A massive overhead swing came flying down towards his face. It clipped him on the side of his chin, throwing him to the ground. A barrage of feet surrounded him as he tried to stand up once more. One quick kick sent him sliding into a wall.
He couldn’t get up in time to avoid the next series of attacks that slammed into him like sledgehammers. Just before the world faded to nothing, a new surge of power ripped through him.
The attacks that had just thoroughly thrashed him barely stung and the earlier wounds were merely old aches.
He took a knee to the head in his confusion. The blow that should have sent him reeling only made him angry. He turned to the source and saw the man flinch back from his glare.
He launched from the floor and began fighting back. The brawl ended soon after with a swarm of guards rushing in with riot shields and tear gas filling the inmates' lungs.
‘Ah, a prison.’
It took the entire punitive force’s effort to stop his rampage. The next morning ticked by in solitary confinement with a few of the original instigators lining the very same hall. It was the price he paid to be the last one standing in a room full of criminals.
The rest of his stay in the facility was filled with danger and intimation. A paradise for the man that he had become. After nearly half a decade of constant violence, he decided that enough was enough and he wanted out.
The freedom of the outside world was enough temptation to stamp down even his most violent outbursts.
He stayed clear of the fights and the other prisoners were happy to oblige him while he waited for the remainder of his sentence out. A thirty-year sentence was shortened to five thanks to the rampant overcrowding and good behavior. He took his first steps into the wide world with the institution at his back.
With his power coursing through his veins, he could do anything he wanted. The next weeks were filled with denial and sneers from every place he went. Who wanted to hire a violent criminal?
Not many as he came to learn and even fewer wanted someone with his record. With nowhere to turn and his options limited, he turned to a business he knew well. One that was even present within prisons.
The drug market.
The next few months were a far cry from what he was hoping for once he regained his freedom, but if the world wasn't ready to accommodate him then he would force his way in.
He racked up money, bought himself a nice place, and he felt truly invincible on his turf. Milenicadia was a metropolis of opportunity if someone had the affinity for violence. No other powered even dared to enter it.
With so much success, he needed to celebrate. He had heard about a club not too far from his place and raced there with a wad of money in his pants, ready to blow it all in a drug-filled romp.
It was everything he could have hoped for until some slouch stepped on his foot and refused to apologies. The vengeance was swift and rewarding. The tussle that ensued was much less so.
It was going relatively fine as he stared down at a blonde bouncer, ready to dash his skull against the floor for the strikes he had received. Just before throwing the final punch that would have ended the poor moron, everything went black.
-
Sean woke with a start. His heart was pounding and his mouth was dry. He fished for a water bottle from the nightstand and downed the whole thing as he made sense of the strange dream.
‘It was so…vivid and why was I looking at myself at the end? Was I reliving the fight from the other guy's point of view?’
He traced the mental journey further and further back.
‘Then why did I see a jail?’
He let his concerns fall to the side as he looked at the clock. It was already three o’clock. He needed to get moving if he wanted to do anything with the day before heading to work.
‘I still have almost three hundred and I’m getting another five hundred tonight.’
His lips quirked up as the full weight of his thoughts laid into him. The feeling of financial freedom was something he hadn’t had in a very long time. Ever since smoking pills, every dollar he got went straight towards his addiction.
He rose from the bed, stretching his arms high to the sky. The itch to smoke was nowhere to be found. He was certain. He really was free. The smile that had frequented his lips the day before returned. His assumptions were all but confirmed.
The door opened up and daylight filled the room. Sean let a sigh fall from his lips. Honks and shouts filled his ears as the midday traffic of the city was in full swing.
“I am fucking starving.”
He ran to the closest corner store, throwing the door open much too hard in excitement, and grabbed a pile of junk food to gorge himself on.
He counted the money once more. Two hundred and thirty dollars to his name.
He felt invincible. The streets were filled with people and, for once, he didn’t feel out of place. The shame of needing to beg was officially a thing of the past.
Sean followed the flow of bodies, enjoying the lack of stares and derisive comments. He slowly made his way to more familiar streets when something happened that he had long forgotten as even a possibility.
“Don’t say a fucking word.”
The calm voice paired with the hard bump against his back caused him to freeze.
“Give me all the money you got.”
He was being robbed and he actually had something besides pills that were worth taking. He could feel the hands roaming his pockets, quickly finding the wad of cash.
“Don’t turn around.”
The man pushed the object into his back once more before the sound of footsteps filled his ears. A few moments of silence passed when his shoulders fell.
“Shit.”
All of his hard-earned money was gone. The fact he even had money that made him a worthy target was outlandish, but, somehow, the man had known.
“Fuck!”
He slammed his hand into a large dumpster to his side in a fit of anger. The thick steel dented slightly under his fist. His knuckles took on a red glint and twinged with pain. He did a double take to the result of his outburst.
“What the hell?”
He leaned in and looked at it from several angles. It was certainly dented and far more than he thought himself capable of. He cocked his fist back and let another blow fly. His wrist bent upon contact and he grunted in pain.
"Shit! My wrist..." Sean whimpered in anguish.
He clenched at the injured hand and walked away with his wounded pride.
‘Must have been the adrenaline….my money.’
He fought back a groan at the thought of his lost reward and made his way to the club. He pushed the doors open and walked inside with a frown plastered on his face.
“Woah, you look sad. What happened?” Imani was sweeping a pile of trash to the side door when he caught a glimpse of the younger man.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I…I got fucking mugged.” He almost couldn’t believe it himself.
How long had it been since he had something someone else even wanted that wasn’t drugs?
“You got mugged? By who? Powered almost never do that kind of petty crime unless it gets really bad and they usually just go straight to the banks.”
Sean bit his lip.
“I don’t think he was a powered. I am pretty sure he had a gun or something.”
Imani quirked his head to the side upon hearing the revelation.
“And you just let him take your shit?”
“He had a gun!” He fired back, holding anger from his tone.
“And you have powers. Didn’t it occur to you that you could have used them to stop the situation? Ya know, melt his brain or something. Even people like us are allowed to defend ourselves in the face of mortal danger. The Hero Union lets shit like that slide normally. Can't let criminals do whatever they want.”
“I…well…It’s just…I don’t…no, it didn’t.” Sean stammered.
Imani cracked a smile before smacking him on the back.
“Must not have awakened too long ago. Well, don’t let it get to you that much. You are getting your first bonus tonight after all. Now help me push this shit into the alley.”
He fought back a grin before grabbing another broom. They got the place ready to open and waited behind the velvet doors with Devon nodding in their direction.
“Just another night. Let’s hope it's an uneventful one.”
The doors flung open, and the trio pushed their way out, organizing the line and slowly filtering a few patrons inside.
Devon went to work, weeding out the powered from the line and sending them on their way towards the more appropriate establishments. The night was progressing smoothly. A few skirmishes broke out in the line, but never progressed into the establishment.
The festivities began to tone down when Imani asked for the cover charge from a young man and his girlfriend. Sean scanned the crowd with his half scowl that the tattooed coworker had taught him. The loud noises of honking cars and shouting filled his ears.
Above it all, the distinct noise of a horrid gasp filled his ears. He turned to the source and saw his friend clutching his stomach and slowly falling to the ground.
Sean’s heart dropped.
“Devon!” He shouted as he rushed to Imani’s side. Right below the bottom of the protective vest, a gash poured maroon blood onto the ground behind him.
He put pressure on the wound and looked around the crowd for the suspect. A few stray jets sprayed him and the crowd as his heart pumped the blood out of his body. The injured man bit at his hand, stifling the scream that desperately wanted out.
A few of the onlookers screamed as they realized what was going on. The place turned into a flurry of movement going every which way. Sean stopped anyone from stampeding over the man’s downed figure as his other coworker pushed his way towards them.
“What the hell happened?!” His shout boomed over the crowd drawing his attention.
“Imani got stabbed. I’m putting pressure on it for now.” He could see the tension fall from Devon’s body.
“Oh, he’ll be fine.” He turned to the crowd and began shouting. “Everyone calm down. Calm down! One of the doormen got injured but it’s nothing serious. We will be opening our doors back up in a few minutes, but, for now, we won’t be taking anyone else in.”
He turned back around to the crouched pair.
“Pull him into the club and get him something to drink.”
Sean wanted to argue, but he could feel the man under his hands already moving.
“I-”He felt a new hand take his place and turned to look at the cause.
Imani was still biting into the meaty part of his fist, drawing more blood while his other hand pushed on his stomach. He turned towards the door and forced his shoulder against the soft velvet.
It barely budged.
Sean rushed over, flinging it open and pulling a stool from a very annoyed customer’s table. He rushed to the bar and got a bottle of water from the confused staff.
He handed it over to the injured man only for him to throw it to the side.
“Get me some-urgh- goddamn brandy.” He choked the words out through pained grunts.
Sean returned with a glass full and watched the man down it with ease and relax. The calm that overtook his features was a strange change to see wash over him.
“Oh yeah, that’s better. What did you get? Remy Martin?” He let his hand drop from his stomach and his head fall to the wall.
“Woah, dude! You just got stabbed. You need to keep pressure on it.” Imani brushed him off.
“You saw what I can do last night. All I needed was a little drink to kick it off. I just ran out cause I forgot to refill my flask yesterday.”
Sean looked to him with confusion plastered across his face.
“I don’t get it. Why did you want brandy and how are you not passing out from blood loss already?”
The other man stood up and looked at the blood covering his hands.
“I’ll explain when we get off. We have work to do and red stains to wash off before we head back out there.”
He looked towards his own hands and gulped. They were positively covered and everything he touched spread the tacky liquid around.
“Fine.”
They washed up and headed back out. The black shirts they wore hid the dark red patches with ease and they successfully made it to the end of the night without a another incident. Devon closed the doors behind the last customers and turned to the pair behind him.
“Pretty damn good night if you ask me.” Imani nodded along much to Sean’s surprise.
“But you got fucking stabbed.” The confusion was evident in his tone.
The tattooed man rolled his eyes.
“And he isn’t any worse for wear.” The light skinned man pulled his shirt up showing the clean skin, devoid of any scarring.
“Huh.”
He nodded towards Sean.
“Clean as can be. I know some of your questions, so we can go through it before the boss comes out. I don’t just heal others; I heal myself as well. My blood is where my power is the strongest and it requires activation to work. That activation is just in the form of alcohol."
Imani felt the new flesh with his rough fingers.
"Unfortunately, he got me right below the vest or else I could have stopped him. Oh, and I wanted brandy cause that’s what I like to drink and it's my trigger.”
He fired off the responses like a trained professional. Sean’s mouth fell open for a moment before finally picking something out of the nonsense.
“Trigger? What is that?”
The pair of bouncers looked at each other before Imani chose to speak.
“Um. It’s the thing that caused you to awaken. Some people only need the trigger to happen once, others need the trigger to happen every time they use their power. It can be a traumatic moment or a mundane thing. I guess that means yours is a permanent type like his. Lucky bastards”
The sound of heavy footsteps filled their ears. They turned to their boss who hobbled over to them with multiple wads of money in his hand and a wide smile. He chucked them over, one by one.
“You must be a good luck charm, Sean. We actually managed to close. That hasn’t happened in weeks. I threw in an extra hundred to everybody for the good work.” He turned on his heels. “I made fucking bank tonight.”
The sound of his feet tearing away from the sticky floor filled the room. Sean pulled the rubber band off the stack and began flipping through the bills. Six hundred dollars. He double and triple checked while the others stored the cash away in their pockets.
It was just enough. If he was willing to spend the night on the streets once more and eat nothing but what the club provided, he could get his ability checked out.
‘But…the bed.’ The warm room warred within his mind.
‘Fuck it. Just one more day of work and I'll have some answers.’
He followed after his coworkers and parted ways at the exit. Sean went straight for a twenty-four-hour corner store and picked up a small handful of snacks before returning to the hotel. With another day paid for, he returned to the room and fell into bed.
Dreams soon stole his consciousness and he was thrust into an unknown world.
-
He watched a series of houses fly by his vision as he ran from an old man with his fist raised high to the sky. He ducked out of the way as an errand bottle flew through the air, landing only a few feet to the side.
“That was a close one.” An oddly familiar voice filled his ears.
He turned a corner and skid to a stop as he saw two men in blue standing near an old crown vic. Atop the car, lights flash an alternating red and blue. His heart sank.
“Hey! What are you doing? Come here!” The cops shouted at him as the man ran around the corner, angry as the moment he came flying out of his house. The cops immediately threw their hands to their holsters as the irate guy charged towards him.
“Stop! Don’t get any closer!”
“Come here! Right now!”
The clashing commands overlapped, confusing them the men they sought to order around. They drew their weapons and aimed them at the pair.
“What the fug?” The old man slurred as the alcohol in his system clouded his mind.
“Don’t shoot! I was just messing around! It isn’t anything serious!”
The same familiar voice shouted towards the officers. A tinge of youthful vibrancy dominated the words.
“Hands up! Don’t move.” One shouted, aiming his weapon at the old man in the alley.
“He has a weapon! Get on the ground.” The other screamed another command.
“Fat fuckin pigs!” The old man yelled towards the cops with his hand extended towards them, clutching a broken bottle by the neck.
The drunk took a few stumbling steps forwards with the cops shouting a series of contradictory commands before the first bang fired off. He ducked as bullets began flying through the alley.
The old man dropped to the ground under the barrage, a splatter of blood painted the fence to his side.
Immediately, tears began to roll down his cheeks. He was crushed and he didn’t know why. He turned from the scene and ran back around the corner with the officers yelling at him the whole time.
He finally lost his pursuers nearly an hour after the chase began and made his way home.
The young man stumbled inside, exhausted and reeling in pain as a cramp pulsed through his leg. He almost refused to believe what had happened.
Another man walked into the room and did a double take as he caught sight of the disheveled person huffing deep breathes of air.
“Yo, bro, you’re bleeding.”
He looked down at his calf and saw red covering his pant leg. The other person came back with a bottle of brandy in hand.
“Drink this. It’ll help with the pain. Eventually. Hospital?”
He shook his head and took a big swig. An intense burning sensation rolled down his throat. He coughed and cringed under the taste's influence when a burst of energy filled him.
“Whose blood is this?” The confused tone drew his attention back down to his leg where the pant leg was rolled up and his skin was tinted with the red of blood. “You ain’t hurt. Give me that shit.”
The man swiped the bottle from his hand, leaving him bewildered by the sight. The events of that night slowly fell away.
He watched time fly by as he grew older.
He ended up in another city, where he became increasingly familiar with his drink of choice and healing capabilities.
One, night he was partying in a club when shit went south and he ended up saving a bouncer’s life. The boss of the establishment had offered him a job that same night and the rest was history.