You take a deep breath, in through your nose, out through your mouth, slowly cooling your rage to a point where you won't pulp the fucking scumbag in front of you by accident. It takes a moment before you feel confident that that won't happen.
Rage is the enemy, young Greg. Before all else, rage will be your greatest enemy while you wield One For All's power.
No, if you're gonna pulp him, you're gonna do it on purpose. But you won't. Pulping people is bad.
Yes Greg, pulping people is bad. I'm glad you've at least figured that out.
"... Who the fuck are you?" He asks.
Well? This is your introduction.
Once again, you feel that
urge towards the bombastic overtake you. You plant your hands on your hips, straighten your back, and
grin to hide the incandescent rage the scene invokes in you.
... You're going to-
"Everything is alright now. Why? For I'm here!" You say, your baritone voice booming through the alley, echoing back and forth and announcing your presence to the world. The thug looks just as confused as before, and his victim shares it for just a moment before realisation dawns on her and a spark of hope forms in her eyes.
I'm not even mad anymore. You pull it off.
You feel the tiniest bit of embarrassment; as if you've just ripped someone else off in your attempts to be heroic. You shake it off before it affects your false confidence, and get back into the flow of things. Instead, you point at the skinhead, keeping the momentum going.
"Unhand the lady, thug!"
Good, good, keep it simple.
He blinks, finally beginning to process what's happening. Without taking his right hand off her neck, he holds his left above his eyes as if shielding them from the sun, and makes a show of looking around in confusion. You start moving forward while he's preoccupied with... whatever the hell it is he's doing.
"'Lady?' I don't see any 'lady' around here. All I see is," He turns to look straight at the girl, his hand leaving his brow to curl up into a fist, "a stupid,
arrogant, piece of shit APE BI-"
Move!
You don't remember moving. But you did, because you're all up in their faces now.
All you know is that you saw his fist begin to follow through for another gut punch, and then it stopped just before impact. You look down and realise that the reason for that is your own fist, firmly planted in his gut. You look back up at the man just before he begins to double over. You watch as he clutches his belly and takes a step back. He can't help but let his jaw go slack as he stumbles, trying to catch a breath that his paralysed diaphragm won't let him. You see strings of saliva gently drip from his mouth, and hear him begin to retch.
Ah. I think he's about to-
You firmly but gently grab the girl and pull her away from the thug before he begins vomiting all over her shoes. She squeaks in surprise and you feel her shoulders tense under your hands, and you do your best to remember that you're dealing with a very recent assault victim, prompting you to
very promptly release her. Despite that, she doesn't make any motions to move away from you, seeming content to stay next to you and watch her attacker expel his... breakfast? Yeah, breakfast sounds about right.
There's the chunk blowing. Gut punches are nasty like that. Also, it seems the young lady has taken a shine to you!
Now that you're closer, you can see the extent of her damage. Her cheeks are red with what look like slap marks, and a rather angry looking welt is forming just beneath her left eye, and while you can't see underneath her shirt- clean thoughts, chum- you imagine the working over the skinhead was giving her when you got here is going to leave a lot of bruises in the coming days.
... I'm still stunned that people with such... backwards ideologies still exist here.
"... Are you alright?" You ask her after a moment of her not moving away from your chest. Well, your stomach, technically, but let's not split hairs. You're sure she's most definitely
not alright, but it can't hurt to ask, right?
It doesn't.
She looks up at you, then further up at your eyes, and gives you a tiny nod. You guess she doesn't feel like speaking.
Give her time. People have been scarred for life by less.
"You fucking..." Oh, looks like the thug is back up. "You fucking... piece of... fucking race traitor
trash!" He yells at you, stumbling to his feet. The girl is quick to move, putting you between him and herself.
Smart move. The girl, not him. No, he's just being silly now.
You have to admit, the fact he's still
moving is rather impressive. You swore he'd be down for longer. You look around for somewhere to keep him so you can call the police in peace, and spot an open dumpster not even ten feet down the alley. You feel your smile widen as a plan forms in your head.
... You wouldn't.
Before he has a chance to get his bearings and pull something stupid like, say, a knife, you step forward and grab him by the waistband of his trousers and his neck. Lifting him off the ground is almost effortless, even without tapping into the well of power. It seems your muscles aren't just for show.
... You would.
"H-hey, what the fuck?! Put me down!" He yells, expecting it to convince you to do that. Instead, you just keep walking, hoisting him above your head like he's a barbell and you're an Olympic weightlifter. You approach the dumpster, thankful to see it's filled with trash bags and not anything too hazardous to his health, even if it does smell horrid. You stop right in front of it, and decide a one liner is appropriate here.
"You seem to be keen on trash. Let me help you get better acquainted with it." You flop him into the dumpster and reach up to slam the lid on him. His muffled screams leave you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. It's like balance has been restored on a karmic scale somewhere.
Catharsis is nice, once in a while. Be careful, though, it wouldn't do to take too much pleasure in this.
Is it juvenile? Yes, of course it is. Do you care?
Hell no. You just saved someone and delivered punishment to their attacker. You can't help but feel good as you turn around to shoot the girl a wide grin.
God you hope your teeth got the same treatment as the rest of you.
Still... that's just unsanitary. Was this really the best idea you had?
Then the lid of the dumpster shoots back up as the thug tries to get back up, still on his back flailing like an overturned tortoise. Without turning back, you grab the lid and slam it down again, this time keeping hold of it. Right. Yes.
People can open those. You kinda forgot. You look around for something to put on top and weigh down the lid.
Like?
Hm... maybe that-
WHAT CRATE? THERE IS NO CRATE. MOVE ALONG, CITIZEN.
No, there's nothing around here you could put on top of the dumpster, except maybe that other dumpster, and you don't think dumpsters were built to be stacked on top of each other. Well, that's annoying.
On one hand, you can't just leave him there, considering it would take him about ten seconds of flailing to get out again, and on the other hand, you don't want to just ignore the girl while you hold the lid down. So, you come to a compromise. You place your hands further up the lid, and with a small hop, haul your 500 pounds and change ass up on top of it, keeping it
firmlyclosed. Even through the gentle groaning the dumpster gives under your weight, you hear him start to yell again, and you continue ignoring him. After a few moments, he seems to give up, just grumbling instead.
... That works.
You glance over at the girl, and find yourself wondering what to do now. You've disabled the threat. She's safe. So...
Call the police, make sure the girl is ok, get her some medical attention, maybe comfort her, call your sister- and that's just off the top of my head. You've a lot of work ahead of you.
... Now what?