The Fist of Justice

The night is dark and the superstitious prowl the streets. Crime is on the rise. Or, it would be. I perch on my apartment building’s rooftop, gazing out over my city. That ugly corporate headquarters is the only sleek blemish on the hostile, concrete architecture we prefer. Ever since they moved here, we’ve had more trouble. But they also pay a lot in their jobs, so we don’t complain much. In the corner of my eye, I see movement. Some people are moving to Ricky’s shop’s back door. Ricky closes up at seven sharp. Everyone knows that. So, these people are up to no good. As I leap across the side streets, warming up the gears and pistons, I can confirm their ill intent. No one in the history of ever has worn a ski mask in the summer for good reasons. It’s time for me to act!

So, fun fact: I’m a super-hero. Not like those weird rumors of an invisible warrior or the fire-lady. A real-life super-hero. I don’t need powers or nothing to do it. All it takes is an intense focus, and the ability to not sleep. Ever. I haven’t slept longer than fifteen-minute increments in the last two years. I started super-heroing last year. The one before that was because of Grad School. That workload is nearly as bad as this one. But then, I made this dope suit, and now I’m a super-hero.

Leaping across the rooftops is a breeze, with the suit to back me up. Its exoskeletal functions help a lot with that. Unfortunately, bones are still bones, so once I reach Ricky’s rooftop, I hop to the fire escape and run down. I can’t risk breaking my legs right before a fight. The loud clatter, however, gives me away to the robbers. The one in the rear shouts, “There’s someone coming.” At the same time, he points at me.

Someone else, someone already inside the shop, yells back, “Well? Take care of him already!” Hah, I can’t help but think. I’ve been taking care of criminal chumps like this for a year. Nothing they can try will be able to surprise me.

I make it down to the third floors escape landing before the man in the ski mask makes his move. Or, more curiously, doesn’t. Still pointing at me, the guy smiles. And, much to my surprise, the landing explodes. Flying through the air, I think to myself, I just had to go and jinx it. “Done,” the robber says. They must have boobytrapped the fire escape, just in case. Or they are after me. Either way isn’t good. I look up at him. He wasn’t moving in to confirm. Not after me, then. Slightly better. I slowly stand up. The explosion still hurt a lot, even if the suit took the brunt of the force.

I slowly walk up to the robber. He notices me at the last moment. “Not quite,” I say in my superhero voice. Grabbing his mouth to keep him quiet, I twist him around, wrap an arm into a blood choke, and wait for him to go limp. It takes a little longer than expected. Pulling out rope from my pack, I hogtie the criminal. Keeps them from getting loose before the police arrive. Then, I slide on inside the store. Staying low, I listen, trying to figure out the numbers, positions, and who these thieves are.

I hear three voices talking. The voice from before, who is clearly in the lead, telling his people, without using names, to fan out and find some ‘it’. Another, softer voice who is complaining about how boring this job is. And a third voice, colder than the others, is concerned over how some ‘they’ discovered the job so quickly. The soft voice is coming from the kitchen, the cold one from the office, and the leader’s is deeper, probably in the main storefront. That means cold voice comes first. I slip down the hall to the left and peek into the door. Cold is searching Ricky’s desk, looking for something in particular. Lots of valuables around, but they’re being ignored. I step in, no need to be sneaky for this preoccupied person.

I’m wrong, of course. She instantly sees me. “It seems Boom’s done was significantly overstated. How is he?”

Menacingly, I state, “Your friend’s unconscious in the alley. Same as you’ll be if you don’t give up.”

“Can’t,” Cold replies, “Need to find it. You don’t look like a Company Man. Who are you?”

“What?” I ask, my voice faltering for but a moment, before I recapture it, “I am the Fist of Justice, of course.”

Cold laughs at me. “You need a pithier name if you want people to use it. Boom. Numb. Voice. Slick. They’re quick, easy to say. Can actually be used in conversation.”

“I take it you aren’t surrendering,” I say, falling into a fighting stance.

“No, I’m not,” she says, still searching the desk. I leap over that same desk, and my boot slams into her chest. She falls back, then grabs at me. Her nails scratch through my turtleneck undershirt as I slam my fist into her head, knocking her out. I begin to hogtie her as well, but as I do, I start to fade. Something is wrong. Touching my neck, I feel blood. My blood. Bad for several reasons. DNA on the scene. New turtlenecks. I’m fading fast. I can tell. I’ve been drugged, I think. I can’t figure out with what now. Too much to do. There’s crime to stop. Just push some adrenaline to keep myself moving for the other two. Then back to the apartment to fix the root of the problem. I stab myself with the adrenal. It feels like the curtain which is slowly closing over my mind is being forced open as well. I’ll be off my game, but I should be able to beat them. After cleaning my blood off of Cold’s fingertips, I write a note for whoever finds her, ‘Careful, poison on nails’. Now its on to the Soft sounding voice.

The softer one had moved on from the kitchen, into the storage rooms. I can’t be sneaky, not in the state I’m in. So bold and intimating is my only real option. I walk into the room. Similar to Cold, Soft is looking intently for something. He looks up at me as I stomp in. “I’m guessing you’re our guest. Boom still alive?”

“He’s out cold. Give up now, or you will be too.”

“I’m not resisting,” Soft says a calm smile on his face, “But please, tell me, why do you want to do that?”

“You and your friends are criminals,” I answer. I want to answer him. It’s nice to find a polite criminal, every once in a while. “I take down criminals.”

He nods to me. “So, you’re not with them, I suppose. We just want something that belongs to us. Just this once, could you look the other way? You look like you could use a nice rest.”

I want to. I really do. This guy, at least, seems polite, and if they’re only here to reclaim something that was stolen, how was that any different than what he was doing: breaking some laws to right wrongs. And he could use some sleep. It had been a long while since the last time. But something was wrong about this whole situation. And the adrenaline pumping through his system wasn’t going to let him sleep. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Soft is genuinely surprised by my response, which confirms my suspicion that something was amiss. He looks me in the eyes, then says, “Crapsticks, you and Numb went at it, didn’t you? I told them I should’ve been our rear, but no, Boom needs to cover in case of alarms or police. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

I’m kind of dumbfounded by this response. It isn’t how a criminal would normally reply to that, but at the same time, it is definitely very suspicious. “Surrender,” I repeat in my superhero voice.

Soft sighs. “Fine. Just, don’t hurt the face.” He holds out his hands for handcuffs. I ziptie them together, then ziptie him to the railing of the hallway. Just to prevent him from warning anyone, I duct tape his mouth shut. It’s time to take down their leader.

As I make it to the door to the storefront, the leader says, “Got it, time to move.”

With the perfect dramatic moment upon me, I act like a superhero, swinging open the door and saying, “You’re all alone now.”

Standing in front of me is a slender young woman in a ski mask. She looks at me, and said, “I’m guessing Boom’s boom didn’t kill you. Who are you with?”

“What the hell do you mean?” I ask.

She looks me in my eyes and could tell my confusion is real. “You don’t know. Well, son, you just got yourself into a huge shitshow by accident. Who are you anyways?”

“I’m the Fist of Justice,” I menace at her.

She laughs at my attempt to be intimating. Not so great start. “Well, this,” she says, holding up a rubix cube, “Is a very important object which my side needs and everyone else wants. A…friend… stashed it here, for safekeeping. Now I got to go before they get here. You really should, too.”

I think a moment. “Boom, your guy outside, uses explosives. Numb has some sort of anesthetic drug, and the other guy, voice, is really convincing. What’d Numb call you, Slick? You’re a proper thief, aren’t you?”

Once again, she laughs. “Well mister superhero. You’re, quite frankly, very out of the loop. But close enough on most of those. Please, get out of my way before you learn why I’m called slick.” She’s clearly enjoying herself.

I stand firm. “No, you and your friends are going to jail.” I hear helicopters in the distance. Odd, someone must’ve called the police about the explosion. Good. “And don’t even try to slip past me.”

“Crap,” she says to herself, then continues to me, “Its not the cops that are coming.” I look confused at her for a moment. “And for the record,” she adds, “It’s not slick because I’m slippery. It’s slick as in oil.” With that, fire erupts from her arm. Fire, again, is one of those things having an exoskeletal suit doesn’t exactly help against. I slide over the counter, using it to hide from the flames. As I do, near as fast as it was there, the fire was gone. Looking up, so was the woman.

Quickly, I run through the door to the employees only area. She’d already freed the man with the soft voice. “Stop,” I command them.

Looking back at me, she shouts, “Get Numb and carry her out of here. Wake Boom on the way out if you can. I’ll hold off Es-n-em-man as long as I can.” Then, once again, what has to be some kind of hidden flamethrower erupts out from her arms, and I have to shut the door as cover.

I breathe heavily, counting one, two, three, then burst through the door and run a down the hall, trying to ignore the burning sensation as my duck into the breakroom. “Why are you doing this?” I ask form the breakroom, trying to catch my breath for my next sprint down to the employee bathrooms.

“We’ve got to,” the woman in charge says to me, “It’s a matter of life and death.”

“So, you’ll kill me just to save yourself?” I ask, an honest question, but one fishing for a monologue nonetheless.

“Come on,” she says, not biting, “You survived a direct blast from Boom. What’s a little fire on top?”

I break for the bathrooms. Again, the flame licks around me. I barely notice from the corner of my eyes the soft man carrying the cold woman out through the back door. Ducking behind the bathroom door, I add, “And a scratch from your ladyfriend’s drug-poison-whatever it is. Don’t forget that.”

She seems legitimately surprised by that. “Wait, and you’re still good, moving and everything? Damn. It’s nothing really, once you leave, hydrate well and it’ll wear off in a few hours without side effects.” I crack the door slightly, hoping she’d given up to say that. She hadn’t. Flames licked into the bathroom. She has to run out of fuel for that thing sometime, I think to myself. I take a few breaths again, then charge out.

The hallway is empty. The back door is closing. I missed her by mere seconds. Running out the door, I see them entering a minivan. Seeing me, the one guarding the door, Boom, raises a finger to point at me again. The leader puts a hand on his forearm, and after a moment, he lowers the finger and the minivan drives off.

With a sigh, covered in the stenches of burning nylon and failure, I slink back to my apartment building. Stepping out of my suit, I begin to peel off the remains of my turtleneck undershirt. Large portions are burned into my skin. Running through fire was a dumb move on my part, I muse as I finish. I drink a glass of water, then take a quick shower. As I step out, I see a note on my counter. One which wasn’t there when I when I got my drink. I look at it.

‘Fist of Justice,

I disagree with Numb. It’s a good name, even if it’s not easy to use. Sorry about giving you the third degree earlier. Burns, that is. That wasn’t necessary. If you want something, anything, feel free to ask.

-Slick, TA.’

On the other side, it has a subreddit link written out. Because, of course they use message boards. Groaning, I crumple the letter up and toss it across the room. It doesn’t make it all the way to the can, and I don’t bother to pick it back up to try again. Instead, I get myself another glass of water.