Potential Energy, an omake by ScorpioSting
It was a day like any other when it happened. As much as any day in the post-Leviathan chaotic world could be a 'day like any other'.
Ernesto Cruz, owner of a small bodega in the Old Industrial District, had started off his day normally. People came in, bought what they needed, and then left.
That changed when they came in.
"Money in the bag, and nobody gets hurt!"
Three men in ski masks take control of the small bodega, armed with two pistols and a shotgun. The shotgun-toting leader aims it at the man behind the register, while Subordinate One places a bag on the counter, his gun trained at the door to keep an eye out for anyone trying to come in. Subordinate Two has a gun trained at the few people inside, to keep them from getting out.
"And don't even think about trying to press any sort of button under the counter." The leader of the trio leans forward a little more, the shotgun's barrel looming in the store owner's face.
"O-okay, okay! Calm down!" The owner opens the cash register and takes the bag, starting to fill it.
But as he does so, he looks at one of the customers, a girl with red hair, around 17. She sees his look and nods, and slyly, pulls her phone out. She takes care to hide it as she types out a fast message.
"bodega on fifth help"
Keith Mondego is, technically, a hero. People like him.
But there is a major gap between the big players- New Dawn, Justice Unlimited, Powers, Global Justice… and someone like him.
He doesn't have flashy bases, high-tech security systems, support gear, or big vehicles.
No, he has a shitty apartment, a few contacts, a beat-up old motorcycle, and determination.
He is a metahuman. He can claim that at least. But he doesn't have the biggest power in the world.
Whenever he's struck with physical force, whether it be a brief shoulder check, a push, a punch or kick, or even a gunshot wound, his body absorbs the kinetic energy enacted against him. Once absorbed, it's stored, and he can release it back, either through his own punches and kicks, or in a wider, but more destructive, blast.
Hence, the codename: Counterstrike.
The problem is that Keith isn't any tougher than the average person. There's no defensive reduction in order to make him more able to absorb the energy needed to strike back with real force. And a power that requires you to get the shit kicked out of you in order to use it is not the most useful thing in the world.
Gym visits and his boxing club do help him get energy into his system on a semi-consistent basis, so he can do something when a fight starts without having to take something to the face, at least. But it's not the biggest or flashiest power in the world, not like Uiara's hydrokinesis, or the raw genius of an Algernon, or anything on that level.
But it's enough for street-level gangbangers, the occasional bigger one like that Demon Flamez splinter group…
And with Horizon royally fucked by Leviathan killing everyone, everywhere, that meant that a lot of the smaller fry were coming out of the woodwork, using the chaos as an opportunity to expand, make quick cash, or just get some semblance of power before some new order took over.
And with the big shots tending their own wounds, the little guys are getting fucked over extra hard. Which means the street-level heroes, the ones without flashy sponsorships and advertisements and labs, have to work overtime.
Keith felt like he'd been working overtime for a goddamn year. Within the last few days, he'd dealt with muggers, thieves, a few gangs, and more streakers than you could shake a stick at.
Still, you had to pull your big boy pants up sometimes and do the right fucking thing. Which meant answering Hazel's distress text and stopping by the bodega on Fifth Street to stop whatever was happening.
Keith slid on his motorcycle jacket and helmet and drove over quickly, parking in a nearby alleyway and moving in on foot, moving around the corner before peaking through a window.
Hazel. Señor Cruz, the owner. Other people. Three thieves.
"Oy!
Pendejos!"
Keith-no, now it's Counterstrike, motorcycle helmet and jacket still on, moves into the bodega, cracking his knuckles.
"Who the fuck is that?" Subordinate One asks, training the gun on him.
"Shit. It's that rookie with the strength and the force blast!" The leader with the shotgun turns, letting Mr. Cruz duck to the floor.
"I see you've heard of me. But call me Counterstrike."
Subordinate One fires his pistol, but Counterstrike rolls to the side, out of the bullet's way. He gets into a boxing stance and then dashes forward, punching the first man in the gut.
When he went into the store, his internal storage of kinetic energy was at about 45% of his maximum. From what Counterstrike had read, most metahumans who relied on some source of energy for their powers managed to get a good sense of gauging how much they had in them as they got more experienced. That had been true of him. Once he got used to taking in the energy from attacks and then unleashing it for strength and blasts, he started developing an internal meter for how much he was using and how much he had stored up.
Counterstrike let loose 5% of the stored energy, sending the man flying back into the wall, not enough to dent the plaster but further than a normal punch would have sent him flying.
That stunned the group enough that Counterstrike could grab the leader by the wrist and twist the shotgun to the ground, disarming him. Moving into a judo throw, grappling the leader by his shirt and wrist, Counterstrike used another 3% to hoist the man over his head and slam him into the ground behind him.
At that point, Subordinate Two was shaking a little, but still held his pistol at Counterstrike, whose gaze was hidden behind the motorcycle helmet.
"If you surrender now, I'll be a little more lenient. Are you free agents? Did the Flamez set you up for this? Maybe you have a contract with Powers, the assholes that they are?"
The pistol-holding robber doesn't emote, owing to the ski mask, but he still seems nervous.
"B-boss?"
Shit. Kept his eye off him!
Keith turned to look at the boss, who had re-grabbed his shotgun and aimed at his back behind him.
"Be a good little boy, walk and stay with the rest of them, and let us have our money."
"Mr. Cruz?" Keith spoke to the bodega owner, still hiding behind the counter.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
"It is fine. You did your best. You are stretched very thin these days."
"What? No. I'm not sorry for not being able to stop them. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do."
In a fast moment, Keith turned around and punched at the boss of the operation, letting loose a blast of about 11%, more than enough to send the shotgun wielder flying through the glass doors and into the street.
The glass shatters on impact, spraying outwards as the leader of the thief trio slams into the ground. Keith looks over his shoulder at Subordinate Two, who runs past him, and Subordinate One joins him as they dash away, picking up their boss and running into an alleyway.
"TRY THAT SHIT ANOTHER TIME, AND I KICK YOUR ASS AGAIN!" Keith shouted at the fleeing criminals, before turning around to make sure everyone is okay.
"Thanks for coming." Hazel stood up and came closer to Keith.
"It's no problem. This is my role, helping the little guys that are beneath notice."
"…you're still going to have to help clean that up…" Señor Cruz cut in, a little annoyed.
"Oh, of course. Point me to the broom and I'll sweep the glass up myself."
"I'll help as well, I did send him here."
Señor Cruz got the cleaning supplies and soon enough, Keith and Hazel were sweeping the glass to be disposed of.
"Do you already have a repair guy who can handle this, or could I recommend my uncle help with this?" Hazel asked the bodega owner.
"I do know someone, but if your uncle has better rates, I'll listen."
Keith smirked under his helmet. Hazel was a ruthless self-promoter. In addition to basically doing his PR for free, texting him if a situation was happening where he could help, she also had plenty of cousins, uncles, and aunts who lived in Horizon and were willing to use her as a marketing tactic. Oh, you just so happened to need something? I have a family member who can do it!
It was part of what Keith found charming about her, her rugged determination. No metahuman powers but a relentless can-do attitude and connections. Hopefully one day it'd pay off and actually make her family a bit more money.
But for now, she had to keep hustling.
After a bit of work, the glass was all swept up, "Uncle Vic" had a lead on a new glass door to repair, and Keith got back on his bike, with Hazel on the back.
"Where you headed?"
"You caught me at a good time, I didn't really have anything to do at the time. But now? I wanna catch up with Mr. Song. That throw he taught me worked perfectly."
"I saw! You hurled that guy right over your head, how much did you use?"
"3%."
"Wow. I would have thought 7%, at least."
"It's not about having the most strength, it's about how you use it. Firm footing and a good grip, those help a lot."
"I'll come along, but I won't stay for a full session. I'll probably swing by Jack's bookstore and read something."
"That reminds me, do you still have a copy of Pride and Prejudice? I'm thinking of doing it for my book report."
"Oh, yeah, sure, I can loan you it in a day or two."
"Great."
Hazel latched her hands around Keith's stomach as they drove to Mr. Song's dojo, parking the bike in front of it.
"Mr. Song?" Keith spoke loudly but didn't yell as he walked in.
"Mondego? You're here early. And Miss Evans, as well."
"Just dealt with some cheap thieves that were trying to hold up Mr. Cruz's bodega on Fifth."
"You clearly won, obviously." Mr. Song smirked as he said that, proud of his star pupil.
"Yeah. That throw, with just a little bit of my power, threw a guy over my head. Complete 180-degree arc."
"I'm glad you're using my teachings well, Mondego. The city needs a next generation of heroes, and even if people like me or Miss Evans can't go flying around blasting lasers out of our hands, we can set people like you up for success."
Keith blushed a little. "… thank you, sensei."
"Well, then, I still think you can improve. Get on the mat and let's see how you apply what you've learned. And don't worry, I'll get some more kinetic energy into you." Mr. Song's smirk widened as he moved back.
"Alright, enjoy beating the snot out of each other. See you in 3rd period, Keith."
"Love you, Haze." Keith blew a kiss at his girlfriend as he went to take off his motorcycle jacket and prepare to spar.
The world was in a chaotic state.
But in times of chaos, talented youth will rise with it, with the guidance of supportive elders and the assistance of peers.
"Why don't you try applying to one of the other groups, Mondego?" Mr. Song asked as Keith got into position.
"…Honestly? I like staying local. I'm certain I could do more with my power, but… I don't want to lose touch with my roots. I don't want to be living in some ivory tower, only dealing with big threats."
"Well, you could still try to link up with them. Be a liaison, assisting in some capacity."
"…I'll think about it, at least. I'm certain that Hazel would relish the opportunity to plug her family's businesses to them."
"You're still young. You have time. That new Black Swan girl in Justice Unlimited is only two years older than you. Hell, they've got a girl younger than you who just joined up with them."
Keith moved in to strike, and Mr. Song moved like a snake to grab him by the wrist and throw him onto the ground.
"And you are still easily distracted."
Keith exhaled as he hit the ground, then got back up.
He still had a ways to go, but in Horizon, the sky was the limit.
