The world has been thrown into turmoil. Two alien invasions in as many years resulted in thousands of casualties, with both only narrowly beaten back, and dangerous advanced technology falling into unscrupulous hands. Magneto's defeat by the Sentinels drove mutant supremacists to increasingly desperate and savage lengths. Rumors grew of uncanny monsters stalking the shadows and taking the unwary. But, through it all, humanity placed its faith in S.H.I.E.L.D.
And then S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.
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Playing Hero, Tag: Jubilee
Posted: Apr 13 2017, 05:49 PM
On a good bright day in New York it almost seems to gleam. Just like the old pictures that showed the city as the future waiting to happen. Packed in people all along the brightly colored bricks and brightly lit neon signs. Like a little piece of history was alive and moving all along the sidewalks and exposed steel buildings. Music from street performers, car radios and shops mixed into a kind of harmonious discord that provided a backbeat to the diverse pulse of the city itself. On a good day you don’t smell the exhaust and ozone layers in the air On a really good day the scent of food carts and little local shops rush right through the open breeze and make it smell like food heaven to anyone walking by.
Once the temperature drops just a little, taking the bite of sun out of the day it becomes a little less constrained. Like the city is milling about in preparation for something. Maybe it was that little piece of magic that was so wrapped into the spirits of New Yorkers. Or maybe it was just the defiant spirit came with living in the city. That little sliver of refusing to give up. Too many tragedies and crisis situations had sprung up over the years and it had only served the temper the resolve of everyone involved. From terrorists to alien invaders, New York bowed to no one.
The same, unfortunately, could be said for the crooks as well.
Screaming around the corner, the stolen armored car all but disintegrated a pretzel cart with it’s armored mass. The older man working it had just enough time to roll out of the way before he was covered in salt and butter that had gone airborne on impact. His curse, in his native language, was long and filled with full New Yorker bile and anger. Right afterwards the armored car slammed right through a meter and sent the metal pipe and quarters tumbling into the air as they were crushed against the heavily protected grill. And behind it the police cars struggled to keep up as the traffic meant they had to follow in the wake made by the larger vehicle.
In the back of the car the doors swung wildly with every impact and jostling turn. Inside was a trio of figures, all flailing around a fourth figure in blue in red. One door was bent almost in half from when the figure had entered a block and a half ago. Prying the door open with his hand he’d leapt in amidst a sudden barrage of gunfire and begun to wade into the three men inside like it was less a life threatening situation and more a school dance. Following behind, the officers in the first car could only stare as they silently wondered if they’d somehow walked into some sort of insanity.
After some quick web-word the guns were just as like to fire any more bullets as a hammer was to remove a screw. The started the truly baffling part, at least for Peter. The useless guns were thrown at him, thrown, after every gunshot had missed before he’d webbed the slides back. Suddenly knives appeared from seemingly nowhere and he could only groan in his throat, ”Fellas, really?” He couldn’t help but roll his head in a groan of disappointment and frustration.
The first of the three, sporting some very lovely facial tattoos that he was sure looked wonderful in a job interview, took a step in to thrust the blade as Peter’s kidney. With a casual and very bored shift of his hips his left arm shot out, stiff-arming the man’s face into the wall of the armored car and producing (what Peter had dubbed) the ‘Tweety-Bird Effect’. That moments when you had your clock cleaned just right and you could see their dazed eyes trying to sort out why they were looking at the world do cartwheels all around them. Or maybe they were reevaluating their life choices, but Peter was pretty sure it was more former than latter.
The next of the three came in with a swipe that, if it had connected, might have almost severed Peter’s head from his shoulders. Instead of finding out he leaned back lazily and shot his foot out, catching the man in the chest hard enough to pitch his back hard against the far wall separating to the cab of the car. Blasted from coherence, the man dropped the knife almost instantly and slide down into the small stack of canvas bags in what would be a textbook definition of a ‘heap’.
The last man looked at his two friends and then at Peter, who stood with his arms out in a mocking shrug as if to admit he had no idea. But he gave the man a once over, ignoring for the moment that he was a little taller and broader than him since Peter was stronger than a human had a right to be anyway, and put his hands on his hips to stare at him like one of those old Captain America posters, ”How’re those knives working out for you, dude?”
One last flick of his eyes went to the knife before he dropped it from suddenly limp fingers and decided retreat was the better part of valor. Leaping from the back of a speeding armored car closely followed by police cruisers, admittedly, was stupid. But there’s something to be said for effort, he was sure. Almost as soon as he went airborne Peter spun and let loose a sudden spray of webbing. Instead of gluing him to the wall like he’d expected, the man was just a little too quick and the webbing plastered him against the inside of the armored car door as it lazily swung back and forth from open to closed.
Peter couldn’t help but take a moment to laugh at the panicked look in the man’s eyes as he swung back and forth. When he noticed the stares he was getting from the police in the car following them he stopped and could only shrug at them by way of apology. But as soon as he did he felt the tingle in the back of his mind and spun as a large metal object flew at him. He put his hands up to swat it away, but instantly it clamped over his wrists and flung him from the back of the moving vehicle at an angle.
A few feet earlier it would have slammed him into the side of a building. But he barely missed the side of the building and flew through open air down a side street. His arms were locked together tightly, keeping him from properly using his webbing to right himself in time, but he had the presence of mind to fire off a single spider-tracer at the retreating crooks. The small spider-shaped tracer clicked into place just as Peter impacted into the side of a parked lime green car that was adorned with almost as much rust as it was original trim.
Bouncing off the side with a sound he wanted to believe was more akin to a manly grunt than a squeak toy being ricocheted off the side of a passenger bus, he rolled to a stop with a groan. His arms locked together by some kind of thick metal contraption, he had just enough presence of mind to try and pull his arms apart, eliciting a sound of metal being twisted in the process. Whatever this thing was, he wasn’t able to pry it loose. The metal groaned in protest, but didn’t break. And with his elbows pinned in close he wasn’t able to web-swing after the armored car.
Rolling to a sitting position his frustration got the better of him and he wiggled about, looking at the electronic locking mechanism as he tried to jerk his arms free and once again failed. After several seconds he made a disgusted sound in his throat and leaned back suddenly, ”Just great!” As his back hit the dented car behind him he looked up, seeing a looming figure dressed in… yellow? He cocked his head to the side and glanced at the face staring down at him, ”Ummm… would you believe I forgot the safe word?”
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