Detective Hasborough let out a weary sigh as he exited his car. He had just gotten off for the day when he was called back to investigate an “urgent situation”. Instead of getting to spend time with his kids, he got to come in and see the results of some punk or sicko losing control. At least, that’s what he suspected it was. His boss wouldn’t tell him much, instead prompting him to hurry over when Hasborough tried to get any clarification.
His knees protested as he got out of the car. He was getting too old for this. Hasborough had been in the force for 30 years, and what had started out as optimism and enthusiasm had slowly turned into discontent. His job meant that he was either bored out of his mind, scared for his life, or witnessing the sickening crimes of someone who could barely be called human. And he didn’t even want to get started on what happened when supers were involved, which seemed to be happening more and more frequently.
Hasborough was a tall man, although age had shortened him somewhat. His hair was graying, following his mustache, which had already completed the process nearly half a decade ago. He had short, straight hair, the type that always seemed to be in order. Once, he felt like he was a symbol of strength and justice. Now, he just noticed how the lines in his face seemed to get deeper each time he looked into the mirror.
He wore an old trench coat, which, despite its faded appearance, was still warm and waterproof. Underneath he wore a suit, sans jacket, colored a light gray. Trench coats weren’t nearly as popular today as they had been when he joined the force, but honestly, Hasborough didn’t care. He was about through with caring about most things people thought, to be honest.
The sun, which had been out all day, had been covered up by gray, melancholy clouds. It had been raining on and off for the last hour, covering the pavements in puddles. Hasborough’s cheap fake leather shoes splashed through the shallow water.
He took one last look around the outside of the gas station. A few police cruisers were parked around, lights off, blocking access to the location. A few officers stood watch, to discourage those who didn’t get the message. One was talking to a news crew, one of the few in town, who had caught wind that something was going on here and wanted to be the first on the scoop.
The automatic doors whirred open, and Hasborough was treated to a scene of carnage.
“Christ” he murmured, wiping his brow. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d seen, not even close, but it was bad. Maybe if he was in a larger city, sights like this would be more common, but here, stuff like this only popped up once every 2 or 3 years, and it was always a bad couple of weeks when it happened. The thought of the paperwork alone was enough to bring on the start of a headache.
There were two markers sitting on the floor, one on top of a pool of blood and what looked to be a few teeth. Those would be the living suspects, who were brought off to the hospital to ensure their survival.
Laying a few feet away was a body, with the top half of its head dissolving into mush on the floor, a bloody metal bat lying nearby.
Also on the floor was a bloodied man in a bright red spandex style suit. He was unconscious, restrained by a device emitting bright bands of light.
Hasborough wiped his forehead in relief. Dying because someone failed to restrain a super wasn’t a fate he would wish on anybody, let alone himself. Their department was lucky enough that the feds distributed some Formens tech for situations like this, or it would be far dicier. They didn’t have much that could stop an active super, but once they were down, they could restrain most of them for a few hours. He was glad it was there, even though the super didn’t look like he could hurt anybody else at the moment. He looked like he had been on the receiving end of a severe beating.
As for the store itself, it was in a rough shape, even discounting the blood. There was a person shaped hole in the wall, almost 2 inches deep, partially through concrete. The floor was dotted with multiple cracked holes, and the cheap tiles had been especially ripped up in one section. Many of the shelves were tipped over, bent and broken products on the ground around them. One of the displays was nearly ripped in half. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, and there was the outline of a firearm near the corpse.
Hasborough heard a groan behind him, and saw the secured super groggily open his eyes. The detective frowned, unhappy with the development. That would make him more difficult to transport. Hopefully the-
Hasborough was interrupted by the sound of the automatic door opening behind him. He turned around, to see another red clad figure. This one was larger than the man on the floor, his suit a brighter red, striped with white.
He cut an imposing figure, standing even taller than Hasborough, and was heavily muscled to boot. Dynamis. The new rookie superhero, left in charge after the city’s normal protector was called away to deal with the event that was going on, along with seemingly 80% of the other superheroes in the world.
Dynamis was young, probably in his early twenties, and that was reflected in his demeanor. While Coriolis, the super in charge of protecting their little city, was often friendly and approachable, exercising mercy even where he could have gotten away with violence, Dynamis was different. He was confident, but he was cold, and often overzealous, eager to prove himself. He wasn’t as kind. Hasborough didn’t know if that was a common trait for new heroes or not, but he suspected that some of that limitless patience some professionals had was a learned trait.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
The detective heard cracking sounds behind him. He turned, to see the previously restrained villain standing up. The bindings were still on him, but their anchors had been ripped from the floor.
Hasborough moved to radio for help. A restrained super was still dangerous, and if he got out, well… everyone around was in danger. Before he could grab his radio, a red and white blur shot by.
A sudden wind blew his coat, and he heard a sharp crack as Dynamis slammed the villain's head into the floor, rendering him unconscious near instantly. Hasborough dropped his hands to his sides. He supposed that the situation was resolved.
Sighing, he pressed his hands to his temples. This was going to be a major pain in the ass, wasn’t it?
---------
Once the rouge super had been rebound, Hasborough and Dynamis proceeded to the back of the store, to access the security footage. They had to wind back a little bit, but eventually they found the start of the event.
The video showed three masked men running into the store, followed by the red clad villain. The audio quality was poor, but it did exist ( a recently mandated requirement after some enterprising business had convinced supers to “rob” them to collect on insurance), and they were able to make out the villain introducing himself as Derelict.
Two of the masked men, each one bearing bats, started getting people out of the store, while Derelict and the final man went to the back.
Once they had ensured that everyone had left, they took up cover, in case of a response. The police showed up a few minutes later. In the back, Derelict and the third man were trying to crack the safe.
This continued for several minutes, so Hasborough fast-forwarded through it. There would be time for a more thorough review later. He put the recording back to normal speed when he caught sight of a person in a suit of power armor striding in the door. They looked short, with thin limbs, but it was hard to tell with the bulk of the armor covering their head and chest.
The new super was immediately ambushed by one of the men with the bats. He easily turned and caught it, but his assailant turned and dodged out of distance before they could grab him. The other robber came up behind them, kicking the suited figure's legs out from under them.
They beat on the armor with the bats, but it seemed to have no effect, and the figure quickly threw themselves back to their feet, knocking the thugs away. They recovered quickly, and resumed their assault, but the person in armor ignored one, instead choosing to take one of the bats and snap it in half.
The thug that was wielding it rapidly backpedaled, but the armored super blurred across the floor, landing a devastating punch that sent teeth flying and the thug to the floor.
The other man turned to run, but the super blurred again, tackling him to the floor. They slammed the man's head into the ground, removing him from the fight.
A few seconds later, the third man walked out. Unlike the others, he was armed with a pistol. He said something, and the super reached to pick up the fallen metal bat. They weren’t able to reach it in time, and a gunshot that was loud even over the tinned audio of the recording echoed in the tiny office.
The supers head moved slightly, but other than that, it had no effect. The thug moved to fire again, but the armored figure hurled the bat through the air, embedding it in the man's skull. Another gunshot went off as he fell to the ground, striking nothing.
The armored super remained crouched on the ground, until Derelict, who must have heard the gunshots and been concerned by the lack of check in, walked out. He said something to the super, who stood up, before slamming him into a wall.
Their fight played out similarly to the one between the armored person and the thugs. Derelict would unleash a blistering flurry of attacks, or a blow that would kill a normal person, and they would stagger or daze the super, but ultimately would prove to do no noticeable damage. As time went on, Derelict started to slow, and the armored figure seemed to be getting faster, blurring around to catch Derelict. The villain would to catch his opponent in an arm bar, only to get slammed on the ground, or to leap at him, only to get caught by a fist.
Eventually, Derelict seemingly had enough, blasting forwards faster than before, so fast that even with a frame by frame most of the action was missed by the relatively cheap cameras.
This sent the mystery super flying, but after a few seconds they returned to their feet. Derelict turned to run, but was quickly tackled into the ground.
Hasborough stopped the playback. That was about an expansive of a coverage of the incident as they were likely to get, short of help from another super with very specific powers.
The aging detective turned to his impromptu investigative partner. Dynamis had a stern look on his face. Noticing Hasborough’s inquisitive stare, the young hero spoke.
“A villain, I think, or a rather poor vigilante. He’s too aggressive. Plus, he might be connected to the incident at the scrapyard the other night. The materials for armor like that need to come from somewhere. Put out the order. He’s to be treated as a villain. Do not approach. I’ll apprehend him myself.”
His conclusion differed from the one that Hasborough had reached.
“While they’re certainly, ah, generous, in their application of excessive force, I don’t know if we can call them a villain. They seem like an amateur hero. You know how sloppy they can get. Maybe just bring them in, talk with them?”
Watching the brutal fight had distracted Hasborough from a crucial fact. He wasn’t dealing with Coriolis right now, and his replacement was a lot less reasonable than his successor.
The detective saw the young man's jaw firm.
“No, he’s dangerous. I checked the power registry database while we were watching the footage. He doesn’t come up. He could just as easily be a villain taking an opportunity to remove a rival as he could be an unskilled vigilante, and from the looks of the fight, he’s got experience. Someone that dangerous shouldn’t be roaming the streets. It will be as I say.”
With that pronouncement, Dynamis turned and strode off, giving one last order as he did so.
“You’ll be helping me investigate him later. I’ll call you when I need you.”
The office door slammed behind him. Hasborough buried his head in his hands. His precious free time was about to vanish like a mirage. He turned, and trudged out of the store. Maybe his boss would let him retire a few years early.
He chuckled to himself. Who was he kidding? He was fucked.