Chapter 18
I found out what happened a little after I arrived back home, before Jeff had his little party in Miami. We'd all know the SRA, the Superhuman Registration Act, was something that different parties were fighting to make a worldwide concept. Many countries were fighting back and forth. America was massively split on it. Canada was all for it. Russia was completely against it.
Things had been on a tightrope for months. The rising number of heroes in such a rapid timeframe was a huge reason why. Since the Battle at the Triskelion and the rise of BRIDGE, dozens of heroes had risen up out of nowhere seemingly. Me, Luna Snow, Ares, The Winter Guard, and many many more.
Everyone agreed something had to be done. But no one could agree on what.
Then I disappeared. And while I was gone, everyone else had stepped up. Heroes across the world had gone on missions, fighting the good fight.
Luna, Ami, and Dan had taken down a group of the Korean Mob, arresting some guy named Eric Hong. Ares had defeated a sect of demon worshippers in Russia alongside Chernobog, both gods killing an Elder Demon in a knockdown dragout fight.
There were more. But in the time I'd left, one big event was on everyone's lips. And it wasn't good news.
You see, Phil Grayfield had been hired to be a corporate sponsored hero.
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June 18th, 2014
Phil Grayfield
When Phil had smashed his right knee saving a little girl who had fallen out of a building, that had ended his football career. It was impossible to run, jump, to tackle, when your knee was constantly seconds from ripping out from under you.
Worth it. It was strange. Paul had spent his entire life fighting to become a professional football player. He'd spent hours training while friends partied, broke his body in the gym and on the field perfecting his skills, then nearly as much time studying tactics, watching old footage. Mastering himself as best as he could, giving up everything.
And then, when he had made it, he sacrificed it for a little girl's life. But he hadn't minded.
She lived. She later gave him a gap-toothed shy smile and said 'thank you'.
Phil lost everything, and gained more.
So when the NFL reached out to him again with an offer to come work for them again, not as a player, but as a hero, he had agreed immediately. He knew that they just chose him because he'd ended up newsworthy. A cameraman hired to follow him around by the name of Ken Reid had laid it out.
"They coulda picked anyone. But you made the news and you've got the hype, baby. NFL needs to jump on the hero train, bring in the views!"
But… it was worth it. Phil had saved someone. And he would do it again and again.
The NFL gave him a codename that he honestly hated. SuperPro, really?
The other things were nicer. A battle suit designed by Hammer Industries, created to rival the Iron Man armor. It wasn't even close to being as good, but it was very durable, with a handy feature that let it absorb kinetic energy and let him unleash it back.
Basically, he was immune to everything, and could dish it back just as goddamn hard. He also got injected by some sort of serum from AIM? Whatever it was, it had healed his knee and given him all his skills back and more.
And then, on his first mission in New York, he got kicked through a building by a guy with robotic stilt-legs escaping a prison.
That was… embarrassing.
Later ones were better. Stopping a robbery, taking down a drug dealer, saving a suicidal man from jumping off a bridge.
Even with all the cameras, lights, and publicity, the new fame, saving those people was the best thing Phil had ever done.
Today though, he was feeling out of his depth.
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"A… terrorist attack?" Phil asked, unable to keep the horror from his voice. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's just some idiots trying to make a statement," Ken, his cameraman, said, though he sounded a bit shaky in the throat. The two of them were in the back of the SuperProMobile, a red white and blue armored car the NFL had provided for them second-hand. The back was filled with computer screens, video monitors, and a radio set, all with the Stark Industries label stamped on the side. It was supposed to be his mobile headquarters.
It was more like a very tough news van that Ken could edit in. But the radio was tuned to the police bandwidth, so that was useful. That was how they ended up outside the MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, with dozens of police officers, SWAT, and news vans and helicopters circling overhead.
"A guy named Mallen, former SHIELD who left before the whole Hydra thing," Ken explained. "He's leading a group of domestic terrorists he's calling The Targeted, and they're holding the stadium hostage in return for having their demands met."
"What are the demands?" Phil asked, trying to emulate the sorts of questions he'd seen on TV. He'd tried his best to train and learn, but he'd been dropped into all this a bit suddenly.
"The immediate release of some of his old buddies that turned out to be Hydra, 25 million dollars, a helicopter, and a lot more. The list is like, fifteen pages long," Ken spun to grin at Phil, a smarmy sort of grin. "Who cares though? Go in, kick some ass, then come out and I'll make you look good!"
Phil frowned. "That can't be all. This stadium can hold, what, 80,000 people? How many guys does he have?"
"Maybe 50, covering the exits? A lot of ex-merc guys."
"Ex-mercs, ex-SHIELD!? Ken, I've fought gangbangers! Not trained soldiers. Why aren't the Avengers here?"
"Cause the bosses grabbed this first. Phil, baby, we can't keep working small time jobs, not if you wanna get attention."
"I don't want attention, I just want to help people."
Ken's grin fell for just a moment before he forced it back. "Well this is how! Just go in, let that Hammertech suit protect you, and save everybody! SWAT and cops are going in at the same time you are, so they'll have your back."
That was a lot more comforting. What Ken said next was less so.
"Besides, think of the ratings! We're going to get such great press out of this!"
"..." Phil silently rose up and opened the doors. Outside, a pair of cops were waiting for him. Phil joined them and walked towards where others were gathered, carrying weapons and wearing tough looking armor.
"Best of luck, Philly!" Ken said cheerily, turning in his chair.
Ken was a good guy. Just way too hungry for ratings.
With the folks who were gathered together, a man was speaking. "While they did lock down the exits, the main guys are on the field, and they've forced the civilians to get as close to the field as possible. We'd snipe them, but we can't get to the top of the building without being spotted. So we have teams covering each exit. Team 1 has Bud Light Gate, Team 2 has HCLTech, 3 has Verizon, and 4 will cover the MetLife Gate. Team 5, you and SuperPro will hit Moody's Gate."
The man pointed at Phil firmly. "You guys will take them down and rush towards the field. Team 2 and 3 will get up into the stands for positions. The rest of us will focus on getting the hostages out and emptying the stadium. SuperPro, you've got Mallen. He's apparently got some kind of powers, but we don't know what, so you'll hit him."
"SuperPro? Really?" A woman in SWAT gear asked.
"I didn't pick the name," Phil chuckled.
"Stow it. We need to move." The lead man said. "All teams, you have your missions. SuperPro, your team moves on you. Head out."
They all nodded and let out sounds of agreement. Phil swallowed nervously. This felt… intense. He thought he'd understood being nervous. He'd felt it when he first joined the NFL, first played college games, hell, even felt it before high school games.
But this was next level. Still. People needed help. Clenching his fists, Phil forced his heavy legs to move, forced himself to ignore the sweat on his brow, and followed his orders.
They all separated, moving across the pavement quickly. Phil clenched and unclenched his fists as he jogged next to the law enforcement officers. They approached the gate in question. It had blue
"The gates in view," Someone on the radio said into Phil's headset. "We move as one. All teams in position?"
"Team 5 in position," The SWAT woman next to Phil said as they took cover behind a van. Up ahead, there were six men guarding the gates to the arena, standing just behind the turnstiles that lead to an open space just before the opening into the place.
There were also bodies. Several dead bodies. Some were dressed like security, but there were more dressed for the game. Some were very small. Phil swallowed, disgust and fear filling him before he forced it down.
Once all the teams confirmed positions, the team lead barked. "All teams, move in!"
"I'll take point," Phil said with confidence he didn't entirely feel. He swallowed.
Then he spun out of cover and started running, full tilt.
The six mercenaries sighted him immediately. They lifted their guns and started shooting, moving so fast that it shocked Phil even as he forced himself to keep running. The mercs were all dressed the same, in black tight armor with a blue 'X' pattern of raised material across their chests.
Bullets hit his body. Phil swallowed at the sensation of them bouncing off his armor. He'd been shot at before, but always by much smaller guns. These ones were louder and the bullets sounded different as they bounced off.
But still, they bounced off. Phil got into the middle of the mercs, slamming into three of them in a tackle he'd practiced a million times. For just a moment, he was back on the field, smashing into a defensive line with all his might.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
With his new strength, instead of simply hitting them, the three mercs went flying backwards, one rolling on the ground, another slamming into the Moody's Gate rooftop, and the last smashing into one of his friends.
One guy approached Phil, aiming at his helmet with a big gun and firing a whole lot of bullets directly into his faceplate. Phil was blinded for a moment by the bullets bouncing off. Then a single shot rang, and his assailant was on the floor.
The cops had arrived. SWAT moved with professionalism, using Phil's distraction to get into position before gunning down the mercs.
"Go, go, go!" The main SWAT leader shouted, rushing forward through the gate. Phil quickly caught up and overtook her.
It was funny. He'd played in the MetLife Stadium before. Now he was back in the familiar halls again, for a very different purpose. At least he still remembered his way around. Leading the way for the group of SWAT, they sprinted through the halls. At one point, a discarded hot dog was destroyed under his boot before they found more opposition.
More mercs, five of them. Phil didn't stop sprinting, moving in towards them. It was why he wasn't able to stop before the grenade rolled to his feet. The explosion sent him flying backwards, his ears screaming at him. He ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling.
The actual explosion hadn't hurt, his armor had done his job, but god his ears. Suddenly a merc was on top of him. He barely got a glimpse of the knife before he caught the guys by the wrist, stopping him from jamming the 12 inch blade under his helmet and into his throat.
They struggled for a brief moment before Phil's super-soldier strength won out, pushing the guy off long enough for a SWAT guy to shoot him in the face. Phil rolled to his feet, looking around to see the other mercs were dead. As were two SWAT members.
He didn't have time to let that devastate him. The SWAT leader grabbed his arm, pulling him along. "Come on! We need to move before they can stop us!"
"I-I'm on it!" Phil stammered out, forcing himself to move. He ran his ass off, once again outpacing the SWAT team. They got to a hallway leading into the football field, passing several dead bodies that Phil forced himself to ignore.
This was… too much. He had seen death since becoming a sponsored hero. But not on this scale, not this indiscriminately. They reached the field. For a moment, just one… Phil was back.
His feet running across grass, his football gear across his body, a team by his side. The nostalgia filled him from head to toe.
Then a gunshot rang out. And all the nostalgia was replaced by stress again.
Across from them, the mercs had set up some kind of device, strapped up to blocks of C4. A bomb. A true blue bomb. The civilians in the stands had been forced to get as close to the field as possible, packed together like sardines, with bodies of dead people dotting the arena, presumably those who tried to fight back.
All the civilians in the stands were screaming as SWAT ran into the stands to start shooting the terrorists.
Phil focused on his own job. Moving with every bit of speed in him, he rushed across the field, slamming into the first merc he found with a fist to the chest powered with everything he had.
The merc blocked with his arms. It had all the usefulness of a screen door on a submarine. He went flying back, crashing into one of his friends twenty feet behind him.
"COME ON!" Phil roared at the top of his lungs. The former player was back on the field. He charged for the next person.
Someone else sped to meet him instead. His fist met the other guy's. And came to a halt.
Phil froze in shock. Ever since getting his powers, his suit, nothing had stopped his fist. He knew, on some level, that he wasn't the strongest hero out there. Even ignoring the pinnacle, Hulk, Iron Man, Dial, there were others who were strong enough to beat him, obviously. Always someone better out there.
But that was different from actually facing it.
"Jesus," the man who'd stopped him said with a smug grin. Phil stared at him. The man went from meeting Phil fist to fist, to grabbing his wrist and pulling him close. The man looked… like a monster. Pale white skin. Bright red eyes. It was the smirk that made Phil realize who he was looking at. "I really wanted an Avenger. Who the fuck are you?"
"Mallen," Phil hissed out.
"Nah," Mallen grabbed Phil by his gaudy red, white, and blue costume and lifted him into the air. "That's me, cupcake."
Mallen smashed him into the ground with enough force to crater the ground. And Phil gasped in pain.
Suit limiters adjusting for new power output.
Those simple words filled him with dread. The suit, to preserve power, had limiters to make sure he was safe without wasting energy. The goddamn grenade hadn't forced the limiter to increase.
"Oh?" Mallen grinned down at Phil. "You didn't break?"
A series of blood spurts from his chest drew Mallen's attention. The terrorist looked up at the SWAT leaders shooting him. Mallen smirked at them as the spots on his chest glowed red, healing in mere seconds while bullets fell from the holes to land on the dazed Phil.
"Be right back. Got cops to kill," Mallen moved towards the SWAT men and women fighting his men. And Phil's hand on his ankle stopped him. Mallen glanced at him like he was dirt on his boot.
So it must have been a shock when Phil snapped to his feet and tossed Mallen twenty feet into the air.
Mallen landed in a crumbled pile, the sounds of bones breaking filling the air. Phil gasped out a breath. "You aren't touching them."
Mallen glared at Phil. Rising up slowly, his broken bones flowed together in glowing streaks of red heat, the man healing in seconds. "Oh yeah? Who are you, anyways?"
For a moment, just one, Phil almost said that dumb name. Instead… "Phil Grayfield. Now come on."
"...All right," Mallen moved, fast enough that Phil barely caught sight of him. Phil raised his arms to block a punch, Mallen sending him sliding back even as his suit absorbed the kinetic impact. Phil hurriedly threw his own punch, cracking Mallen's jaw apart in a splash of blood and bone.
Mallen laughed, returning the punch with one of his own as his jaw healed in a flash of heat. Then Mallen breathed fire.
"Jesus Christ!" A SWAT member screamed. Phil would have agreed, but instead he uppercut Mallen, shutting his mouth. His suit now on fire, screaming warnings in his ear, Phil forced himself to punch again.
The two superhumans began beating the hell out of each other, punching over and over. Phil's suit kept him safe, but he wasn't skilled enough to match Mallen's SHIELD training. And while Phil's was hurting Mallen, he kept healing in bursts of red heat.
Finally, the words Phil had been waiting for came in.
"The bombs disabled!" The SWAT leader shouted over the radio.
Phil kicked out at Mallen, sending him flying back to roll on the grass. Phil grit his teeth, breathing hard. "It's over!"
"Eric Mallen!" the SWAT members gathered around them, aiming their guns at Mallen. "You're under arrest! Lay down!"
Mallen looked around. His fellow mercs were dead. The bombs he had set were disabled. Even with his healing, he couldn't take on Phil and all the SWAT officers around him.
Phil felt relief fill him. Until Mallen smiled.
It was soft. Almost whimsical.
"...I really hoped for an Avenger," Mallen met Phil's eyes. Mallen's eyes began to glow with a very familiar red heat. "But you'll do."
" Take him dow-" The SWAT woman began to shout before Phil tackled her, covering her up as best as he could.
Mallen spread his arms wide. And became fire.
The sound of it was insane. So far beyond anything Phil had ever experienced that he had nothing to compare it to. When the silence came in, it was a blessing, until Phil felt blood from his ears pouring across his cheeks. The force of it made his suit ring with alarms, the energy within it beginning to die out even as it was powered by that same kinetic force. The only scream before he lost his hearing was the woman he was protecting from the heat, force, and shockwaves.
And then… it was over. Phil gasped, then coughed when dust flooded his lungs. He stared at the SWAT woman he'd protected. She was safe. Defended by the same suit that protected him. Phil finished coughing, still unable to hear. Then he looked up.
"...Oh god," Phil said.
The MetLife Stadium was… destroyed.. Along with everyone inside. Far above, helicopters circled, and the jumbotron fell into the stands in a pile of destroyed metal. The field was ashes. The stands were full of rubble, melted plastic, and dead bodies. And the bodies were…
Phil Grayfield, the NFL SuperPro, stared around himself, one of the only two survivors out of over 65,000 civilians and SWAT members, in the middle of the devastation. With news helicopters above to catch the whole thing.
"Oh god," Phil went to his knees, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. "Wha-... I…I wanted to help."
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Author's Note: So yeah. I introduced NFL SuperPro, a famous gimmick sponsored comic character, then had him take on Mallen.
Both characters will be back, but the important thing is that... I guess, I don't really need to explain it further. Mallen, in truth, has a sponsor who will benefit from what happened. The rest of us have to deal with it.
So now. The Avengers, and all other superheroes in the world, have to deal with the devastation that follows, and try to defend themselves.
Next chapter will be on my pa tre on, but I might end up pushing the writing of it faster, considering what this event is. Let me know what you think.