In the city of Poppytown, nights were a risk. That was true for every American city, but it was especially prevalent in Poppytown. It wasn't because of a local gang led by a mad scientist. Not because of the remnants of an alien empire taking root here. Nor was it due to the rumors that there were vampires in the area. No, Poppytown was the most unstable at night because the city had the most Discoveries in the country for the past decade.
For whatever reason, Poppytown has dealt with a surge of newly awakened Gifted. On top of that, all these Gifted are the ones who want to cause trouble. Either they want to take revenge on something or someone that wronged them with their destructive powers or become full-fledged villains that destroy the town in their grand schemes. It made the place exciting but in a dangerous way. Poppytown has suffered significant tourism damages and other business-related expenses as many people and companies were wary of coming to the city, now known for having a rampaging metahuman every week or so.
Despite the hardships, the locals have managed to make due. The citizens would take extra precautions when living their daily lives, and business owners would put more deposits down on security. Other than Mayor Egger getting on TV and warning the citizens of a new threat now and again, the people of Poppytown can live in relative comfort, believing they are ready to handle the unexpected. But that was the thing about the unexpected: you couldn't prepare for everything it could throw at you, as a local bank was about to discover.
Night had settled in Poppytown's business district, attempting to cover the city in darkness but got pushed back by the street lamps and traffic lights. People hustled about the sidewalks, almost matching the speed of the cars on the road as they went about their lives. One of the ways the citizens counter the rise of rogue Gifted is that they never linger in places if they can help it since a villainous attack could happen at any place and at any time. There was a particular sense of urgency for the people in the city center. If Poppytown was a constantly refilling powder keg, the business district at night would be the future Ground Zero.
This was especially true for Poppytown Central Bank. Despite being located in an old-fashioned building with marble columns and stone steps, it was a local bank of medium importance to the city. It was still a tempting target for any would-be villain who wanted quick cash, so the guards around the bank's interior weren't run-of-the-mill security with only batons and maybe a pistol. These guards had body armor, heavy handguns, and shock batons. The only thing missing from their attire was full-face helmets and riot shields. The bank owners decided against those, feeling they would intimidate the customers instead of making them feel safe. Still, their current gear made these guards more than capable of handling most Gifted who tried to rob their place of employment. The problem is, with people like the Gifted, categorizing them in any way is almost impossible.
Amongst the slow stream of people, a lean man walked in. At first glance, he wore ordinary clothes, but his attire was odd, especially on an evening trip to the bank. He wore a red hoodie underneath a black vest jacket. He wore ripped navy blue jeans and black and white sneakers. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but if someone looked carefully, you could see the ends of black biker gloves sticking out of them. The golden baton sticking out of the boy's crossbody bag got most people's attention, though. The guards, however, focused on the man's head, covered by his hood and a white Comedy Mask. It was a smooth plastic plate with only three curved black lines representing crinkled eyes and a smiling mouth. It gave the man a creepy appearance, which he used to full effect as he casually walked through the red-carpeted floors of the bank's interior.
As the masked man approached the bank teller cubicles, the civilians began leaving the establishment with varying degrees of speed and panic. They knew what would happen next and wanted to be a safe distance when the trouble started. The receptionist on duty, a pretty woman fresh out of college, could only stare in wide-eyed panic as the masked figure approached her. When the man was in front of the teller, he stood before the now-trembling receptionist without saying anything. The handful of guards in the interior began moving behind the oddball with hands on their batons, their faces set in determined scowls. They tried to be subtle about their movements, but with how much their gear clacked, they had the subtlety of an elder disapproving of modern values.
"C-can I help you, sir?" the bank teller asked nervously. She feared the worst but decided to remain professional in case this oddly dressed stranger only wanted to make a deposit.
"You know what I'm here for," the masked figure responded, instantly smashing the girl's hopes. He spoke in a low tone that failed to mask his surprisingly youthful voice. 'Is this some kid?' one of the guards thought in mild surprise. 'Some punk that got powers and wants to play the villain,' another one guessed with a sneer. 'If he's a minor, this is going to be a pain to deal with,' one more groaned. "So, let's skip the foreplay and open that vault," the boy added cockily. That was enough for the guards to act. They pulled out their batons and moved towards the masked man.
"Hands where I can see them!" one guard called out. To everyone's surprise, the boy complied. Slowly, the boy lifted his hands in the air in the universal gesture of surrender. This move stunned the guards, but one decided to take the bait. He stepped toward the miscreant with the intent of subduing him. However, when the man got close, he noticed one of the suspect's hands inching towards his back, specifically, where his golden stick was sticking out of his bag.
"Hey!" the guard called out. But it was too late. The boy grabbed the stick and spun around. With the golden stick in his hand, he smacked it against the guard's head, causing the man to tumble to the ground after the unexpected blow. His coworkers stepped back in surprise as he fell, then turned to his attacker with angry scowls. In response, the boy twirled his weapon and took a confident step towards his aggressors. In a golden flash, his armament went from being the size of a baton into becoming a proper staff, one the boy began spinning in his hands with expert ease. With one last flourish, the boy stood in front of the remaining guards, staff held behind him in a single grip that was ready for a fight. He raised his free hand, palm facing the ceiling, and moved his fingers upwards twice, goading the guards into attacking him.
The guardsmen drew their batons and rushed forward. One man swung for the villain's head, only for the boy to sidestep the blow. He followed up by ramming his staff into the man's gut, forcing him to double over in pain despite his body armor. Another guard tried tackling the assailant, but the criminal countered by swinging his staff and striking him in the leg, causing the man to tumble down and crash into the counter. Two guards tried to attack at once, but the assailant moved forward and placed himself in between the two guys. One swung his baton at his side only to get wrapped up in their target's arm. At the same time, the target shortened his staff to the size of a bat, ramming one end into the other guy's nose before swinging it toward the first man's knee. The stick hit the back of the leg, causing the guard to fall and let the attacker land an easy yet strong punch to the side of the man's head.
Throwing the man to the ground, the villain whirled onto the guard with the bloody nose. He was still clutching his face and trying to stop the bleeding. The assailant took that opportunity to run forward and jab his staff into the man's leg, causing him to fall with a groan of pain and make it easier for his attacker to swing back his staff and strike the man in his face, knocking him down. Hearing the sound of stomping boots, the villain turned in time to see his first attacker on his feet and reared his baton back for a strike to the head. Raising his staff, he blocked the attack and stared into the seething security officer’s face. The two stared each other down while their weapons were pressed together in a deadlock. Suddenly, the guard grew a savage grin, and he pressed down on a button on his baton's hilt.
"Shock baton, scumbag!" the man declared as electricity surged from the baton and traveled up the villain's staff. However, nothing happened afterward. The villain didn't scream in pain or start convulsing as the electricity attacked his body.
"Insulated gloves, dumbass," the miscreant jeered as the guard's face fell. Suddenly, the criminal tilted his staff downwards, causing the guard's weapon to slide off. The man's force applied to the baton sent it flying towards the ground, making the wielder stumble. Then, the bad guy swept his legs with his stick, causing the man to fall to the ground face-first. Before the guard could get up, the villain raised his weapon and swung it down on the man's head, knocking him out cold.
"Freeze!" someone screamed. The last guard, who watched his colleagues get easily beaten by a kid with a stick, started panicking as he pulled out a large pistol. The gun had a barrel almost as big as the man's forearm, and he was struggling to hold it steady. Yet the man kept the pistol trained on the villain's mask even as the gun drooped downward and shook with the man's anxious movements. He stood a few feet away from the criminal and was slowly backing away even as he held him at gunpoint.
"Careful now," the villain cooed. "One wrong move, and you might shoot your friends." This was a blatant bluff. All the other guards were on the floor unconscious; even if the gunman did miss a shot, he'd have to be aiming at the criminal's feet to hit them accidentally. However, with how frazzled the man was, he couldn't think clearly. He took a moment to look at his comrades, and that moment was all the villain needed. As the stick glowed with golden light, the criminal thrust his staff at the man like a spear. The end pointed at the last guard elongated with rapid speed and crashed into his gut. The staff pushed him into the wall, slamming him so hard it made a few cracks in the structure.
The surprise attack was successful, but the last guard still squeezed out a round before being dealt with. The bullet hit the plexiglass window and rebounded into the villain's mask. Stumbling backward at the force and minor explosion of plastic, the lawbreaker quickly turned away from the receptionist before removing his mask and examining the damage. The bullet cracked the upper right corner of the mask and forced cracks to spread across the rest of the visage. The young man grumbled in annoyance before reequipping the mask and facing his last opponent. The surprise attack forced the outlaw to retract his weapon and allow the gunman to slide to the ground. He lay limp and propped up against the wall, clearly unconscious like the rest of his buddies. There was an indent where the villain’s staff struck the body armor, so the man may need medical attention afterward, but the felon wasn’t in the mood to check any further than that.
The criminal then turned to the bank teller. He approached the young girl, acting like that unlucky fluke hadn't just rattled him. The employee stared at the villain with pure terror in her eyes and a ghostly pale face. Her hands were underneath the desk, and given the rapid jerking of her arms, she either frantically pressed a silent alarm button or chose a strange time to play with dice.
"Now," the villain began, casually folding his arms over the counter. "About the vault." The girl quickly pressed a second button underneath the desk, and a metal wall descended from the ceiling, slamming onto her desk and covering the glass window. The teller stepped back with a hand on her chest, taking a calming breath as she thought she was safe.
"Cute," the voice of the villain spoke. But instead of being muffled behind the metal wall, it was clear and coming from right next to her. The girl whirled around and was horrified to see the cracked mask of the criminal staring back at her.
"H-how-" the girl began, but a finger to her lips and a condescending "Shh" silenced her.
"The vault," the outlaw repeated, his tone still playful but with a slight edge that promised nothing good if he got denied again. With shaky fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Slowly and meekly, she placed the keys in the villain's now open hand. Once the keys were in his possession, the criminal turned away from the girl and walked toward the vault. The teller took that as a sign of her dismissal and bolted down a different hallway. Whether that meant she was going to a panic room or running out of a back door, the villain didn't care; he had more pressing matters to deal with.
With the last witness gone, the villain dropped his easy-going and confident facade. Letting his shoulders tense, the lawbreaker marched towards the vault room and began fiddling with the door controls. Despite how easy it was getting to this point, the villain couldn't help but be concerned about his heist's next steps, namely, because getting here was too easy. No bank in a high crime area would have a skeleton crew of five guards and one bank teller. Something was up, and the criminal felt he needed to be fast with what came next.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
The creaking and groans of the metal as the vault door slid open only made the villain's anxiety worse.. The second there was enough of a gap between the door and the metal gate, the villain slipped inside, shoving the metal gate open like it was made of paper. Once inside, the criminal took a folded paper from his bag. Examining it, the villain started ripping open lockboxes with matching numbers on the note and dumping the contents in the middle of the floor. Occasionally, the felon would put a wad of cash into his small bag, but it was a small percentage of the fortune piled on the floor. The villain didn't care; the money wasn't the point of this endeavor.
Once all the lockboxes on his list have been emptied and collected, the villain reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of lighter fluid. Removing the cap on the bottle, the criminal dumps the contents all over the large pile of money and then takes out a cigarette lighter. With one more moment to take in his crime and appreciate the large stack of still intact dollar bills, the villain flicks on the lighter and tosses it onto the pile. The second the flame spread to the dollars, he heard the front door slam open and heavy footsteps rush inside. The villain swung around and readied himself to face the police armed with guns and maybe some riot gear if they were overly cautious.
Instead, dark purple laser beams cut through the metal wall and flew into the opened vault. The villain barely jumped out of the way in time and watched the lasers fly over the burning money pile and strike the wall, leaving behind a significant burn mark. Stomach-dropping, the criminal peeked out his head to see his attackers through the metal hole in the metal wall. Sure enough, instead of cops at the front door, a group of men in lab coats and futuristic motorcycle helmets wielding blocky rifles scrambled through the front door. Labbies, the grunts of the local gang Neo Spectrum, and if they were here instead of the police, then that can only mean one thing.
"Goddammit…" the villain hissed in annoyance.
"Get out of there, Sun!" one Labby exclaimed. "We're taking our money back from you're hide, you little shit!" The villain didn't reply; he just leaned against the wall, his mask pressed against the surface, contemplating bashing his head against it to curtail his building frustration. He decided against it, as a slight cracking sound reminded him that his costume was already damaged. The last thing he needed was to compromise his secret identity. The night wasn't over, though, and this surprise encounter was manageable.
With one last groan of annoyance, Ethan Sun stepped out of the vault, jumped through the melted hole, and faced the squad of lab coat-wearing goons. Even as the young man casually stepped up to the armed goons, they didn't shoot. They spread out across the interior to surround the masked man, laser guns all pointing at him as they moved. They would've looked like soldiers if they didn't twitch so much or could stand straight. Plus, their sloppy circle formation meant a missed shot could easily hit one of their teammates.
"So what is this?" Ethan asked, jerking his head towards the open vault. The fire inside was now a roaring flame. The would-be villain wasn't sure how the building would handle a fire from inside the saferoom, but he wasn't keen to find out. Ethan kept his demeanor casual despite his desire for a hasty exit. One hand rested on his hip while the other hung at his side, lightly grasping his gold staff, now the size of a drumstick. The young man knew he had to be clever since he was outnumbered and outgunned. "This some sort of money laundering scheme?" Before anyone could answer, Ethan brought up a hand for silence. "You know what, don't answer that. I don't care. I did what I came here to do, and I really don't feel like hearing the finer points of whatever the hell you're doing here."
"Too fucking bad," the goon in front of him snarled. He took a few steps forward, stomping his feet to look intimidating and not like an overgrown child. The Labby trained his weapon on Ethan's mask even as he closed the distance and made aiming redundant. "The boss is going to take the money she lost here out of our pay! You have any idea how much you cost us?!"
"I feel your pain, really I do," Ethan replied with a hand placed dramatically on his chest. He did his best to sound disingenuous even as the mook's words struck a cord within the would-be-villain's heart. The younger man knew what it was like to be screwed over even when you did nothing wrong, but Ethan couldn't let his sympathy show. These guys were proper thugs and wouldn't hesitate to jump on any inch he gave them. "But don't you think we should call this a night? Even if you kill me, and that's a big "if", you're not getting that money back."
"Maybe not," the thug growled, adjusting his grip on his rifle before he opened fire. "But it'll make us feel-" Before the thug could finish, Ethan swung his stick and slammed it into his knee. The man cried out as he started to fall, but Ethan leaped behind him, looping his arm around the grunt's neck, hoisting him up, and turning the man into a human shield.
"You wanna start shooting now?" Ethan asked, gesturing with his stick-wielding hand to his face, which just so happened to be next to the goon's helmet. "I'm right here." The remaining Labbies jerked their heads between the spot Ethan was a few seconds ago and the impromptu hostage situation. It was clear they didn't know what to do now, but some started slowly moving their guns toward the two men.
"D-Don't shoot you idiots!" the Labby-turned meat shield screamed. He tried to wriggle out of Ethan's grip, but the young man's enhanced strength kept him firmly in place. Ethan started slowly moving back towards the front door, which hung open on broken hinges thanks to the Labbies' rough entrance. If his human shield notices, he decides not to say anything and focuses on not dying.
"Are you sure they shouldn't shoot?" Ethan asked.
"No! Don't shoot!"
"I'm pretty sure they should shoot."
"Shut up! Don't listen to him!" The Shield-Labby was now in a full-blown panic. He flailed his head around like a balloon filled with air, then released into the wind without being tied up. His body jerked around like he was being electrocuted and straining against Ethan's arm like an unruly toddler trying to get out of their car seat. His fellow grunts followed the two as Ethan stepped out of the bank and into the cold night. They kept their weapons half raised so as not to let Ethan out of their sight but not put them in firing positions for the sake of their screaming coworker. The masked man couldn't see their face due to their helmets, but Ethan could tell they were nervous, given the slight twitching of their weapons as they moved.
Once Ethan stepped outside, his hostage tried again to break free. He leaned forward before throwing his helmet back and towards Ethan's face. The miscreant jerked his head backward, avoiding the blow but loosening his grip enough for his meat shield to slip away.
"Shoot Now!" the man screamed as he threw himself onto the ground.
"Oh, sure. Now you want them to shoot," Ethan quipped before backflipping down the bank stairs to avoid the blaster fire. As Ethan cleared the steps, the Labies followed him, with the punk's former meat shield rearmed and ready to take his revenge. Ethan landed on his feet, and as he faced the charging minions. Taking his staff in both hands, he shifted his footing into a martial arts stance with his weapon held up and at the ready. The goons raced down the stairs to meet up with their target. They held up their guns and hummed with energy as they charged up their next shots.
"Surround him!" the ex-meat shield ordered. "Don't let him escape!"
"Well, look at you," Ethan said as the Labbies circled him again. "Able to read the clues that are right in front of you. You're a cut above the rest of the mooks, meat-shield."
"Fuck you!" the man growled. As angry as he was, the lead Labby kept himself out of the circle and far away from Ethan's grasp, proving he did have a basic understanding of common sense. "You don't get to talk to me like that when you're trying to run away!"
"I just call it like I see it," Ethan shrugged. "You're not dumb; take the compliment."
"You can take your "compliment" with on you’re way down to Hell! Light him up, boys!" The lead Labby raised his energy weapon and pointed it at Ethan. In a disordered medley, the grunts fired their guns at the young man. This situation would typically be like shooting fish in a barrel, but they forgot they weren't fighting a typical person.
Ethan's staff glowed gold as one end slammed into the ground. Rather than stopping once the weapon became embedded in the pavement, the staff kept growing, with the other end extending into the air, taking Ethan with it.
"No!" the lead mook screamed as the blaster fire narrowly missed the masked man. Ethan clung to the staff with both hands and feet as it carried him into the air. He glanced down and watched as the panicking minions desperately tried to shoot him as he flew into the night sky. Dark purple lasers glided into the air, fluttering past Ethan's body like poorly tossed softballs. Ethan waved at the henchmen as he was carried into the sky and past the clouds. Once the young man saw the first cloud under his feet, Ethan forced his staff back into its usual form and dropped onto the mass of water particles.
Rather than freefalling through the cloud, when Ethan's feet touched the fluffy veil, he only bounced slightly as if he had stepped onto a mattress. Stuffing his weapon into his bag, Ethan began hopping across clouds and heading deeper into the city, leaving behind the crime scene and a gaggle of shrieking and cursing minions in lab coats. His escape was official and successful.
The next day, Ethan sat in his hideout. The outside was an abandoned auto parts factory, but thanks to its former owner, the inside was a liveable hideout where someone could lie low for a few days. Ethan initially felt terrible about using someone else's hard work, but one couldn't become a villain if your conscience held you back.
Ethan sat in the little living room, a factory corner free of heavy machinery and stuffed with lounge furniture. It was a small area with a cheap coach, a flatscreen TV in okay condition, and a glass coffee table between the two pieces of furniture. There was a tacky pink rug on the floor that Ethan suspected was the former occupants' failed attempt to spruce up the place. It was as if they hoped looking at that ugly carpet would make them forget he was in a run-down building that was 90% dust and rust. Ethan was on the couch, watching the news of yesterday's bank heist. As the reporter prattled on, Ethan had a look of tired anger on his face, a look someone would save for a dog that had defecated in their home for the 15th time that week. Ethan held his clasped hands before his face as he tried to reign in his growing frustration.
"Yesterday, the Poppytown Central Bank was attacked," the anchorman reported, his face a mask of corporate professionalism as he read the teleprompter. "A masked individual matching the description of local vigilante, Ethan Sun, walked into the bank at 10 PM and demanded the vault be opened. Rather than being the start of a bank heist, it turns out the establishment had been taken over by the gang Neo Spectrum. The group had been siphoning money from the accounts for some time now. It seems that Ethan Sun learned about this scheme and took action, attacking the bank to draw out the criminals involved, exposing them to the local authorities that arrived later that night." By the end of the newsman's summary, Ethan had his head in his hands and was breathing deeply.
The news moved on to other stories, but Ethan ignored them, instead choosing to rise from the couch and wander into the factory, his hands still on his face. He eventually dragged the appendages down his skin in exasperation and moved them to other places on his body. One hand was on his hip, and another was running through his hair as he paced around the place, looking like a high school drama star puzzling over the latest problem.
When he finished contemplating, Ethan abruptly stomped to the living room, picked up the coffee table like it was an empty tote box, and slammed it onto the ground. The explosion of glass shards and metal debris was followed by Ethan’s scream of rage.
"Why are these people so stupid?!" Ethan roared into the air, his hands gripping his hair, ready to tear out strands in frustration. That was a bank heist! He was there to rob it and destroy what he couldn't take! He didn't know about Neo Spectrum! How the hell was he supposed to know about that?! Where was the testimony from the teller he threatened?! What about the guards he beat up?! They weren't a part of Neo Spectrum, and Ethan was sure he sent at least one of them to the hospital! Why weren't they saying anything?!
And then there were the businesses. Ethan didn't target random lockboxes. He attacked the ones belonging to the big companies that used the Poppytown Central Bank. Ethan planned to piss them off by damaging their lifeblood and getting them to demand that authorities apprehend him. When Ethan refused to get arrested, he'd be labeled a criminal, and he could let that "damaged" reputation snowball until the people considered him a supervillain. It should've been easy, something that should've worked even with the outliers, such as stumbling onto a criminal conspiracy getting added into the mix.
But the companies aren't talking. Why?! Even if he screwed over Neo Spectrum, that didn't change the fact that he destroyed their liquid assets. They should be furious right now and plotting their revenge! Ethan even gave them a legal avenue to do it; burning money is a crime! The corporations should at least be demanding Ethan pay them for damages. Nothing added up, but Ethan should be expecting this by now. He'd been trying to become a supervillain for nearly a month. Yet, the public seemed determined to praise him as a Hero for even the most evident criminal acts.
"That's all we have for today," the anchorman stated. He took on a somber and sentimental tone for his outro, which caught the young man's attention. "We'll be back tomorrow with more news. And for our local Hero, Ethan Sun, we, on behalf of Poppytown, thank you for your service."
"Go fuck yourselves," the "Hero" spat before stomping out of the building.