by Kipjo Ewers
“This bitch is crazy,” sneered Adrian.
“Rabid dog crazy,” his sister chimed in.
“As for those incapable of producing superior stock,” she leaned forward sighing with clasped hands, “I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass like a politician. You see, in order for this to work, the normal human gene pool must wither and die, while we super humans flourish, which means those that can’t produce… got to go.
“Now I don’t know if we’re going to implement some form of euthanasia or exile you to a remote location of the planet were you can live out the rest of your short and miserable lives. I’ll have to mull over it after the massacre tomorrow. But you do have my word,” she savagely grinned while pointing at the camera, “you all will be the first to know after a decision has been made.
“Now, to all of my fellow brothers and sisters out there who’ve taken up the mantle of being a ‘super hero,’ she coughed attempting not to laugh, “I would heavily advice you not to attempt be one tomorrow. You’re not going to come and save the day, because none of you are on my level. I know this because I am the reason you evolved in the first place. Well me, and a now exiled Sophia Dennison.”
“Aw, shit.” Adrian shook his head.
“Cats out of the bag now,” Rogers huffed.
“You heard right kids, me and the first female superhuman seen back in 2008!” Peace beamed. “You owe your rebirth to your two mothers who made hot lesbian love with a nuclear warhead! And although it would really break my heart to do so, I will not hesitate to kill any of you that attempt to stand in my way. Not to mention, look around you, why would you want to protect any of them? You think they love and respect any of you? Wake up! They fear, hate, and loathe all of you, especially those in ‘power,’ because they know they cannot kill, control, or become like us. And don’t think for a second they’re not trying to do all three behind our backs. And while they’re doing that they have enticed some of our kind with worthless trivial things like money and fortune to join their puny little armies to fight and protect them from each other, starting a whole new cold war with us as the weapons!”
Pure unadulterated rage was written all over Peace’s face as she stood up knocking her seat over, making Tamsen Fadal cower further in her seat whimpering as quietly as possible. Her yellow eyes blazed brighter causing the feed to distort a bit.
“Well let me tell you something my fellow superhumans… my children,” she reared her fangs, “we are not weapons, heroes, or any other ridiculous label these lesser primitive shells of our former selves think they can call us. We are the closest things to gods these backwater apes will ever see, and my children… it is time we start fucking acting like it. It is we who shall inherit this Earth, not the meek!
“That’s right, us the strong,” she violently slapped her left breast, “who do not need cars, planes, or boats that poison our atmosphere and the very planet itself when we can fly, leap, or run to our destination at the snap of a finger. We, the strong, who are more than capable of surviving the ever-changing harsh environments of this planet. Majority of us do not get sick, or even need food to survive. And we do not need to be divided by retarded ideologies such as race, religion, creed, or color because aside from power levels and abilities we are all equal in terms of being superior beings.”
Peace placed her hands firmly on the table leaning forward. She looked down at the table allowing some strands of her dreads to fall across her face, before raising her head again to glare at the cameras.
“For too long words like peace and change get thrown around,” she smirked, “speeches like ‘Yes we can!’ are only good for erecting nipples and soaking panties. The truth is this is a world of ‘No you can’t’ if you’re not a part of the one percent then ‘No you can’t.’ If your ideas and views fuck with our bottom line then ‘No you can’t.’ An ideology that has saturated itself, infesting all aspect of life on this planet. And as we all know, the only way to treat an infestation is through thorough cleansing and eradication.”
She took a minute to look at her nails on her right hand.
“It’s never clean, or fun to do.” She cracked a smile. “Well, it’s going to be a lot of fun for me. However, for the human race to thrive and go on this must be done. It’s going to be traumatic, a lot of people are going to want to drink, shoot up, or seek heavy therapy after tomorrow, and not in that order. But after tomorrow has come and gone, and centuries have passed, future generations will look back at tomorrow as the day when the true cancer of this planet was finally cut out, giving this world a real chance to heal, and us as a race the opportunity to thrive and reach our maximum potential, as we should. Maybe a decade or two we might just make tomorrow a worldwide holiday, like Burning Man and shit.”
Peace cackled, shaking her head.
“In closing,” she sighed, “to POTUS and the rest of our soon to be dearly departed world leaders. My advice to you in these last fifteen hours you have of life. Go fucking nuts. Drink what you want, smoke, inject, or snort what you want, go bang anyone or anything you want anywhere you want. Go to town! Because come nine o’clock in the morning tomorrow, this pretty little face shall be making the rounds to visit each and every one of you… and shake you from mortal coil.”
She allowed her ominous message to linger for a minute, before clapping her hands, which made a near catatonic Tamsen Fadal almost jump out of her skin.
“Thank you all for tuning in to this very special edition of the Pix 11 six o’clock news.” She smiled brightly. “Be sure to tune in tomorrow for Tamsen and whoever her new anchor might be. “Two and a Half Men” is up next!”
She cued the stations theme ending music to play as she turned and appeared to be thanking a distraught and spaced out Tamsen for co-anchoring with her before stepping over Stanford’s body walking off the set.
With a wave of her hand Erica closed out the feed. Everyone looked around the room at one another with similar expressions and thoughts. How were they going to overcome such a menace.
“Miss, I patched into the video surveillance cameras on 42nd Street between 2nd and 3rd,” Maxine reported. “The Defenders of Justice are outside the building preparing to ambush her.”
“Oh no,” Erica swallowed.
“Aren’t they based out of Chicago?” Adrian asked.
“It’s going to be a slaughter.” Erica looked up at Abe.
“Maxine, pull it up,” Rogers ordered.
The holographic video screen came to life again; this time it was an outside view of the building the news station was housed in, on 42nd street.
Peace walked out of the building whistling and humming as if she just had got off of work and was heading home. Unlike Sophia’s news announcement seven years ago which brought down almost the entire local, federal, and military forces of Washington DC down on her, the streets of 42nd street were a ghost town with not a single soul in sight.
Peace stood around, slightly disappointed that she did not receive the same reception Sophia did, until she was side blinded by a New York City Transit bus. Some unknown force hurling it drove her into the side of a nearby building. The unknown power did not stop as it compacted the large vehicle into an accordion in an attempt to flatten her like a pancake.
A woman in a black domino mask wearing a blue, black, and yellow costumed rubber body suit with black boots and a long flowing blue cape descended hovering twenty feet off the street. On the right breast of her suit she bore the symbol of a brain with some form of energy bursting out of it.
“She’s down!” the woman called out.
Either leaping, running, of flying from their respective hiding places, her teammates each appeared.
Next to her descended the team’s flame wielder dispersing flames like thrusters from her palms and feet to keep her elevated. She dawned a skin-tight red and yellow bodysuit with matching booties designed in a flame pattern. The emblem of a fiery bird sat on her right breast. Her outfit appeared to be created from a ma
terial that could withstand the heat and flames she produced. With red streaks in her raven hair, she wore no mask to cover up her identity.
The female speedster of the group who went by the name of Ms. Quick wore a black full body compression suit with blue lighting graphics designed into it, and Nike running shoes with similar colors to her outfit. She wore a lightning styled domino mask to cover up her identify.
The rest of their team’s outfits were reminiscent of the rubber costumes used in the 1989 Burton and the 1995 Schumacher movies with color schemes and symbols to match their heroic identities.
Standing next to the Mercurian was a male Titan wearing a sleeveless rubber suit with a black and yellow color scheme. He also wore a simple yellow domino mask. On the mask and in the center of his chest he bore the letters “VJ” which stood for Victory Jones.
Closer to the totaled bus stood a woman also with Titan abilities and red flowing hair in a full pink rubber suit with white boots and a flowing white cape baring the letters BB on her chest for Bruiser Betty. Her identity was, too, covered by a type of white domino mask.
Finally, standing beside her was her husband, also a Titan class. He was also their leader known throughout Chicago and most of the world as Power Hour. His outfit was all red with yellow and black accents. Unlike his teammates and wife he wore a full red cowl to hide his entire face. His symbol that he proudly wore on his chest was of an exploding hour glass.
“Nice work, Mindblast,” congratulated the flame wielder.
“Thank you, Flaming Jay,” she responded .
“Let’s not get cocky people!” Power Hour yelled, “not till we confirm if the target is really down and out!”
Before they could assess if Peace was defeated with one blow, the bus effortlessly moved as she pushed it back and then tossed it with one arm. It landed crashing on its side as the Defenders of Justice took defensive stances ready for a fight.
Peace took her time stretching and cracking her back, before giving them all a disappoint look.
“You all are shitting me, right?” Peace scowled in disgust. “I purposely laid pinned up between that nasty ass New York city bus for three minutes waiting to hear some iconic superhero shit, and that’s the best you all could do?”
“We’re not here for your amusement, lady!” roared Power Hour.
“No you’re all here to die,” she sneered.
She folded her arms rubbing her chin as she evaluated each one of them. The only one in the group unnerved by her glowing yellow eyes and deadly confidence was Flaming Jay.
“Let me tell you how tonight’s lesson is going to go down,” Peace pointed at Power Hour with a loathing sigh. “I’m going remove the Jean Grey knock-off’s head from her body in under five seconds for throwing a bus at me. Then I’m going to put you and each of your little friends in critical traction and then force you to watch as I kill them all in one fail swoop before I kill you.”
“Not if I strike first!” he yelled.
Power Hour exploded, tearing up concrete as he leapt into the air to tackle her to the floor.
“I said you’re last!” she yelled with irritation.
With a simple backhand moving a thousand times faster than him, she swatted him away knocking him out of his trajectory. His body painfully crashed through the glass lobby windows of the building on her left side. He kept going as he tumbled into the front lobby security desk obliterating it.
The rest of the Defenders of Justice now shaken after witnessing their leader so easily dispatched slowly turned to her looking at them as if they were dinner.
“First lesson,” she grinned.
Mindblast, not waiting to be her first victim, employed her telekinesis to lift two blocks of various vehicles and proceeded to launch them at Peace like missiles. Peace swatted two of them out of the way and then went supersonic airborne tearing through the rest of her barrages like snow going straight for her.
It was over in a matter of seconds as vehicles fell from the sky along with Mindblast’s headless body smacking into the streets of Manhattan.
The rest of the Defenders of Justice stood beside themselves as she slowly hovered back to the ground clutching their fallen team member’s lifeless head by her long dark mane.
Finally, realizing what had taken place, they all began howling and screaming as she causally tossed her head onto the ground like a ball.
Before they could mount an avenging offense, she was on them using hypersonic speed on foot. With a Muay Thai side leg kick she destroyed Ms. Quick’s leg at the kneecap breaking it in half upending her. Victory Jones became her next victim as she crushed the left side of his ribcage with a savage knee and then severed his spine with a jackhammer elbow. The next to fall was Bruiser Betty as she shattered and dislocated her jaw with an explosive haymaker.
Flaming Jay watched in horror from above as her teammates were decimated on the ground.
“Screw this,” she quivered. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
She soared away deserting her team, using her flames to rocket her away as far and as fast as they could take her.
As Bruiser Betty collapsed to her knees dazed and bloodied with her broken jaw hanging by just skin from her face, her husband, Power Hour, finally staggering out of the building ran to her aid. He would never get to her as Peace latched onto his throat taking the male Titan high into the air. She slammed him violently into the concrete creating a crater with his body. She kept a vice like grip on his throat as she pulled him to his feet and held him high into the air.
“Second lesson.” She reared her fangs.
She extended a hand out pointing in the direction of the badly injured members of the Defenders of Justice. Red and orange energy burst from out of her pores flowing into her hand forming into the size of a golf ball.
“No,” Power Hour weakly got out struggling to break free of her grip, “Nooooooo!”
“Bang,” she sensually whispered.
In an instant the ball expanded into a stream of pure raw energy the height and width on the Empire State building if it was laid on its side in the middle of 42nd street. Anything in its path was turned to either ashes or atoms starting from the middle of Second and Third Avenue pass the FDR Drive, over the river into Long Island City and beyond. Buildings toppled as well as parts of the highway on the FDR.
A couple of teeth, tiny melted rubber bits from their costumes, and scorch marks were all that was left of the members of the Defenders of Justice.
“Well now,” she turned to Power Hour, “has the lesson been learned?”
He defiantly mustered the strength to spit in her face. She slowly wiped it off in disgust.
“So, that’s what it feels like,” she noted.
She increased her grip on his throat teetering on the borderline of crushing it. He groaned and gagged struggling to breathe.
“You stupid fuck! Normally someone buys me dinner before they do that,” she howled. “And now you’re going to die in that ridiculous costume for nothing! So the question I got to ask before I end you is was this all worth it? To die knowing that you changed nothing, you saved no one, and in about another five seconds you will be no one! The question “Raymond” is how does it feel to know that comic books are bullshit, because in real life the “good guy” does not win in the end?”
Power Hour through his gurgling and near lack of oxygen forced a grin on his tear stained face.
“I know… comic books are not real,” he said. “Heroes are… and I am thankful I lived my dream to become one. I die here today knowing I stood against you… and that… my act… will hopefully champion others… to do… the same.”
“Wow,” she scoffed. “Very inspirational there. My little bean just pulsated from that. Now allow me the honor of giving you a hero’s death. God speed… oh wow… I don’t even remember your name.”
Peace’s eyes went ablaze as she unleashed a powerful eyebeam blast into his face. His red cowl melted, as he screamed in agonizing pai
n from his eyeballs roasting while his skin popped and blistered. Eventually his body went limp as his skull exploded leaving just a shearing jawbone.
She released the rest of his remains to hit the ground with a sickening thud forcing a wince out Lady Tech watching along with the rest of the Regulators.
“What a waste.” Peace shook her head.
She exploded into the sky darting away, once again leaving her calling card of death and destruction.
Lady Tech turned away shaking her head, while Adrian dropped his head burying it in his chest. Rosann stood there with an emotionless expression grinding her bottom teeth into her top.
“We can’t let this go down,” Abe shook his head.
“We just saw her slaughter five EVOs by herself,” Erica turned to Rogers pointing, “three of them were Class 9!”
“There’s got to be a way to beat her,” stepped in Adrian.
