here if I could. I just have to go away so often.” To the medical bay or the training rooms, he thought wryly.
“I dunno if I could stand that,” she said coyly. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.”
Powerbomb slapped his forehead in mock exasperation. “I was hoping you’d never learn that one.”
“Come on, you two,” said Sophia, who had leaned on the wall watching with amusement during the whole thing. “Let’s eat.”
Powerbomb put an arm around Caitlin’s shoulders and they walked over to the table together. She swayed slightly before ducking out from under his arm and sitting down. Sophia brought over the plates and they all tucked in. Caitlin looked up at him curiously.
“So do you have any good stories this time?” she asked. “What have you been doing lately?”
Powerbomb’s mind flashed back to his last real mission, and the image of men attacking him from all sides came to mind. Some of the images were downright grotesque. He had thought nothing of them at the time, just another job, but here, in this room, he had to suppress a shiver.
“Nothing major,” he said, not meeting her eyes. She took the hint. He had never explicitly told her what he did for the Leader, but he knew she had guessed it wasn’t pleasant. He had found her once in the aftermath of a battle a long time ago, in the days of the Hero Destruction Ministry, injured by debris. She had cried out to him for help, and something in her voice struck a chord. He had heard cries for aid before, and blocked them out. He had been in so many fights, experienced so many disasters, but he had always blocked them out until he saw Caitlin lying in the ruins. He had taken her to the hospital and waited until the doctors had finished operating, and then he had gone in to see her. After talking with her, he’d gotten her phone number and called her mother, and from then the two were always happy to see him. Any hopes Caitlin had harboured that he and Sophia might hit it off had long since faded, but she loved him anyway and referred to him as her father; for his part, he had never worn his Guardsman uniform in front of her since the hospital. “How’s your homework?”
She rolled her eyes. “Boring,” she groaned. “English. Reading some poetry that came out of the wars, talking about what they meant when they wrote it. How are we supposed to know? They’re poets, the whole point of the occupation is that they didn’t know what they meant and were writing to try and figure it out.”
Powerbomb laughed. “Hey, some of that stuff isn’t bad. You should give Wilfred Owen a try.”
She looked at him cock-eyed.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “You might like it. ‘What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the-’”
“Stop,” she said. “I’ll look it up when I get back. Don’t put it on me when I’m taking a break.”
“Whatever you say,” he smirked. “I’m just saying. If you went at it without assuming it’d be bad, maybe it won’t seem so bad.”
“It’s not that it’s bad,” she admitted. “It’s more the fact that we got told we have to read this, or we have to read this. If they just gave us the book and told us to find something we liked, I’d be able to explore.”
“Yeah, and your lazy classmates would use it as a doorstop before opening it,” he pointed out.
She paused for a moment, then shrugged. “OK, you’ve got me there.”
The conversation stayed light and breezy even when Powerbomb was scooping out ice cream for them. All three made constant playful jabs at each other for over an hour before Sophia cleaned the bowls away and Powerbomb stood up to stretch. Caitlin looked sidelong at him.
“Back to the books, kiddo,” he said.
“Aw, dad...”
“Go on,” he said. “I’ve got to get back, and I don’t want you staring at the door after I close it.”
She looked downcast and gave him a forlorn hug. He held her close for a minute and watched her walk slowly back to her room. She smiled sadly at him as the door closed. When the door closed, he moved into the bathroom and changed back into his Guardsman uniform. Sophia was guarding Caitlin’s door when he emerged, and he stood next to the front door. She walked over and hugged him; he gave her a peck on the cheek and smiled.
“I’ll call next time,” he said. “And I’ll have a change of clothes with me.”
“Just don’t skin your knuckles on the way here,” she said.
He nodded and slipped out the door. Hearing it lock behind him, he hesitated on the threshold before walking back towards the elevator.
***
Doom was watching TV with his feet up and a whiskey in the Guardsmen’s lounge, changing channels irritably and cycling through the late-night game shows. He cursed with increasing creativity for each one he came across when Powerbomb walked through the door, looking up fleetingly at the TV before heading for the bookshelf.
“Rough patrol?” asked Doom.
“Not much,” said Powerbomb. “One lowlife. You?”
Doom snorted. “I don’t bother with that. We’re not social workers or cops. We’re out looking for worse than that.”
Powerbomb pulled down a Dumas book and sat down in a brown armchair. “No reason we can’t do a little street cleaning on the side.”
“That takes time,” said Doom dismissively.
“Time that could be spent watching crappy game shows?” asked Powerbomb. “At least beating on pushers is entertaining.”
Doom laughed. “You’ve got a point there.”
“I get that a lot.”
He leafed idly through the pages when Doom switched off the TV and stood up, cracking his knuckles. He finished his glass and opened the bar fridge, pulling out a can of Sprite. “Want anything?” he called.
“Sprite, if there’s any there,” said Powerbomb.
Doom dug around in the back and found a can, tossing it over to him. He caught it deftly and snapped it open, drinking half the can in one shot. Doom sat down on his couch again, picking up a newspaper and flipping through it. “You still working the same end of town?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Still think you’re gonna turn up something there?” chuckled Doom snidely. “You’ve been working it for months, before these heroes even turned up. What the hell are you doing down there?”
“Keeping it clean,” replied Powerbomb. “The people down there know me by now. Word stays constant, that’s my area of town. The heroes hear that, they’re not tempted to come anywhere near it.”
“Alright, so you patrol the one area of town we know the heroes won’t be,” said Doom. “What the hell’s the point of that? And why can’t the rest of us patrol it? Why do we get everywhere else on constant rotation and you keep the same spot?”
Powerbomb’s head snapped up coldly. “The point,” he spat. “I give the people there a bit of faith in us, knowing that we’re there, I’m there, to protect them. God knows they need it, with everything that’s happened over the past few months. As for why I keep that area, ask Data.”
“I did,” shot back Doom. “He told me to worry about my own duties.”
“They why the fuck aren’t you?” snapped Powerbomb. “I patrol the East End. That’s my territory, and you and all the others don’t go there. Deal with it.”
He threw back the rest of his Sprite, crushed the can and hurled it at Doom, who ducked and stared. Before Doom could say anything, Powerbomb stood up and stormed out, tossing his book aside.
***
Powerbomb walked down the street, watching as light rain splashed the pavement. He looked through a bar window at the clock; he was only two blocks away, but it was too late to drop in on Sophia and Caitlin. He wore a thick black coat over his grey uniform but otherwise he didn’t even notice the rain. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he walked around the corner. Word about his argument with Doom had spread and the others had all started asking about his self-proclaimed territory; in the end he’d gone to Data, who had irritably told them all that Powerbomb and he had long since decided he should keep his eyes on the East End, so they should all back off. Mercifully they did, and Powerbomb breathed a sigh of relief. He was amazed enough that Data allowed him to keep his stomping ground, but then he’d been up front with Data when the whole thing had started, and had the feeling Data was impressed and had some measure of respect for him. In any case, Data never spoke directly about Sophia and Caitlin, and simply let Powerbomb do what he wished, which was all Powerbomb wanted. His territory remained untouched, and none of the others dared break Data’s explicit order to stay away unless he deemed it necessary. For now, Powerbomb’s territory was safe.
He spotted a shadow moving down an alleyway and frowned. Another pusher, probably, or else a transient. It wasn’t illegal to be in an alley this late, but it was never a good sign. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and moved after the figure, his coat flapping in the wind. When he turned the corner he spotted the figure about to climb over the fence. Powerbomb walked up behind him and seized him by the shoulder.
“You lost?” he asked warningly, spinning the figure around. They stared at each other for less than a second when Powerbomb saw who it was.
“Motherfu-AAAARGH!”
He dropped to the ground, suddenly feeling like he weighed 20 tons. He bit back a cry of surprise and stared up at the quickly fleeing figure, sprinting back up the alleyway.
“Oh no you fucking don’t!” he snarled.
The pressure on him lasted barely a second, enough for his prey to twist away from him. The minute it lifted he was on his feet, sprinting after the man. In seconds he was upon him, his size already double, and he tackled him to the ground. Rearing up, he smashed the man in the face with his huge fist.
“Fucking hell, Baraxis,” he grunted. “I thought you were smarter than this!”
He dropped his knee into Baraxis’s back and the smaller man cried out in agony. As though responding to his yelp, the gravity dropped onto Powerbomb again and sent him crashing to the ground. He grunted in pain and Baraxis rolled away again, staggering to his feet and moving to run. One gargantuan hand shot out and wrapped around Baraxis’s entire shin, dragging him back. Powerbomb looked utterly livid.
“No you fucking don’t,” he spat, struggling to get up to at least his knees. “Not here. Not here, you fucking bastard! What the fuck are you doing here?! Why are you here?!”
Baraxis didn’t respond, kicking at Powerbomb’s knuckles with his free foot in a vain attempt to free himself. Powerbomb flung him sideways and he crashed into a garbage can, collapsing in a heap to the ground. The gravity lifted off Powerbomb and he stood up again, stalking over towards the injured hero, his fists clenched.
“In my fucking side of town,” he snarled. “On my streets. Are you fucking stupid? Why-the-fuck-are-you-here?!”
He punctuated each syllable with repeated blows to Baraxis, who choked and coughed with every blow. Blood streamed down his face as Powerbomb beat him relentlessly, utter rage overtaking him.
“This is my town!” he roared. “My territory! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
The gravity dropped on him again. Caught offguard, he fell backwards and his head crashed into the wall of the building next to him. Dazed, it took him a minute to realise why his head was in a dark café, and by the time he’d pulled it back out, Baraxis was stumbling up the street in a blind panic. Powerbomb bellowed in rage and leapt after him, closing the distance in a single bound and slamming him to the road. He crushed two parked cars as he did, and the ground spiderwebbed with cracks under the impact. Baraxis groaned, no longer fully aware of his surroundings, and Powerbomb held his face mere inches away.
“WHY ARE YOU IN MY TOWN?!” he thundered.
Baraxis managed to wheeze something at him. “Didn’t...know...you had...territory...”
Powerbomb opened his mouth to howl something else, when Baraxis’s words sank in. “...what?”
Baraxis coughed up some blood and dribbled it onto the pavement. Powerbomb stood there mutely, staring at him, when he realised lights were coming on in all the buildings in the surrounding area. He looked up and stared in shock at the building up the street, paling as he recognised it. His eyes flew wide when he saw the fifth floor was lit up. Instantly, he dragged Baraxis’s limp form into the nearest alley he could and stood there, breathing deeply. He looked back at the area he’d just pursued the hero: wrecked cars, holes in the wall, debris everywhere. He felt a stab of fear as he looked at it all, and then up at the building he had his back to. Too close. Far too close.
Baraxis coughed again, and Powerbomb jumped; he’d almost forgotten the hero lay in a bloody mess at his feet. He was staring up at Powerbomb, battered fear replete across his face. He seemed to exhausted to mount any kind of defence or try to slip away. Powerbomb stared at the man at his feet, feeling a mixture of loathing, disgust and terror, and his mind raced as he thought through the situation. Baraxis had stepped into his territory without realising it, and might have just as easily left it without being any the wiser. He’d made a mistake in coming here, and Powerbomb had made a mistake. In the end it didn’t matter; Powerbomb had to do something with him. He could easily kill him now, and no one would be any the wiser. But just as the thought crossed his mind, he realised he’d have to report it, and the minute he told Data that one of the heroes had been found in the East End, the rest of the Guardsmen would pour in. If he lied and said he’d found Baraxis elsewhere, Data would see through it instantly, and then not only would the Guardsmen run rampant through his streets, they’d likely no longer be his.
If he killed Baraxis and didn’t report it at all, though...that could work. He scowled down at Baraxis and coldly reached for his throat. He got halfway down before his mind screamed something else at him. He might be able to deflect the Guardsmen, but if Baraxis went missing, his friends would come looking for him. Powerbomb hesitated, staring at the hero. He was frozen in that position for a full minute, and all the while Baraxis breathed in ragged gasps as he lay there, staring at the outstretched hand.
Powerbomb looked up at the apartment building again. The lights above were beginning to go out. He looked down at Baraxis and shoved him away with his shoe.
“Get out of here,” he hissed. “Tell your friends not to come here. These are my streets. The East End is my territory. You didn’t know before, but now you do. If I find you here, any of you, make no mistake, I will kill you, and not even the Leader himself will be able to stop me. Understand?”
Baraxis stared at him fearfully, and Powerbomb, feeling the same rage pulsate through him, seized him by the throat.
“I said, do you fucking understand?” he whispered coldly.
Baraxis nodded. Powerbomb released him and kicked him. “Now get out before I throw you out, you little bastard.”
He hauled Baraxis to his feet and shoved him roughly away. Baraxis managed to stagger down the alleyway and out of sight. Powerbomb sat in the alleyway, his head in his hands, as he took a few deep breaths. Even as Baraxis vanished, he felt a stab of regret. He’d let one of them go. One of the top suspects and greatest threats in the city, and Powerbomb had betrayed his boss and let him go. He stood up and kicked a garbage can over in frustration, turning to stumble back out. He swung his fists aimlessly as he walked, trying to clear his head, but when he turned to look up at the darkened apartment building, all of his regrets washed away in the light rain, still sprinkling the ground. The tension in his muscles vanished, and his mind went calm. He was too close. He’d done the right thing. His doubts were gone within seconds.
Unable to smile, but calm enough not to grimace, he walked down the street, welcoming the cold drops of rain on his forehead.
10/24/2011 8:23:35 AM
Comment on this fan fiction!
|
|
|
