Boltran City Stories: Night Shift
Strong Arm meets Southpaw and they discuss ideologies
The world is different. Individuals with extraordinary abilities have been emerging since the late 1970’s. The agreed upon term for these individuals is “Powered” or “Powered Individual”. Documented cases range from something as mundane as being able to grow hair faster on command to flying into space. Many cities accepted the new type of humans, but one metropolis, Boltran City, is where we will visit today.
Nelson Holcomb is taking Hiltward Community College classes with a focus in Communications. He also has enhanced strength, speed, durability, and reflexes. Think Captain America, but without the shield or training or team of super heroes. Nelson has a strong sense of justice and as “Strong Arm” he patrols his neighborhood for any wrong doing when he has a free evening. We join him on one such evening.
Nelson inhaled the cold fall air. In his super hero costume as Strong Arm, Nelson stood on the roof of the apartment complex, overlooking the Hedgeway Fields neighborhood of Boltran City. The wind picked up, Nelson exhaled, his breath quickly vanishing on the wind.
The costume was designed for the winter months. A thermal layer underneath the browns and greens of his full body costume with padding at his elbows and knees, only leaving his nose and mouth exposed so his voice wouldn’t be muffled, his shoes reinforced with toe protection but the flexibility of sneakers. Nelson knew he was a Powered Individual when he moved his dad’s truck as an eight-year old. When he turned 18 Nelson registered with Boltran City and became a part-time super hero to help his neighborhood. Perhaps all of Boltran City one day.
But tonight Strong Arm was watching over Hedgway Fields. The opportunity to help his neighborhood began with the shattering of glass and an alarm whooping in the quiet night. Nelson grinned and cracked his neck.
“Bingo.”
Nelson shook his head and began brainstorming better catch phrases.
With an agility you wouldn’t expect from someone with a broad shouldered physique like Nelson’s, he made his way to the street with ease, trotting over to the convenience store, noting the shattered front window. Hoffman’s Grocery, a neighborhood staple, was dark except for the flashing emergency lights. Nelson could hear sounds of struggle inside.
“Hello? Is anyone hurt in there?” Nelson dropped his voice an octave, both to sound more official and somewhat disguise his voice. An older voice shouted back “Yes, please, he’s killing him!” Before Nelson could reply a body flew through the demolished storefront. He caught the person and awkwardly placed them on the ground.
The body was a man in his mid twenties, wearing a hoodie, baggy jeans, and a dew rag on his head. His nose was bleeding but the man was breathing. Nelson heard a thicker, gravel laden voice from within the store.
“Drop the pusher. I’m not done.”
Nelson looked to the source of the voice. The flickering light barely silhouetted an imposing figure, a man Nelson assumed was a few years older than him, maybe late 30’s, wearing all maroon, black, and gray, save for his left arm which was bare but decorated with a collection of tattoos. The knuckles were glowing a dull orange.
“Holy shit,” Nelson’s voice cracked. “are you Southpaw?”
The man in the doorway, the vigilante known as Southpaw, rushed forward. He clutched Nelson’s throat with his tattooed hand, the grip immediately cutting off Nelson’s air supply. Nelson felt hot tears in his eyes and instinctively grasped the arm choking him. It felt like gripping an iron bar, no yield, almost supernaturally dense.
Southpaw hurled Nelson behind him. Nelson sailed through the shattered window, slamming into a display of packaged desserts. As he slid to the ground, the cold metal shelve and crinkly plastic wrapped food raining down around him Nelson glanced around and spotted the store owner.
“Oh, hey Mr. Hoffman. Sorry about your shop, what’s going on?”
“The kid was attempting to hold us up. He’s barely out of high school, I think. He seemed nervous, so I tried to talk him down, then that maniac-” Hoffman gestured to Southpaw, whose tattooed arm was glowing a bright orange up to the elbow, the black inked tattoos standing out like negative space. “-smashed the door in and threw the kid through the window. He’s gonna kill him!”
Nelson got to his feet, wiped Twinkie cream off his shoulder, and set his jaw. Ok Nelson, this is fine. The stories about Southpaw are brutal, but you’ve been training. Just watch that arm. Nelson stepped through the open door frame and cleared his throat.
“Southpaw, drop him. Let the police handle-woahshit!”
Southpaw was turned around and sprinting for Nelson, tattooed arm pulled back, the light leaving a trail of orange light in the night air. Nelson had both arms up and bent to absorb the impact. As Southpaw struck him, Nelson moved with the motion of the impact, hurling Southpaw over Nelson’s shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Opting to avoid handling the arm Nelson punched Southpaw in the forehead with a fast jab, hoping to daze the vigilante.
Southpaw’s head cracked against the pavement, then he swung his right leg, kicking Nelson in the head. The men backed away from each other and got to their feet. Nelson could hear the would-be robber’s ragged breaths behind him.
“Southpaw, drop it.”
Southpaw’s arm ceased glowing. “What are you doing, Strong Arm?”
“Woah, you know who I am? That’s pretty cool-”
“Shut up! Why are you protecting this trash? He’s robbing a store, isn’t your whole thing protecting the little guy?”
Nelson gulped. “Isn’t your deal taking down the mob? Is this kid a mod boss I don’t know about?”
Southpaw sprinted towards Nelson, this time leading with his normal right arm. The men sparred, heavy blows the only sound in the cold night, the thwaps of fist to flesh, the scrape of boots on asphalt, the grunts of effort showing how hard they were both working. Nelson thanked his foresight in adding armor to various parts of the suit as he felt bruises froming They stopped the combat with a dual grapple, both men held fast and unable to do anything without losing ground. Southpaw’s breath was hot, sour, as he growled in Nelson’s face.
“The mob COULD be involved in this, protection racket shit, but now I’ll never know because soft-hearted libtards like you impeding my work.”
Nelson snorted. “Oh come off it. You’re getting off on your power, abusing those who can’t stop you. I’ve heard about your other victims, beaten within an inch of their lives, a long, painful road to recovery. Thanks for filling up hospital beds with bad guys, by the way. Makes it tougher to get genuine sick people the help they need.”
Southpaw shifted his weight, throwing off Nelson’s balance and pinning him to the ground. The cold asphalt scratched at Nelson’s back.
“A broken criminal can’t sell drugs on my streets.” Southpaw snarled, raising his tattooed arm, now glowing white, ready to smash down on Nelson’s skull.
Then a loud “phwash” flash of bright blue light illuminated the scene, like lightning striking as thunder rolls, and Southpaw was blasted against the brick wall. He fell to the ground and rolled to his side, an energy beam scorchmark on his chest. Nelson look at Southpaw, then at the kid. The kid still had his hoodie and dew rag, but his arm was a chrome metal barrel with glowing red dots on the side. His eyes were now glowing red, and a prerecorded message emitted from the kid’s mouth.
“If you’re still alive, congratulations! You’ve just met the prototype for my Nefari-Bots, the latest in cyborg/life model decoy technology crafted by me, Nefarium. If you’re dead, good. If you’re alive, I’ll re calibrate and ensure it won’t happen again. End message.”
The Nefari-Bot’s legs transformed into rockets and it launched into the air, leaving the scene and Nelson annoyed. He looked at Southpaw, slowly getting to his feet.
“Man, he got the upper hand on us, right?” Nelson smirked, then watched Southpaw shake his head and run into the night, avoiding the police lights and sirens as they arrived. Nelson got to his feet and dusted himself off. “Mark that for later, I guess.”