and tried to see if my name was on some sort of list. She covered the appointment book in front of her with three hands and arched a brow. “Is there something you need, Miss Hashimoto?”
The silence that sprung to life behind me told me I didn’t need to turn around to feel everyone’s eyes on me. After all, I was the only one not sitting and being patient for their turn and that obviously warranted attention. Unwanted attention.
I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on the woman before me. “Uh, Mister Manpower was fighting with the Brickwall Gang yesterday. And I kind of, sort of, lent him a hand. Then he said he thought I should come by.” Her brow remained arched and she pointedly ignored the ringing phone. “Uh … to meet everyone, I think. At two o’clock?” I hadn’t meant for the last bit to sound like a question, but the withering glance from the woman and the virtual crickets of the room behind me rattled my nerves.
The a red light flared into life on the top edge of her eyewear and swept over my face, momentarily filling my vision with little, floating spots. She glanced down at the computer terminal in front of her, neutral expression sliding down into a frown at what she was seeing. Probably my criminal record. Great.
I leaned forward a little more, lowering my voice. “Look, I know that it might look bad. But I promise, Mister Manpow–”
I was interrupted by someone’s hand clamping down on my shoulder in what might have been a painful, rather than just annoying, manner. “I think you might be in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crushette.”
I turned around to face a portly man wearing a suit of dark blue power armor and glaring at me. Mechanix. It would figure that one of the heroes present would have to be someone that I’d fought before. He took a step back and aimed the micro-cannon on one arm at me. Tiny servos whirled and hummed as the lights along the edges of his suit brightened. Behind him, several other wannabes stood up, watching the scene carefully.
I held up my hands slowly, palms out. The last thing I wanted to do was start a rumble here. “Hey, Mechanix. How you been? Is that a new suit of–”
He cut me off by blasting me in the face with the ionic cannon. The focused plasma beam knocked me backwards against the desk. The energy burst tossed my hair around in my face, disintegrated the upper portion of my t-shirt, and stung like a dozen bitch-slaps.
After about three seconds, the energy discharge ended and Mechanix lowered his arm to survey his handiwork. When he did, I pushed off the desk (now sporting a Karen-shaped dent) and punched him in the chest as hard as I could. The osmium steel breastplate crumpled inwards and the lights along the top of his attacking arm flickered and winked out. I guess he was still keeping the main power supply in the torso. Amateur.
The impact made him stumble a couple of clanking steps backwards and he shook off the stun and raised his other arm. But before he could fire again, I stepped forward and lashed out with a foot, kicking him right between his metal-clad legs. He shot up about ten feet into the air, groaning loudly over the sounds of his suit’s gyros trying to keep him upright.
I waited until he was almost back down and then punched him again, this time with both hands. The armor plating across his chest cracked open and this time every light flickered and went dark. Mechanix zoomed in an arc across the lobby, pieces of metal flying off like the tail of a comet, and slammed into the wall next to the front doors. The man-sized crater he made in the concrete held him aloft like a piece of post-modern art.
The rest of the assembled heroes looked from Mechanix to me, as if trying to decide if this was a fight they wanted to get in on. I kept my hands balled into fists and narrowed my eyes at the lot of them. After a few tense seconds of Mexican Standoff, none of them made any move to attack. I turned back to the wide-eyed
The silence that sprung to life behind me told me I didn’t need to turn around to feel everyone’s eyes on me. After all, I was the only one not sitting and being patient for their turn and that obviously warranted attention. Unwanted attention.
I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on the woman before me. “Uh, Mister Manpower was fighting with the Brickwall Gang yesterday. And I kind of, sort of, lent him a hand. Then he said he thought I should come by.” Her brow remained arched and she pointedly ignored the ringing phone. “Uh … to meet everyone, I think. At two o’clock?” I hadn’t meant for the last bit to sound like a question, but the withering glance from the woman and the virtual crickets of the room behind me rattled my nerves.
The a red light flared into life on the top edge of her eyewear and swept over my face, momentarily filling my vision with little, floating spots. She glanced down at the computer terminal in front of her, neutral expression sliding down into a frown at what she was seeing. Probably my criminal record. Great.
I leaned forward a little more, lowering my voice. “Look, I know that it might look bad. But I promise, Mister Manpow–”
I was interrupted by someone’s hand clamping down on my shoulder in what might have been a painful, rather than just annoying, manner. “I think you might be in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crushette.”
I turned around to face a portly man wearing a suit of dark blue power armor and glaring at me. Mechanix. It would figure that one of the heroes present would have to be someone that I’d fought before. He took a step back and aimed the micro-cannon on one arm at me. Tiny servos whirled and hummed as the lights along the edges of his suit brightened. Behind him, several other wannabes stood up, watching the scene carefully.
I held up my hands slowly, palms out. The last thing I wanted to do was start a rumble here. “Hey, Mechanix. How you been? Is that a new suit of–”
He cut me off by blasting me in the face with the ionic cannon. The focused plasma beam knocked me backwards against the desk. The energy burst tossed my hair around in my face, disintegrated the upper portion of my t-shirt, and stung like a dozen bitch-slaps.
After about three seconds, the energy discharge ended and Mechanix lowered his arm to survey his handiwork. When he did, I pushed off the desk (now sporting a Karen-shaped dent) and punched him in the chest as hard as I could. The osmium steel breastplate crumpled inwards and the lights along the top of his attacking arm flickered and winked out. I guess he was still keeping the main power supply in the torso. Amateur.
The impact made him stumble a couple of clanking steps backwards and he shook off the stun and raised his other arm. But before he could fire again, I stepped forward and lashed out with a foot, kicking him right between his metal-clad legs. He shot up about ten feet into the air, groaning loudly over the sounds of his suit’s gyros trying to keep him upright.
I waited until he was almost back down and then punched him again, this time with both hands. The armor plating across his chest cracked open and this time every light flickered and went dark. Mechanix zoomed in an arc across the lobby, pieces of metal flying off like the tail of a comet, and slammed into the wall next to the front doors. The man-sized crater he made in the concrete held him aloft like a piece of post-modern art.
The rest of the assembled heroes looked from Mechanix to me, as if trying to decide if this was a fight they wanted to get in on. I kept my hands balled into fists and narrowed my eyes at the lot of them. After a few tense seconds of Mexican Standoff, none of them made any move to attack. I turned back to the wide-eyed
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