"^...you're insane!^"
The Mandelovian dialect rang hollow throughout the cloistered entrance to the southern civilian bunker. The back-up fusion generators blinked brielfy. The off-flourescent lights strobing almost in unison to the voice, as the room shook ominously.
Large explosions still rocked parts of the dimly-lit city above, as the young female gripped the railing of the stone staircase.
"^No one's forcing you to come, Marcos...^" she responded, beginning her ascent once again.
The teen following her grimaced, staring at the voluptuous rear striding eye-level before him.
"^Yeah...like you'll still let me hit 'dat if I don't...^" he replied.
"^...smart boy...^" she said, steadily climbing the stairs towards the surface.
"^Come on, Jana!^" he whined, gripping the railing as a lighter tremor rocked the place. "^We're going to get killed out there!^"
"^I don't care...^" she insisted. "^...I can't sit down there like all the old women, and hope somebody drives these demons out of our city!^"
"^That's what the Van-Halen-guys are here to do! We have no business interfering in this!^"
"^Criste'...it's 'Vanguardians', numbnuts!^" she stated. "^And, we have as much business out there as they do....hell, more! It's our country!^"
"^There are Mandelovians out there, already!^" he sighed. "^Metahuman ones, too!^"
"^So two more can't hurt, right?^"
"^Jana, I know you can shift the mineral balance of matter with a touch....but all I can do is fly!^" he pleaded. "^How the hell do you propose we stop trained military--with GUNS--and defend ourselves against this American Strike-First group?!^"
"^Strikeforce...^" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "^...and they're U.N. soldiers...not American...^"
"^...feels American to me...^" Marcos shrugged with a disgusted sneer on his lips. "^Besides, you still haven't answered my question!^"
"^You distract them, and I'll take them out...^" she replied, gripping the rail as another tremor shook the stairwell. "^...simple as that.^"
"^As I said, you're insane!^" he stated forcefully.
"^Marcos, have you always been this much of a coward?^"
"^Sure...it serves me well...^" he shrugged.
"^Then, why are you still following me?^"
He stared at her ass again.
"^Cause, I'm a horny coward?^"
She smiled.
"^...good enough...^"
They reached the surface entrance, the tritanium, vault-like doors sealed tight. Jana began punching in the access code on the keypad panel. A series of disturbing beeps told her that the bunker had been sealed and locked.
"^Oh well...^" Marcos threw his hands up, turning to go back down the stairs. "^...can't say we didn't try...^"
"^Marcos...^" she rolled her eyes with a sigh. Reaching out, she placed her palm against the massive door.
Closing her eyes, the young Mandelovian woman began to concentrate, as the surface metal around her hand began to transmutate into rust.
The rust spread forth, along the entire surface of the door. Parts of the large frame began to chip and flake, falling away.
Then, with a swift kick, the once-impenetrable door crumbled with a heave of metallic dust.
Marcos began coughing from the plume, as both stared out into the slowly visible street.
It was dark, save the occassional flickering fire, decorating the entire avenue. The street was littered with bodies from both sides of the fight. Massive metallic frames, still smoldering with black smoke, stood ominous and silent. Like foreboding statues, their dark carcasses held the attention of the two teenagers, peeking into the street.
Jana was full of bravery and honest courage, having decided to give her life for her homeland. But, even still, the true reality of war that spread before her wide eyes was enough to give her pause.
After a moment, she took a tender step out onto the pavement; fragments of stone and ash crunching under her booted heel.
"^My god...^" Marcos whispered, staring out over the devastation.
There was another tremor, and, without warning, the building across the street exploded in a hail of mortar.
The two teens collided with each other, as they dove back into the bunker. They never saw the two wrestling men, flying straight through the cloud of debris, colliding with another half-standing structure.
The few remaining walls of the old Postal Office collapsed from their titanic struggle, as the one in the U.N. uniform whipped the other one by his ankles, slamming him face-first into the crumbling mortar.
"WHY!" Hero yelled, gripping Baxter's ankles with both hands.
He turned, slamming him back-first into the rupturing ground...
"WON'T!"
He swung him through a massive stone support column...
"YOU!"
Hero flung Oz over his head, still holding his ankles, and tossed him into the a shattering granite fountain...
"DIE?!"
The words howled from the inscensed agent. Ozzy had barely started to rise from the quickly draining pool of water, when Hero leapt a good twenty-seven feet into the air, coming straight down into his chest with a thunderous fist.
The impact rippled a shockwave around them with the force of a sonic boom. The walls of the abandoned Parliment building shattered, as anything not attached flew in a bursting wave of thunder.
An unbowed fist burst straight up into Hero's face, stumbling the man back a few steps. The rookie Vanguardian lurched up onto his feet, springing like a cat. Harsh grunts flew as fast as his lightning fists, bareknuckle skills driving the ex-boxer's ferocity home.
Slamming impervious fists into precision points on the agents body, Ozzy began working him over harder, and harder. The flurry of fists, seen only in the sweat spraying from Hero's face, pounded the man without mercy, or pause. The sheer, brutal hammering staggered the powerful agent back further, as Oz took advantage of the momentum.
A sharp uppercut clipped Mularney's jaw, as a jab impacted his ribs. Two more shot to the head, and a third in his solar plexus. A knee to the face. An elbow in the spine. A rightcross to the head again. An uppercut to the groin.
The skill began to blend. Baxter's boxing finesse' began to fade into a raw, innate bareknuckle prowess. Working Hero over and over....faster and faster.
And, suddenly....Hero reached a firm hand out, catching the man's wrist to a dead halt.
There was a pause, as he and Ozzy stared at each other with a panting fury.
And, with that, Hero slammed his hand around the man's neck. Jerking him aloft, Oz's hands scrambled against the impossible grip on his esophagus...
...to no avail.
Hero's free fist began pummeling Baxter in the face...
"KILL YOU!" was all the agent could growl forth, as any discipline fell away to unbridled anger and emotion.
Oz's feet jerked to and fro in the air, as Hero held him firmly aloft, beating him in the face over and over, and over. The ultra-powerful blows rattled their surroundings with a chaotic rhythym, as more damage structure began to collapse.
He punched him, over and over, a seething foam actually beginning to seep from the agent's gritted teeth. His face an almost crimson-red, Hero's fury was unchecked, now. It was no longer an issue of pride. Or ability. Or greed, or even, responsibility.
It was primal, now.
It was kill, or, be killed.
The blows had begun to come faster, now; the punishment intensifying. Deafening shockwaves could be felt for a half-mile around.
Baxter no longer struggled. His hands, gripping Hero's mighty wrists, released their hold. His body shook violently with each impact.
And Hero did not stop. He did not pause. He hit the man continuously, his breath becoming a panting race of grunt and spit.
He hit Baxter with all of his strength. He pummeled him with every ounce of power he could muster. Fists that could shatter fault lines rammed into Ozzy's face at over one-hundred-fifty-miles-an-hour.
He hit him, over and over. His breath coming raspier, now. His pants, quicker.
And, after about six minutes of the thunderous pounding, his fists began to come....slower...
...softer...
Hero's face was etched with a red-faced strain, as he continually swung his fist into the man. But, now, he was panting harder. And his hits, weren't quite as powerful. Nor, was the speed and ferocity in which they came.
After another two minutes of the beating, Hero's fists began to falter....and finally...
...drop.
Hero stood there, covered in sweat. His face a ripe pink from the strain. His knuckles crackled with a light sizzle. He heaved with a breathless exhaustion, now, slumping a bit, as Ozzy's feet began to touch the ground once again.
Hero's haggard eyes stared up at what he expected to be pulverized meat. And, instead, found a perfectly fine Baxter staring back at him.
"...wh....wha....what...." Hero panted, staring at him. ".....are.......ya...you..."
Oz knocked Hero's now-feeble grip from his neck...
"...I'm a boxer..." he stated in a hoarse voice. "...and that's what we call...the 'Rope-a-Dope'..."
And, with a single, bone-crunching shot, Ozzy's fist dropped Hero to the pavement. The agent lay there, dazed, too exhausted to move.
Ozzy stood there staring at him for a moment, trying to regain his strength again.
"...godbless...Ali..." he mumbled to himself.
"Nice."
Baxter snarled, swinging a punch directly around behind him, aiming for the source of the unexpected voice.
An enormous, flat palm caught his, stopping it cold.
"...easy...fight's over..." Grimm said, holding Baxter's fist with a casual ease.
Baxter, still panting a bit, jerked his fist back. Bracing himself agaist his legs, he stood there trying to regain his breath, staring up at the foreboding figure.
"...where...." he breathed, wiping sweat from his forhead. "...where were you....when I needed you..."
Grimm turned, pointing off behind them.
"Right over there."
Ozzy looked over, and back again at the man with an incredulous look.
"...well...thanks for the assist....you ass..."
Grimm stared down at the slowly moving Hero.
"I wanted to see how you handle yourself." Grimm stated, unholstering his axe.
And, with a single down-swing, Grimm's sharp blade impacted the pavement....
....on it's path straight through Hero's sternum...
The agent gurgled briefly, and, without another sound, slumped still.
Grimm yanked the blade from the pavement, holstering it back immediately. Oz just stared on, a bit uncomfortable with what he had just witnessed.
The Vanguardian noticed Baxter's expression...
"He was still moving." Grimm said.
"...well...he damn well won't...anymore..."
"He was too powerful to contain....Baxter, isn't it?" Grimm added.
"...and that's your decision to make...?"
Grimm stared ominously at him.
"Yes."
The statement was more fact, than ego...and Baxter knew how to tell the difference.
Grimm turned to leave...
"Hey..." Ozzy rasped out.
Grimm paused, looking back...
"You..." Baxter began, clearing his throat. "...you realize that you don't have a face...right?"
Grimm grunted with amusement.
"...at least I'm not naked..." he replied, turning back to his stride.
Baxter looked briefly perplexed.
Dropping his eyes down, he realized only the ribboned remains of his boxers clung miraculously to his hips...
"Dammit!" he sighed.
