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***
A fist infused with Qi crashes into the perpetrator's chest. Frantically reloading his weapon, he had let me get too close and now his body was breaking through the flimsy plasterboard walls.
Raising a whole wave of dust, he crashed screaming into the bathtub where a few more bastards were hiding.
Slowly treading on the construction chips, kicking up shell casings with my boots that rang unpleasantly in my ears, I stepped inside, looking down at the huddled bandits from above.
One of them had a gun, and now he was pointing it panic-strickenly at my chest, shaking his hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
In tears and snot, shouting the usual rubbish, I shook my head while his accomplice tried to draw the knife stealthily.
-Don't come any closer! You hear me? I'll kill you, I swear on my mother! I'll send you to the afterlife with a hole in your heart, you fucking freak!
Another step forward and a gunshot rings out as a slight pain spills through his chest. A small jolt that could easily send a grown man to the other side of the world doesn't even slow down my Qi-filled body. The body armour does its job well.
-What? -How?
-He's wearing body armour, you moron. Shoot him in the head.
-А? Yeah. Aaah! Aaah!
The scream turns to a shriek as my hand tightens on his palms, crunching his fingers and yanking the gun muzzle toward the ceiling. A new series of shots knock out streams of crumbs, one of the shards knocking out a lone hanging lightbulb, plunging the room into darkness.
-Wasted.
My hoarse, frightening voice carries through the flat a moment before new moans of pain fill the room.
Twist my arms. Hit the elbow with my right. Then to the chin, and then to dodge the accomplice, letting the knife lodge in the "mate's" chest. I let the shooter go, switching to the other one.
Knee, balls, liver and a final one to the jaw. A nasty crunch and a quiet chest groan was my answer, he didn't even have time to realise anything. Unlike the first one, who was still screaming like a raped schoolgirl at the prom.
The impact of a steel-toed boot stopped his screams, sending him to dreamland.
The last one left, the one I threw through the wall. Lying on the floor, slowly crawling towards the gun, pretending to sleep.
With all my weight, I ram my foot into the crooked palm of his hand. Crushing the long fingers. He screams, begging for mercy, simultaneously threatening and offering anything to my soul to let him go. Just to stop.
I squat down, grabbing the bastard by the collar of his shirt. It's splattered with blood, a thick layer of dust and dirt clinging to the scarlet liquid.
-Tell me. How many times have you answered the pleas of others?
He babbled. Stuttering his words, making up stories, one more colourful than the next, pretending to be a good Samaritan. He'd say anything to make the pain stop. But his eyes give him away. Evil, cruel, merciless. They promise me a vengeance so terrible and indescribable that the living will envy the dead.
-You will never hurt anyone again.
The heavy body falls to the ground. I grab his broken arm, twisting and punching him in the vulnerable places. To this accompaniment of painful screams, crunching bones, and tearing ligaments, I replay in my head all the crimes committed by the creature disguised as a man. He had to be incapacitated. Better yet, killed. Buried alive, left to rot underground.... But you can't do that.
-You'll live.
He didn't answer me. He just mumbled, grateful for the end of the torture.
After looking at the work of my hands, I pick up the pistols, dismantling them as I go, scattering the parts around the flat. As I emerged from the wrecked bathtub, I stumbled over someone's groaning body, sprawled on the floor.
A huge fat man was cradling his privates, which he would never be able to shove into little boys again.
-"Just in case you still have something in there.
The shoe hits the target and the paedophile rapist passes out from the pain.
-Fucking slave traders.
I wanted to spit, or better yet, throw up, drink myself into oblivion and forget everything Stacey had shown me. But there was still a mountain of work ahead of me.
My eyes travelled through the flat satisfactorily, reliving the events of the last few minutes. Broken furniture, bullet shots, broken bodies and moaning bastards. In just a few moments the living quarters had been reduced to rubble, covered in dirt, debris and covered in blood.
Sirens could be heard outside. George, as always, arrives within the minute. Which means it's time for me to get out of here.
***
The crappy ringtone of my mobile phone caught me off guard. Standing on the roof of the building, sipping a cigarette, I watched the cops pack up the unresisting criminals, occasionally kicking the most tenacious bastards. Even they, old lawmen who'd seen a lot of shit in their lives, hadn't been indifferent after we'd busted one of the warehouses where the slave traders' "goods" were sitting idle.
They're all going to suffer an unenviable fate. The pissed off cops did a great job and even connections in the high circles of the city will not be able to get the bastards out of jail for years to come. And then, who knows? Prison's a dangerous place, anything can happen, especially if the guards are motivated.
-Hello?
-Come down here, I need to talk to you. -Hello?
That was unexpected. George rarely speaks to me directly, especially after he's been given a phone number to contact me. The old copper prefers anonymity in his work, although I gather everyone in the station already knows we're working together.
You can't hide a secret like that, and we didn't try to. It's one thing to have a couple of coincidences, but it's another thing to have the police ready to go and waiting for the first signal to turn the corner and burst into a house full of neutralised criminals with lots of evidence.
Without keeping Stacy waiting, I rope down to the right window, where the captain and a couple of officers are waiting for me, looking at my outfit with interest.
A classic pair of working bobbies: old and experienced, probably George's friend and confidant. And with him a young partner, idealistic, hopeful. Clichéd as it is.
-Gentlemen.
-Let's cut the foreplay. Rorschach, this is Sergeant Mark Donovan and Officer Carl Brady. They'll be helping you out at times or giving you a heads-up on calls. I trust them, so you don't have to worry.
Nodding understandingly, I extend my hand to the cops, which they shake with a slight wariness, which is no surprise. I wouldn't want to rub shoulders with the guy who single-handedly took out an armed gang and broke every bone in their body.
-Sergeant, I thought you volunteered to teach our mysterious friend a thing or two," George turned away from us to the window and suppressed a slight smile, "please, he's ready to learn.
-Em... Я... Yes, sir. Roger that. Come on, let me explain," Donovan gave Stacey a vindictive look that promised heavenly punishment and beckoned me to follow, "Come on, lad. I'll tell you what's what, so you don't have to watch so much, and so on and so forth.
His enthusiastic partner remained silent, continuing to shower me with glances from the young groupie. He could only clasp his hands to his chest and he would be a real head of the anime fan club.
And then there was a real lecture from a disgruntled old cop, telling me what I was doing wrong and why. It was like being back in the garage with my dad, where all my actions are bullshit, and now, "son", I'll teach you how to do it right.
I've been told where I messed up. What I should have touched and taken out for display, and what, on the contrary, was better to leave in place or make a small trail, and then the police would find everything themselves. I was rebuked about the destruction and excessive cruelty, though without much fire, more for the sake of ticking off the boxes.
For almost an hour Sergeant Donovan and his assistant walked around the flat with me, noting the little details that were taught in special schools and academies, but which remained a mystery to me.
Even the trivial advice to check dust on shelves, cupboards or under pieces of furniture. To my fair answer that I don't have time for that and I work in semi-darkness, I was politely sent to fuck, with the clarification.
-If you want to help the police and uphold the law, then do it right... Ahem, yeah. Well, as much as possible. Yes.
At the end, the unhappy Mark Donovan chuckled, because even through his mask, the man could feel my sceptical look.
-That's enough to start with, I feel like I've given you enough to work with. -Yeah.
-This is useful information. I'll keep it in mind.
-I hope so. I mean, if that's the case," the sergeant scratched the back of his head, glanced at his partner, and, with a crumpled goodbye, left our company with the permission of a quiet Stacy, "we'll go, yeah. Let's eat. Captain, can I get you something... You mean you?
-No, thanks, Mark. I'll eat at home.
-I got it, I got it. Yeah. Yeah. Well, we're off. See you later, Rorschach.
Nodding my head in farewell, I stand next to George, looking out over the night streets.
-Thank you.
-You're welcome. It's good for me, too.
-Yes. This lesson will allow me to become a better man and bring justice to the darkest corners of New York, -I put my hands in my pockets and glance at the captain, -Soon we'll clean up this city and justice will return to these blood-stained streets....
But when I met Stacy's eyes, I saw no understanding or agreement. The man stood there with his mouth hanging open, threatening to lose his cigarette.
-What? -What are you talking about?-Justice, -I don't know what was harder to hold back. My embarrassment or the laughter from the look on George's face, -Soon we'll...
-No, no. I get that. Probably.
-We are the embodiment of the law, Captain Stacey. Every time I try to remind myself of that.
-Why do you do that?
When George got over his emotions, he poked me with a cigarette.
-What?
-Well, that's it! What, what?! You're covering yourself with a hat and saying pathetic things?
-This...
-Don't talk about justice again. I was embarrassed the first time round, but you're getting weirder every time.
"This is embarrassing."
I was going to say a couple of pathetic phrases and get lost in the fog, but I guess Stacy was up for a chat.
-I gotta go, New York still needs me.
-There! That's what I'm talking about! Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay serious when you're throwing around these phrases left and right?" the captain must have a problem. Though I wouldn't say that I often spoke in my heroic role in front of him, rather we had more business-like conversations, -It's good that you kept silent in front of my guys, otherwise I would have burned with shame when I talked about cooperation with you.
-Я... I'm gonna go.
-Yeah, go, go, go. Because the Spanish shame is all over the street.
I turned round and without looking I shot a hook into the roof of a neighbouring building. Holding my hat with my fingertips, I tilted my head sideways, gifting George with another phrase.
-The city awaits my help, see you later, Captain Stacy.
I couldn't hear the cop's grunts, curses, and mate anymore. The air currents were clogging my ears, making it hard to make out all the beautiful music coming out of my ears.
***
It's been three days since the exhibition in Ozcorp, and apart from our accident and other minor problems associated with the organisation of such a large-scale event, everything went well. Now Ozcorp and Norman's ratings are skyrocketing. They were calling him to the show, putting adverts with him and constantly mentioning him at every opportunity, trying to grease themselves with the main luminary of science of the city.
Of course, it was all about ratings, money, and votes, but that didn't make the elder Osborne's success any less, on the contrary. Fuelled by rumours and frequent interviews, he was confidently rushing forward, aiming for something more than a "mere" head of the company.
But I didn't care much about it, as well as other news that was poured into my ears from TV, computer and telephone screens.
Gwen was out of touch. Our only call ended in an awkward silence while the girl came to her senses, and I decided to leave her alone. She hasn't responded to me since. The only thing I learnt was that she was fine, but beyond that there was a void.
It was obvious it had to do with the spider bite, but I didn't know how to approach such a conversation, and she didn't want to start one.
Pete was going through the same thing. For two days after the accident, he'd come to his senses, giving me irritated glances, and then he'd simply withdrawn, deliberately avoiding our company. Even the redheaded beauty couldn't get a crumb of information out of the silent guy.
Something had to be done about it. Help my friends deal with the new possibilities....
The doorbell rang, tearing me from my thoughts. Staggering, leaning against the wall, scratching my stomach, I reached the front door when the impatient visitor called again.
-I'm coming! I'm coming! Damn you, who the hell comes into an honest man's house at a time like this? Pete?
There was my friend at the door. More serious and stern than ever. It was only now, as he stood a metre away from me, that I realised how much the bite had affected him and would probably continue to do so. His muscles had grown, his hair thicker and as if groomed. He'd gained in height, not as much as I had after practising with Qi, but still. And most importantly, his glasses were down on his nose, and Parker was looking at me clearly and distinctly, even though he'd tried to keep his eyepieces on before.
-You've been working out. Did MJ show up? She's gonna love it!
-Am... No, not yet," Parker blushed, smiling embarrassedly, "that, too, I wanted to talk about.... May I come in?
-Of course, old chap.
Clapping my friend on the shoulder, I felt like I'd hit the wall with my hand.
-Fucking hell.
-Yeah, that's-- Anyway, come on, I'll tell you about it.
Tossing off the light windbreaker that was barely buttoned on him, Pete was the first to walk into my kitchen, leaving me with a veneer of bewilderment at his insolence and abruptness.
-What's that all about? First you disappear... Yeah, well, that's the thing.
Frozen at the entrance to the kitchen, I stared at Parker standing on the ceiling. Standing up to his full height, Peter looked down at me from the ceiling.
-I'm a mutant now.
-You're a moron, not a mutant. -You're a moron. Get off the ceiling. At least take your shoes off, you idiot.
-Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.
-Yeah, I didn't think. You'll come back up and wipe over the hob, there's a yellow stain there.
-I'm giving you superpowers here, can I have a little bit of admiration and respect?
-Wow. Now you can easily work as a skyscraper. You could clean windows on the Empire State, or maybe put dishes on the roofs of buildings.
-Shawn!
-Sean! -Okay! I'm just surprised," looking away so I wouldn't show my retarded smile, "So you're a mutant now.
-Yes.
-You only know how to crawl on the ceiling or- -You're a mutant.
-I'm stronger now. I'd say I'm fucking strong. I can lift a car and bend iron with my bare hands!
-Whoa. That's a twist. So after the bite.
-Exactly! I was thinking the same thing. I now have the powers of a spider! Look!
With his arms outstretched, he began to climb up the wall. No effort, no coordination problems. Just on his fingers! It's frightening to imagine the power now hidden in my friend's body.
-Here you go. I have to think about it.
After handing Parker a rag and pointing to the kitchen shelves, I sat down at the dining room table, running my thoughts through my head.
Peter's become a super now, there's no doubt about it. It's hard to deny the obvious facts, though I'll admit I hoped to the last minute that the spider hadn't had time to claw him. Then there's no more doubt, Gwen's super now too, and given the size of the shill up her arse, I wouldn't be surprised if any day now someone starts beating up gopis in back alleys.
"Still, it's trouble.
I won't be able to keep tabs on both of them. And if Parker will still listen to me, there's Gwen... Despite our relationship, she'll easily put her beliefs against my request. Raised by a cop, raised by a cop, given powers, and on top of that, loving adrenaline...
"An exuberant mix. Maybe there won't be a problem. I didn't ask her. Maybe things will be different, no need to decide for her. It's easier to talk. In the meantime, let's take care of this mate."
-What are you going to do now?
-What do you mean?
-Literally. You gonna join the secret service? Become a mountain climber? Or--
-I'm gonna be a superhero. That's the right thing to do. My powers shouldn't be idle. We used to help the weak, until there were almost no bullies left in the school," Pete jumped down from the wall, hanging a dirty rag on his shoulder. He looked extremely colourful. Satisfied, I'd even say happy to the ears. Dusty and dirty, with a blue rag falling on his chest, leaving a wet stain on his T-shirt, and now I'm not going to be left out. As Uncle Ben said, with great power.....
-There comes great responsibility. Yeah, yeah.
Waving a mug at a disgruntled Pete, I stifle a chuckle at the sight of this hero.
"We'll see how this turns out. Even without any extra pushing from the outside, he's decided to take this path on his own. Let him give it a try, and I'll have his back."
***
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