Spilled Milk: Two Percent Power, #2

By Brian Manning and Allen Manning

A new danger has entered the arena.

With the egotistical supervillain, Sight, brought to justice, the city's superhero saviors get some much-needed downtime to rest and recuperate. But a new threat emerges, bringing Patrick and the team back together.

Things take a turn for the worst when the Brotherhood of Armageddon proves far more powerful than any threat the city's heroes have ever faced.

With the weight and responsibility of leadership on Patrick's shoulders, will this new menace be too much for the heroes to overcome?

Spilled Milk is the thrilling second installment of the Two Percent Power trilogy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Manning
• Release date: Nov 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386667483

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

The glass doors of the pawnshop shattered, flying open, as a security guard flew into a car parked at the curb. The alarm blared, and people nearby started screaming and running in confusion. Spectators took cover, grabbing their phones to call the police or to record compelling video of the action. 

A bull of a man stepped out of the pawnshop into the street. A literal bull of a man, with a long snout, flared nostrils, and two dark brown, glossy horns curving forward to sharp points.

A second man stepped out close on the bull’s heels. A man of average height and build dwarfed by the brute before him. The small figure used his friend’s massive form like a shield, as if the living barrier would repel the cacophony of car alarms and panicked people. 

Bull Dozer and Pulverati. Two supers making their way to the city, in hopes of joining Sight’s empire. As other villains had found out in recent weeks, they too had arrived late, finding out that the police had taken Sight into custody. After a city-wide battle, a group of heroes had inspired the residents to rise and fight to reclaim their neighborhoods from the Visionaries, Sight’s organization, bent on running the city. And just like the other villains that had arrived a day late and a dollar short, they did what had come naturally. Crime spree.

D’you get the bag? Bull Dozer asked. 

What? Pulverati asked.

Bull Dozer rolled his eyes, turning to his partner-in-crime and enunciating each word as if he were speaking to a child. 

Did…you…get…the bag? 

The smaller man didn’t hide his annoyance at the patronizing tone. He plucked the shoulder strap of a duffel bag with his thumb, in answer to the question. 

Yeah, I got the bag.

Don’t move! Another security guard staggered out of the broken front entrance of the pawnshop, pointing a taser in Bull Dozer’s direction.

Oh, so we’re supposed to surrender to you and your toy raygun? Bull Dozer’s head swayed side to side with each thumping step, as he lumbered in the guard’s direction.

I’m warning you, pal, The guard said.

Go ahead and—

The pop and subsequent clicking from the guard’s taser cut Bull Dozer’s invitation short. The villain clenched his teeth as the two barbs struck him in the stomach, sending a current of electricity into his body. His muscles flexed against his will, but they still obeyed his commands. He plucked the leads free by the two thin wires trailing back to the security guard’s weapon. Bull Dozer covered the last ten feet dipping his head low and lunging into the man’s chest.

The impact slammed the guard into the side of a parked van, as Bull Dozer’s spikes punctured the vehicle’s metal skin. The man’s arms draped over the horns, propping him up, as the brutish villain pulled away. With a twist of his powerful body, he whipped his massive head and hurled the man to the side.

A car skidded to a stop, as the driver honked his horn at Pulverati. The driver unleashed a string of obscenities and rude gestures at the unassuming man standing in the middle of the street. Pulverati turned, sneering at the rude interruption. The driver whipped his seatbelt to the side and opened the door, fueled by his road rage. Before he could step out of the car, the villain unleashed his anger; a howling wail, that violently washed over the vehicle. The driver ducked behind his door, as the sonic assault shattered the front windshield and headlights. The car’s hood rippled under the punishing barrage, and the door twisted free of its hinges.

* * *

Responding to the call from their eye in the sky, three heroes had arrived. Patrick Akiyama, a hero with the super ability to control milk, had taken the role of the leader, outfitted in a blue and silver woven kevlar suit, designed with a series of tubes and pouches storing the liquid he needed to utilize his power to its fullest.

To his side was Sean Cobb, also known as Black Paralysis. He had inherited the ability and had taken on the moniker to honor his father, a famed superhero from a previous generation. Sean’s form-fitting outfit was a breathable padded black fabric trimmed with fiber optic piping that glowed blue when he summoned his inner strength, or chi, to cause temporary paralysis to his foes.

Bringing up the rear was Graham Anderson, who had used the alias Boost. The team’s powerhouse, Graham was bestowed with the strength, durability, and sometimes recklessness of a runaway freight train. He wore a short-collared, black jacket with yellow trim and durable black pants. His uniform had been updated to be more suitable for his close-range grappling style, yet he still sported a pair of goggles hanging from his neck.

A pair of supers. Robbing a pawnshop and causing chaos in the street, the trio heard in their earpieces.

Troy Rouhani, known to the heroes as Broadband, directed Patrick, Sean, and Graham to the scene. As the team’s tech and networking genius, he was responsible for keeping everyone connected during their adventures, making sure they had all the necessary information.

They watched as a man with an athletic build, wearing what looked like a strange hybrid of a tuxedo and fitted combat fatigues, shouted at a car in front of him. His voice rattled and shook the vehicle, shattering the windows and warping the metal body. Afterward, a man with the appearance of a minotaur rushed the trashed automobile, driving his horns into the front grill. The occupant fled as the bull-man rolled the vehicle to its side.

That’s Bull Dozer and Pulverati. Two known supers tracing a path of crime all the way from the Chicago area, Broadband said. * They call themselves the Wrecking Crew.*

What should we expect? I mean, besides potential property damage and bullfighting? Patrick asked. 

Dozer’s going to be a handful. He’s known for knocking out pretty much every hero that has tried to bring him in.

Is that how he got his name? He’s a bull that puts people to sleep? Boost asked. That’s pretty clever. 

He’s mine, Black Paralysis said. 

Well then, now that Sean has claimed the role of the matador, what’s the small guy’s story? Patrick asked. 

Pulverati. He was an amateur opera singer that had discovered his ability during an argument with some hecklers in the park. Broadband said. 

I think we’ve got a good idea of that ability. 

Yes. His voice is a weapon, sending out concussive pulses. When he focuses on a small area, he’s able to pulverize pretty much anything with enough time.

Man, who’s the PR guy that came up with their names? Boost said. Manerpillar should set up an appointment to get some fresh ideas. 

I heard that. Manny said. Manuel Guerrero was the hero known as Manerpillar, with the ability to generate and manipulate ectoplasmic silk. With it, he was able to ensnare his opponents and even encase his body in a protective cocoon, giving him the appearance of a giant mutant caterpillar.

* The police are on their way,* Broadband said.

Not fast enough, Patrick said. We need to put them down now.

What are we waiting for? Black Paralysis ran toward the pair of villains.

* * *

Let me guess, this is all a result of aggressive haggling over prices, Boost said, gesturing to the pawnshop as he stepped out onto the street.

The two villains eyed the newcomers crashing their block party.

Black Paralysis. Bull Dozer said. I’ve got a score to settle with you.

Nice to see I have a fan club, Sean said, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

Your dad put my uncle in a hospital bed for months. He still can’t walk right.

Arachnofabio is your uncle? Boost asked. I guess good looks didn’t cross over into your branch of the family tree.

No, his uncle was a repeat offender. Let’s just say my dad got caught up in aggressive haggling over proper punishment, Black Paralysis said.

Wait, so your dad really did break backs to paralyze the bad guys? Boost asked. 

What? No, he broke his uncle’s hip. And for the record, Arachnofabio was in a car accident.

Bull Dozer took a step forward. I gotta be honest, I don’t even like my uncle. But I got a lot less love for two-bit snitch capes like you. He blew a short breath through his nostrils in a huff. You think you can catch us? I got news for you. You’re ’bout to catch these hands. 

Sean turned to Graham, I’ve been up since 5 in the morning, so please accept my apology for not answering with a snappy quip. He turned to face Bull Dozer and rushed into battle. 

Tell him he’s about to catch some Zs. Graham cupped his hands to amplify his voice. 

If you’re through providing one-liners, we’ve got a runner. Patrick pointed to Pulverati, who used Bull Dozer’s bravado as cover for his attempted escape. 

Boost tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. I hate it when they run. 

You mean, you hate to run. Speetah said. 

Can you be a dear, and fetch this rapscallion for me? Boost asked. 

I’m a couple of miles out, but I’m pretty sure I’d catch him before you, Speetah said. However, Abby and I have our hands full right now, so you boys will have to clean up your own mess.

With an after you gesture, Patrick invited Graham to lead the chase.

* * *

Don’t stay on my account, Beat Boxer said over her shoulder.

They’re big boys, they can manage, Speetah said. Besides, it’s been a long day. I honestly don’t feel like running that far right now.

Beat Boxer and Speetah, known as Abigail Abby Rouhani and Crystal Gerhardt, respectively, squared up with the last of three young men. When all three were still conscious, they thought it would be a good idea to terrorize a couple of women as they passed.

Abby was a teenager gifted with the ability to flow in tune with anyone or anything in her way. She left a brilliant red trail, tracing her movements, using music as a method of dictating the pace and rhythm. Recently the young hero had discovered she no longer needed an external source of music to utilize her power.

Beat Boxer wore a modified, stylish, black and red zip-front hoodie and sweatpants, designed to conform to her body and prevent snagging on anything as she slipped through tight openings.

Crystal’s superpower was immediately apparent in her appearance. She had the lean muscular build of a world-class sprinter, with a powerful rudder-like tail sprouting out from the base of her skull, trailing all the way down past her hips. Her sleeveless dark brown and gold tracksuit showed off her powerful arms and stopped just above her calves. Even while relaxed, Crystal kept most of her weight on the balls of her feet, always ready to pounce.

The frightened goon whipped his head back and forth between the two women blocking his escape. His shifty eyes darted to every little object, looking for a weapon, or a distraction, so he could escape with only his ego bruised. 

Crystal noted his nervous scanning. Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to watch. She walked to the nearby steps of an apartment building and sat, draping her tail across her lap.

So how about we grab something to eat after this? Abby asked. 

Sounds delightful, Crystal said. 

The man lunged in, hoping to tackle the small woman boxing him in. She rolled across his shoulders and down his back, as a trail of brilliant red streaks tracked her path. With a quick thrust of her foot on his backside, Abby shoved the taller man face first, into a pair of trash cans. 

Pizza? she asked. 

I could use a steak right about now, Crystal answered. 

I’m kind of low on funds, so steak is probably a bit much for me. 

The bully stumbled to his feet and stepped in with a desperate wild swing. Abby turned and sidestepped as a spiral of red lights pulsed around her. 

Burgers? she asked 

Burgers, Crystal affirmed. Now put your toys away, so we can go eat. 

Again, the attacker flailed his arms. Abby matched his forward momentum with a back handspring. As he came in close, her trailing foot whipped up and caught him under the chin, snapping his head back. His body bent away, mirroring the glowing red arc in front of him, as his unconscious body landed on top of the spilled contents of the garbage cans. 

Ooh, look at that! I took out the trash! Abby said. 

You’ve been hanging around Boost too long. Crystal walked up and kicked the man’s shoe several times to check if he was faking. 

I lost Pulverati, Boost said. 

Is he serious? Crystal asked, keeping the communication channel closed. 

You’ve seen him. He’s not built for speed, Abby said. 

I’m right above him, The wind whistled through Patrick’s mic as he dropped to the street below.

* * *

Pulverati had a head start of a full city block before Boost, and Patrick had given chase. Without Speetah to run him down, it only took a couple of quick turns for the villain to break the line of sight.

Bull Dozer was busy trading blows with Black Paralysis, and Boost wasn’t in the mood for a foot chase. Patrick launched a couple of milk tendrils to a nearby roof and pulled himself up for a better view. He leaped across a couple of buildings when he heard someone moving through an alleyway, kicking an empty can across the pavement.

He perched on the ledge and watched as Pulverati grasped the strap of the duffel bag tighter, turning onto a smaller two-lane side street. Patrick saw the nervous thief peer around the corner, thinking he was clear. 

The rubber on pavement clap of Patrick’s boots hitting the road behind Pulverati had startled him. The super let out a small startled yelp, as he spun to face the source of the sound. 

The hero stood, as a white liquid rope recoiled into his sleeve. Slack-jawed, Pulverati started to speak. Patrick hadn’t known if he was preparing to lash out with his devastating vocals or ask for leniency.

Not wanting to take chances, he whipped a hand out, hurling a chunk of white goo. The blob hit Pulverati on the jaw, clamping his mouth shut. 

Ah ah ah, he said. I didn’t give you permission to speak. 

The villain dropped to his knees, and looped the strap of the bag back over his head, pushing it forward. 

He tried in vain to tell Patrick that he had needed the money. That they had just arrived in town and hadn’t eaten in days. Perhaps he could tug on the heroic heartstrings a little. 

It was unfortunate that his pleas just came out as indecipherable mumbling, with some large dramatic gestures thrown in, a silent film star overselling his dialogue. 

Sure sure, that’s what they all say, Patrick replied, as he knelt to look inside the bag. 

Patrick’s focus lapsed as he rifled through the contents, and in that brief moment, Pulverati had felt the milk gluing his mouth shut loosen. It wasn’t much, but it let him open his mouth a little more. The villain sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils and let out a bellowing bass-rich blast. The hiss of air alerted Patrick, affording him enough time to roll over one shoulder, avoiding the punishing concussive beam. 

The milk around Pulverati’s mouth burst into a fine mist, and the bag of stolen goods tore to shreds, sending bits of waterproof fabric, and shattered electronics in a cone-shaped pattern down the street. Pulverati stood and wiped a gloved Palm across his mouth to clear away the remaining milk. He spat another vocal pulse, this time wider, towards the startled hero. 

In a flash, a shimmering white convex shield separated the two, shaped like the nose cone of a plane with the rounded tip pointing at Pulverati. The blast shook the shield, sending ripples along its surface, deflecting the force out to the sides. 

Patrick could hear Pulverati pull in another deep breath to blow the barrier down. A small opening grew out from the center of Patrick’s shield, almost like a camera’s aperture. Pulverati looked on in confusion as Patrick launched a fist through the gap.

The punch connected with Pulverati’s chin with a wet snap, shutting down the signals that allowed him to remain upright. He coiled into a pile of spaghetti, mumbling thatwasawesome, before slipping into a deep slumber. 

Boost had arrived just in time to see Patrick pop up the liquid barrier, deflecting one of Pulverati’s powerful attacks, and then following it up immediately with a shuffle step and left cross, through the center of his shield. He staggered up, struggling to catch his breath. 

thatwasawesome, he said, as he bent over, huffing and grabbing a handful of pants above each knee. 

Just in time, Patrick said. You get to carry him back. 

Why can’t we just leave him here? 

Can’t risk someone with his power getting away, Patrick said over his shoulder, heading back to help Black Paralysis.

* * *

Bull Dozer’s lower jaw hung loose, as his tongue lolled, whipping a trail of saliva with each swing of his head. His left arm dangled from its socket, unable to respond to his commands. He sank into an aggressive stance, and threw an uppercut, hoping to at least land a glancing blow to his opponent.

Black Paralysis read the movement and slipped to the side, as the bull’s massive mitt missed its mark. He had sapped most of his energy reserves knocking Bull Dozer’s left arm out of commission but felt that expending the chi to paralyze the villain’s jaw wasn’t a waste. Killing off the terrible trash talking made the conflict more enjoyable. With his opponent’s uppercut passing by, Black Paralysis thrust his heel into the side of the big man’s knee, with a crushing side kick.

The villain’s powerful muscles and robust tendons had shrugged off most damage with ease, but the kick was enough to steal away his balance, dropping him to one knee. With the energy once again flowing through his arms, Black Paralysis moved in to finish the fight. He caught a flash of movement from Bull Dozer’s horns as they thrashed around, trying to impale anything in their path. The hero slid under a swipe from the sharpened tips and ended up behind the behemoth. Sending his chi coursing out through his knuckles, Black Paralysis lived up to his name, as he landed several short strikes along Bull Dozer’s spine, each unleashing a paralyzing pulse of energy. The last blow to the small of his foe’s back sent the villain crashing face-first onto the street.

Some pretty good timing, if you ask me, Patrick said.

Boost arrived just seconds later, with Pulverati draped across a shoulder, the villain’s hands and feet bound with flex cuffs.

* Abby and I are done here. Headed to your position now,* Speetah said.

* Scratch that,* Broadband said. * The police are on the way. They’ll be there in less than a minute. Just meet back at HQ*

Boost dumped Pulverati on top of Bull Dozer’s body. Should we cuff him too?

Won’t make a difference. He’d snap ’em with ease, Black Paralysis said.

Cops will be here any second. They should have the means to secure Bull Dozer, Patrick said.

In the months since the city-wide showdown with the Visionaries, law enforcement tactics had changed, securing new funding for dealing with supers. Although city officials had tolerated the team’s activities, Patrick knew it was still wise to step out of the way when the pros showed up. Drawing heat from the police would only complicate their mission to help the city.

CHAPTER

2

Trevor, Patrick’s plucky sidekick, took a seat next to Troy at the console, an array of digital displays showing the feed from various cameras around the city. What’s up, Broadband?

Hey Trev, Troy said.

So the body cams are finally up and running? What did I miss?

Troy flipped a few switches and displayed archived footage from moments before. They took out the Wrecking Crew.

The screen displayed a chaotic scene, whipping around never focusing on anything long enough to visually anchor the viewer.

I’m gonna puke, Trevor said. This body cam idea is not one of your best, bro.

Well for Sean, Patrick, Crystal, and Abby it’s, unfortunately, going to be this found-footage-style chaos. They just move around so much when they fight.

Yeah, I don’t see Manny, and Graham flipping around like rabid weasels.

Troy clicked a few keys and switched to the drone footage showing Bull Dozer versus Black Paralysis. This is some great footage, though. I’m gonna mix some music in there, and upload it for the fans to see.

Just let me choose the music this time. Trevor patted Troy on the shoulder.

Troy looked up and smirked. You know you just show your age when you complain about my music, old man.

Trevor ignored the comment and changed subjects. How about the newbs?

You mean Striker and Weed? You know they’ve been at this longer than us, right? Troy said.

I meant Weed and Dark Justice, Trevor said.

Dark Justice changed his name to Striker last month, remember?

No one told me. Why would he choose such a cheesy name, though?

Troy laughed. Striker is worse?

Yeah, well, I mean, I’m just now getting used to Dark Justice. Trevor stumbled through his explanation, never one to concede apparent defeat.

I’ve got a cam on Striker. He prefers to get up close and personal in his fights, but the footage is still manageable, Troy said.

How about Weed? What’s she up to? Trevor asked.

I don’t have a camera on her yet, and she seems to always be in the areas with no drone coverage.

Are you kidding me? Boost asked, walking into the room. Seriously, does anyone know what Weed’s powers are? He pulled the goggles from around his neck and unzipped his jacket.

Trevor and Troy spun to face the others as they came in.

Hey guys, how does the situation look? Patrick stepped past Boost.

Trevor spun his chair back to the console and pulled up the live feed. Police are there, and it looks like the Wrecking Crew is finally out of business.

What’s that monstrosity? Boost asked, pointing to the footage of several officers loading Bull Dozer into a large armored vehicle.

That’s courtesy of the statewide funding for the Supers Task Forces in all major cities. They’re getting all the surplus military gear to deal with a more powerful breed of criminals. Patrick was no longer watching the feed as he took his gloves and jacket off. Let’s regroup in five.

* * *

The team’s new headquarters had occupied a legally acquired facility, funded by their latest member, Bryson Hardy, who fought crime under the alias, Striker, since changing his name from Dark Justice a month ago. It was a large open area that had once been a boot camp fitness gym. Bryson had kept all of the equipment when he leased the building, using it for his personal training ground.