Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Ebon has some new tricks up his sleeve, but they are not friendly at all...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.6K | Visits: 697 | Status: Completed
Ebon has some new tricks up his sleeve, but they are not friendly at all...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.6K | Visits: 697 | Status: Completed
Right Here
Chapter Two
The Second Big Bang had occurred over six months ago–since that fight with the combined metahumans that were Ebon and Hotstreak, Bang Baby activities had dropped. The cure had been forced onto those that were unfortunate or fortunate enough to be caught by the authorities. Dakota’s normal crime rate and various other associated activity had continued in the usual forms–gang fights, homicides, kidnaping, sexual crimes, drug and alcohol related violence...the two superheroes found themselves getting involved with the more basic crime fighting than the fast paced fights with the bigger players in crime.
They had chosen this route because they had delved into it, before–but not with the serious depth that they played with now. Dakota’s Police Department preferred that they stayed out of their playground–but with lack of Bang Babies, and for the fact that Static and Gear were useful when they needed to be, they were legally allowed certain measures.
The Second Big Bang had touched only a select few within the community that night. A new Bang Baby popped up here and there with a new surprise, but the excitement factor had long since dropped.
Along with their participation that night, Static and Gear found themselves with an upgrade of their abilities–it had been an adventure in itself for the pair to adjust to their elevated levels of superhuman powers. For nearly a week, Virgil Hawkins was unable to control the electricity that constantly short-circuited anything within a mile radius of his body–causing many humiliating incidents involving stop lights, anything powered by electricity and a frightening amount of static cling. Robert Hawkins had been quite understandable at this point–to save Dakota the cost of pricey repairs for the things Static had accidently caused, he sent Virgil to the country with Sharon and Adam. It had helped out considerably, this break from the city, and Virgil had learned to rein in what had been amped by the inhalation of the gas.
Since his powers were out of control, Sharon was filled in on what her baby brother had been up to in the last four years. She was not happy when she found out–but she’d adjusted.
Richie had some trouble as well, tagging along for the ride as he normally did–for the same amount of time, his brain grew overwhelmed with the constant information that swept through him; this overload brought to him an incompatibility to resume normal human functions as the constant stream of data continued to flow through his brain. While literally able to pinpoint and understand relative human emotion and interaction as basic standpoints at a peripheral sense, he himself was not able to relate. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning off his human abilities and completely rendering him useless. He was able to operate at a command, but nothing more. It wasn’t until Virgil managed to make it clear to him that perhaps a slight cure of his own creation would tone down these abilities.
For the most point, it had worked. It had been a startling scare, though, for both Richie and Virgil–for nearly a week, Richie had been a basic zombie, incapable of making his own decisions and meeting basic human needs unless prompted with a command. Due to his own ‘cure’, the genius level of his IQ had dropped slightly in order for him to operate on his own–but he was more than disappointed that he hadn’t been granted with more ‘flashier’ powers.
It was nearly three months later when the crime rate suddenly spiked, and it was all at the cause of one person–Ebon.
It was brought to notice that with his upgrade brought more force on the more basic human level–his control over his human gang had been lifted several notches. More people were afraid of him or respected him, and often outdid their selves in showing their loyalty and faith toward his thoughts and views. The increase of Ebon’s metahuman powers had simply stepped up what he’d been doing before----recruiting; smuggling and spreading; intimidating and killing. People were afraid of what he was able to do, and followed him and his minions blindly.
While Dakota was slowly climbing toward the high alert status that had taken over during the riots, with Ebon’s gang inspiring enough fear in peoples’ safety, Static and Gear were doing their best to break up what they could. But in the end, it wasn’t a simple matter of muscle and brain–it was turning into a battle of morals and values.
Gangs formed for reasons–power, comfort, stability and increased need to prove authority wrong. And Ebon provided all of the above and more.
It was a hard struggle. Some nights, the pair found themselves wishing that more Bang Babies had been produced.
As for Hotstreak, the effect was almost the opposite. He still reined control over his Five Alarm Crew, and his powers had been amped as well. While he still proved to be a thorn in Ebon’s side from time to time–disrupting shipments, taking out key members, challenging Ebon’s control and power–he simply wasn’t Ebon’s match or rival. He wasn’t interested in pulling a complete overhaul of authority–he was mainly concerned with what he had going on here and now. He did focus on drugs and alcohol, and many petty crimes–but he still retained his own set of morals and values that kept him from completely rivaling Ebon. He was still a menace on the streets–throwing tantrums, stealing cars that didn’t belong to him, terrorizing various passerby that were unlucky enough to get caught up in his section of the city–but he just wasn’t on the same level as Ebon.
He most often used fires as a distraction to commit other things, and while he had the heroes and most of the emergency crews on the chase, he was pulling another crime.
Alongside the fire ability was the power to produce massive amounts of heat–he was able to focus on a single area and produce rising temperatures that melted most metals. He proved menace enough with robberies and his own drug-trafficking, but his threat wasn’t as monumental as Ebon’s. He was more of a public disturbance than a threat to life.
The other Bang Babies began dwindling in their individual efforts as terrorists; they found themselves either teaming with Ebon, or defending themselves against his intimidation efforts. With Hotstreak, they just hoped that they didn’t piss him off in some way.
There came a focal point with all the resulting activities in which the city questioned Static and Gear’s efforts. Mainly, their usefulness.
As they performed their patrols and brought to justice the criminals they were able to apprehend, it became obvious that the city was losing their faith in them.
With all the issues that rose with the city, Ebon, and moralistic generals in value, the two found themselves steadily overtaken. Adding to it all were the realities of their own personal futures. They were in their senior year of high school, and SATs, college options and basic real life activities were wearing them thin. They, in order to concentrate on graduation and options beyond high school, had to cut down on their patrolling. And when they did patrol...they often came home disappointed and overwhelmed.
Some nights were better than others–others...well...
Richie Foley wished that all nights were won with the effort he put into his work.
Tonight had been slow–the weather had contributed to the drop of activity. Staring up at the clouds that swept overhead, which were threatening to snow once more, he repressed the urge to just pack up and head home. He was sitting on the slim ledge of a bank company’s rooftop, his feet dangling over the street nearly eight stories below. He was dressed for the cold–he wore his usual uniform, but had added a formulated turtleneck that covered his bare arms, keeping him warm without the bulk of a jacket and scarf. He’d copied the design from Under Armor material, and had stretched the same protective Kevlar material within the shirt to provide the same amount of protection that the rest of his uniform gave.
It wasn’t much of a difference, but it kept him warm. He was feeling rather confident, at the moment, in that even as he sat here motionless, he wouldn’t feel the sharp chill in the air.
The information that streamed down the interface of his visor alerted him that the police were heading over for an investigation of a homicide down near the docks. He wasn’t sure if he were needed–dead bodies weren’t his thing, really.
He grimaced at the remembrance of the most recent of bodies he’d come across, and was relieved that Virgil hadn’t seen it. The teen hated guns, and everything that came with it. It was hard for him to enter a scene where everyone was armed, but the recent upgrade of his powers gave him a fresh step of confidence that he used in disarming everyone.
It wasn’t that Static and Gear were called to every police directed incident–they popped into scenes that were either close by, or were still crawling with perps. This recent incident had been a simple bar fight, and had ended in tragedy by the time Gear himself arrived to see what he could do.
He felt bad that he and Static couldn’t stop everything–couldn’t prevent every death and crime that occurred–frankly, he found himself questioning the whys and the how comes of their involvement, further doubting their role in the city.
He sighed as he lowered his head, frowning at the streets below. Things were shifting tumultuously from the easiness of Bang Baby activity to things completely beyond their control, and the frustration of it all was that while he and Static had the power to stop some things–they weren’t Gods. They couldn’t stop everything–and while people lost faith in them, they were losing faith in themselves.
One of the things that were also adding to their troubles was an incident that popped up from time to time, something that had set itself between them and their friendship–over a confusing course of actions, Richie Foley had fallen in love with one of their common ground enemies–Hotstreak.
It had been an entirely unexpected thing between them both–neither had been prepared. Neither had even given thought toward the other that way. But over a course of events, the two found a relative ground and comfort with each other that was truly forbidden in the eyes of society and their peers. Confusing feelings were explored and tentatively expressed, but it all remained the same no matter what came to be–they just could not be together. Simply put–Richie was the superhero. Hotstreak was the villain. Once their peers found out what the truth was between them, both could be used against the other.
It had been a bittersweet romance–for Hotstreak, with all his gruffness and violent exterior, had been caring and momentarily defenseless with Richie. And Richie himself felt safe, needed, and secure with him in ways that he hadn’t with another person, before. Sure, he found some sort of net with Virgil Hawkins, his best friend for over a decade, but it wasn’t the sort of solace that he’d found with Hotstreak.
After their last meeting outside the school grounds over a year ago, they’d seen each other only as enemies–both of them careful not to reveal their true emotions toward each other. They traded insults and injuries as they had before...
But there were stolen moments that were far and few between...when they were sure no one knew and when they were desperate for contact from the other...
He could count the times on one hand in which he’d spoken more than insults with the older male; one time being right after the Second Big Bang. A chance encounter that was nothing more than a quick Are-You-Okay?, and a hurried embrace. He was then called away by more pressing superhero matters, and after that...nothing. It was a giant ache, really, to know that he’d never really have a chance to be happy with this forbidden love.
His first love had been Virgil–but Virgil was straight and happily so. He’d accepted that and had learned to move on, and when he had–Francis Stone had just been another love that was impossible to fully embrace.
Because while Virgil accepted him and his preferences, Virgil Hawkins would not accept Francis Stone. And Richie fully understood–Francis Stone had made Virgil’s life hell. Day in and day out, the older male would bully Virgil until one day, V had decided he’d had enough. He fully intended to shoot him, but his good conscience had won over. That was the night of the Big Bang.
The two always had conflict–and Richie could think of only one time when they’d set aside their differences to work together, and that was the situation on Alva’s island. Even then, the two bristled and scathed, and Richie had the sense of mind to admit that they’d never get along. He didn’t try to change their minds about each other–he respected their differences, but it always hurt whenever Virgil made flippant remarks about how Hotstreak was going to screw him over, and how Hotstreak made degrading comments on Virgil.
He didn’t try to enter their name-games–he merely knew that he couldn’t change what was already set. And he certainly couldn’t change the way he felt about Hotstreak.
He sighed in dejection over his social life, feeling his shoulders slump heavily. As he stared down at the traffic that flowed slowly through the recently plowed streets, he became aware of screams coming from nearby. He lifted his head, squinting as he located the source of those screams. A woman was being accosted, from the sounds of it. He could stop that.
He rose from the ledge, and activated his skates. Backpack was already providing limited details on what it could discern, and Gear himself went over what was being broadcasted. A single woman, possibly intoxicated, against two men that were completely sober. They were on a rooftop nearby, atop of a ten story that was popular for offices of inconsequential usage.
The sound of his arrival startled the three, and he immediately eyed the two men that separated themselves from the single woman. The rooftop was covered with gravel, and fitted with a water tower and a storage station for the occupants of the building. It provided ample space for him to maneuver, and was too open for the two men to really escape.
Everyone was dressed for the winter, and so he didn’t recognize their faces as he descended, keeping himself between the woman and the two men.
“Sheesh, is it really hard for you two to understand what ‘no’ means?” he asked in irritation, already planning on making this stop his last for the night. “Make it easy, and hold still–”
Backpack gave a warning, and he turned in surprise, hearing the metallic click of a safety being disengaged ring through the air.
The woman was holding a gun before her, her eyes narrowed as she kept him in sights.
It wasn’t the first time this sort of act was pulled–and Gear was mainly irritated. So many thugs in the city wanted to prove themselves, and they commonly set up traps for him and Static to play with. This was, apparently, one of those traps.
She was wearing a JLo labeled newsboy cap that was set sideways atop of bright red hair–her face was half covered by a nondescript scarf, and her thin frame was bundled up with a puffy jacket and dark blue jeans. But when he recognized the wide, almost vicious glare that her eyes held for him, he felt something dark dribble across his stomach.
“Theresa,” he said in easy greeting, glancing back at the two men that were throwing off awkward jackets and hats. “Kangorr–sorry, never learned your real name–and Shiv. Isn’t it too cold for you three to be out?”
“A little frost ain’t enough to shut us down!” Shiv exclaimed, his fingers flicking upward, conjuring up shuriken. The manic male had been there at the Second Big Bang–but Gear hadn’t really known just how much of his abilities had expanded. Shiv had almost dropped out of his radar due to his inactivity. He popped up here and there, but he really wasn’t walking around with the rest of the trouble makers. It was surprising to see him, tonight. It had been awhile.
“Besides, we were kinda wonderin’ if you were up for a snowball fight?” Shiv continued with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“There are more polite ways to ask,” Gear said with an annoyed drawl. The three had the advantage, but since the upgrade of his genius, so was the upgrade on Backpack. His precious creation could take two of these guys out easily–Backpack sometimes made up for the lack of Static. He wasn’t worried.
Kangorr had a Beretta aimed at him, and his features were bored, at best.
Theresa and Kangorr had been subjected to the cure–Theresa, twice. Both were normal humans, and as with normal humans that were trying to clean themselves up from the crimes they’d committed, were currently on edge with both authorities and acceptance of their peers. Gear had learned that Theresa’s ‘loving’ family had turned against her–she found herself walking right back to Ebon, for the security of an environment that would accept her. Same for Kangorr.
Both were desperate to continue to prove their worth to the Bang Baby overlord–both were ruthless and ready to strike.
Shiv...well...Shiv was Shiv. His loyalty was never questioned.
Gear relaxed, and slowly brought up his hands. He was confident that if he were shot–his uniform would take the impact. Oh, he’d be bruised–but at least not dead.
“No tricks, funny guy!” Shiv snarled, ready to let loose with the glowing stars. “Or we bust you up!”
“Can I at least–?”
“NO!”
“Just stay still, mon, an’ t’ings go down easy,” Kangorr muttered, withdrawing a cellphone from his pocket. He watched Gear with a steady expression as he pulled the phone to his ear, the Beretta trained unwaveringly on the teen. “We got ‘im. ‘Xactly where you said. Right.”
“Am I the guest of honor somewhere? Hey, why don’t we wait for Static? He’s more than capable of keeping up polite dinner conversation...”
“Shut the fuck up, man!” Theresa finally snapped, walking to a point just beyond Gear’s peripheral vision. Backpack was ready to strike–it just needed the command. Her heavily accented voice then lowered to an annoyed snarl. “We don’t wanna hear your stupid bullshit!”
“Isn’t she vicious?” Shiv asked, grinning as he glanced over at his partner. “I kinda wanna be like her when I grow up. She’s all the man I’ll never be!”
“Shut up, Shiv!”
Kangorr had put his cell away, and gestured at Gear with the gun. “Walk dis way.”
“...There are so many things I can refer to with that simple sentence...”
“Den don’t say ‘em at all. Get.”
“I’m gettin’, I’m gettin’. Say...but what about him?”
“Who?”
“Him!”< br>
Backpack released a retractable arm that shot out from the side lining, striking at Theresa before she even realized what was going on. The gun was snatched out of her hands as Gear pushed himself up into the air, narrowly avoiding the repeated gunshots Kangorr fired at him. As Shiv hurriedly danced backward, ready to release the shuriken he had in both hands, Gear noticed that Kangorr could have hit him easily–but his shots were deliberately off.
Something to think about later, he thought as Backpack disabled Theresa’s gun with a quick laser up the middle, sending the gun back down onto the gravel below in halves.
Shiv released the shuriken with a cheerful yelp–Gear dodged those easily, already flicking a zap cap from his belt, noting the contents before readying to throw.
Suddenly, Shiv, Kangorr and Theresa disappeared from his sight–as well as the rooftop and Dakota’s bright lights. Blinking in confusion, Gear hesitated in throwing blind as a stream of information drizzled across his vision, alerting him to a new form of metahuman power. Puzzled, as the mechanics of shadow revealed no sense of perceptibility and general definition, he pulled his arm in. Backpack suddenly lashed out with its own defense, its arms flying toward danger that it detected within its own perception. As the continued information streamed across his visor, Gear understood that a Bang Baby (he had no doubt to who it was) was very nearby.
He was jerked around violently, his head whipping around to see that Backpack’s arms were caught within inky blackness, and it was trying to disengage from contact with the mass of black. Gear was confused as he struggled to get out of the mess, his equipment registering momentous danger around all angles.
Backpack continued to relay more information about the darkness it was trying to fight, and the more information streamlined over his vision, the more he realized that he didn’t know that much about Ebon’s powers as he previously thought. The Bang Baby had gained strength and extended abilities over the inky blackness of the shadows, rendering them completely substantial at his command.
He had a vague theory that instead of making the shadows substantial, perhaps it was a mild form of telekinesis...
He jerked around, giving the mental command for Backpack to disengage, and felt rather than witnessed the arms that retracted within the paneling. Gear tugged a cap from his belt, looking for the focal point of energy that Ebon was using to distort his form. If he could just–
Backpack suddenly renewed its efforts, and he felt himself jerked harshly about as he felt something solid creep between his back and his creation. The press over his uniform told him that it had been hands that forced the gap between them----one hand to press at his natural arch, and the other to push at the metal that rested comfortably there.
And then the familiar ten pound weight was missing–the emptiness over his shoulders and around his waist confused him for a mere second.
He whirled around, his head jerking to peer behind him–Backpack was completely missing, and the darkness revealed nothing of its presence as his eyes widened with stupefied horror. How did that happen–?
With the disappearance of his creation, the information ceased across his visor, and he stared, in confusion, at the darkness around him.
Heavy, unnatural weight slammed across his shoulders, and he grit his teeth at the impact. It was almost as if someone were hitting him–
He powered up the juice in his skates to push against the second impact, and grunted with the effort it took just to maintain his position in the air. The darkness converged around him, and once again knocked him downwards. Every instinct told him that he’d just entered a terrible situation, and he once again searched for the focal point of Ebon’s energy in order to activate the voltage of electricity in his zap cap.
He made harsh impact against the gravel of the rooftop–at least he wasn’t knocked into the open air of the street. Impact raced up his legs and settled at his knees, and he crouched for a few moments, ready to throw the cap in a random direction.
And then that was missing as well. The weight was there, and in the next second...it wasn’t. He stared down at his hand in surprise, then looked down to see an inky strand of darkness creeping around his waist. One by one, his caps were disappearing.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, fumbling through the strand to try and at least pilfer one of them back. He looked up wildly to see what else was going on, and what he saw made him rise to his feet.
The shadows were shifting–Gear suddenly realized that Ebon was making them into tangible walls. All light from the city disappeared as the darkness completely overtook him, cutting off sight as a small cell would. The air tasted stale and thick as he felt his breathing take a panicked hitch. It was still cold, though. He could still feel the cold.
With flitters of curiosity and disbelief flashing over his hidden features, he reached out and placed the flat of his gloved hand against one of the walls. Fingers spread, he felt the pit of his stomach drop as he realized the physical consistency of Ebon’s new trick. The wall was solid and unmoving as he applied pressure to it–it gave him the impression that it was thin, easily breakable, but judging from the force that he applied to his push, it was definitely stronger than it looked. Both hands were placed on that wall, and he pushed at it with all his strength as Ebon chuckled.
Hairs on the back of his neck and arms rose as a severe chill shot down his spine–the sound was ugly; low, tinged with satisfaction. Panic fluttered around his vision as he tested each wall, pushing to search for a breaking point that would allow his freedom.
“Not good,” he whispered to himself, stepping back as he took in the surrounding darkness with a panicked expression.
“Scared, now?” The Bang Baby’s voice was tinged with satisfaction. It had always been gravelly, menacing and thick with challenge, but right now–it sounded damn satanic.
Chapter Two
The Second Big Bang had occurred over six months ago–since that fight with the combined metahumans that were Ebon and Hotstreak, Bang Baby activities had dropped. The cure had been forced onto those that were unfortunate or fortunate enough to be caught by the authorities. Dakota’s normal crime rate and various other associated activity had continued in the usual forms–gang fights, homicides, kidnaping, sexual crimes, drug and alcohol related violence...the two superheroes found themselves getting involved with the more basic crime fighting than the fast paced fights with the bigger players in crime.
They had chosen this route because they had delved into it, before–but not with the serious depth that they played with now. Dakota’s Police Department preferred that they stayed out of their playground–but with lack of Bang Babies, and for the fact that Static and Gear were useful when they needed to be, they were legally allowed certain measures.
The Second Big Bang had touched only a select few within the community that night. A new Bang Baby popped up here and there with a new surprise, but the excitement factor had long since dropped.
Along with their participation that night, Static and Gear found themselves with an upgrade of their abilities–it had been an adventure in itself for the pair to adjust to their elevated levels of superhuman powers. For nearly a week, Virgil Hawkins was unable to control the electricity that constantly short-circuited anything within a mile radius of his body–causing many humiliating incidents involving stop lights, anything powered by electricity and a frightening amount of static cling. Robert Hawkins had been quite understandable at this point–to save Dakota the cost of pricey repairs for the things Static had accidently caused, he sent Virgil to the country with Sharon and Adam. It had helped out considerably, this break from the city, and Virgil had learned to rein in what had been amped by the inhalation of the gas.
Since his powers were out of control, Sharon was filled in on what her baby brother had been up to in the last four years. She was not happy when she found out–but she’d adjusted.
Richie had some trouble as well, tagging along for the ride as he normally did–for the same amount of time, his brain grew overwhelmed with the constant information that swept through him; this overload brought to him an incompatibility to resume normal human functions as the constant stream of data continued to flow through his brain. While literally able to pinpoint and understand relative human emotion and interaction as basic standpoints at a peripheral sense, he himself was not able to relate. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning off his human abilities and completely rendering him useless. He was able to operate at a command, but nothing more. It wasn’t until Virgil managed to make it clear to him that perhaps a slight cure of his own creation would tone down these abilities.
For the most point, it had worked. It had been a startling scare, though, for both Richie and Virgil–for nearly a week, Richie had been a basic zombie, incapable of making his own decisions and meeting basic human needs unless prompted with a command. Due to his own ‘cure’, the genius level of his IQ had dropped slightly in order for him to operate on his own–but he was more than disappointed that he hadn’t been granted with more ‘flashier’ powers.
It was nearly three months later when the crime rate suddenly spiked, and it was all at the cause of one person–Ebon.
It was brought to notice that with his upgrade brought more force on the more basic human level–his control over his human gang had been lifted several notches. More people were afraid of him or respected him, and often outdid their selves in showing their loyalty and faith toward his thoughts and views. The increase of Ebon’s metahuman powers had simply stepped up what he’d been doing before----recruiting; smuggling and spreading; intimidating and killing. People were afraid of what he was able to do, and followed him and his minions blindly.
While Dakota was slowly climbing toward the high alert status that had taken over during the riots, with Ebon’s gang inspiring enough fear in peoples’ safety, Static and Gear were doing their best to break up what they could. But in the end, it wasn’t a simple matter of muscle and brain–it was turning into a battle of morals and values.
Gangs formed for reasons–power, comfort, stability and increased need to prove authority wrong. And Ebon provided all of the above and more.
It was a hard struggle. Some nights, the pair found themselves wishing that more Bang Babies had been produced.
As for Hotstreak, the effect was almost the opposite. He still reined control over his Five Alarm Crew, and his powers had been amped as well. While he still proved to be a thorn in Ebon’s side from time to time–disrupting shipments, taking out key members, challenging Ebon’s control and power–he simply wasn’t Ebon’s match or rival. He wasn’t interested in pulling a complete overhaul of authority–he was mainly concerned with what he had going on here and now. He did focus on drugs and alcohol, and many petty crimes–but he still retained his own set of morals and values that kept him from completely rivaling Ebon. He was still a menace on the streets–throwing tantrums, stealing cars that didn’t belong to him, terrorizing various passerby that were unlucky enough to get caught up in his section of the city–but he just wasn’t on the same level as Ebon.
He most often used fires as a distraction to commit other things, and while he had the heroes and most of the emergency crews on the chase, he was pulling another crime.
Alongside the fire ability was the power to produce massive amounts of heat–he was able to focus on a single area and produce rising temperatures that melted most metals. He proved menace enough with robberies and his own drug-trafficking, but his threat wasn’t as monumental as Ebon’s. He was more of a public disturbance than a threat to life.
The other Bang Babies began dwindling in their individual efforts as terrorists; they found themselves either teaming with Ebon, or defending themselves against his intimidation efforts. With Hotstreak, they just hoped that they didn’t piss him off in some way.
There came a focal point with all the resulting activities in which the city questioned Static and Gear’s efforts. Mainly, their usefulness.
As they performed their patrols and brought to justice the criminals they were able to apprehend, it became obvious that the city was losing their faith in them.
With all the issues that rose with the city, Ebon, and moralistic generals in value, the two found themselves steadily overtaken. Adding to it all were the realities of their own personal futures. They were in their senior year of high school, and SATs, college options and basic real life activities were wearing them thin. They, in order to concentrate on graduation and options beyond high school, had to cut down on their patrolling. And when they did patrol...they often came home disappointed and overwhelmed.
Some nights were better than others–others...well...
Richie Foley wished that all nights were won with the effort he put into his work.
Tonight had been slow–the weather had contributed to the drop of activity. Staring up at the clouds that swept overhead, which were threatening to snow once more, he repressed the urge to just pack up and head home. He was sitting on the slim ledge of a bank company’s rooftop, his feet dangling over the street nearly eight stories below. He was dressed for the cold–he wore his usual uniform, but had added a formulated turtleneck that covered his bare arms, keeping him warm without the bulk of a jacket and scarf. He’d copied the design from Under Armor material, and had stretched the same protective Kevlar material within the shirt to provide the same amount of protection that the rest of his uniform gave.
It wasn’t much of a difference, but it kept him warm. He was feeling rather confident, at the moment, in that even as he sat here motionless, he wouldn’t feel the sharp chill in the air.
The information that streamed down the interface of his visor alerted him that the police were heading over for an investigation of a homicide down near the docks. He wasn’t sure if he were needed–dead bodies weren’t his thing, really.
He grimaced at the remembrance of the most recent of bodies he’d come across, and was relieved that Virgil hadn’t seen it. The teen hated guns, and everything that came with it. It was hard for him to enter a scene where everyone was armed, but the recent upgrade of his powers gave him a fresh step of confidence that he used in disarming everyone.
It wasn’t that Static and Gear were called to every police directed incident–they popped into scenes that were either close by, or were still crawling with perps. This recent incident had been a simple bar fight, and had ended in tragedy by the time Gear himself arrived to see what he could do.
He felt bad that he and Static couldn’t stop everything–couldn’t prevent every death and crime that occurred–frankly, he found himself questioning the whys and the how comes of their involvement, further doubting their role in the city.
He sighed as he lowered his head, frowning at the streets below. Things were shifting tumultuously from the easiness of Bang Baby activity to things completely beyond their control, and the frustration of it all was that while he and Static had the power to stop some things–they weren’t Gods. They couldn’t stop everything–and while people lost faith in them, they were losing faith in themselves.
One of the things that were also adding to their troubles was an incident that popped up from time to time, something that had set itself between them and their friendship–over a confusing course of actions, Richie Foley had fallen in love with one of their common ground enemies–Hotstreak.
It had been an entirely unexpected thing between them both–neither had been prepared. Neither had even given thought toward the other that way. But over a course of events, the two found a relative ground and comfort with each other that was truly forbidden in the eyes of society and their peers. Confusing feelings were explored and tentatively expressed, but it all remained the same no matter what came to be–they just could not be together. Simply put–Richie was the superhero. Hotstreak was the villain. Once their peers found out what the truth was between them, both could be used against the other.
It had been a bittersweet romance–for Hotstreak, with all his gruffness and violent exterior, had been caring and momentarily defenseless with Richie. And Richie himself felt safe, needed, and secure with him in ways that he hadn’t with another person, before. Sure, he found some sort of net with Virgil Hawkins, his best friend for over a decade, but it wasn’t the sort of solace that he’d found with Hotstreak.
After their last meeting outside the school grounds over a year ago, they’d seen each other only as enemies–both of them careful not to reveal their true emotions toward each other. They traded insults and injuries as they had before...
But there were stolen moments that were far and few between...when they were sure no one knew and when they were desperate for contact from the other...
He could count the times on one hand in which he’d spoken more than insults with the older male; one time being right after the Second Big Bang. A chance encounter that was nothing more than a quick Are-You-Okay?, and a hurried embrace. He was then called away by more pressing superhero matters, and after that...nothing. It was a giant ache, really, to know that he’d never really have a chance to be happy with this forbidden love.
His first love had been Virgil–but Virgil was straight and happily so. He’d accepted that and had learned to move on, and when he had–Francis Stone had just been another love that was impossible to fully embrace.
Because while Virgil accepted him and his preferences, Virgil Hawkins would not accept Francis Stone. And Richie fully understood–Francis Stone had made Virgil’s life hell. Day in and day out, the older male would bully Virgil until one day, V had decided he’d had enough. He fully intended to shoot him, but his good conscience had won over. That was the night of the Big Bang.
The two always had conflict–and Richie could think of only one time when they’d set aside their differences to work together, and that was the situation on Alva’s island. Even then, the two bristled and scathed, and Richie had the sense of mind to admit that they’d never get along. He didn’t try to change their minds about each other–he respected their differences, but it always hurt whenever Virgil made flippant remarks about how Hotstreak was going to screw him over, and how Hotstreak made degrading comments on Virgil.
He didn’t try to enter their name-games–he merely knew that he couldn’t change what was already set. And he certainly couldn’t change the way he felt about Hotstreak.
He sighed in dejection over his social life, feeling his shoulders slump heavily. As he stared down at the traffic that flowed slowly through the recently plowed streets, he became aware of screams coming from nearby. He lifted his head, squinting as he located the source of those screams. A woman was being accosted, from the sounds of it. He could stop that.
He rose from the ledge, and activated his skates. Backpack was already providing limited details on what it could discern, and Gear himself went over what was being broadcasted. A single woman, possibly intoxicated, against two men that were completely sober. They were on a rooftop nearby, atop of a ten story that was popular for offices of inconsequential usage.
The sound of his arrival startled the three, and he immediately eyed the two men that separated themselves from the single woman. The rooftop was covered with gravel, and fitted with a water tower and a storage station for the occupants of the building. It provided ample space for him to maneuver, and was too open for the two men to really escape.
Everyone was dressed for the winter, and so he didn’t recognize their faces as he descended, keeping himself between the woman and the two men.
“Sheesh, is it really hard for you two to understand what ‘no’ means?” he asked in irritation, already planning on making this stop his last for the night. “Make it easy, and hold still–”
Backpack gave a warning, and he turned in surprise, hearing the metallic click of a safety being disengaged ring through the air.
The woman was holding a gun before her, her eyes narrowed as she kept him in sights.
It wasn’t the first time this sort of act was pulled–and Gear was mainly irritated. So many thugs in the city wanted to prove themselves, and they commonly set up traps for him and Static to play with. This was, apparently, one of those traps.
She was wearing a JLo labeled newsboy cap that was set sideways atop of bright red hair–her face was half covered by a nondescript scarf, and her thin frame was bundled up with a puffy jacket and dark blue jeans. But when he recognized the wide, almost vicious glare that her eyes held for him, he felt something dark dribble across his stomach.
“Theresa,” he said in easy greeting, glancing back at the two men that were throwing off awkward jackets and hats. “Kangorr–sorry, never learned your real name–and Shiv. Isn’t it too cold for you three to be out?”
“A little frost ain’t enough to shut us down!” Shiv exclaimed, his fingers flicking upward, conjuring up shuriken. The manic male had been there at the Second Big Bang–but Gear hadn’t really known just how much of his abilities had expanded. Shiv had almost dropped out of his radar due to his inactivity. He popped up here and there, but he really wasn’t walking around with the rest of the trouble makers. It was surprising to see him, tonight. It had been awhile.
“Besides, we were kinda wonderin’ if you were up for a snowball fight?” Shiv continued with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
“There are more polite ways to ask,” Gear said with an annoyed drawl. The three had the advantage, but since the upgrade of his genius, so was the upgrade on Backpack. His precious creation could take two of these guys out easily–Backpack sometimes made up for the lack of Static. He wasn’t worried.
Kangorr had a Beretta aimed at him, and his features were bored, at best.
Theresa and Kangorr had been subjected to the cure–Theresa, twice. Both were normal humans, and as with normal humans that were trying to clean themselves up from the crimes they’d committed, were currently on edge with both authorities and acceptance of their peers. Gear had learned that Theresa’s ‘loving’ family had turned against her–she found herself walking right back to Ebon, for the security of an environment that would accept her. Same for Kangorr.
Both were desperate to continue to prove their worth to the Bang Baby overlord–both were ruthless and ready to strike.
Shiv...well...Shiv was Shiv. His loyalty was never questioned.
Gear relaxed, and slowly brought up his hands. He was confident that if he were shot–his uniform would take the impact. Oh, he’d be bruised–but at least not dead.
“No tricks, funny guy!” Shiv snarled, ready to let loose with the glowing stars. “Or we bust you up!”
“Can I at least–?”
“NO!”
“Just stay still, mon, an’ t’ings go down easy,” Kangorr muttered, withdrawing a cellphone from his pocket. He watched Gear with a steady expression as he pulled the phone to his ear, the Beretta trained unwaveringly on the teen. “We got ‘im. ‘Xactly where you said. Right.”
“Am I the guest of honor somewhere? Hey, why don’t we wait for Static? He’s more than capable of keeping up polite dinner conversation...”
“Shut the fuck up, man!” Theresa finally snapped, walking to a point just beyond Gear’s peripheral vision. Backpack was ready to strike–it just needed the command. Her heavily accented voice then lowered to an annoyed snarl. “We don’t wanna hear your stupid bullshit!”
“Isn’t she vicious?” Shiv asked, grinning as he glanced over at his partner. “I kinda wanna be like her when I grow up. She’s all the man I’ll never be!”
“Shut up, Shiv!”
Kangorr had put his cell away, and gestured at Gear with the gun. “Walk dis way.”
“...There are so many things I can refer to with that simple sentence...”
“Den don’t say ‘em at all. Get.”
“I’m gettin’, I’m gettin’. Say...but what about him?”
“Who?”
“Him!”< br>
Backpack released a retractable arm that shot out from the side lining, striking at Theresa before she even realized what was going on. The gun was snatched out of her hands as Gear pushed himself up into the air, narrowly avoiding the repeated gunshots Kangorr fired at him. As Shiv hurriedly danced backward, ready to release the shuriken he had in both hands, Gear noticed that Kangorr could have hit him easily–but his shots were deliberately off.
Something to think about later, he thought as Backpack disabled Theresa’s gun with a quick laser up the middle, sending the gun back down onto the gravel below in halves.
Shiv released the shuriken with a cheerful yelp–Gear dodged those easily, already flicking a zap cap from his belt, noting the contents before readying to throw.
Suddenly, Shiv, Kangorr and Theresa disappeared from his sight–as well as the rooftop and Dakota’s bright lights. Blinking in confusion, Gear hesitated in throwing blind as a stream of information drizzled across his vision, alerting him to a new form of metahuman power. Puzzled, as the mechanics of shadow revealed no sense of perceptibility and general definition, he pulled his arm in. Backpack suddenly lashed out with its own defense, its arms flying toward danger that it detected within its own perception. As the continued information streamed across his visor, Gear understood that a Bang Baby (he had no doubt to who it was) was very nearby.
He was jerked around violently, his head whipping around to see that Backpack’s arms were caught within inky blackness, and it was trying to disengage from contact with the mass of black. Gear was confused as he struggled to get out of the mess, his equipment registering momentous danger around all angles.
Backpack continued to relay more information about the darkness it was trying to fight, and the more information streamlined over his vision, the more he realized that he didn’t know that much about Ebon’s powers as he previously thought. The Bang Baby had gained strength and extended abilities over the inky blackness of the shadows, rendering them completely substantial at his command.
He had a vague theory that instead of making the shadows substantial, perhaps it was a mild form of telekinesis...
He jerked around, giving the mental command for Backpack to disengage, and felt rather than witnessed the arms that retracted within the paneling. Gear tugged a cap from his belt, looking for the focal point of energy that Ebon was using to distort his form. If he could just–
Backpack suddenly renewed its efforts, and he felt himself jerked harshly about as he felt something solid creep between his back and his creation. The press over his uniform told him that it had been hands that forced the gap between them----one hand to press at his natural arch, and the other to push at the metal that rested comfortably there.
And then the familiar ten pound weight was missing–the emptiness over his shoulders and around his waist confused him for a mere second.
He whirled around, his head jerking to peer behind him–Backpack was completely missing, and the darkness revealed nothing of its presence as his eyes widened with stupefied horror. How did that happen–?
With the disappearance of his creation, the information ceased across his visor, and he stared, in confusion, at the darkness around him.
Heavy, unnatural weight slammed across his shoulders, and he grit his teeth at the impact. It was almost as if someone were hitting him–
He powered up the juice in his skates to push against the second impact, and grunted with the effort it took just to maintain his position in the air. The darkness converged around him, and once again knocked him downwards. Every instinct told him that he’d just entered a terrible situation, and he once again searched for the focal point of Ebon’s energy in order to activate the voltage of electricity in his zap cap.
He made harsh impact against the gravel of the rooftop–at least he wasn’t knocked into the open air of the street. Impact raced up his legs and settled at his knees, and he crouched for a few moments, ready to throw the cap in a random direction.
And then that was missing as well. The weight was there, and in the next second...it wasn’t. He stared down at his hand in surprise, then looked down to see an inky strand of darkness creeping around his waist. One by one, his caps were disappearing.
“Hey!” he exclaimed, fumbling through the strand to try and at least pilfer one of them back. He looked up wildly to see what else was going on, and what he saw made him rise to his feet.
The shadows were shifting–Gear suddenly realized that Ebon was making them into tangible walls. All light from the city disappeared as the darkness completely overtook him, cutting off sight as a small cell would. The air tasted stale and thick as he felt his breathing take a panicked hitch. It was still cold, though. He could still feel the cold.
With flitters of curiosity and disbelief flashing over his hidden features, he reached out and placed the flat of his gloved hand against one of the walls. Fingers spread, he felt the pit of his stomach drop as he realized the physical consistency of Ebon’s new trick. The wall was solid and unmoving as he applied pressure to it–it gave him the impression that it was thin, easily breakable, but judging from the force that he applied to his push, it was definitely stronger than it looked. Both hands were placed on that wall, and he pushed at it with all his strength as Ebon chuckled.
Hairs on the back of his neck and arms rose as a severe chill shot down his spine–the sound was ugly; low, tinged with satisfaction. Panic fluttered around his vision as he tested each wall, pushing to search for a breaking point that would allow his freedom.
“Not good,” he whispered to himself, stepping back as he took in the surrounding darkness with a panicked expression.
“Scared, now?” The Bang Baby’s voice was tinged with satisfaction. It had always been gravelly, menacing and thick with challenge, but right now–it sounded damn satanic.