League of Heroes

So I’ve decided to try again to, like, bring out my writing stuff to the people so that I can get some feedback. I’ve tried many times before on various websites over the years with no avail but hey, I have, like 800+ followers on my main blog, it might actually pan out to something.

Six days before the invasion on the northern outskirts of Las Vegas, out in the desert of  Nevada, there was an oasis, small, unnoticeable, barely worth mentioning, most never even knew it existed, and the ones that did knew of its secrets. A fifteen year old boy was out there, muscular and lean, tall and handsome with a square jaw and light brown hair that seemed to glisten in the sun, his blue eyes shone with confidence that was beaten only by his brilliant smile that could cause women to swoon if they so much as glanced at him. He was wearing a karate gi, blue and red with a brown belt, and he was known as Brad Lites and he was a well acclaimed American football star of his local high school; the necessary credentials to be as confident and cocky as possible as he swaggered, along with his countless riches. He was accompanied by a tiny boy who at first glance you would not believe was real. He was short and fat, even for a ten year old like himself, with a long pointed nose and large bug-like eyes that were accentuated by his glasses and black windswept hair. He wore no fancy martial arts outfit like the older boy beside him; merely a collared t-shirt and an arrogant smile that was broadcasting to the world that he was not to be underestimated, and they called him Ivan Mohinder-Stream

“So you have no idea what’s got your masters’ diapers in a knot?” Ivan said with an air of authority despite the fact he still sounded like a ten year old.

“The message was all about “impending doom” “We need the chosen one” and of course “The Samurai of Ather are threatening our freedom once again,” that sort of crap,” Brad said with a shrug as he mockingly imitated his old teachers.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to pay attention once in a while,” Ivan said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, that’s your job, egghead,” Brad said grinned, and his crassness was met with a punch to the thigh that he nursed until they arrived at the oasis. Once they did, Brad took hold of a nearby thorn bush and reached into it swiftly and pulled a lever hidden beneath the thorns. His arm was unscathed. He stepped back and he and Ivan soon bore witness to the oasis’s water sinking into in what appeared to be a drainhole. They waded in the shallow water towards the swirling center that held a spiraling staircase beneath a complex mechanism that quickly closed as soon as the boys had entered. As they made their way down, the caverns below them were increasingly growing more spacious and more well lit and soon it was as though they were in a whole no world, a miniature civilization of bamboo huts and paper walls, lakes and a water fall, and scores of young adults, teenagers, and children practicing martial arts in similar blue and red gis. Upon the huts and local stones and nearby torches were flags with the traditional yinyang symbol only the typical black and white swirl and dots were replaced with red and blue ones.

This was one of the training camps of the Yin-Yang ninjas, a worldwide organization of ninjitsu and jujitsu practitioners who mastered the art of our body’s own energy to manifest supernatural effects.

Ivan and Brad passed by the training groups and immediately when towards the central house surrounded by coursing water. As they entered, five men in long flowing robes whose ages ranged from 35 to 60 years were before them, sitting on the floor and talking amongst themselves.

“Yo sensei, what’s going on?” Brad announced loudly as he slammed the door behind him. The old men were expecting Brad but they cringed nonetheless at his behavior.

“You bring this outsider yet again!” One of the younger old men called out viciously.

“Where this idiot goes, I go, you don’t want your biggest weapon walking around without a brain, do you?” Ivan smirked snidely at the old men while Brad grimaced at his younger friend.

“Hey! I’ve got plenty of brains, you think I became master ninja by mailing postcards, pipsqueak?” Brad yelled at Ivan. Ivan had more intelligent responses in mind but the remark at his height allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

“Well, dunderhead, that would require you to be a master ninja in the first place!” Ivan yelled back.

“Bug-eyed freak!”

“Dyslexic dullard!”

“Pointy nose!”

“Glory hog!”

“Butterball!”

“Jock!”

“NNNNNNERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD!”

“ENOUGH!” Yelled the eldest of the masters and soon enough Brad and Ivan ceased and proceeded to burst into uncontrollable laughter. The old men groaned and were in various states of “face in palms in utter disgust.” The eldest master cleared his throat loudly about a minute later and Brad and Ivan slowly ceased their laughter.

“Ahem…. Bradley Lites, chosen of the master energies of the Fire and Ice Yin-Yang Shinobi, our hero in times of great disaster brought upon by our ancient foes, the despicable Samurai of Ae-,”

“Yeah yeah Sensei, I know about all that pompo-circum-stuff, just get the part where I get to kick some ass!” One of the masters scrunched up his face as though he was ready to attack brad but one beside him patted his shoulder peaceably.

“Bradley Lites, we have received word from the chosen of the Yin Yang Shinobi on the far east coast,” The eldest master announced.

“There are other chosens?” Ivan asked with a curious smile.

“The Yin-Yang Master energies are vast and ancient,” The eldest master explained. “The chosen we speak of is the chosen of the original Yin-Yang master energies. We are one of several subdivsions in the order, and we are all dedicated to the art of balance. Bradley Lites is the current chosen of our Fire and Ice Energies. The other master energies have not been able to find their chosen champion as of yet.”

“I don’t need their help anyway. Whatever those samurai have planned, they can’t handle this!” Brad said as he pointed at himself.

“Unfortunately this is not true, the help of both you and him are needed, and maybe more,” the Eldest explained. “I recall hearing stories of some of your more unconventional opponents- I believe you and your friend have named such as the “All-Star”, the “Populark” and the “Cool” kids and their unusual abilities? The report from the Yin Yang chosen has noted that many of these unusual creatures may have a common origin, an extra-terrestrial enemy that the Samurai of Aether plan to ally themselves with.” Brad was taking it all in mostly, nodding occasionally as the eldest went on, but every word fell out of his brain the very second “extra-terrestrial” was mentioned.

“ALIENS!? We get to fight ALIENS!?” exclaimed as he jumped up and down and cheered. Ivan muffled his face in his palm.

“A-hem,” The eldest master coughed loudly. “Yes, “aliens” as it were. To make this as concise as possible, your presence in Washington D.C. with our east faction is urgently desired.”

“We can do it!” Brad shouted with a fist in the air

“We are placing all our faith in you… Bradley” One of the masters said weakly.

“And of course I’m going too,” Ivan said smugly. Brad brought his hands down to Ivan’s level who gave him a high five, or rather a low five.

“Well duh, can’t go without my main man!” Brad said excitedly.

“We can’t allow you to bring this… civilian into our issues, this is not his concern!” The eldest Master cried as he pointed accusingly at the small boy. Ivan squinted threateningly at the old men.

“Well the wind spirit in my head says differently….” Ivan said with a shady smile the room quavered slightly and as items started shaking a powerful gust burst through the windows  and the old masters were suddenly lifted above the flow in a swirl of wind, the room shaking harder as they rose higher and higher.

“You know what I can do, and if the danger is as bad as you say, Bradley and you guys require me!” Ivan said. He widened his eyes, the air suddenly became still, and the five old men hit the floor in a weak clump. Brad laughed as he and Ivan made their way to the exit.

“We’re goin’ to DC!” Brad said excitedly to his little friend. “How are you gonna swing it to your parents?”

“Well I presume you’re going to use your vast wealth to get us to DC as soon as possible, first class of course?”

“Of course, man! And our in-flight movies will be Power Rangers the whole way!”

“Excellent… Well since I don’t have the luxury of having parents that know my secret I’ll just tell them my rich best friend is taking me to see the Smithsonian museums.”

“They’ve got museums in Washington?”

Five days before the invasion, the air around him twirled and danced, gently caressing his skin and fleeing as freely as it arrived. Twisting and floating high above the village was a boy no older than 15. Despite his average slightly pudgy build he was stepping lightly through the sky as gracefully as a swan gliding across a pond. His dyed blue hair, short and close to his head and slicked back, fell out of place barely in the breeze. It was as though every time he moved his hand, he carried the breeze with him, swaying back and forth, his thin blue Chinese shirt twisting slightly as tiny whirlwinds elevated him. He paused, arms straight out and legs together and suddenly, he let go.

The boy fell to the earth, his thin eyes untouched by his orange triangular goggles. He descended with a faint smile on his face. There was no fear, only familiarity of the speed, the churning in his belly, his body buffeted vigorously as he fell to earth, and far below him was his home, a small town in the United States Midwest around a small volcano, Ashton it was called, and below a small crowd viewed his performance, entranced by his aerial audacity.  Just as he was barely able to identify the houses below him, he strained his arms against the continuous updraft of his descent and rotated his arms in a wide stance. As he did the air began to apply less force against his body. Soon he was simultaneously spinning himself through the air like a corkscrew and his clothes twisted as the air around him formed a cone shaped tunnel, slowing his descent, turning his dangerous speeds into harmless grace.

In moments he landed, surrounded by a group of teenagers, all staring in awe at the demonstration. He smoothed his hair back and smiled faintly at the group as they congratulated his daring. He received pats on the back, head rubs, and cheers. He coolly handled the attention as though he were a bird in the sky, gliding through the friendliness, weaving through the conversations seamlessly, soaring through his repository of responses, he had heard it all before, but it was not what he was here for.

He continued his feats, when offered a lighter he made flames grow and danced through them, when he took to the sky, he returned with arms full of rainclouds, when he lay upon the ground the area was subject to tremors, and when he took up his acoustic guitar, he lead them in song until late noon fall, and as the summer sun stood high and the many teens returned to their homes for their meals and other obligations, there were only two left in that park, the boy, and a younger one, tall for a thirteen year old with auburn hair and tawny eyes, and a disposition akin to a bunny rabbit, timid, small, withdrawn, in his knitted mahogany shirt and his potted plant close to his chest. His head was down but his eyes were on the boy of remarkable power. The be-goggled boy was Maoxin-Jin Choo, better known as Mark-Jin to his friends, such as the young Gary McGee before him.

Mark-jin strolled to Gary and gave him his strongest smile that made his tiny eyes look closed and his round face seemed to be like the sun, and with that, Gary could not help but smile as well.

“What did you think?” He asked Gary cheerily. Gary shrugged and looked away. “It was okay, but I was able to tell, it was just a show for you… You didn’t seem as free today…” Gary closed his eyes as though he expected punishment, but Mark-jin just patted his head and replied:

“Yes, so it would seem, It just isn’t as fun anymore, they really don’t get me like you, I’m just an act to them,” Mark said plainly, his smile still there. He rubbed Gary’s cheek and looked at the flower pot, its contents was a tiny fragile pink flowers, its faces with five petals. “Young azaleas; your new project?” Gary nodded with a tiny smile.

“They’re… really pretty, when they get to chance to grow old…” Gary muttered quietly.

“Where do you want it in the park?”

“I’m thinking by the new young maples, most of the little kids don’t go there, they’ll be safe…”

“And if they aren’t, I’ll protect them for yo-,” Before Mark-Jin could finish, his cell phone began to ring in his back pocket. He took it out and answered.

 “Hello? Oh, ni hao, yi sang… Yes I recall… the creation of our enemies? Even… Mine…? Of course I wish to help, our first venture together has taught me much. It would be an honor to serve alongside you again… Too formal? Ha ha, yeah, I guess so… Well I have a friend, he is not the most audacious among us but his heart is large, his abilities make him almost impossible to harm, and he won’t deny this venture considering the risks… My family will understand, and I can make his understand too. How soon… I see. We shall try our best to arrive… Accommodations? Thank you for your generosity, I hope it’s not in vain,” and with that, Mark-jin put his phone away and looked to Gary.

“Is something wrong?” Gary asked.

“Yes.” Mark-jin said softly as he put his hand on Gary’s shoulder. “And I think I’m going to need your help…. And the help of that metal symbiote of yours.” Gary backed away.

“No! I don’t want to go looking for danger!” Gary said, nearly dropping his plants.

“This is important, Gary,” Mark-jin said. “This may be bigger than anything you and I have faced, but we’re going to get help. And you know that I will protect you.” Gary gulped and closed his eyes, looking down to think for a bit. It took a minute for him to look at Mark-jin behind his goggled eyes and nod slowly.

“We have to go, pops,” Drake said. Pale and puny, hair as dark as his pitch black eyes, the twelve year old boy had a sinister demeanor and cat-like eyes. This conversation took place one week before the invasion with his far taller father with wavy salt and pepper hair who looked older than he truly was. The man was slaving over a hot kitchen stove in a frilly white apron.

“Is now a good time, Drake?” replied Professor Derek Scope, the weary father.

“Time isn’t important, pops, we just have to go now,” Drake said even more sternly. Derek sighed and turned off the stove, wiping off his perspiring brow with an oven mitted hand.

“Then what is?” Derek said with a stern face but nary sternness in his tone.

“This nagging feeling, this pain, pops, okay? It’s not important we just… We just need to go!” Derek shouted, one hand clutching his head. Concerned, Derek kneeled down to look at his son in the eyes. He could see the boy had been perspiring recently, his eyes were unsteady, and his typically well combed and oiled hair was sticking out at all sides.

“You don’t lose control, not like that…” Derek said as he examined his son further, checking his temperature, his heartbeat, his pulse. Drake was hesitant to allow his old man to touch him like that, but he had no choice.

“Pops, what’s wrong, it’s like something is in my head,” Drake said through gritted teeth. “it’s making me so…. Angry… I need to go! I need to go!” Drake was flailing away from his father. Derek tried to grab his son’s arms but was met with a slap to his hands. Derek backed away as Drake yelled and fell to the floor, clutching his stomach. The boy’s back began to bulge; four protrusions were forcing their way through his shirt and in an instant, for large, skinny, hair spider legs were there, lifting the boy off the floor. Derek was taken aback. His son looked up at him and Derek saw his son sweating and the black of his irises spreading to the whites of his eyes.

“Call me crazy, but something tells me this has to do with your powers, your mutation is advancing…” and as he said that, Derek watched as his son’s teeth began to sharpen and tiny hairs sprout all around his face.

“Geeze pops, you figure that out all by yourself?” Drake growled as his spider arms began to settle.

“You uh, well Drake, I don’t think I ever told you everything about how we came to be.”

“You mean you didn’t get bitten by a radioactive spider before I was conceived?” Drake rolled his eyes as they slowly returned to their human color. He continued to breathe heavily and his teeth were slowly becoming flat again. His spider-arms remained, cradling his body above the floor.

“I… I still can’t say everything,”

“Of course. If you could say anything we wouldn’t be talking like this,” Drake smirked. Derek winced.

 “Yes, well, you should have never developed any sort of abilities. The experiments that gave me spider traits resulted in recessive genes, there’s no way in the world you should have been able to have manifested unless there was something your mother did not tell me,”

“Spare me, just say it, something outside did this, I was never supposed to be a stupid superhero mutant freak!” Drake shouted coldly.

“That may be exactly what’s happened, and maybe, I think…” Before Derek could continue there was a sudden bright yellow flash that burst from Drake’s head and just as Derek regained his sight, Drake was standing on his own two feet, spider legs wide and primed.

“Whatever it is… It was in my head, and it just told me where to go.”

“Where?”

“I’m a student, not a navigator, all I got were numbers,” and with that, Drake pulled out his smartphone from his pocket and he began plugging the numbers into a navigation program. “Looks like they were longitude and latitude, it’s looking lik-,” Before he could announce the location, the phone rang. The pair looked to the phone on the wall. Drake rolled his eyes once more.

“It could… be important.” Derek said flatly. Derek answered the phone while drake flippantly began juggling his smartphone with his spider arms expertly.

“Hello, yes this is Professor Scope… YOU!” Derek paused and looked to his son who continued to distract himself. He then turned his back to his boy and covered the lower half of his face. “Yes… Yes I remember but I thought we agreed to go our separate ways! I respect you as a scientist, you’re a brilliant man, but I never wanted this, not to the extent we’ve gone now, to go would mean… Yes, I guess it would when you put it like that.... Are you calling the other ones too? I mean, they’re so young and it was only a year ago…. This has to do with the spawnings? I guess it would help in my analysis… Oh, Drake is fine, he’s fine fine fine, but he just had this flash… How did you-, right, genius so no matter what, he has to come too… How long-Not long then… Well I guess if we had to drop everything, summer is the perfect time, huh? I guess I shall see you soon. I… look forward to… catching up… Bye…” As Derek grimly put the phone back on its stand, he slowly turned to Drake, staring at his kin solemnly whilst the boy was sampling his father’s attempt at a mediocre meal.

“Too much oregano,” Drake commented crassly as he continued to partake of the sauce. “And don’t we have fresh basil on the deck?”

“Drake,” Derek hesitated and kept his eyes away from Drake’s. “We’re going to D.C.”

Drake scoffed and faced his father, holding up his smartphone.

“What a coincidence, because guess what the numbers in my head pointed to?”

Chapter 1: Introductions

Two weeks before the invasion, David changed his position, moving from the formation of a bullet with his arms outstretched, to a form where his legs come down like an eagle preparing to pluck a scurrying mouse. As he approached the top of an office building, plain and grey, he skidded to a landing, on both feet, his green sneakers taking the abuse of cement scratching on it as David slowed his flight. He stood tall and strong and looked out to the glorious sunny day while brushing the brown hair out of his eyes.

Then he turned towards whence he came and there he could see, a boy, no older than twelve, spinning through the air. The boy looked a lot like him, barely twelve, and with a rounder face. His hair was of a darker shade and he looked more like a mop was attacking his head. His eyes were blue, which matched his t-shirt and shorts and his half-length cape. He threw one gloved hand towards a building, his pale pink arm stretching out like an elastic band and his hand immediately stuck to the side like glue. He was soon no longer spinning but swinging through the air as his rubber band-like arm caused him no arm or discomfort while he travelled. This arm let go and slowly retracted while the other reached out to another building, a flow of stretch, stick, swing, retract, stretch, stick, swing, retract, until he landed right beside David. And this boy was Tyler Gem, but everyone just called him Tai.

“Why’d you stop,” Tai asked as he hopelessly tried to move the hair from his eyes. David reached into one of many yellow pouches on his belt and pulled out a vibrating radio with garbled voices and sounds of alarms. This radio also had a screen that streamed bits and pieces of information up and down in green text.

“Silent alarm was tripped at a Bank of America at Farragut West,” David announced with a grin. “This looks like a job for Fistman and Gumboy!” Tai grumbled and rubbed his face.

“Just so long as you don’t introduce us like that again,” Tai said.

“It’s all about presentation, heroes must be grandiose!”

“So you keep saying but when has that ever worked out for us?”

“That one time with Kite Master,” Fistman said, his enthusiasm not waning despite the fact his nephew was shaking his head.

“It’s Kite Master, Uncle Fists. That never counts,” Tai grumbled.

“We’ll discuss this later, right now; we have a bank to save and citizens to protect!” David said swiftly as he ran and jumped from building to building into the general direction of Farragut West while Tai stretched out his arms and followed in suit.

The pair soon descended upon the crowded square filled to the brim with cars and people, particularly people running away from one corner bank. They were met with shock and awe but also cheers and smiles. A sort of mismatched circle formed around the bank of a few spectators while a pair of police cars arrived.

Fistman and Gumboy landed several feet away and stared intently at the bank while four police officers came out of their cars, almost ready to quell the situation.

"Think you all can handle this, officer?" Fistman asked one approaching officer.

"We should." The officer said sternly, looking at the uncle and nephew pair as though they caused everything. His partner, a female officer stepped in front of him with a bit more of an open mind.

"Reports are that it's one of your bogeys, a man with large feet." She said, trying not to stare at Fistman's large hands. Gumboy slouched and sighed while Fistman was oblivious to the officers' suspicion.

"My nemesis Kickman, thank you officer, I think we can stop this, but I need you and Gumboy here on crowd control, I can't have any potential hostages getting hurt," He said excitedly while looking to the bank with fire in his eyes.

"Us on crowd control? This isn't your job, vigilante; we're in charge here!" the first officer said but before his words could be understood, Fistman was already running towards the bank. Gumboy looked between his fleeing uncle and the police officers and he sighed again.

"Sorry, I'd stop him if I knew how," Gumboy said as he jogged along after his uncle.

"This is crazy, why haven't we arrested this psycho?" the first officer grumbled.

"Do you want to try that?" asked one of the other officers who had just arrived. The first officer thought about Fistman's unusually swollen hands and imagined the force he could crush with them and cursed to himself as he decided that actually trying to capture the man would be a bad idea.

As the pair halted in front of the bank, they knelt down below the wide windows, just barely out of sight. They watched civilians, dozens of them, mostly people in suits looking scared, all of them on the ground. There was a hole on the other side where the man who stood in the middle of the bank he just broke in. He was tall, his hair a dirty brown, and his clothing was tacky; an indigo and violet tracksuit with the sleeves torn right off, complete with headband. The man had a crazed look in his hazel eyes and a wild frown below his terrible scratchy moustache. He stomped about the room, occasionally giving threatening looks to anybody who dared to raise a head. His body was tense, but aimless, there was no rhyme to the way strutted about the room and no reason behind his threats of violence.

He was once a scientist, Kevin Le, an associate of David Gem’s. However, they were both rivals in an opportunity to become part of a major scientific project in the field of human advancement. David had won and Kevin was infuriated. The details of the time in between was fuzzy, but Kevin had come to the conclusion Fistman was not David, but a direct reust of his work and Kevin decided to play the same game with his own body.

“Okay Tai, here’s the plan, I distract him from the front doors while you stealth round through the hole and start sneaking the hostages out,” Fistman said excitedly as he rubbed his hands together in great anticipation.

“Well as long as you’re the one getting beat up,” Gumboy said.

“Mind if I help?”

“AH!” Fistman and Gumboy both jumped suddenly as they heard a third voice. The interloper put a finger over his concealed mouth and the pair immediately covered their mouths. The Police at the barrier were just as shocked as they were, for who could’ve seen the boy coming? Who was this dark skinned flat-topped ninja in a black and white jumpsuit and headband? While the city knew him as the mysterious Shinobi, the Uncle-Nephew pair knew him as

“Ben!” They both said in hushed voices.

“Sorry to intrude,” He said politely, his voice rather deep for his age, a mere two years older than Tai. He was rather lean and tall with room to grow. The only visible features of his countenance were his round nose and thin black eyes.

“The art of not being seen does not apply to friends, Ben!” Tai sternly said to the very calm companion.

“And miss a chance to practice what I have learned? The Shinobi said peaceably.

“We’re glad to have your help, Ben!” Fistman said as with a big thumbs up.

“But not the heart attack…” Gumboy muttered.

“I presume I should help Tai while you distract big foot?” Ben asked while carefully eyeing the scenario. Fistman responded with a wink and two thumbs up.

“Consider it done.,” he said softly and suddenly, intense sunlight reflected from a nearby building at just the correct angle to blind most of the people in the area. Just like that, he was gone just as mysteriously as he arrived.

“I wish I could study that phenomenon!” Fistman said excitedly.

“Back to the issue at hand, uncle,” Tai groaned as he patted his Uncle on the shoulder and pointed at the bank.

“Exactly, my boy!” Fistman said as he ambled towards the bank whilst Gumboy slithered around the building. Once his nephew was out of sight, Fistman got up and barged through the glass double-doors of the bank entrance. The people in the room gasped as Kickman turned and saw his dreaded rival enter the scene with a goofy triumphant smile on his face and his hands on his hips.

“You!” Kickman growled.

“Fistman!” Many among the hostages cried.

“Have no fear, fair citizens!” Fistman said gallantly. “Fistman is here!” And as he made his announcement and looked around the room, he took a boot to the chest and was sent flying through the doors he just jumped through with an ear piercing shatter and skidded across the pavement, the crowd outside gasped and the coppers already had their guns trained on the now non-existent door. Where Fistman previously stood, Kickman was there.

“Weak! Worthless!” Kickman yelled in wide-eyed frustration. He stared down his opponent who was slowly standing himself up. “Of course you would come to the rescue of these inferior beings! How else would I find you?”

“Well I don’t have “Fist Signal” but I bet you could make one for me,” Fistman grinned through his barely dusted mask. It would take more than that to mark a man of his strength. “You know Kevin, we don’t have to do this! I can help you!” Fistman announced with his arms out wide, trying to welcome is opponent. Kickman merely spat.

“That would be losing!” Kickman declared. He took one great stomp forward, a step that could be heard from a mile. “My genetic evolution is superior to yours, I can prove it, I can can can! You just need to lose, mano a mano! None of your fancy gadgets or science experiments! I could have investors as far as the eye can see, but you ruin everything!”

Fistman rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Come now Kevin, now you’re just being delusional,”

“DON’T CALL ME KEVIN!” Kick man shouted as he stomped angrily once again. “I can get what I want, I have the upper foot! You do one little trick and the hostages die! They die!”

“What hostages?” Gumboy said snidely behind Kickman with Shinobi right beside him. Kickman turned around and saw that the bank had been emptied with only a few stragglers being led out by some police officers. Kickman blanched and his countenance grew uglier. He turned from the two young boys and faced his smug-looking rival once more.

“You really should pay more attention,” Fistman chuckled as he reached into one of his belt pouches. Kickman was spitting and sputtering, completely speechless while Gumboy and Shinobi grinned at his sheer disbelief.

“As should you, villain,” Cried a young voice and before anyone could react, a young man in beige and silver samurai armor had struck the side of Fistman’s head with a sword. The impact produced a metallic clank and Fistman fell over with blood spurting from his head in a sudden flash of red

“Samurai!” Shinobi yelled.

“UNCLE!” Gumboy cried. They ran right past Kickman to aide their fallen comrade, but just before they could reach Fistman’s assailant, the young blade wielder had leapt into the air, possible ten feet, and landed haphazardly beside Kickman.

“What. Do. You. Want?” Kickman said, barely shaking out of his stupor.

“The Samurai of Aether seek you,” the young man said shortly.

“And they sent you, Samurai Kit? Were they truly out of decent messengers?”

“Don’t underestimate me! I just took out Fistman!” the boy named Samurai Kit wailed at Kickman who was vastly taller than him.

“You think that killed him? You are truly out of your league, samurai!” Kickman said as he looked away from the young’un with crossed arms.

“Which is why we need to go!” Samurai Kit said. He took his blade and held it above him and it glowed with a gray light. He swung down swiftly and in a flash he and Kickman were gone. In the meanwhile, Shinobi cursed the escape of their foes, but remained at the side of Fistman who was on the ground, eyes closed and left temple erupting with blood. Gumboy was quick to deal with the issue; he had covered the wound with a seal of his own gum and helplessly watched his uncle come to, his head in a pool or the warm red fluid.

“Uncle! Uncle Fists! Are you okay?” Gumboy cried, trying not to move his uncle. Fistman had no trouble moving himself, however. He was quick to get up on his knees and feel the side of his head while wiping the blood from his face, smearing it in his pure white gloves.

“Damage minimal, barely a scratch, not even a dent in my skull!” Fistman said cheerily. He sounded a little sore but wasn’t the least bit disoriented.

“But all the blood…” Gumboy remarked.

“The head is where a lot of blood is concentrated,” Fistman explained with his finger pointing at his reddened cranium with a matter of fact tone. “Most minor injuries up here can look far worse due to just how much we bleed, our heads are like big old blood sacks, a lot of blood pumps in this general direction through all those large veins in our neck, it’s why it’s a prime spot for vampi-”

“Very interesting, I’m sure, Doctor, but our enemies have escaped,” Shinobi said sternly.

“Well are the people safe?” Fistman asked.

“Yes, but-,”

“Then we’ve done the important part!” Fistman said proudly as he got to his feet. “And good on you, Gumboy, sealing this wound with your chicle constructs was a good quick fix!”

“No big deal, Uncle Fists,” The calmer Gumboy said as he rubbed the back of his head. “Just don’t fall into any sawmills or anything, I can’t fix you all the time.” Fistman laughed at the remark while Shinobi sighed.

“You must lighten up, Benjamin, we’ve won this battle!” Fistman said as he patted the boy on the back. Shinobi slouched.

“Have we, Doctor? Do you not find it odd that my foe would so urgently try to rescue yours? They run under completely different circles, they have no need to align themselves with one another!”

“Of course I do!” Fistman said. Shinobi’s eyes widened at this revelation.

“This actually only furthers Uncle Fist’s theory,” Gumboy said sternly.

“But we won’t discuss this here, the cops are looking at us funny,” Fistman said as he took the two young boys by the waist and was off like a rocket into the clear blue sky. The trio swept through the air, buffeted by the sheer force. Fistman’s flight was like a controlled cannonball fire, he could rarely slow down, he couldn’t float, he was on one setting: jet. Gumboy felt his body get stretched by the sheer force while Shinobi was desperately trying to keep his headband and mask on his face.

A few blocks away, Fistman skidded ungracefully along a skyscraper rooftop, letting go his two  passengers who adjusted to their sudden halt in speed accordingly. Shinobi rolled across the ground gracefully and was quickly back on his feet whilst Gmboy relaxed his body and he hit the rooftop softly, his body briefly getting wobbly before he was back to his typical anatomy.

Shinobi crossed his arms and looked expectantly at his two allies.

“Well?” Shinobi said shortly.

“Well,” Gumboy said as he turned to his uncle. Fistman smacked his forehead.

“Right! Well, the theory! Well me boys, here’s how the story goes! First, Ben, have you noticed something or anything odd in the past fortnight concerning supervillains?” Ben cocked his head.

“Fortnight means two weeks,” Gumboy said.

“I know what it means, I was thinking…” Shinobi muttered. He thought a little more, his crossed arms pressed closer to his chest. “Umm... Well, they’ve been sort of quiet, less crimes, less attacks, less appearances, less everything I guess.”

“That’s right,” Fistman exclaimed as he gave the boy a congratulatory pat on the back. Shinobi tried to hide the fact he just got winded by that simple pat. “The baddies have been doing almost nothing! They’re disappearing, hiding, all the ones we haven’t put away, they’re just not doing anything!”

“But what about the new ones?” Shinobi inquired, his face screwing up in frustration. “Even when our mainstays are gone there’s always a new one coming out of nowhere, popping up through some freak accident or that strange energy thing you’ve been tracking.”

“No activity whatsoever, what does that tell you, Ben?” Fistman said as his grin grew and grew.

“Calm before the storm syndrome?” Shinobi asked. Fistman cheered.

“Give the guy a medal,” Gumboy snickered.

“Exactly Ben, exactly! Something’s brewing, and it’s all connected!” Fistman said.

“I don’t buy it.” Shinobi said. “Almost every single one of our opponents has different motives: revenge, money, ruling the world, a new home, fame, some were just angry over a parking ticket! And you and I deal usually with different baddies.”

This was true. While Fistman, Gumboy, and the Shinobi were all superheroes within the DC Metropoltan area, their opponents were usually not similar. Fistman and Gumboy usually dealt with crimes big and small, fighting beings that threatened the district to small time crooks, most of them superpowered humans mysteriously mutated. Shinobi had a specific agenda mandated by the secret ninja academy he trained at to combat a syndicate of rival warriors trying to undermine society in more covert ways for domination. He helped with normal crime on the side.

“Yeah, that’s where he lost me too,” Gumboy shrugged. “But listen more; it’ll start to make sense.”

“Well that’s where you got lost and I found answers! I took a different perspective,” Fistman said as he pulled from one of his yellow pouches, an electronic meter with a pair of antennae. He flicked the switch on the side and turned a few dials and as the needle on the meter swished back and forth the screen began to glow a bright glow.

“The random mutations that caused so many superpowered humans to appear, some of our more focused villains, they all had something in common! This radiation I discovered! All their fantastic genetic mutations and abilities seem to stem from a common energy spike! It’s remarkable really, I haven’t discovered all of its properties yet but it seems to be capable of rapidly accelerating human evolution on a specified pattern with the common side-effect of manic behavior and psychotic breakdowns! It took forever to find the base signature for this energy let me tell you-,”

“A-hem!” Gumboy interrupted while tapping his foot. “The point, Uncle Fists? We’re laypersons, remember?” Fistman slapped his head again.

“Right, right! So the point is that I have been tracking the radiation on a wide scale, had to hijack a few satellites in order to do it and used some of my own, but I have it all figured out! That energy signature, it’s from beyond our galaxy and it’s coming here!”

Fistman breathed heavily after his dramatic speech. Gumboy was grinning proudly with his hands on his hips while Shinobi still looked vaguely unimpressed.

“Problem with your spaceman theory, Doctor,” Shinobi said “Wouldn’t NASA or some of Earth’s big fancy telescopes have seen this?”

“If they invented space travel, then they probably invented cloaking Mr. Art-of-not-being-Seen,” Gumboy said.

“Good point…” Shinobi replied.

“Tai is right, which is exactly why we need to research and prepare!”

“Prepare? How?”

“I have a few friends I’m going to call, and if my signal is good enough, I might even get a few extras,” Fistman said with a delightful thumbs up.

“I shall see what information I can get from my teachers at the Yin Yang academy. If the Samurai of Aether are involved, then surely their enemies will know of something.”

“Excellent! Then Tai and I will let you know when we learn of something!” Fistman said excitedly.

“When he learns of something, I have soccer practice,” Tai rolled his eyes. “We’ll catch you later, Ben.” And with that, Gumboy leaped off the side of the building, outstretched one arm and was soon swinging across the district.

“Wait for me!” Fistman said as he jetted off right after his nephew.

“Balance find us all,” Ben muttered to himself as he leapt in the opposite direction of his friends and ran alongside the building.