Perched upon the grotesque of the Bannister Bank high above the city
Sparrow felt as if he made an imposing, threatening sight if anyone
saw him, but they didn’t. They were all down there. The feeling was
only for himself. And he needed that feeling on a night like this
when his boss, his mentor, The Champion of Wattsburgh City, real name
Brad Wattson, was out of town on urgent League business. That’s how
this responsibility had fallen to him, urgent business, and he had to
give up his ordinary life to watch over the city, stop the bad guys
the cops couldn’t handle.
Just hours before he had been Luke Harden, a mild mannered college
student eating pizza after a 5 hour long study session in the library
with his friends, making his moves on his girlfriend to get her to
come back to his place when it all got interrupted by a notification
on his cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket and for a moment he
thought about not answering but he knew the consequences if he didn’t.
He took the call and walked away from the table. It was Brad telling
him he had to leave immediately and that he would be protecting the
city. Well not him, but the Sparrow, the hero they had invented
together. And it was done. He went back to the table and invented an
excuse about his Uncle being sick and how he had to rush out to take
him some chicken soup or something, canceled plans with his
girlfriend, and he stormed out.
A quick drive to his apartment, open the secret compartment in the
back of his closet, costume and utility belt. He snuck up to the roof
of his building, changed and hid his street clothes in a shadow, and
he was someone else. The costume felt ridiculous, skin tight for the
most part, boots, gloves, a mask that covered his eyes, and the cape.
He had asked The Champion about why he had to dress that way several
times and the man always had an answer, the same answer, put fear into
the hearts of the criminals, but it never felt like that. Though the
costume did have its benefits, skin tight meant he could be acrobatic
and there was little for the enemy to grab. The cape made it easier
for him to hide in the darkness and it camouflaged his figure, made
his body a difficult target to hit.
He yawned into his hand, stretched his muscles as he listened to the
police band radio receiver in his ear. Domestic disputes, vandalism,
and bar room brawls, none of those were the things he was supposed to
interfere with. No he was supposed to take the difficult things, bank
robberies, hostage scenarios, anything where he could operate from the
shadows. It was so boring he thought for a moment to go see what his
friends were up to, maybe even check on his girlfriend and make sure
she wasn’t with another guy. He was about to give up and call it a
night, find something to occupy his time, when he got an alert of a
silent alarm at a Wattson Industries warehouse.
Those didn’t go directly to the police, Brad had those sent directly
to whoever was on duty. Usually it was the man himself but in this
case Sparrow. He pulled his grappling hook gun from his belt and
aimed it down at the edge of the building, once it was secured he
swung down, then lowered himself to the alleyway where he had parked
his personally issued, fully customized motorcycle. He pulled the helmet from its special compartment and put it on his head before climbing onto it and
engaging the engine. It roared to life.
“Time to go play guard dog,” he said under his breath.
Ten minutes later he was there, he spotted the broken gate and the van out
front immediately so he parked around back where no one could see,
then pulled himself onto the roof with another use of his grappling
gun. He walked across the asphalt to look down on the van. He
spotted one man inside it, the driver. There could be anywhere from
one to five or more people inside, he reasoned. I like those odds, he
said to himself with a smirk.
Inside the five henchmen and their boss Bottle Nose moved through the
building unaware that they had tripped an alarm, unaware of the
Sparrow on the roof. They were searching for one thing in particular,
one crate. They made their way up and down the aisles constantly
looking at their hands where they had written the number.
“615598,” one of them muttered to himself.
“Is that an 8 or a 3?” another asked.
“An 8, an 8,” Bottle Nose barked, “why is good help so hard to find?”
“It’d be a lot easier if we knew where to find it,” one of them said back.
Bottle Nose gave him an eye that meant if he were any closer he’d be
wrapped on the shin with the man’s cane. But he shook of the notion
and continued to hobble along until he spotted the manager’s office.
“Boys over here, come break this window,” he ordered.
Two of his nearby goons jumped at the chance to break something. The
first took a swing and punched it but only hurt his hand. The second
picked up a metal pipe from the nearby stack and took a swing. Crash,
glass fell to the floor in little bits. The man grinned at what he
had just done. The man who had punched it and failed cradled his hand
and looked to Bottle Nose.
“Well, what are you waiting for, climb in there.”
Both men began to climb inside, the first slipped on some papers and
fell. The second climbed onto a desk, belly against wood he reached
out for something and fell to the ground. A third goon who had come
to help laughed at them both. This time the man was close enough for
Bottle Nose to wrap with his cane and the man cried out in pain
causing him to fall silent.
“What are you waiting for? Get in there and help them.”
The third goon climbed inside and for a moment he stood there in
triumph until something hard and silent hit him in the head and
dropped him like a ton of bricks. The first two thought for a moment
that he had slipped and they broke into laughter until they were both
hit by the same weapon. Bottle Nose watched his men fall and he
perked up because he knew this was his worst danger. The Sparrow
swung down and nailed him in the back with both feet sending him
flying into one of the crates. He hit with a thud that caused the
wood to creak from impact but not break. Bottle Nose swung out with
his cane blindly half expecting to connect with someone but didn’t.
He looked around, swung again in frustration.
“Boys, are you still there?”
“Still here boss,” the last two henchmen who had entered with him said
in unison.
“Well, help me out, let’s get out of this place,” he grunted before
running for the gate where they had entered. The two henchmen
followed behind him looking this way and that to try and see someone.
Bottle Nose made it to the van but found the sliding door was closed
so he looked in through the passenger window to see the driver
unconscious. He heard two more thuds and he knew that his two goons
had been knocked out so he pulled the handle of his cane out revealing
a three inch blade. Now in two pieces he readied himself for combat
ready to swing with one half and stab with the other. He caught a
glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye but it was too late,
those same feet that had kicked him in the back had made contact with
his chest and sent him flying back into the passenger door. He hit so
hard it knocked the wind out of him and he fell to his butt gasping
for air.
This is it, this is how it ends, he thought to himself. The Champion
has caught me before and he always took me to prison so it won’t be so
bad at least there he can make some new plan, learn about some new
scheme. Tears of pain filled his eyes as he caught his breath and he
was about to surrender when he heard two boots land in front of him,
two lightweight boots. He looked up to see the Sparrow there in front
of him and he looked around for more movement. This wasn’t like the
Champion. The Champion mostly operated from the shadows. He saw the
amused smirk on the young man’s face and he laughed a little to
himself.
“Is it just you wonder boy?”
“Just me,” Sparrow replied.
“Daddy let you stay out this late? No curfew for baby bird?”
“Look here Bottle Nose, I just took out six of your men and you’re on
your fat ass winded and defeated so I’d say I’m more than enough to
handle the likes of you.”
“Hmm, maybe so boy, maybe so,” Bottle Nose replied.
“Are you going to give up?”
“Yes, yes, just turn me over to the police.”
“Drop the blade and I will.”
Bottle Nose looked down to his knife that was still in his hand. He
set it on the ground beside him then slid it away, then he looked up
to Sparrow who had barely moved but instead stood there with his arms
crossed. He made an imposing figure in his little costume, he
thought, imposing but not dangerous. No, he was just standing there
waiting. He took note of the young man’s stature, his squared
shoulders, his narrow waist, muscled thighs, and the way his feet were
flat on the ground. He had won, or at least thought he had won.
Maybe there was a way out of this yet.
He shifted and groaned to try and get up and for a moment he thought
he saw Sparrow move but he was being cautious. Bottle Nose turned
back and forth until he could get his hands out and one knee under
himself, then he pushed up onto it and onto the second part of his
cane which gave a little on him and scraped across the asphalt a
little before sticking into it. Finally he got his weight
distribution right and was able to get up to both feet though still
bent over on that little bit of cane. It wasn’t enough to support
him, at least that’s what he wanted the hero to think, and he reached
out for the van and leaned onto it. He half stood and gasped for
breath.
“And the Champ isn’t in the shadows?” he said between puffs.
“Not tonight, so that means if you fuck around with me I’ll smash you
good, then I’ll take you downtown.”
“Downtown? You mean you haven’t called the cops?”
“Not yet,” Sparrow replied.
“Well,” Bottle Nose grunted, “that’ll make it easier.”
He reached his free hand for his pocket and Sparrow was on him in an
instant, grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled his arm up, looked into
the man’s hand only to see a pocket watch. Bottle Nose opened it.
“What’s that for?”
“To distract you,” he answered.
And Sparrow saw it too late, Bottle Nose pressed a button on the other
part of his cane and gas shot out, gas that he aimed right into the
young hero’s face. Sulfur and something else went so deep into his
nostrils he could taste it and feel it in his throat. His eyes
watered and he looked to Bottle Nose’s face, a wicked grin with one
tooth missing, coal black eyes stared back at him. Then there was
darkness.
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