A Need For Speed - part 2
by Torpor
Inside the Lucky Joe Coffee Shop and Diner on Elm and 4th Street, a young, blonde man was sitting at the bar enjoying clam chowder soup. "That's one thing I love about the East Coast," the man was saying to anyone who would listen. "You guys have the best soup."
The man had been there for almost an hour, sampling everything from apple pie to fresh baked cookies. And he had nothing but nice things to say. "It's a shame I don't visit here more often. Business, you know. Textiles."
The men at the counter next to him placed their noses in a newspaper, or even reading the menu over and over again. Anything to avoid eye contact.
The newcomer reached down for another swig of coffee - the best he had ever tasted, of course. While raising the mug to his lips, he noticed tremors creating concentric rings in the coffee. Then the entire counter began vibrating. Bottles and glasses chimed musically.
"Anyone else feel that?" he asked, with no response. "It feels like an earthquake. I thought you guys didn't have earthquakes out here."
The small crowd of afternoon diners did feel the same thing, though nobody could explain it. They began murmuring to each other in surprise.
Just then, the young man could swear he saw a flash of light pass by the window. His eyes remained glued to the window, until it exploded into a thousand fragments with a deafening BOOM.
The patrons were knocked to their feet. In the settling dust, a second flash of light passed by, yelling out "Sorry ‘bout that, folks!"
While the rest of the diners brushed off bits of glass, the young man continued to watch the shattered window. "Jeepers," he said, "I wonder if that was one of those super heroes you guys are so famous for."
Randy - no, Quiver, now - was running with no particular destination in mind.
I should have known better than to put my trust in them, she thought. They've only got time for fighting super villains, not helping out girls like me.
She had spent a week trying to control her powers. She had developed several interesting ways to focus them. The problem was that none of them resulted in her slowing down.
In a way, she was doing the exact opposite at the moment, just seeing how fast she could really go, oblivious to the destruction left in her wake.
Dagnabit, this guy's faster than I thought, Bullet said to himself as he cruised down Elm Street. He was carefully trying to follow the same path so he at least didn't cause any further damage to the city. He occasionally even stopped to offer a brief, "Pardon, ma'am," before continuing on his way.
"Time to put it in overdrive," the former pilot quipped. He pushed his legs faster than they had after run before, though he still felt no strain on his legs. In a few seconds, he began to bridge the distance between himself and his quarry.
Quiver glanced over into a building as she sped by, and the blurry images almost formed a complete picture, like watching the cracks between wooden fence posts while riding by on bicycle.
Her peripheral vision caught the glimpse of a man knocked down. What have I done?
Quiver began to decelerate, bringing herself slowly back to a normal pace.
Hot gravy ‘n' biscuits, I'm catching up, Bullet thought. He paced Quiver and yelled at her from aside.
"Hold on there, fella," Bullet said. "You put up a good race but you've still got as much chance as a hog stuck in the mud does of beatin' me."
He accelerated forward and put himself in Quiver's path. Both of them skidded to a stop and faced each other.
Quiver could still feel her molecules bouncing around at hundreds of miles per second.
"So, Freedom Force d-d-d-d-decided they needed a Bullet to stop me, eh?"
Bullet didn't hold back his surprise that he was facing a woman. "Listen up, little lady, you may think you're fast, but y'all ain't seen fast yet. You best stop all this nonsense before I have to get rough."
Quiver looked at him intently. "See, I knew you were just vigilantes," she said. "But if it's a fight you want I guess I'll have to oblige," imitating Bullet's Midwestern accent.
She sped forward and swung at Bullet.
The veteran speedster (and speedster veteran) sidestepped the swing easily and brought down a fist to try and knock Quiver off balance. He pulled his punch considerably. He felt an impact, though he could feel his hand vibrating even after the blow.
Quiver grunted in pain and fell to the ground.
Bullet stood over her, fists in a raised boxing style, but not making and forward motions.
Quiver picked herself up to face him. "Is that the best you can dish out, slowpoke?"
With lightning speed, she sped forward, arms out. Bullet saw the ground becoming smaller below him. Time seemed to stop for a moment. Looking up at the sky, he felt almost... peaceful. Then he looked to his side and saw the ground rushing towards him again. Bullet landed on top of a Dumpster trash bin with a THUD.
"So that's what it feels like," he said to himself, pulling away a greasy banana peel. "I guess if I'm willing to dish it out I ought to be able to take it." The swelling in his bruises had already begun to decrease as he pulled himself out of the trash to face Quiver.
"Little lady, my chivalry's just about running out, so I'll give y'all one more chance to give yourself up."
Quiver snorted. "For what? I didn't do anything!" She began quivering faster and faster.
Bullet grinned. "Sure, that's what they all say." He sped toward her, winding back one arm for a strike.
Before he reached his target, though, Bullet felt the ground shaking underneath him. "What the -- ?" A ground shockwave, not dissimilar to an ocean wave, was heading straight towards him.
When he hit the crest of the wave he launched into the air like a missile.
Ahead of him Bullet vaguely made out the words "Don's Discount Dentistry" on a giant billboard. His trajectory took him just above the billboard, through an office window and into a prickled plant of some sort.
"Someone get the number of that locomotive?" Bullet mumbled as he picked himself up. "It feels like a million cowbells ringin' in my ears!"
He looked around and saw an office full of stunned businessmen.
"Look!" shouted a man in a blue suit, pointing at Bullet. "I told you those Freedom Force creeps were no good!"
Bullet shook his head involuntarily, and regretted the motion as his head throbbed harder.
He looked down through the broken window and saw Quiver standing in the middle of the street. A dump truck was heading straight for the green light, and not appearing to slow down.
"What's she tryin' to do?" Bullet said.
"Which way to the emergency stairs?" he asked one of the nearby workers.
Following the man's pointing arm, he sped down the stairs, making it down the 12 flights in a matter of seconds. He came out the front door just in time to see the dump truck strike Quiver squarely in the chest, horn honking in a vain warning.
The driver screamed in horror, as did Bullet. "No!!"
Both were shocked, as moments later the truck had passed through the intersection but the teen-aged girl was still standing there, unscathed.
"Well, call me a bullfrog and paint me green. You'll have to teach me some time," Bullet said.
Your power works in a different way than hers, said a telepathic voice in Bullet's head. Your power comes from incredible strength and metabolism. She can control the very molecules around her.
"Mentor, glad you decided to join me," Bullet said into his helmet receptor.
Mentor replied, Listen, you do not understand. This girl has done nothing wrong except ask for our help. She needs our assistance, not our fury.
Bullet looked over at the girl and saw that she was crying. As she cried, the ground vibrated slightly underneath her.
He approached her slowly. "Listen, little lady, I didn't mean no harm."
Quiver sniffed and tensed slightly as he approached. "I just want to get rid of these powers."
The ground began trembling even more rapidly. "I said I only wanted to talk," Bullet said. The ground shot up underneath him and he found himself in a prone position for the third time in as many minutes. He groaned and pushed himself up, raising his fists defensively.
To his surprise, Quiver had also been grounded.
"Th-th-that wasn't me," she said.
They looked at each other, then down at the pavement, which was beginning to crack and crumble.
From between the widening gaps, they saw two huge metallic fingers, glimmering in the afternoon sunlight, prying apart the street.
Meanwhile...
El Diablo cruised over Patriot City, following a line of destruction down Elm Street.
"We'd be better off with that Mr. Mechanical," he said to himself as he surveyed the damage. "Hey, bonita senorita at 12 o'clock!"
Even though Mentor had babbled something about "making all haste" to prevent Bullet from attacking Quiver (something about misunderstandings and the telepathic thing not working right), El Diablo had to do something to keep up the team's good image.
El Diablo dipped down in the ground, making sure he caught the woman's attention. "Buenos dias," he said, dipping down just above the ground before swerving back toward the sky. Behind him, the jets of flame lapped out with intense fury, leaving behind a trail of smoke. With a few more twists and turns, El Diablo had formed the shape of a Valentine.
Below him, the woman swooned. "He's so dreamy." She took off her pillbox hat and shaded her eyes with her hand, attempting to get a better glimpse.
El Diablo allowed himself a satisfied smile before he continued onward.
A telepathic message suddenly intruded on the moment. El Diablo, you must, as you humans say, put on the afterburners. A much greater threat has just entered the picture.
El Diablo looked down on the ground, but didn't see anything. He looked left, looked right - Aha! He spotted a large hole in the ground, but no sign of Bullet or Quiver. He stopped and hovered around the hole, looking for any sign of them. "What in the world is that leading out of the hole? Giant footprints? Ay, that's not good."
At that moment a shadow descended over the hero and everything around him. He turned around just in time to see the giant fist heading straight for him.
Meanwhile, at Paul Revere High School...
Chemistry class was Nick's favorite course. Well, technically he counted physics as his favorite, but he took that last semester. Any class with lab experiments would do.
"Now, class, we're going to mix together these two chemicals, and you should get a colorful reaction. But, hopefully we won't have any incidents like last time, right Mr. Nelson?"
A few of the other children laughed. Nelson said nothing.
The teacher turned toward the board and started writing on the board. Chalky white dust flaked off as he scribbled book pages on the board. "Now, while your waiting for the reaction to take place, I'm going to write your assignment for tonight on the board."
Nick hummed to himself, watching the violet mixture dance around as he stirred it a generic "science class beaker," as he liked to call it.
"You know," he said to his lab partner Paul, "these experiments are always so boring. I mean, who wants to know how to change the colors of some chemicals, anyway?"
Paul ignored him, busily copying down the assignment in his notebook on the other side of the lab table.
Mr. Davis, the science teacher, turned around and absent-mindedly wiped chalk dust off of his lab coat. He adjusted his goggles, over thick-rimmed spectacles, and approached the counter at the front of the room.
"Now, if you've done your experiment right, this is what your beaker should look like."
Just then, the beaker Mr. Davis was holding began creaking and glowing slightly. "Huh?" A cloud of multi-colored smoke exploded from it, causing him to drop the beaker to the ground. It shattered with a CRASH.
The teacher wiped smoke from his goggles. He coughed out bluish smoke and waved it away with his other hand.
The entire class began laughing. The laughter started as a trickle, then swelled to a river of guffaws and belly laughs.
Mr. Davis looked at the small eye wash mirror in the corner and realized that his skin had been changed to a mixture of violet-orange splotches.
He turned around, and a flush of red began to overpower the other colors. "When I find out who did this -- "
His voice trailed off, partly because he didn't really have a threat to back up the statement, and partially because the loudspeakers started squealing with feedback.
The voice of the principal, Mr. Hawthorne, came over the speakers, uncertainly. COUGH. "Um, attention, students, we have an emergency situation. I need you to remain calm, but there is a huge robot attacking Patriot City. We understand that Freedom Force has the situation under control, but nonetheless we need you all to move to the gymnasium immediately."
Despite the principal's calls for order, children began screaming and rushing into the hallways. Nobody would soon forget memories of the attack on the junior high school just a few months ago.
Nick simply stayed on his stool with a look of disappointment on his face. "I can't believe it. Those guys don't even call me when the fun stuff begins!"
He rushed toward his locker, pushing his way through the crowd headed the other way. He pulled out a satchel stuffed with his uniform and some of his patented grenades. He could have changed right there in the hall, unnoticed among the confused rush of students. Still, he had to show some caution.
Nick entered the bathroom and pulled out the costume he had put together to match his mentor and hero, Minute Man. Within a few minutes, he stood in front of the mirror, admiring himself for a moment.
"Liberty Lad, ready for action and ready to save the day again!"
He rushed out the emergency exit and headed towards downtown.
To be continued...
