INTERLUDETraffic actually isn't too bad this morning, Stephen thinks to himself as his Safeguard armored van rumbles down Hayden Avenue. The streets are relatively clear, particularly for a Tuesday, and the van has been making good progress all morning. At this rate, they may actually complete all of their deliveries on time. As the thought crosses his mind, Stephen unbuttons the front pocket of his dark grey Safeguard uniform and reaches in, feeling his fingers wrap around a slender chain. He gives it a quick tug and produces an antique pocket watch of polished silver. At the press of the hinge, the face of the watch pops open. There, next to the ticking clock face, a tiny picture of Stephen's wife, Amanda, has been laid on the inside of the case. Stephen smiles to himself as he looks at it, then closes the case and returns the watch to his pocket.
"Very nice," Stephen's coworker, Stan, announces from behind the wheel of the vehicle. He turns his head slightly, giving a slight nod in Stephen's direction as he asks, "That new?"
Stephen nods. "Yeah," he replies, "it's a birthday present from the missus." He closes the button on his front pocket and turns his attention back to the road.
Stan smiles behind a bushy mustache. "My old man had one just like it," he explains as he gives a quick scratch behind his ear. After a laugh, he adds, "He used to carry that thing
everywhere, and yet the man was still always late." As Stan launches into a story about the one time his father was late to his sister's wedding, the Safeguard van rolls through a succession of green lights. 22nd Street, 23rd Street, 24th Street. The two men are so distracted by their conversation that they think little of it, just a spot of good luck. The traffic around them slowly thins out, but this too goes unnoticed. Stan is just reaching the punchline of his story as the van passes the intersection of Hayden and 26th. Unbeknownst to both men, a set of explosive charges beneath the asphalt is silently ticking down their arrival. Stan finishes with a guffaw, "... and no one had the heart to tell him that he was at the wrong reception!" The van rolls into position as the charges tick their last...
BOOOOOOM!A row of controlled explosions fans out in a straight line in front of the vehicle, causing the roadway to slump forward under the weight of the van. The two men are nearly thrown from their seats as the van lurches down into the newly-created ditch. Stan slams against the steering wheel, sending out a violent "HONK!", as Stephen crashes against the dashboard. The wheels squeal for a moment, seeking traction, until Stan takes his foot off the pedal and the vehicle comes to a full stop. Looking up as a thin line of blood begins to trickle down his head, Stephen gasps, "What the hell?!" Through the cracked windshield, the two men can see dark silhouettes striding towards the car. Instinctively, Stephen clasps for the gun at his side, but his movements are clunky and disoriented; he fumbles with the holster snap, struggling to wiggle his weapon free.
The figures appear on either side of the van, dressed in all black save for the round, white masks they wear. Each is toting a submachine gun under one arm, furthering Stephen's panicked attempt to draw his sidearm. As the figures approach the vehicle, they reach out and place metal devices on the outside of the two doors. Instantly, the doors lock shut. Stephen and Stan each scramble to unlock their respective door, but the latches are unresponsive. Before either Safeguard employee can make sense of what's happening, a third figure steps into view through the cracked glass.
"Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen," the man announces loudly enough to be heard from outside the van.
"This will take but a moment of your time." Two more black figures flank the new arrival, and he gives them a curt nod. They disappear out of sight behind the van.
"Quickly now, men," the ringleader instructs,
"We have ninety seconds until the police arrive." A moment later, yet another explosion -- smaller than the rest -- rocks the tilted van. The sound of footsteps clamoring into the back of the vehicle can be heard from the passenger cabin. The robbery has begun.
* * *
Let's get one thing straight: I am
not a morning person. My sister Victoria? She's a total morning person, and it always bugged the hell out of me. I value my sleep, even moreso now that I'm getting weekly superhero workouts. Unfortunately, I don't always get the final say in my schedule, which is why I wound up stuck with an 8:30 AM class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (Just... don't even get me started.) Luckily, the one thing I can say in my defense is that generally once I'm up, I'm awake. Which is why, following the conclusion of said 8:30 class, I decided to go on a quick patrol around the city. Truth be told, it's not even about catching bad guys as much as it is getting to stretch my legs. There is no greater high than getting to experience Lost Haven from twenty stories up. In the time since I kissed any semblance of a normal life goodbye, the city has become my own personal playground to explore.
And yeah, sometimes I get to catch bad guys.
BOOOOOOM!Speaking of...
At the sound of the explosion, I immediately pivot and change direction. I've gotten pretty good at pinpointing the direction of sounds in this city, if I do say so myself, and that one wasn't very far away at all. Landing on the pad of my foot, I springboard towards the sound of danger, clearing a small tenement building and landing on a gravel-covered roof. I tuck into a roll and launch myself over the edge of the building. As the sidewalk races up to meet me, I reach out for a stray flagpole and swing myself around again. At the peak of my jump, I stare up at the bright blue sky. Seconds later, I'm tumbling back down to Earth, just around the corner from where the explosion originated. I catch the edge of a rusty fire escape and launch myself around that corner, landing lightly atop a lamppost.
Just a few yards away, an armored truck has sank into the street. It's surrounded on all sides by men in black bodysuits. The back door has been blown clean off, and there are more men inside looting the helpless truck. That's when I spot the man in charge: a surprisingly well-dressed gentleman holding a shield in the shape of a clock and what appears to be an over-sized clock hand. I guess I don't have to ask what
this guy's "theme" is. Ah well, who am I to criticize someone for being a little flamboyant? I am wearing green spandex, after all. Clearing my throat, I call out,
"You know, it might've been simpler to stop at an ATM."The ringleader looks up at me.
"Mantis," he sneers.
"Clock... guy," I answer back uncertainly.
"Call me the Minuteman," he answers,
"though I'm afraid we don't have time for a proper introduction. Second Hands, deal with the interloper!"As soon as the Minuteman gives the order, his lackeys raise their guns at me. I've found that if you have enough guns pointed at you, you start to get pretty good at reacting to it. Given the sheer numbers going against me, I decide that I'm better off trying to evade rather than trusting my exoskeleton to protect me. With a spring-loaded jump, I send myself twisting through the air as the hailfire of bullets rains upon my abandoned perch. I size up the Minuteman's forces at the peak of my jump, counting at least five armed men. I'll have to dispatch them quickly before any of them get a lucky shot on me -- or worse, hit a bystander with a stray shot. Landing on the far side of the street from the armored van, I immediately roll behind a parked car. Bullets tear through glass and metal overhead.
Quickly shielding my head with exoskeletal armor, I sneak a peek around the fender of my hiding spot. There are three Second Hands facing me with a bead on my position. They open fire as soon as I pop my head out, and it's all I can do to get back behind cover in time. A plan occurs to me, but I feel bad about doing it. With a glance at the car behind me, I think,
Hope you've got good insurance, pal. I turn around and press both palms against the car, giving it a good strong push. The car slides across the street behind my strength, and I keep pushing until I've pinned one of the three Second Hands against the side of the armored vehicle. Darting out from behind my cover, I bounce up from underneath the next assailant, knocking his gun away before he can react. I throw an armored arm around his neck and spin him around to serve as a body shield from the third shooter.
"Times up," I tell the Second Hand as he hesitates. I hold out my palm and fire a single stinger blast, catching him in the hand. He yelps and drops his gun, so I sweep the legs out from underneath my body shield and pounce at the disarmed shooter. With a sharp cross to the temple, I relieve him of consciousness and nearly knock the clock-shaped mask off his face. A quick glance at the ground reveals the shadow of an approaching Second Hand. I raise my armor and turn the corner of the truck, bull-rushing him. As I tackle him to the ground, bullets from the other remaining lackey bounce and chip off my exoskeleton. The more direct shots feel a bit like taking a sledgehammer to the back, but it sure beats a gunshot wound. I knock out the Second Hand in my arms and leap fist-first at the last man standing. He hits the ground at the same time as his gun.
Lowering my armor, I glance around, but the Minuteman is nowhere to be seen. Figures. Use the henchmen as a distraction to make your escape. He was traveling on foot, though, so he couldn't have gotten far. Now, if I were a time-based villain trying to make my narrow escape, where would I... ? My eyes fall upon a nearby subway entrance, and I get that feeling in my gut.
Of course. Before leaving the scene, I rip the van's door off its hinges, freeing the driver and the guard trapped in the cabin. They begin to thank me profusely, but I have to dart if I'm going to catch the Minuteman in time. Bounding down the stairs toward the subway station, I pass a group of curious onlookers.
"Hey, did you guys happen to see--?" Before I can finish, they point towards the right. I nod appreciatively.
"Thanks."The platform is all but abandoned, save for the Minuteman. He turns upon hearing my footsteps.
"Miss your train?" I ask.
He raises his clock-shaped sword and shield.
"There will be another." With surprising quickness, he lunges at me. I'm only able to cover my arm from the elbow down in time, but it's enough to catch the end of his unique sword. I try to fire off a quick stinger with my free hand, but he anticipates and deflects it with his shield. Following through on the motion, he bashes at me with the shield, catching me cleanly in the solar plexus. I stumble back, gasping for air, as he brings his sword around. Luckily, raising my armor has almost become second-nature, and I'm able to get it up in time. The sword clangs against my shoulder, and I swear I feel it nearly dislocate. This time, I grab onto his sword before he can pull it away. I give it a quick yank and pull him into my waiting fist. He tumbles away, quickly recovering.
"So, what's your story, then?" I ask between short breaths.
"Disgruntled clock maker? Holding a stopwatch when you were struck by lightning?"The fabric of his mask tightens as the face beneath smirks.
"Stalling until the police arrive. Clever. Unfortunately, you are out of time, Mantis." There's a screech echoing down the tunnel, and a bright light appears. Minuteman throws himself at me once more with renewed vigor. Again, I armor myself, but he's ready for it this time. With a deft spin of his wrist, Minuteman brings the sharpened edge of his clock hand around to bear on me, catching the intersection between two exoskeletal plates. I wince as I feel it bite into flesh, and Minuteman smashes me over the head with his shield. The moment I lose my balance is all he needs. Minuteman takes a running head start and leaps across the platforms mere moments before the train pulls through. Hand on my side, I race to the edge of the platform, but there's nothing I can do. The ceiling is too low to jump over the train. By the time it passes, the Minuteman is long gone.
I take my hand off my side and look at the cut. It's not all that deep, should heal in less than a day. Still, I should get back and patch it up before my next class of the day. The Minuteman may have escaped, but the police are surely picking up his Second Hands as we speak. For my money, I'll count that as a win.
Theyra,
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Sep,
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