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***
Internet, television, radio and newspapers. Everything was abuzz with headlines about a new crime of a "mutant" shooting lasers. Not a single news channel missed the chance to make the news for the umpteenth time.
Newspapers were given away almost for free, eager to sell a new print run on the elusive criminal destroying the city.
There were accusations against the police, rallies, protests and the occasional assault on officers, more and more of them every day.
The city became a breeding ground for terror and chaos, sinking further and further into the abyss with each passing day.
It became dangerous to go out on the streets. Parents locked their children in their homes, afraid to let them out alone. People mad with fear saw a mutant around every corner, non-stop denunciations of former friends and neighbours, flooding the already overworked police with a lot of false calls.
And against the backdrop of all this nightmare continued war Daredevil and Fisk. There was the occasional blurred silhouette of Murdoch's familiar figure on the news, but.... I couldn't contact him, and he never showed up at the dojo, just as I'd warned.
Around the clock, New York was falling into the abyss, threatening to collapse so deeply that no one would ever be able to pull it out. And I watched from the front row.Only one day had passed that I had allowed myself for a holiday, and here was the lone hero once again towering over New York City, promising to save its rotten gut.
Standing on the roof of a high-rise, resting my foot on the curb, I look at the crowd approaching the police station. Frightened people who don't know what to expect from tomorrow. They're afraid. Afraid to be in the shoes of those unfortunate people who were unlucky enough to glimpse between the police and the "mutant". So they try to take out their anger on someone familiar and simple.
-America. How you love this stuff. That's what the Comedian said. A dream come true.
Muttering to myself, I cover my eyes with my hand because of the flash. Several Molotov cocktails crash into the liquid police cordon, setting the poor souls on fire. Thankfully there's a fire truck and a couple of water cannons nearby, quickly preventing a tragedy.
The Rorschach mask on my face comes in handy. Even without witnesses, I'm afraid to show the disappointment and hopelessness on my face. The sight of such pictures makes me sick, and my fists clench with anger.
Because of one man, all of this had happened. And the more I thought about who had done it, the more hurtful it became. Even then, in the middle of the ruined street, realising that it was a normal man standing across from me, not a mutant.
Herman Schultz. I knew that name even before I met Octavius's quiet assistant, remembered it from the time when the present reality was a beautiful picture printed on coloured pages.
But now those colours had faded, leaving me alone with the maddened city.... And I didn't know what to do. He didn't seem to be what I'd imagined. Just a simple bloke doing what he loved. He was too young and good-natured to be running around town shooting at everyone with a laser gun while wearing a mask.
-Something's not right here.
Supervillain Shocker. One of Spider-Man's adversaries. A deranged, embittered German with narcissistic syndrome. Dressed like he's dressed for Halloween in black and yellow rags. Nervous, withdrawn, aggressive. A completely different psycho-portrait that didn't fit Otto's assistant.
There was also the option of a black guy - a caretaker from the films, but I dismissed it as unbelievable. It was two thousand five, and I'd rather believe that "Afroshocker" would start robbing everything, ignoring the law and danger ....
-It fits. I hope I'm wrong," I took off my hat and brushed the top of my head, watching the growing confrontation between the police and the protesters, "in any case.... I've got the biggest and only lead. I have to check it out first.
A trusty cat hook carries me over the violent streets. As I cut through the air, I can feel the heat beneath my feet, and the buildings are illuminated by the flashes of explosions. Police flashers blare throughout the city, and in many outlying neighbourhoods, gunfire has already erupted.
The metropolis was turning into a battlefield and the culprit of it all had to be found immediately before people tore each other to pieces.
All of New York City is on edge, covered in a layer of ash. Everywhere reeks of fear, death and ash. The scents of the present clogging your nose, intoxicating you, compelling you to join the call of the crowd, to stand with them and go smash everything in their path.
***
I stood in front of the door to Dr Octavius' lab, holding onto the doorknob. Light was pouring in from a shallow crack, and inside were hurried footsteps and a familiar voice.
Was I afraid? More likely no than yes. Though my fear was not of the encounter, but of the truth of the guess. It was unpleasant to be wrong like that. To believe in the dream that a criminal could be a good guy. To think you were smarter than everyone else and let Schultz do so much damage before disarming him....
-Disarm him. What a convenient word.
I guess living in the States has that effect on me. I'm torn between choosing the right words and thinking about when to act.
I thought his fate in this world would be different. How Otto became a game enthusiast and a scientist, easily parting with his crafts for a dream. But apparently, sometimes it's more pleasant to see illusions of a kind and rosy world...
The colours around me fade away. All that remains is me and the black door with shades of white light creeping out from under the door.
I imagined what I was about to do. Herman Schultz. Shocker. He's a maniac, a killer, a monster. That he will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. If it were headlines or talking heads on TV, I'd think about it. If only for a moment, my hand trembled, but... I saw it all with my own eyes, standing right there in front of him.
-Don't hesitate. You're a hero.
My hand slowly turns the knob until it clicks into place. The world around me shook, and my pounding heart thumped in my temples.
My mouth was dry with tension, and though I had made up my mind, until the very last moment I had hoped to see Herman in familiar surroundings, quietly going about his business.The light from the lab illuminates the corridor, blinding me for a moment and preventing me from seeing what's going on inside, but then I realise that I've trapped myself in a fantasy illusion.
My mate, perhaps even friend, Herman Schultz, sat calmly at his desk, dictating the results of his work into a dictaphone. His healthy hands calmly roamed the desk, moving various pieces of electronics, wires, and instruments.
On the huge table lay a device I didn't understand, something similar to a huge machine. The futuristic construction was impressive in its unusualness. In its very centre, a mechanical arm was spinning on a small pedestal around its axis, and sensors connected to it were displaying readings on an old, pudgy monitor.
-М? Professor, is that you?
Spinning round in his chair, Herman stared fearfully at my mask, frozen like a rabbit in front of a boa constrictor. There was genuine fear and incomprehension written on his face. The young man squirmed in his chair, watching my every move as I slowly strode into the lab, standing beside him and his device.
Putting my trembling hands in my pockets, I glanced at Schultz, who continued to blink his eyes in incomprehension.
He was afraid of me. His palms clenched nervously on the armrests, his pupils twitching, his breathing heavy. The guy was really terrified.
-Do you know why I'm here?
-Do-I guess...
-Anything you want to tell me?
-Я...
This is a stupid conversation. I wasn't trying at all, because all my energy was just trying to hold myself together. I wanted to take off my mask and punch Schultz and beat the answers out of him.
-I didn't mean for this to happen.
-Dozens of dead people wouldn't agree with you.
I tilted my hat and stared at the floor, running a simple meditation technique in my head to calm my nerves a little.
-Я... Я... I'm sure it was an accident. This whole thing. It wasn't meant to be.
Schultz kept making excuses. His voice acting, the panic in his eyes, his slurred speech. If I hadn't been directly involved in two of the three attacks, I'd have believed him.
-An accident?
My quiet voice was completely out of tune with my current state of mind. Feelings and emotions had left me, leaving only greyness, darkness, and purpose.
My hand went to Herman's throat, clutching him in a tight grip, and I lifted the guy slightly over the chair, causing him to howl fearfully, fluttering in my arms like a beached fish.
-You can't accidentally kill so many people by shooting at them with your toys!
-Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh. No. I wanted to.
-Didn't want to? You didn't?!
My fingers were slowly squeezing Schultz's throat and despite my best efforts to calm down I couldn't stop.
-You killed them, Herman! You killed them all! What would Otto say if he found out?
My words had reached their destination, for tears were streaming from the eyes of the criminal who had brought the whole town to heel. real tears that stained my hand and fell on his chest.
-I really didn't think it would be like this.... I really didn't. I just wanted to help her. I just wanted to help her. She said she'd stop.
-She who?
Having extracted the most important thing from Herman's speech, I relaxed my grip, pulling the boy back against the chair and hovering over him.
-"He'll retire. He'll live a normal life...
-WHO?!
He was lost in his own memories, fears and illusions. His sharp and splendid mind was failing, forcing the clever chap to talk about everything.
-She said it was just for once.... Just one time. Asked me to help her. Get rid of her weakness. Make her strong.
I was beginning to realise what was going on here. But I wanted to be sure. All those reservations, the nostalgia for her mother, the warm, melancholy gaze, the secrets and reticences.
-"Who the hell are you talking about?
Grabbing him by his clothes, I lifted Schultz into the air, pulling the German's feet off the floor.
Our faces were only a couple of centimetres apart and when Herman whispered a reply with just his lips, I heard him.
-Mum... Why?
-What?
-Let Herman go.
***
Robert Fikey has always been at the bottom of society. For as long as he could remember, his life had been a string of lousy events with only one thing in common: himself.
Whatever Robert did, everything went to hell and it seemed as if the Lord God himself had turned against him, because it was much easier to blame the higher forces for his failures than to blame himself.
But now! Now Mr Fikey was sure that the black streak was finally over and a white streak, never seen before, was coming.
A war in New York, a real war, as imagined by the average man who had never before seen the true horror of bloody battles.
Rioting in the streets of his hometown, battles with lawmen, robberies, looting and other things pleasing to the criminal heart, easily accomplished while the Crime King of the city chases ghosts and the police restrain the morons at demonstrations.
A holiday, as it were. Right now, Robert was about to pull off a classic gamble. Choosing a spot equidistant from police checkpoints and patrols, the man marked his target in Manhattan itself.The Cathedral of Johannes the Theologian, an ancient monumental church full of gold crosses, chalices and other nonsense that would easily appeal to antique lovers and other marginalised people who consider themselves connoisseurs.
A simple and uncomplicated job. It was not long before midnight and soon the last servant would have to go to the hostel, leaving only the old fat priest inside the church, which Robert was sure he could handle.
Weighing the tire iron in his hand, Mr Fikey was impatiently counting down the last seconds until the start when an explosion went off a little further down the street.
The yellow beam familiar to everyone in the city flew out from Columbia University, smashing into a neighbouring building and punching it through.
-Fuck!
The beam darted from side to side, smashing into the high-rises and gradually approaching the church. Several buildings began to fold, spreading dust and screams of frightened people for kilometres.
-No, no, no, no! I haven't had time to take it all out yet!
Covering his eyes, the man screamed and swore as people ran around him, trying not to look back.
But the bastard mutant didn't listen to Robert's wailing, absolutely spitballing across the roof of the cathedral, slicing it clean off, collapsing the ancient structure inside itself.
-BITCH!
With anger Mr Fikey threw the tire iron in the direction of the damned mutant and tried to quickly hide among the crowd.
***
The cat hook is probably the best tool I've ever had in both of my lives.
Jumping out the window to escape the unstoppable beam of energy, I fired it at a nearby building, gaining speed and inertia as death flew behind me.
I needed to get away from the residential areas as soon as possible and, good thing, there was Riverside Park on the other side of the university where I could act more calmly.
But my stalker had other plans, and she didn't hesitate to fire her annihilator at full speed, clipping my tether and toppling me down.
The Qi-fuelled body slammed into the car, flying off to the side, which I was glad of, because a second later the beam slammed into that spot, smashing the car into the ground and destroying the metal with a rapid pace.
It was the first time I'd been able to see the effects of this weapon up close, and I was impressed.
The beam, clearly created by Herman, acted like sandpaper at breakneck speed, thousands of streams obliterating any resistance. At full power this brutal and insane weapon was extremely dangerous, at least the damn bitch couldn't use it for long.
The young woman, barely past my own mother's age, jumped easily and without fear from the third floor, shooting beams into the ground, slowing her own fall.
-A neat trick.
She wasn't wearing a costume now, just simple crumpled clothes, revealing a view of my opponent's body. She was good. A version of Sarah Connor with prosthetic arms and no madness in her eyes.
A worn leather jacket, tight black T-shirt, and patched trousers.
Her short hair fluttered in the wind as she walked straight towards me, enjoying the scene, looking back at the work of her own hands with a smile.
-Missis Schultz?
-Miss.
Grinning unkindly, the woman shot me a low power shot instead of continuing, sending another machine flying. Unlike the more powerful mode, her lasers were now repelling rather than stripping the meat from my bones, which was fortunate for me. Apparently she can't use her metal hands for long.
"One hand. The other still won't move. I guess Herman hasn't had time to make a new one yet."
-You'd better give up, Miss Schultz. Your face has been seen by too many people.
-Stop talking rubbish. There's nobody here but us. It's dark and everything's exploding or burning. No judge would approve evidence like that.
She was wrong. If there was a policeman around, or it was worth taking a picture of her, that creepy, satisfied face would be all over the channels.
A click sounded on the woman's hand and she pointed it at me with a mad grin, firing a tight yellow beam without warning.
"Sick bitch."
Qi bubbled up in my body. I needed to give it my best shot and didn't care about the consequences. I didn't have the support of the police this time, so I'd have to rely on myself.
A somersault to the side coincided with the shot. The flow of energy burned the edges of my coat, spreading a foul odour of burnt leather, but it was nothing compared to the other scents.
I didn't want to stand still, so I launched myself at Herman's mother, pulling Daredevil's baton out from under his cloak.
-It's pathetic.
Her quiet, infrequent remarks gave away her complete calmness and self-confidence. And as I drew closer to strike, the woman stepped forward proudly, confident of her victory.....
-What?
Blocking her lunge with such force that the bitch's bones cracked, I hit her in the chin, tearing her lip and almost knocking out Herman's mum.
Surprise and shock were written in big letters on her face. She was obviously good at close combat, maybe she was in the service or mercenary, but my hook nearly broke her neck and now the woman took me seriously.
A few missed punches only confirmed her fears. Each time I executed the combinations more precisely, which hurt her body.
When I missed the last punch, she fell to the ground, spinning in midair and falling on her stomach.
The lessons instilled by Murdoch and Rand had not been in vain. Twisting around, Schultz slipped her hand between her legs, firing a charge at me. There was the screeching of cars, explosions, and more screams from the few people hiding in houses or alleys, waiting for it to be over.
-Die already!
Spitting blood onto the ground, Schultz intercepted the broken arm with her healthy one and, with some clever manipulation, fired the crumpled prosthetic. Sparkling and rattling viciously, Herman's handiwork withstood this treatment, but it was clear that it wouldn't survive a few more shots.
Again I broke into a run. Almost clinging to the ground, I unfolded my baton into a staff, preparing to throw it in front of me, but it was at that moment that Schultz found several survivors, pointing a healthy hand at them.
I hesitated. Standing still, and she didn't need more than that.
Bones cracked. My body howled in panic as Qi streamed out to maintain my fighting ability. As if shot from a cannon, I was sent flying, crashing into an abandoned pickup truck and with my body and the force of the impact turning it around on the spot, leaving me hanging in the dent. The cars hid me from my opponent, but that didn't make it any easier.
-Come out, hero!
Shooting at shadows and corners, spooking civilians and causing them to call for help, begging me to stop, Schultz slowly approached me, occasionally shooting at the pickup, which I felt with my whole body.
"That hurts...".
With difficulty, I scrambled out of the car and crouched down on the ground, afraid I would pass out at any second. Most of my clothes on my chest were gone, revealing a burn and a bulging haematoma.
-Bitch...
My palms are shaking. Resting on the ground, I can barely realise what's happening. Even a bullet wound wasn't as painful and severe as a direct hit from Herman's handiwork.
A beam flew half a metre away, barely grazing the car and pushing it slightly into my back. Hand fumbling on the ground, I needed a weapon now. Something to hit the damn German with.
There was no Qi left in my body at all, and the tremors and blurred image in front of my eyes spoke more than any words.
My fingers fumbled languidly for something until they came across a metal oblong object.
-It'll do.
-Get out, kid, or I'll start killing you.
-Like you're not doing it now.
The first drops of blood came from under the mask. Compared to my chest, I didn't feel any pain on my face at all, but I must have left the marks of Schultz's single hit there, too.
Squatting down, I tuck my legs under me. Schultz's footsteps are getting closer, she's clearly a couple of metres away from me and wants to enjoy her victory. Stupid hypocritical bitch, I'll show you how this kind of carelessness ends.
A hand painfully removes the hat from my head, sending my favourite and expensive headgear flying. Without looking up to finish, I shoot my feet up, helping myself with my hands over the boot of the pickup truck.
Distracted by the hat, Schultz fires a shot at the object flying sharply out in front of her. A stream of yellow energy flies off into the distance, hitting the wreckage of some church. There are more screams, real screams and howls, from the people who were hit, which only strengthened my resolve.
My hand habitually pushes off the roof of the pickup truck - to the disgruntled squeal of the vehicle. Memories flashed in my head for a moment, but I couldn't concentrate on them now.
My legs are blurring, and I could collapse at any second, but my trained body doesn't let me down. Clutching the picked-up tire iron tightly, I leap into the air, seeing Schultz's eyes widen in fright as she turns her head in my direction.
The victorious smile slides off her face and she pushes herself frantically to the side to get a shot off before I'm close by. But the miracle doesn't happen.
The montage meets her face with a nasty sound, breaking her cheekbone and jaw. That crunch, that nasty, memorable crunch.... It's like a gong for the winner, but for me there's no referee to stop it.
With my mass, I curl the woman to the ground, piling on top of her. My arms act on their own as a moaning and howling Schultz tries to fight my weight and the agony on her face.
The prosthetics are doing her a great job. She definitely won't settle down, so I have to strike again. Metal hands sometimes fly into my face or chest, nearly sending me into oblivion.
The tire iron goes down. A crunch.
She covers herself with her arms, hoping Herman's toys will protect her, but the metal is weak. It succumbs, slowly bending and sparking until it finally falls to the ground as a useless pile of junk. The fragile machinery was clearly not designed for such a thing.
Crunching and clanking.
Again and again and again... It rattles in my ears, echoing in my brain as I blindly pound her sluggishly fluttering body. The pain in my chest drives me on, forcing me to put the last of my strength into the blows.
Her bones are breaking. Her face is long since swollen into one solid bruise, her hair tangled with dirt and blood.
A handful of broken teeth lie nearby, knocked out by the very first blow.
She is silent.
My last blows would have barely brought the child down, from weakness and injury I'm stroking her with the tire iron rather than trying to do damage.
There are no more words, no more sounds, only my heavy breathing and the husky sighs of Schultz desperately fighting for life.
My mask is soaked with blood, and I can barely see anything, as if I've been swallowed by a bloody fog.
My gaze drifts away from the battered body. I hold my head up to the sky and breathe in the "flavours" of New York, feeling my heartbeat slow down.
My hands shake violently, not letting go of the clutched tire iron.
Leaning on my weapon, I slowly rise to my feet, standing to my full height over the sprawled Schultz. Her watery eyes catch my movement and the woman shrinks fearfully, trying not to disturb the fractures and wounds. The wheezing from her chest grows more frequent.
"Too bad about the hat."
My mind goes blank. The only thought that now visited me caused a smile to form under the mask, but there was no strength to laugh, from the word at all.
Fixing my ruined coat, I tied a belt around it, somehow covering the horrible scar on my chest.
I wanted to touch the brim of the hat, but my hand only stumbled into emptiness.
-That's right.
With one last glance at Schultz, I listened to the approaching police sirens, taking another look at the scene of our battle.
In a couple of minutes, the quiet and peaceful street had turned into a branch of hell. Ploughed as if by a huge plough, the road filled with mud. Ruins of houses, university buildings and churches. Corroded cars and bodies of unfortunate people.
A painful wheeze came from Schultz's side. Clutching at her chest, the woman was writhing in pain, probably begging for help through her wheezing, but I didn't move.
-The police, doctors and firemen will be here soon. If it's their will, let them help you.
Weighing the tire iron in my hand one last time, I kept it with me, hiding in one of the city's many alleys.
***
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