Post by The Wonderful Wachter on Jan 20, 2012 18:32:10 GMT -5
Ultimate Brave and the Bold #4
Real Heroes Wear Pink Pt 1
Flamingo is Coming
Papá once told mi hermano and I about a man he idealized named Eduardo Flamingo. A good man with a loving family and magnifico farmlands as far as the eye could see. Then one day, Brutale and the Cartels came calling. They made him watch as they cut off the faces of his mami, papi, and primos. Killed them all. Took his lands. Everything and everyone he’d ever loved taken from him.
On that day Eduardo Flamingo became more than a man. On that day, Flamingo became a symbol.
There was no doubting it. Brutale was a butcher or surgeon, take your pick, extraordinaire. True to his word, he came for Más. There was unfinished business between him and the Lightspeed Latinos from back home. One-on-two, he probably would have failed miserably; possibly even one-on-one. The twins had grown since he last faced them. But there weren’t two of them. Menos was still laid up in the infirmary. As for Diego… His injuries had yet to heal but like McNider called, he was a hero. Heroes don’t take days off.
Blood. Blood. That was all Más could see before him… around him; his uniform stained red by the dozens of cuts littering his skin. His muscle expansion had failed him. He could barely muster up the strength needed to repulse the neverending string of blades his nemesis from his homeland launched at him. For every three he pushed back, two made it through. One knife laid buried to the hilt through his shoulder blade… arm slowly becoming useless.
Brutale laughed and laughed, bounced around to avoid the pitiful blasts Diego aimed his way. His frightening appearance, the stitches and skinlike garments, every bit as menacing as Más could remember. To think the man had found himself free and instead of returning home, he stayed to remind Latin America that their heroes were worthless.
And that’s what Más felt. With his brother injured, he thought he could handle the butcher on his own. He thought he could avenge those villages that were burned. Thought he could take down this murderer once and for all.
The knife sliced out as Más put all his power, expanding his muscles, behind one last blow. The sickening spurt of blood blinded him, artery severed completely despite his supposed durability. His scream never came.
His death never came.
With pain-filled eyes, Diego saw the whip wrapped about Brutale’s blade, staying the killing stroke.
---
Linda never thought she could miss the safety of Keystone City with all the dangerous sociopaths in the Flash’s rogue gallery more than she could now. There was a brief respite from her podcasting duties. The heroes were spread too thin for the usual announcers to adequately do their duty so Mr. Kord had enlisted the aid of the local anchors and all others who wanted to get in on worldwide TV. She felt exhausted, tired far more than the original job description of her internship should have made her.
Slowly, the young woman clambered up the stairs leading to the roof of BlueGold Media, escaping the hectic noises as wounded were brought in or as crews worked to keep their various heroes above the water. Mostly she was fleeing Menos who kept fighting off his sedatives and had to be brought down by Wildcat. The speedster roared about his brother being in danger. Unfortunately, he was right.
Linda had seen the footage.
Her thoughts of being alone came to a grinding halt when she opened the door to the roof with her limited access passcode. Someone was already there, leaning over the railing and observing the swooping choppers and echoing gunfire. His sleeves were rolled up to fight the heat, his back stained with salty sweat, ruining his dress shirt. His coat was tossed unceremoniously on the roof’s surface five feet away from him as smoke blew from his mouth.
“Park,” the man said between releases of the smoke.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Szasz. I’m sure you want to be alone.”
“It’s okay and Chuck is fine,” he responded with another puff. “Only place I can go where no one will complain.”
Linda held in her own remark and approached him cautiously. He was lead announcer for the show, handling all the live events, the voting, and weekly recaps. Besides that, he still kept a career as an investigative reporter for the Channel 4 news. A busy man known for often brushing others off. She didn’t even know if he had a social life.
The city wasn’t as bad as she feared it to be. The escaped prisoners had either been captured already or been smart enough to flee the city for the most part. The few that remained laid low with their gangs doing a bit of celebratory rioting. Booster, Beetle, and Batwoman were on those due to their exhaustion. Same should have been said of Más but he ignored orders. Cheshire and Kaldur were left to deal with the costumed freaks. There were only a few more fires needed to be put out… literally.
“You know that will kill you,” Linda joked, hoping to ease the tension, inadvertently forgetting his initial comment.
Chuck butted his cigarette and glared at her from the side of his eye. Strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, he was still quite the handsome specimen for his sex despite entering his middling years. Had to be his broad shoulders and height. And… partially his dedication to work. If only he didn’t have that nasty smoking habit he might have been attractive to her.
“So they say,” He twisted his and nodded toward the chaotic city below. “You know that any sniper worth his salt can hit you between your eyes at this very moment and you are standing atop a building dedicated to heroes putting a stop to this.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel to leave her alone, worrying about snipers. Along the way, he stooped to pick up his coat and offered her a lazy two finger salute. “Take care.” Then he was through the door.
“Dick.”
Linda tried not to run from the roof. But in reality, if any sniper was watching, they’d testify her quick trot was in reality fleeing for her life.
---
Strange sound.
Hard to describe.
Diego watched Brutale unsheathe a blade to cut the line only to be dropped backwards on his ass. The butcher backflipped to his feet a second later and released a wave of knives over Mas’s head. Each one clinked or clanked, the sound he couldn’t quite figure out over the impossibly loud bangs, and clattered to the street around the speedster’s prone body. Somehow they all missed him, scattered about like a metal angel.
Spanish curses spread like wildfire from Brutale’s sown lips. It was then Diego understood truly just how much damage had been done to him. He could be expected to be unable to translate English in an injured condition but to lose his native tongue… He was in a bad, bad way.
Figures blurred above him; knives and bullets. Sinister laughter rang with the crack of a whip. Blood splashed on him, Brutale’s blood, when the whip sliced open his chest with its metal tip. What was going on? Who was saving him? None of the other heroes used a whip.
And they certainly didn’t use guns.
That was a giant no-no to Ted.
---
Fires were not Kaldur’s favorite things to deal with. For one, there were always victims. For two, fire didn’t like him. Too much heat was not a good thing for him. He was pulling double duty at the moment, trying to put out apartment fires and fighting the firestarter.
A firestarter by the rather crappy name of Pilot Light. For his sake, Kal hoped that was a title given to him. Not one he selected for himself.
Kalvin kicked a fire-hydrant so that it flew twenty feet away to hit Pilot Light straight in the gut. There was the sickening crunch of metal on meat that reached his ears. No regret filled him. He was listening to Wildcat’s orders on not holding back and that bastard certainly deserved the pain. No telling how many people were still trapped in the buildings.
Waving his waterbearers, he helped incoming firefighters by directing streams from the sprouting hydrant into the strongest hotspots, something he knew innately. They joined him soon enough.
“Kaldur!” A ranking fireman dashed up to him, his movements hectic. “I have men trapped on the top floor and can’t risk sending anymore after them.” His voice was desperate, his uniform covered in the soot and smoke that Kalvin knew to be from the building he was pointing. The man radiated disappointed failure.
The hydrokinectic glanced at the raging inferno and tried to hide his shiver of fear from the cameras. Sucking up the water to refill his reserve tanks, he sheathed the waterbearers and placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “Have no fear. I will save them.”
There was no question in Kaldur’s mind that he would save them. It was his job. It was his duty. Wildcat had taught him that much.
---
Three heroes stood alone surrounded by a pile of limbs as far as the street was wide. Cars were blown up. Windows were shattered. Chaos had reigned sheer moments ago. That was why they had been called here. That was what they had come to stop.
Instead they came upon a massacre.
Skeets soared above them, recording everything. Swarms of baby-bugs searched for survivors and identifying features. There was no way this scene would make into the recap reel let alone the live feed. Ted had unrestricted control of ordering his own mechanisms about.
He couldn’t say the same for his lunch. His mask was lifted barely in time for the vomit to burst from his mouth. It was disgusting. The smell of death and fire. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
Batwoman and Booster fared better. Both had been in similar situations before; Kate in the Mideast and Booster in countless realities. Still, they had to steel themselves as they went through the bodies. All members of a gang known as the Reapers. The same gang that Cheshire had taken down the day before.
“These wounds are cauterized,” remarked Kate as she crouched over a body with no obvious death blow.
“Lightsabers?” asked Booster completely serious.
Ted swallowed more bile and looked closer at the wounds. The narrow stabs, the clean, efficient cuts. Nothing had been vaporized. Just… Burned. “No. Had to be a sword or something like it. Too thin.”
“Skeets, anybody escape who could do this?”
“No sir.”
“Damn.” Ted closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Keep looking. There has to be a survivor. Someone had to live to tell the tale.”
---
Helter Skelter lay dead at Cheshire’s feet. She hadn’t killed him. He had been alive when she fought him, doing a tad better than Más y Menos had done thanks to their past experience with the wannabe rocker. Her phasing and invisibility had been all but worthless against him but she was quick on the uptake and always had a keen ear for music.
She had got close. Too close for him to attack her without risking feedback to himself. Bottom of one sai slammed his teeth together… hard. Second sai slit the strings of his guitar. He was finished.
But she still had to spin kick him in the gut to knock him off his feet. An image had to be maintained for the cameras. After her collars on the way back from the airport, she was in the lead for personal points. Now she just needed the fan votes.
Tilting her head to give the baby-bug cameras her signature Cheshire grin, Jade heard the audible snap of a neck breaking behind her. She rolled forward and came up weapon ready to see a knife in the hand of Helter Skelter, or more accurately, on the ground next to his crumpled form and a woman standing over him.
Black hair. Brown eyes. The arrogant, holier than though stance. She was a beautiful woman. One that Jade sometimes saw in the mirror every morning. She wore stylish clothing that was functional in movement much like Cheshire would wear; a lovely dark red top with a mandarin collar and tight black pants. She flicked her hair back, unconcerned in the face of a hero.
“Mo-“ Jade caught herself in midword. “Master?”
“Never turn your back on a foe that is still breathing.” The artistic assassin critiqued in a disapproving tone. “I thought I taught you better than that.”
She did indeed. And right now, Jade knew not if she should count Lady Shiva among her foes still breathing.
---
Accelerated healing had its purposes. Diego opened his eyes to clearer vision and the sight of a dream, not a nightmare. A figure in pink fought Brutale to a standstill. Whip snapped. Knives fell. There was nothing the butcher could do to stop him. Nothing he could do to make the man afraid.
In fact, it was the opposite.
Brutale was the one terrified now.
He had overstayed his welcome.
Flamingo had come to town.
“Get your personalized Flamingo Harley Davison today.”
Real Heroes Wear Pink Pt 1
Flamingo is Coming
Papá once told mi hermano and I about a man he idealized named Eduardo Flamingo. A good man with a loving family and magnifico farmlands as far as the eye could see. Then one day, Brutale and the Cartels came calling. They made him watch as they cut off the faces of his mami, papi, and primos. Killed them all. Took his lands. Everything and everyone he’d ever loved taken from him.
On that day Eduardo Flamingo became more than a man. On that day, Flamingo became a symbol.
There was no doubting it. Brutale was a butcher or surgeon, take your pick, extraordinaire. True to his word, he came for Más. There was unfinished business between him and the Lightspeed Latinos from back home. One-on-two, he probably would have failed miserably; possibly even one-on-one. The twins had grown since he last faced them. But there weren’t two of them. Menos was still laid up in the infirmary. As for Diego… His injuries had yet to heal but like McNider called, he was a hero. Heroes don’t take days off.
Blood. Blood. That was all Más could see before him… around him; his uniform stained red by the dozens of cuts littering his skin. His muscle expansion had failed him. He could barely muster up the strength needed to repulse the neverending string of blades his nemesis from his homeland launched at him. For every three he pushed back, two made it through. One knife laid buried to the hilt through his shoulder blade… arm slowly becoming useless.
Brutale laughed and laughed, bounced around to avoid the pitiful blasts Diego aimed his way. His frightening appearance, the stitches and skinlike garments, every bit as menacing as Más could remember. To think the man had found himself free and instead of returning home, he stayed to remind Latin America that their heroes were worthless.
And that’s what Más felt. With his brother injured, he thought he could handle the butcher on his own. He thought he could avenge those villages that were burned. Thought he could take down this murderer once and for all.
The knife sliced out as Más put all his power, expanding his muscles, behind one last blow. The sickening spurt of blood blinded him, artery severed completely despite his supposed durability. His scream never came.
His death never came.
With pain-filled eyes, Diego saw the whip wrapped about Brutale’s blade, staying the killing stroke.
---
Linda never thought she could miss the safety of Keystone City with all the dangerous sociopaths in the Flash’s rogue gallery more than she could now. There was a brief respite from her podcasting duties. The heroes were spread too thin for the usual announcers to adequately do their duty so Mr. Kord had enlisted the aid of the local anchors and all others who wanted to get in on worldwide TV. She felt exhausted, tired far more than the original job description of her internship should have made her.
Slowly, the young woman clambered up the stairs leading to the roof of BlueGold Media, escaping the hectic noises as wounded were brought in or as crews worked to keep their various heroes above the water. Mostly she was fleeing Menos who kept fighting off his sedatives and had to be brought down by Wildcat. The speedster roared about his brother being in danger. Unfortunately, he was right.
Linda had seen the footage.
Her thoughts of being alone came to a grinding halt when she opened the door to the roof with her limited access passcode. Someone was already there, leaning over the railing and observing the swooping choppers and echoing gunfire. His sleeves were rolled up to fight the heat, his back stained with salty sweat, ruining his dress shirt. His coat was tossed unceremoniously on the roof’s surface five feet away from him as smoke blew from his mouth.
“Park,” the man said between releases of the smoke.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Szasz. I’m sure you want to be alone.”
“It’s okay and Chuck is fine,” he responded with another puff. “Only place I can go where no one will complain.”
Linda held in her own remark and approached him cautiously. He was lead announcer for the show, handling all the live events, the voting, and weekly recaps. Besides that, he still kept a career as an investigative reporter for the Channel 4 news. A busy man known for often brushing others off. She didn’t even know if he had a social life.
The city wasn’t as bad as she feared it to be. The escaped prisoners had either been captured already or been smart enough to flee the city for the most part. The few that remained laid low with their gangs doing a bit of celebratory rioting. Booster, Beetle, and Batwoman were on those due to their exhaustion. Same should have been said of Más but he ignored orders. Cheshire and Kaldur were left to deal with the costumed freaks. There were only a few more fires needed to be put out… literally.
“You know that will kill you,” Linda joked, hoping to ease the tension, inadvertently forgetting his initial comment.
Chuck butted his cigarette and glared at her from the side of his eye. Strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, he was still quite the handsome specimen for his sex despite entering his middling years. Had to be his broad shoulders and height. And… partially his dedication to work. If only he didn’t have that nasty smoking habit he might have been attractive to her.
“So they say,” He twisted his and nodded toward the chaotic city below. “You know that any sniper worth his salt can hit you between your eyes at this very moment and you are standing atop a building dedicated to heroes putting a stop to this.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel to leave her alone, worrying about snipers. Along the way, he stooped to pick up his coat and offered her a lazy two finger salute. “Take care.” Then he was through the door.
“Dick.”
Linda tried not to run from the roof. But in reality, if any sniper was watching, they’d testify her quick trot was in reality fleeing for her life.
---
Strange sound.
Hard to describe.
Diego watched Brutale unsheathe a blade to cut the line only to be dropped backwards on his ass. The butcher backflipped to his feet a second later and released a wave of knives over Mas’s head. Each one clinked or clanked, the sound he couldn’t quite figure out over the impossibly loud bangs, and clattered to the street around the speedster’s prone body. Somehow they all missed him, scattered about like a metal angel.
Spanish curses spread like wildfire from Brutale’s sown lips. It was then Diego understood truly just how much damage had been done to him. He could be expected to be unable to translate English in an injured condition but to lose his native tongue… He was in a bad, bad way.
Figures blurred above him; knives and bullets. Sinister laughter rang with the crack of a whip. Blood splashed on him, Brutale’s blood, when the whip sliced open his chest with its metal tip. What was going on? Who was saving him? None of the other heroes used a whip.
And they certainly didn’t use guns.
That was a giant no-no to Ted.
---
Fires were not Kaldur’s favorite things to deal with. For one, there were always victims. For two, fire didn’t like him. Too much heat was not a good thing for him. He was pulling double duty at the moment, trying to put out apartment fires and fighting the firestarter.
A firestarter by the rather crappy name of Pilot Light. For his sake, Kal hoped that was a title given to him. Not one he selected for himself.
Kalvin kicked a fire-hydrant so that it flew twenty feet away to hit Pilot Light straight in the gut. There was the sickening crunch of metal on meat that reached his ears. No regret filled him. He was listening to Wildcat’s orders on not holding back and that bastard certainly deserved the pain. No telling how many people were still trapped in the buildings.
Waving his waterbearers, he helped incoming firefighters by directing streams from the sprouting hydrant into the strongest hotspots, something he knew innately. They joined him soon enough.
“Kaldur!” A ranking fireman dashed up to him, his movements hectic. “I have men trapped on the top floor and can’t risk sending anymore after them.” His voice was desperate, his uniform covered in the soot and smoke that Kalvin knew to be from the building he was pointing. The man radiated disappointed failure.
The hydrokinectic glanced at the raging inferno and tried to hide his shiver of fear from the cameras. Sucking up the water to refill his reserve tanks, he sheathed the waterbearers and placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “Have no fear. I will save them.”
There was no question in Kaldur’s mind that he would save them. It was his job. It was his duty. Wildcat had taught him that much.
---
Three heroes stood alone surrounded by a pile of limbs as far as the street was wide. Cars were blown up. Windows were shattered. Chaos had reigned sheer moments ago. That was why they had been called here. That was what they had come to stop.
Instead they came upon a massacre.
Skeets soared above them, recording everything. Swarms of baby-bugs searched for survivors and identifying features. There was no way this scene would make into the recap reel let alone the live feed. Ted had unrestricted control of ordering his own mechanisms about.
He couldn’t say the same for his lunch. His mask was lifted barely in time for the vomit to burst from his mouth. It was disgusting. The smell of death and fire. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
Batwoman and Booster fared better. Both had been in similar situations before; Kate in the Mideast and Booster in countless realities. Still, they had to steel themselves as they went through the bodies. All members of a gang known as the Reapers. The same gang that Cheshire had taken down the day before.
“These wounds are cauterized,” remarked Kate as she crouched over a body with no obvious death blow.
“Lightsabers?” asked Booster completely serious.
Ted swallowed more bile and looked closer at the wounds. The narrow stabs, the clean, efficient cuts. Nothing had been vaporized. Just… Burned. “No. Had to be a sword or something like it. Too thin.”
“Skeets, anybody escape who could do this?”
“No sir.”
“Damn.” Ted closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Keep looking. There has to be a survivor. Someone had to live to tell the tale.”
---
Helter Skelter lay dead at Cheshire’s feet. She hadn’t killed him. He had been alive when she fought him, doing a tad better than Más y Menos had done thanks to their past experience with the wannabe rocker. Her phasing and invisibility had been all but worthless against him but she was quick on the uptake and always had a keen ear for music.
She had got close. Too close for him to attack her without risking feedback to himself. Bottom of one sai slammed his teeth together… hard. Second sai slit the strings of his guitar. He was finished.
But she still had to spin kick him in the gut to knock him off his feet. An image had to be maintained for the cameras. After her collars on the way back from the airport, she was in the lead for personal points. Now she just needed the fan votes.
Tilting her head to give the baby-bug cameras her signature Cheshire grin, Jade heard the audible snap of a neck breaking behind her. She rolled forward and came up weapon ready to see a knife in the hand of Helter Skelter, or more accurately, on the ground next to his crumpled form and a woman standing over him.
Black hair. Brown eyes. The arrogant, holier than though stance. She was a beautiful woman. One that Jade sometimes saw in the mirror every morning. She wore stylish clothing that was functional in movement much like Cheshire would wear; a lovely dark red top with a mandarin collar and tight black pants. She flicked her hair back, unconcerned in the face of a hero.
“Mo-“ Jade caught herself in midword. “Master?”
“Never turn your back on a foe that is still breathing.” The artistic assassin critiqued in a disapproving tone. “I thought I taught you better than that.”
She did indeed. And right now, Jade knew not if she should count Lady Shiva among her foes still breathing.
---
Accelerated healing had its purposes. Diego opened his eyes to clearer vision and the sight of a dream, not a nightmare. A figure in pink fought Brutale to a standstill. Whip snapped. Knives fell. There was nothing the butcher could do to stop him. Nothing he could do to make the man afraid.
In fact, it was the opposite.
Brutale was the one terrified now.
He had overstayed his welcome.
Flamingo had come to town.
“Get your personalized Flamingo Harley Davison today.”