Operation Wyldhand 5.2
My cell phone's alarm woke me up. I flipped it open, to check the time. 9:20 pm. More importantly, I checked my pools. Full. I had let my disguise go, as I needed as much as possible tonight if everything was to go off without a snag. I opened my backpack, and pushing past the evening's current spoils, pulled out my gear. I got dressed, putting my formerly worn clothes back in the backpack. I set my mask on the passenger seat, and rifled through the backpack for non-essential papers. I littered the car with invoices, after taking a peek at them. Phase one of plan 'Use it or lose it', complete.
Finished dressing for all but my mask, I drove out of the lot, heading out of New York City.
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The Port of New York and New Jersey was still the largest port on the East Coast, even after Behemoth's attack nearly two decades ago. He had attacked across the river, after-all, rampaging through Brooklyn and then Queens, before being driven off by a cavalcade of heroes. They had suffered significant losses but the majority of the city, and the Port had been untouched.
Still, business was down, and had spread out. Cities weren't the hubs of civilization they once were, as Endbringers tended to go after them first. Thus, the Port wasn't operating at full capacity, even though their Dockworkers still had jobs, unlike back home at the Bay. With less commerce occurring, there were spots that were unoccupied by their official users for substantial periods of time, leaving their unofficial users time to conduct their own business.
For instance, tonight. The Blues were removing a twenty-foot container from a ship, the Oceanos. Sixteen of the twenty feet contained clothes, made in sweatshops from South America. Behind a false door, the next four feet contained crates of cocaine: at least five million dollars worth. Almost a month's whole supply, given Blue's smaller cocaine trafficking operation. Marijuana was their primary earner, but the cocaine was a significant portion of their income as well.
I pulled on to the curb, and parked the SUV right at the fence that was separating the eastern portion of the Port from the road, before putting my mask on. Shouldering my backpack, I stripped the two front seats of their floor mats. I tossed the keys across the road, and walked up to the fence. It was covered in razor wire, which I didn't particularly want touching me. And, with the mats, I wouldn't have to spend a shadow-dodge phasing through the fence. A nice bonus. Holding one in each hand, I flung them, and the mats caught on the wire. Cautiously, I scaled the fence, using the mats to cross the wire. A ripping noise alerted me that I had torn my jeans. A tear, about five inches long, right down my leg.
Rolling my eyes as I dismounted, I bent my knees to take the fall, and steadied myself with my hands. I stood, wiping my hands off on my jeans. The lack of lighting in this particular area didn't bother me. Of course, the flood-lights being turned off was intentional. Someone, or to be particular certain someones didn't want to be spotted. I walked towards my target, careful to stay away from any lights. I stopped, and peeked around the edge of a stack of containers.
A crane, which I supposed should be called a container crane, was moving a bright blue container off of a ship. I looked at my watch. Three minutes early. Unfortunate, but I could deal with it. Sitting in the area directly in front of the ship was a mini semi-truck, scaled to fit the container. Four cars, two of them blue, were parked around it; none were parked in front of it. One on the left of the truck, two on the right, and one behind. They might have been early, but it seemed they really did want to help me here, whether they knew it or not.
I moved, crouched low and staying out of the two spots of light that were shining down from the ship. I wasn't spotted, and pressed my back against the grill of the semi. Checking around the corner, I saw that no one was looking in my direction. Two knots of gang members, all in plainclothes, were talking and smoking, while a particular one, probably the leader by his significant amount of jewelry, was talking into a walkie-talkie. Presumably guiding the container down. I reached over, stepping out, and tried the driver's door.
Unlocked. I opened it gently, and, as I got in, shut it the same way. About a minute before the container was down. I looked, and saw the keys weren't in the ignition. I checked the flaps before smothering a laugh, as I found them in the center console, along with a large foam cup. I made sure to lock the passenger side door before I selected the truck key, obvious from its logo, and prepared to stick into the ignition. I didn't want the lights to come on before I was ready to leave, of course. I set my backpack on the passenger seat.
Watching over my shoulder, I saw the container come down, and with a slight rocking of the frame, it was set down on the truck. The probable leader yelled something, and several of the out of uniform Blues shut clamps and started attaching the container to the truck. I breathed in, then out. Focusing.
Actually driving a semi was a bit different than looking it up on the internet, after all. Academically, I knew how. There was no time to test like the present. I pushed in the clutch, and put the key in. Twisting, the engine roared to life, and I grabbed the clutch as everyone behind me started. I gently put it into first gear, applying the gas. It clunked, as I didn't quite get it right, but I was moving.
I could barely hear shouting and yelling behind me, as my steal-ees were realizing they had been had. I went into second gear, and took a gentle turn, heading for the spot I had memorized. The vehicle wasn't quite going as fast as it could for some reason, but I saw a light labeled "Jake-Brake" on and I made the connection. Truck not going as fast as it should; Lightswitch with the word "Jake Brake" on it lit. Yeah, I needed to turn that off here. After flipping the switch and feeling the truck gain more speed and momentum, I soon saw ahead of me a wall of containers blocking the fence line, though one spot had a notable absence of obstacles. Just as planned then.
I slammed through through the gap, soon going more than 35mph and 3rd gear. This latest shift of the clutch came with significant ease. The fence split, and fell to the sides, surprising the now pursuing cars, who all squealed to a halt to avoid the fence as it bounced back inwards.
I moved over to the highway to make it over to Staten Island, and then to Brooklyn. Noting the time, I pulled out the second item I had acquired for tonight: A new phone, with two numbers programmed into it. I hit speed-dial one. As it was picked up, I interrupted the answer.
"Mikail. Or should I say Jeremy. You know, you really should pay your bills on time. This one from Time Warner seems rather urgent."
The sudden inhalation of breath that cut off his brusque greetings told me I had hit the mark. I added, "Also, safes don't work if you don't close them, Jeremy."
"Who the fuck are you," He ground out.
I clicked my tongue. His file noted he had an inferiority complex, and playing to that would only help. I belittled, "Now now, Jeremy. You shouldn't use such language. Adult language doesn't need to be so coarse."
"Who, the fuck, are you?!" He ground out slowly, though given the volume of his words he was all but shouting.
"Well, call me a concerned citizen. Now, if you want me to return the items I have taken, along with the ones you haven't noticed me taking, you'll meet at the abandoned power station in Brooklyn. The one right off of the 278 Interstate. See you there!" I said, cheerily.
I hung up, and looked in my side mirrors. Another car had joined my pursuers. I had given the Reds roughly thirty minutes to assemble, and reach the location specified before me. Of course, they wouldn't be there to make an exchange, they would be there to kill me. Or torture me for information, and then kill me, but I had other plans. The intelligence summary on them had noted that a probable response time for tonight, to that rough location, at this time of night, would be thirty minutes. Or, roughly the time it would take me to get there as well. So we would meet on the road, rather than in the abandoned transformer station.
I checked behind me again, and saw two more cars join, both blue, and fall into the convoy behind me. They could just run me out of gas after all. That, and they neither wanted any damage to the cargo, nor to draw attention to it.
I pushed speed-dial number two.
"PRT, New York City branch."
I activated my powers for the first time since I had woken up. I said, in a saccharine tone, "Hi! You don't know me, but you might know of my work. Remember those sixteen or so gang members I shot? And killed with a car?"
"Excuse me, miss-"
"Look, transfer me to your supervisor, because it's going to be messy~," I sing-songed. Selling this part was pretty important. I listened to the muzak, nodding my head.
"This is Director Wilkins, head of the New York City PRT."
"Oh good, someone with authority. Well, like I said, I murdered those fourteen people with my pistols, and then the two with the car. Yes, yes, I know, it hasn't been released to the public. Credentials, of a sort. Now, I want you to listen close. The abandoned power station by Interstate 278. I'm going to make a much bigger mess. Buuuuut," I drew out, "If you can grab them first, I'll let you have them, in... twenty-two minutes."
I could hear a pen scratching, before he asked, "Have who?"
"Oh, why, everyone of course." I hung up, and lowered the window. I chucked the phone out. My mouth tasted foul at making light of that night, but needs must. Phase two, complete.
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As I pulled off the Interstate, I had over a dozen cars trailing me. A veritable horde, the majority of which were blue. I blew through a red light, honking the truck's air horn. The cross traffic slammed to a halt. I honked repeatedly, turning left. Of course, my maneuver turned my following cluster into a game of Snake. I smiled as I saw a pair of red cars, parked along the side of the road. I blasted the horn at them, and with the window down, yelled, "I'm a concerned citizen!"
Lights flicked on, and they pulled out, jostling for space in the conga line of cars behind me. I was fairly surprised, I hadn't thought they would be here so soon. Still, it would only help. I turned right, slowing down, and grinned at what only I could see in the dark. I powered out of first gear before saw my target, two miles down the avenue. I built up speed, seeing what my call had done, as various cars joined the line behind me, not wanting to get in front of a semi truck. Small as the truck was for a semi, going 45mph was still enough to ruin anyone's day.
I leaned forward, looking into the sky, and saw that I had been taken very seriously indeed. And it was going better than planned, now. I pulled my cell phone out my of pocket, and noted no service. With this, I could be satisfied. I returned my phone, and I rolled down my window. Just don't stop me yet. Don't stop me yet. Not yet, not yet, now!
I unbuckled my seat belt, and wrapped it through the steering wheel. I took item number 3 from my backpack, and placed the brick on the accelerator, holding it down. With a small shiver, I became a mass of shadows, looping my backpack between a barely visible arm, and jumping out the window, came out into a roll, right as the truck punched through an unlocked chain link gate.
I came to a stop against a concrete barrier and flattened out, moving even as cars roared after the truck. I slid behind it, warily peeking out, even as I flinched from the headlights briefly hitting me as they passed. The truck slammed into the collection of cars in the abandoned power yard. A group of the smaller, delivery size trucks, along with several cars faced the collision, surprising both groups.
And that made the Latin Kings, the owner's of the cars, the third party to join the festivities. There, along with some of their friends from Columbia and Mexico, to exchange money for drugs and weapons, respectively. Both were necessary to their operations, what with how NYC was heating up. And, more importantly to me, the meeting had been in their files. Most importantly, they were a key part of the final phase of plan 'Use it, or lose it.'
The semi ended up tangled in low hanging power wires, cables and wires pulled loose as it pushed a pair of cars further into the lot. It twisted, and, falling on its its side, skidded to a stop. The surprised receiving groups paid attention to it, and not the line of cars coming right for them. With a series of crashes and screeches the entire line of at least three dozen cars piled into the lot, with only a few smart enough to stop outside. Men and women, capes and unpowered all, got out of their vehicles, or turned back around, and realized who they were with. Enemies, and weapons were pulled, and threats shouted, even as the whole mess disintegrated into more chaos.
Which crashed just as the semi had, as a beam of light, shooting down from on high, forked, blasting on either side of the mess. A mass of lights came on, and from side streets, PRT vans, police cars, and what even looked like a pair of military-looking vehicles with some sort of big gun on top, poured out. With a series of pop-pop-pops, I could see small objects arcing into the air, and landing around the mess of my making. Pale gas coalesced outwards from the canisters, and a man near one of the armored vehicles, dressed in a suit with a bulletproof vest over it, shouted into a megaphone.
"This is the NYPD! Surrender, we have you surrounded!"
And to cap everything off, Legend, Volcano, a dozen other fliers lit off from around the area. Even more capes, easily distinguishable from the black of PRT officers and blue of police by their colorful costumes, flooded the area from both sea and land.
I slipped away, unnoticed as a shadow, final phase complete.
A/N: And edited!
