Cops, Robbers, Capes, and Lizards
“EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!”
The doors of Brockton Bay East Bank were flung open, slamming against the columns that framed them, as half a dozen masked men charged in. Each was armed, with a rifle and a handgun for backup, and from their gear it was obvious to all inside as to their allegiance. Each was wearing body armor, spray painted with oriental designs in red and green, and in this part of Brockton Bay, that meant one gang: The Azn Bad Boys.
A woman screamed, while the security guard – an African American man in his late 50’s – stood and drew his own sidearm. Before he could fire or even aim, one of the masked goons sprayed his rifle in his direction. Poor man barely had a chance. The shots were wild, but he still took several shots to his torso, arms, and even to his cheek. With a scream that bled into a groan, he dropped back, careening over his desk, leaving a horrid smear of crimson blood over the wood and paper.
“WE FUCKING TOLD YOU PRICKS TO GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND!” Another of the robbers yelled as he gestured wildly to the other civilians, pointing his gun in their faces. The civilians weren’t stupid enough to play heroes; they had already seen these monsters gun down one man, and if they were trigger-happy enough to do that, then they were unlikely to hesitate to shoot any of them.
Two of the gunmen took point at the doors, one behind each column, taking point against any response. Meanwhile, the one who gunned down the guard went along with the one that had been threatening the bystanders, each throwing out zip ties from large duffel bags that they had on.
“NOW, TIE EACH OTHER UP! IF YOU DON’T, THEN YOU GET THE SAME AS HE DID!” the first said as he pointed at the guard’s desk. Not needing to be told twice, the civilians started tying each other up.
“AND DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT LEAVING ‘EM LOOSE, OR YOU’LL GET IT TOO!”
The last two robbers, meanwhile, had strode up to the front desk. There was bulletproof glass protecting the workers, but this wasn’t their first heist.
“Good afternoon.” One said, voice slimy with faux politeness, as though he and his associates were simply making a normal withdrawal. “We are here to examine the vault and will require unimpeded access. Please open the door. We wouldn’t want there to be a mess out here.” He turned to look at the guard. He was still alive by the looks of it, as there was a pair of legs that were shuffling out the side, trying to find purchase. The speaker simply raised his hand and snapped his fingers. An instant later, his right-hand man had aimed his rifle and let loose a three-round burst into the desk, prompting another round of screams.
“Or at least, any more of a mess.”
Barbara Harper did not expect this when she woke up this morning. However, she had been a bank teller for years, and had been trained to handle these situations many a time. Namely, don’t be a hero, do what the criminals say, and hit the silent alarm. As soon as they had shot Maurice, she had hit the button on the underside of the desk, meaning the cops should be here in minutes. With that sorted, the next thing was to follow their orders. Insurance would cover the robbery, but it wouldn’t cover damages against bystanders if she was found to have agitated them. Silently, she nodded and made her way to the reinforced staff door. As she did, the speaker’s right-hand man mirrored her movements, and as soon as the door was unlocked, he shoved it open and raised his rifle. The staff threw their hands up, not wanting to be shot, but the pair ignored them, continuing on to the vault.
“ALRIGHT YOU FUCKING DESK JOCKEYS, GET OUTTA THERE ON YOUR HANDS AND KNEES OR I START BLASTING!” yelled one of the shooters through the door, having ensured that the civilians had all been secured. The rest of the staff knew the drill and didn’t resist. Once he made sure that all the staff were out, he whistled to his double, who was finishing up with zip tying the staff. They turned to face the guards, confirmed the trade-off with them, and followed the speaker toward the vault.
The speaker and his right-hand man stood in front of the large vault door. There were no staff around to open it, but that was no problem. The speaker had earned his status in the ABB. With a touch, the metal began to creak and groan, corroding and falling apart. In a matter of minutes, just in time for the two extra hands to catch up, the door creaked open, having had its locks decayed away.
The speaker was a parahuman, one of several currently affiliated with the ABB. His power was that of decay. Any non-living matter could be broken down with contact and time.
They were in. Inside the vault lay a beautiful pallet of cash, delivered mere hours ago, just ripe for the taking. The two shooters marched in, unslinging their bags, and started packing in the notes. The rules were simple; 100’s first, 50’s only if there’s weight left over. When you’re dealing with the amount of cash that they were, you had to factor in the sheer weight of the money. Each note may only weigh one gram, but $5,000,000 in $100 dollar bills was over 100 pounds, and they still had to get away.
The two worked quickly, keeping track of each mustard strap denoting $10,000. Their bags could hold more than they could practically carry, but they needed to keep track to avoid finding out they had gotten too greedy at the worst time.
10, 20, 50, 100. They kept stacking money into their bags, raking up the millions, only stopping when the echo of gunshots went off. The authorities were here.
Officers Bill Goulburn and Ben Gilbertson had been cruising nearby when the call came in. The pair hadn’t expected the silent alarm to be a real emergency, but just another false alarm set off by some schmuck bouncing their knee too high. But when they came under fire, they screamed for backup into their radios. Both defaulted to their training, getting behind the engine block of their cruiser, and drawing their pistols to return fire.
The speaker and the three others returned to the central hall. Not wasting time, he opened the private communications channel on their internal comm beads. Amazing what tinkertech existed in this day and age, and how cheap it could be bought!
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Rifles?”
“Pistols.”
“Excellent. Transport should be here in 2, their backup will take at least 5. Let’s take ‘em out out.”
With that, the six of them started dumping rounds into the unlucky pair of law enforcers.
Meanwhile, there were others listening in on the police scanner frequency and were on their way to enforce their different versions of justice.
Officers Goulburn and Gilbertson were barely able to keep their heads on their shoulders, much less keeping their thoughts straight. They were under heavy fire from opponents in cover, and now they were outnumbered as well? If they could, they’d retreat, but that wasn’t an option either! Their hope was that backup would arrive, but even as they thought that, a vehicle that looked like it belonged in a video game barrelled around the corner and smashed into their cover!
“OH SHIT!” was all they could get out, as they barely dove away at the last moment! Their cruisers were demolished as the vehicle was unfazed by the impact, before rolling up to the bank doors.
“Transport’s here! Move!” Cried the speaker. At his word, the gang moved forward, covering their movements with suppressing fire. Leaping into the opening doors, the group of Azn Bad Boys took off.
“YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT BITCHES, THAT’S RIGHT!” yelled one of the shooters as he pulled the duffel bag off, throwing it open and grabbing at the money. As soon as he pulled out a bundle, he received a smack around the back of his head, courtesy of the right-hand man.
“Confirm the amount.” Was all the speaker said, prompting the goons to start counting. They weren’t out of this yet; they needed to get to the extraction point before-
“FUCK!” screamed the driver.
High above, a blur flew through the air, as the Heads Up Display in her tinkertech headset monitored the location of the getaway vehicle. It was careening down the highway at over 120 miles an hour, knocking other motorists away as though their vehicles were toys, but that was nothing compared to her speed or strength.
She waited until there was an opening in the traffic; she wasn’t here to cause further damage, and the possibility of them veering or flipping into the innocent bystanders was not acceptable. As soon as there was a pause, she sped up, falling to Earth like a meteor, directly in front of the video-gamey APC. She saw the driver’s eyes widen and mouth open in shock, and behind her full-face mask, she smiled to herself. She wasn’t the type to enjoy violence necessarily, but when it came to these types, she allowed herself some schadenfreude.
The tinkertech truck weighed over 7000 pounds, and at 135 miles an hour at the moment of impact, the vehicle came to a sudden stop with half the force of a Saturn 5 rocket at launch. All that energy was transferred through the truck, and even though it was tinkertech, it simply wasn’t built to handle that level of impact. The small mercy for the inhabitants was that the builder hadn’t skimped on the airbags. Great billows of white flew out, cushioning their squishy bodies from getting pasted, even as their minds were completely disoriented.
Omnigirl floated over to the door. With a single, almost lazy, punch, she tore through it and tossed it aside. She pulled the driver out and dropped him to the ground. He was too discombobulated to resist, and even if he wasn’t, he was nowhere near a match for her. She mirrored the action with the back doors, until all the occupants were on the ground.
The speaker, being a parahuman, had a degree of toughness that normal humans simply didn’t. As such, he came around within moments, only to see the armor-clad figure coming towards him.
“You bitch!” was all that he said, as he drew his sidearm and fired. Like the rest of his gear, it was a cut above the mundane equipment that the others had. This was a tinkertech pistol, designed to fire armor-piercing rounds with the force of a .50 caliber, all with minimal recoil. She made no effort to dodge, even as he pulled the trigger.
With a loud BANG, the round smashed into her shoulder. She did not explode, as the speaker expected, she didn’t even flinch. Most of those with such advanced armor do so because they are squishy and vulnerable, and with the power of the round he just fired, she should at least have been thrown back. She wasn’t. the only sign that any damage had been done, was a small hole at her shoulder, along with some scorch marks. The skin underneath was unblemished, not even a bruise.
“Oh. Now I can claim self-defense!”
It was the first time that the girl had spoken, and with the voice modulator unit in her mask, the words came out in a deep, powerful, tone. The ease by which she spoke even after such a hit sent such a chill down the speaker’s spine, that it was all he had to not lose control of his bowels. She sauntered over to him, unconcerned with the prospect of getting shot again, and raised her hand above him, readying a strike.
“That’s enough!”
The voice, deep, baritone, and monotone, came from above. Both Omnigirl and the speaker looked up, to see the descending form of The Hoper.
“He is defeated. Further violence is unnecessary.”
Beneath her mask, Kara scowled. This was not the first time that she had had a run in with The Hoper. Most were unaware, but she was not. She knew he – no, it – was a machine, a construct of a deceased scientist. Her contacts within the PRC had shown as much. What would a machine know of any of this, of what it meant for humans?
The Hoper touched down on the ground. Behind him, sirens blazing, were a cavalcade of police squad cruisers. The Hoper’s internal systems had relayed the information to the authorities. He spoke again.
“They are defeated. The authorities are here to take them in. You did well, do not ruin your good deed with unneeded violence.”
Who was this machine to order her?
“Hold it!”
They both turned to face the new voice. This one came from the police. One officer had gotten out a bullhorn and was yelling instructions. Kara didn’t care. Even as the officer yelled, the words didn’t enter her consciousness.
“If you wanna talk more, then head up.” She said, gesturing with her index finger to the sky, before taking off. The officers yelled out in anger, but there was nothing that they could do. The Hoper frowned slightly, before following her skyward.
The pair flew hundreds of feet into the air, until there was no chance that anyone on the ground would be able to eavesdrop. Kara turned to face The Hoper as he caught up, and once he was level with her, she spoke.
“Why did you interfere?”
A simple question, really, but one that carried a great amount of weight.
“They were defeated. Further violence was unneeded.”
“They shot me!”
“And you are more than tough enough for it to not matter.”
“How many more do you think they will hurt in the future?”
“That is their decision, they must be given a chance.”
“How many chances? They’re gang members, they made their choice a long time ago!”
“If we abandon the rule of law and the possibility of reform, then we give up on civilization.”
Kara facepalmed at the cliché nature of The Hoper’s words. He couldn’t help it, she knew that he was literally made this way, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating!
“Life isn’t a comic book! This is real life! Those guys? They’re part of the Asian Bad Boys, one of the biggest gangs in the city. They’ll be busted out of jail in a week. Heck, they may not even see one day behind bars! The gangs have bought half the judges and most of the prosecutors, all they have to do is make a call and their goons are out on bail! How many innocent people die because heroes won’t do what needs to be done and put the scum in the ground?”
Kara was ranting now, her voice quivering with anger. She was a rich kid, sure, but that didn’t mean that she was in a separate world from everyone else. She saw the collapse that was going on. The corruption that was already present before the 80’s had only grown with the introduction of parahumans. Her family were corporation owners, and she had overheard them talking about the state of things more than once. She was sick of it! She had gotten the power to change things and that’s what she was going to do!
The Hoper listened to her rant; his face inscrutable. As she wore herself out, he waited to make sure that she had nothing else to say, before he responded.
“You say all this Omnigirl, but you do have a record with the PRT, and we know you’ve never killed anyone.”
The statement cut her to the core. It was true. She’d stopped other criminals before, nothing on this scale, but hadn’t actually taken a life before. The Hoper continued.
“If you truly believe what you said, I won’t argue with you, but do think about it. Anger, rage, vengeance, they’re all easy. But if you think meekness is weakness, try being meek for a week.”
Kara hung her head. Not in shame, but in emotional exhaustion. She hadn’t talked to anyone about any of this before, and while there was catharsis in getting it off her chest, it was draining. She was about to respond, when an alarm came through her visor. Evidently The Hoper received one as well, as he bolted around to look at another part of Brockton Bay. There was smoke already billowing into the air as Kara read the alert from the virtual assistant AI.
OUTBREAK OF LIZARDS IN DOWNTOWN. CASUALTIES ALREADY REPORTED. BIO-TINKERTECH ASSUMED.
Kara looked over to The Hoper, he looked back, and they both blasted off in the direction of the fires.
“Are you going to try and reason with these as well?” Kara jabbed.
“If they are sapient, yes. Otherwise, no.” A blunt response from a blunt man/machine.
No more words were spoken between the two as they rushed to fight off the monsters.
Sometime later, in a hidden part of the city, a large Asian man, decked out in ornate oriental tattoos, sat at a desk. A subordinate, shaking in fear, had just reported the failure of their mission, as well as the seizure of a particularly expensive piece of equipment. Behind the steel draconic mask, he drew in a lungful of air.
“I see.” Came the intimidating voice behind the mask. “Leave. I have a call to make.”
The lackey didn’t need to be told twice as he scurried away. Lung took in another deep breath, controlling the rage flowing through him. There was no purpose in rampaging here, even with the losses reported. Save it for when he got a chance for revenge. Once he no longer felt that he was going to explode out of his skin, he got out a burner phone, and called a group of merciless psychopaths.