Expiration Date: Two Percent Power, #3

By Brian Manning and Allen Manning

Can a team of misfits stop Armageddon?

The city's heroes are defeated. The team has been torn apart. Patrick is forced to pick up the pieces, and lead them back into the toughest battle of their lives.

Complicating matters, the FBI has sent in a pair of super-powered federal agents to regain control and put a stop to the Brotherhood of Armageddon.

Ground Zero and Warhead are on a rampage, wrecking anything the city can throw at them. The villains in the Brotherhood of Armageddon's ranks are stronger than ever.

With the odds stacked against the heroes, Patrick must learn from his friends what true power is.

Expiration Date is the pulse-pounding final book in the Two Percent Power trilogy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tag Team Champs
• Release date: Sep 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393683391

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

Genevieve Durandt, known to her friends as Ringmaster, rolled her shoulders back and puffed out her chest in defiance. She was a waif of a girl tipping the scales at 113 pounds after a meal. A teenager, five feet nothing, dressed in a red tracksuit, accented with white stripes running down the sides.

But the two Brotherhood of Armageddon fanatics only saw a powerhouse of a woman standing in their path. The two muscular men steeled their nerves, preparing for a fight against the Amazonian warrior staring down at them.

Ringmaster possessed a telepathic ability to project a different appearance into the minds of those around her. The two men looked upon a 6-foot 8-inch woman, powerfully built, wearing a pink leopard print leotard. A circus strong-woman, blocking their path to freedom after the pair had broken into a sporting goods store to arm themselves for a night of vandalism.

The shorter of the two vandals found the courage to test his foe, throwing a semi-practiced right cross. His punch stopped cold as Ringmaster caught his fist in what he thought was the palm of her hand. Along with her telepathic projection, Genevieve also possessed the telekinetic ability to lend credence to her appearance.

With a wry smile, she closed her hand, tightening the telekinetic field around her opponent’s fist. Joints and tendons popped and crackled as the Brotherhood thug emitted a slow high pitched wail as the small bones in his hand strained near the point of breaking. He grasped his wrist with his free hand and dropped to a knee as his friend moved in to help. The powerful woman swatted the man away with a casual swipe of her arm that sent the man staggering into the street.

I’m not sure what your bosses told you, but the city still has heroes protecting the people. In stark contrast to her appearance and power, Ringmaster’s voice was still that of a 17-year-old teenager.

The fight was over in mere minutes, with both Brotherhood vandals down for the count. Genevieve pulled a single set of plastic flex cuffs. Hmm. I could have sworn I grabbed two of these before leaving the house this morning. Looks like you guys are gonna have to share.

* * *

Abby Rouhani landed in a crouch and rose to her feet as she pulled her hood back. Ringmaster cinched the flex cuffs, lashing the two BoA goons to a nearby bike rack and turned to face her.

Hey, Beat Boxer. I’m just finishing up here, Ringmaster said.

Just took a couple down too, Beat Boxer said. I think these punks are stepping their activities up.

And we’ll be there every time they pop their head up. Genevieve brushed the dust from her hands and zipped her track jacket up a little higher.

Abby pulled her hood back up. C’ mon, let’s get back to meet the others. Abby’s tone lacked her usual pep and enthusiasm.

Three weeks had passed since the battle at the Missile Silo, and many of her friends were still recuperating. Boost had recovered from his injuries, yet he hadn’t stepped back out onto the streets since.

The remaining heroes were still operating out of the Justice Gym, but the roster was far lighter than it had been weeks ago. Striker, H2Grow, Weed, and Recurve were the only other heroes besides Beat Boxer and Ringmaster.

Patrick was still missing in action, seemingly lacking the will to continue their fight against Armageddon. Abby’s brother, Troy, kept in touch, but he spent most of his time at home monitoring police bands. She still had no idea about the others. Even her friend, Crystal, was not answering any of her calls or texts. With each passing day, it was a struggle for her to keep fighting.

She took two short steps and hopped up onto a nearby dumpster before tracing a path to the rooftops. Beat Boxer headed back to their headquarters, trusting that Ringmaster was able to keep up without looking back over her shoulder.

CHAPTER

2

Sean Cobb pulled the last of the blankets from the back of the truck and joined his father inside. I thought you would be proud that I was keeping the name alive. Keeping the legacy strong.

I am proud, his father said. I’m proud of you. Of what you’ve done to help the people. It doesn’t matter what name you use to do that.

"The people know what Black Paralysis stands for, Sean said. They know that when I’m around, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

"That’s my point, son. They know that when you are around, things will be ok." He pointed a finger into Sean’s chest to emphasize his point and then turned to bring a box of canned goods into the kitchen.

Sean had spent the past few weeks helping his dad in the old neighborhood. He knew his father hadn’t prowled the streets and punched perps from the shadows for years, but Sean was surprised to see what a difference his father’s current endeavor had made.

Today alone, Sean and his dad had helped repair a broken door at the youth center, organized transportation for elderly citizens in need of a ride, and made a delivery to a local homeless shelter.

Growing up, Sean had only known his dad as Black Paralysis. The original. A vigilante that took to the streets at night, standing up for those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was that upbringing that helped shape Sean into the man he was today. His training in the martial arts and how to best use his inherited ability had forged Sean’s mind and body into a weapon for justice.

But out here it was different. Out here, his father was just Irving Cobb. A man doing his part to build the community. No longer a shadowy figure, stalking the streets at night, looking for miscreants to defeat.

It was still Sean’s old neighborhood, and the people living here certainly knew that Irving was Black Paralysis, but now the man that walked the streets at night sent out a different message. One of hope, not fear. One that inspired the citizens to put in the work to help build a better, stronger neighborhood.

He wasn’t a faceless force lurking in the darknesses to keep them safe. Irving was a beacon of hope, signaling to everyone that together they were stronger. As one, they could accomplish anything. The message had started to sink in. Sean hoisted one of the larger cartons of food for the pantry and followed his father’s lead, as he had been doing his entire life.

* * *

So why now? Sean asked. I’ve been using Black Paralysis for a couple of years, so why are you telling me to stop now?

Irving wedged the box between his stomach and the edge of a shelf, so he could use both hands to unload the canned vegetables into the pantry. Once finished, he turned and tossed the cardboard box into the corner and rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and cheek.

He took a deep breath, pondering his response. When I was out in the streets, using my ability to protect the innocent, those were some pretty dark days in my life. He took his hat off, rubbed his head, and placed it back on. I was young, angry. I thought the world wasn’t fair and I took it out on a lot of misguided folks.

Criminals. You were doing what was right, Sean said.

His father smiled. When I look at you now, I see me at that age. I see the superhero that did a lot of good.

And that’s what I’m trying to do. Continue your work.

The problem is, I hurt a lot of people. His face grew weary. Too many young men and women ended up in the hospital.

It was either them or their victims, though. Sean stood a little straighter. You can’t let those bullies run over everybody, and you were the one to put them in their place.

Irving put a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled. It’s like looking through a window to the past. What I’m saying is I, we, did a lot of good things, but I’ve caused far too much anguish and pain to people that could have used a different touch. He held up a fist and then opened it, palm facing up.

"What are you saying? That we should be out there asking violent criminals to be cool and just shake hands?" Sean was equal parts confused and frustrated.

I’m saying the world isn’t just black and white. We’re not all just criminals or superheroes. He stepped to the side to let Sean into the pantry so he could unload the food he carried.

Sean placed the cans and boxes into the pantry and turned to face his father again. The elder Cobb had pulled up a couple of stools, sitting in one and motioning for him to sit in the other. Sean rubbed his hands together in an empty gesture to warm them before sitting.

His father looked up from under his brows. I never told you this, but I started visiting some of the people in the hospital. After I put them there. One, in particular, was a pretty bad injury. Doctors weren’t sure he would be able to walk right again.

Yeah, Arachno-Fabio. Everyone gives me a hard time about that, even though that was your handiwork.

Irving tried to hide his tiny smile and failed. Arachno-Fabio was injured in a car accident. And I’m pretty sure that was all just karma taking care of business for me. No, I’m talking about your average, everyday perpetrator. Some kid that had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You mean an innocent bystander? Sean asked, leaning forward.

No, he made a choice to take something from someone. I was there to make sure he had learned that it was the wrong choice. Broke his hip and femur in the process. The color drained from Irving’s face, and his hands had a slight tremor. It took a lot of pins and rods to get him back onto his feet.

Big deal, he’s got a limp now, Sean said. Wrong place, wrong time.

Turning them into faceless foes makes what we do much easier, Irving continued. See them as a predator preying on the weak, and you don’t have to hold back. They may be stalking the weak to take what’s theirs, but predators do what they do to eat. They do it to provide for their own families.

And we’re just supposed to let them? Is it survival of the fittest out in these streets?

"That young man that I had hospitalized, he was a father trying to provide for his family. He had just been laid off and had no job prospects. The gun he used to rob a jewelry store wasn’t even loaded. It was a pistol he bought to protect his family, and he made the hard choice to turn it into a tool to commit a crime.

I never bothered to ask him what his situation was or why he had chosen to target that small family-owned business. I acted right away. The gun was never even a threat. Not because I knew it was unloaded, but because the first thing I did was disarm him. Made sure his gun hand didn’t respond to any mental commands. When he fought back, I only saw an imminent threat, not a man cornered, fighting for his family.

His father’s eyes were glossy as he was close to tears. His situation went from bad to worse. He went from not being able to find a job to not being able to work. I dropped some serious medical debt into his lap on top of his already hard situation.

Sean wanted to speak up. He tried to defend his position, but his father’s words hit him hard.

Irving continued, I tried to help him. As Irving Cobb, just some random do-gooder. Problem was, the community wasn’t as open and willing to lend a hand back then. Crime was at an all-time high, and the people were just doing what they could to stay safe.

Is that when you started all this? Sean gestured to the neighborhood beyond the walls of the shelter they sat in.

Yes, he said with a smile. I was still out in the streets as Black Paralysis, but things started to change then. It wasn’t about cleaning the streets anymore, it was about building a better place to live. For everyone.

Why didn’t you tell me this?

You had just left for the city. I had no idea you were going to take up the mantle, and when you did, I didn’t want to come crashing into your life telling you that was the wrong choice. Honestly, I was proud of you, but by then, the moniker had represented a dark path that I no longer wanted to walk.

Sean rubbed his jaw and chin. So what should I call myself, then?

His father smiled. It’s your choice, son.

Even if I want to continue carrying the mantle?

Like I said, your choice. The name Black Paralysis means something different to me than it does to you, but it’s still a decision you must make. I’m just suggesting that you look deep within yourself, and choose an identity that suits you.

The name is a mouthful, Sean said, chuckling. And it would be nice to have something all my own.

It’d be a shame if you had to change the outfit, though.

His father’s deep bellowing laugh echoed through the mostly empty community center.

CHAPTER

3

Patrick read the text message from Graham. Neither one had suited up and taken to the streets since their battle with Armageddon. But a few of the other heroes still sent Patrick information regularly, about what was happening in their neighborhoods.

It was a transparent attempt to urge him back into his costume. Patrick slipped his phone into his pocket and pulled the collar of his jacket up, blocking the biting wind. His body still ached, and every morning, Patrick woke up with a pounding headache.

The thought of even using his power in the smallest way possible was too much for him to contemplate. He wasn’t as quick to recover from his injuries as Graham, or Manny. Not under normal circumstances anyway.

One of the quirks of Patrick’s ability was an accelerated rate of healing when he drank milk. But in the aftermath of their beating at the Missile Silo, his lactose intolerance had gotten worse. He opted to suffer through the normal healing process as long as it meant he didn’t have to look at another glass of milk for at least one more day.

Again his phone buzzed. This time it was Manny, checking in. It was a group text with Graham, Trevor, and Troy as well. Great, now everyone is going to be chiming in on this conversation. To punctuate his thought, his phone vibrated two more times in rapid succession as more replies came in. Patrick’s finger rested on the power button as he thought about shutting his phone down. After another deep breath of chilled air, he left it on and slipped the device into his front pocket as it buzzed once more.

He rubbed his cold hands together before crossing his arms and tucking them into his armpits to warm them up. Only two blocks from his apartment, Patrick spotted a man and woman as they ended a casual conversation and started walking his way. He watched as they approached, keeping their heads low but still looking forward. Hopefully my luck will hold, and it will be an uneventful journey home.

The woman tugged the ends of her jacket out slightly as she pulled them together to zip it up. Patrick caught a glimpse of the white lettering on the black t-shirt she wore underneath: BoA.

He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together. He stood up straighter, and steeled his gaze forward, hoping to present a target too tough to bother with. Maybe I can slip by these two unnoticed and still make it home without having to rinse any blood off of my clothes.

Just before they reached a comfortable distance, the woman spoke. Excuse me.

Patrick stopped and gave her the courtesy of looking her in the eye, as he raised his eyebrows to show he was listening. She wore a knit cap, but he could see the reddish hair peeking out. She had piercing hazel eyes and a band of freckles that stretched across the light brown skin of her nose and cheeks. Everything about her was disarming. Like someone’s little sister.

You live around here, right? My boyfriend and I were looking for a place to get some ramen.

Patrick feigned helpful interest while keeping an eye on her boyfriend. The tall man shifted his weight side to side. Every few sways of his body, he would take a small step to the side, putting himself closer to Patrick’s flank.

These two know what they’re doing. She keeps the target looking forward so he can get in position to strike. I guess my streak of staying clear of danger just ended.

* * *

Is he on his way? Trevor asked.

Graham turned to face him. Bro, I’m sitting right next to you, and we’re in the same text conversation. How am I supposed to know?

I still think we should push him a little more.

Graham leaned back in his chair. He and Trevor had met at the diner that Patrick used to like coming to when they hung out. With the Brotherhood of Armageddon increasing the amount of chaos in the city, they were hoping to draw him into a casual conversation and steer it towards possibly suiting up for battle again.

The weeks that had passed were starting to wear on Graham, and he wanted to jump back into the fray. He knew a few of the others were already back out on the streets, but without Patrick at the helm, it felt much different. They lacked focus or a clear goal.

Trevor’s phone whooshed as he hit send on another text in the shared conversation. That should bring him.

Graham glanced down at the screen. It just says chicken wings. No punctuation or anything.

Trevor’s face was pulled into a half-smile as he nodded slowly like he had just checkmated his opponent.

Graham’s face stayed stoic as he replied with a measured shake of his own head.

Manny walked to the table, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the empty chairs before sitting down. Sorry I’m late. Is Patrick gonna show?

Graham pointed to his own phone. Am I on a different phone plan that lets me read between the lines of our mutual conversation?

What’s his problem? Manny asked Trevor.

Don’t ask me. All I know is he’s a chicken wing hater.

CHAPTER

4

Crystal sat in the park, watching the children as they enjoyed themselves on the playground’s equipment. This was a pleasant park, with newer mostly plastic equipment so the kids wouldn’t get burnt on hot days. It reminded her of the park where she had met up with Patrick and Graham to discuss the idea of teaming up. That night was just over a year ago but felt like another lifetime to Crystal.

She had spent weeks in the suburbs, outside of the city’s limits, crashing with childhood friends. Friends she knew she could rely on to keep her whereabouts a secret. Crystal wasn’t trying to hide, but she didn’t want any of the others tracking her down to try and convince her to get back into the fight against Armageddon.

In the battle against the Visionaries, she had been able to keep her self separate from the others. They were still new to the whole thing and had no clue about the dangers of taking on such a powerful force. She had suffered some injuries, as had Manny, but the team was still in pretty good health in the aftermath.

The battle at the Missile Silo was different. Far more violent. She had grown closer to the team, and seeing her friends in that kind of danger had been more than she could handle. Crystal couldn’t scrub the scene of Warhead and Ground Zero slamming Graham into the concrete, nor seeing Nolan’s unconscious form on the sidewalk. They were grossly outmatched and had barely escaped with their lives. The stakes were too high, and Crystal had cracked under pressure.

She tried to convince herself that it was due to Patrick not being there when the team had needed him, or that none of the others had seemed to be as focused as she was. But really, she was still mad at herself, for not being strong enough to help. It was an unreasonable train of thought, but that didn’t soften things one bit.

Relying on a team had felt like a mistake. Especially when that team was indecisive, and could never seem to agree on a course of action. Alone Crystal was faster. Without the others, she didn’t have to watch anyone’s back. It was all on her.

Most mornings she had resisted the urge to bolt back into the city and start picking the Brotherhood of Armageddon apart, piece by piece. A fantasy at best, but the thought made it easier for her to start the day.

The cold air had almost numbed her cheeks and nose. Crystal tucked her tail back into her sweatshirt before zipping it back up and pulling the hood on. She grabbed the stack of files Deadeye had given to her weeks ago and made the decision to hand them off to the team. Crystal had every intention of handing them over to Patrick and the others when she first got them, but couldn’t find the strength to face them that soon after the battle.

She opened her phone and typed up a quick text to Abby, letting her know where she wanted to meet. Her thumb hovered over the send button. It wasn’t too late to just grab a duffel bag and head to the west coast.

Crystal tapped the icon to send the message. She stuffed her hand, phone and all, into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and tucked the manila folders under her other arm.

* * *

Abby hopped down from the short wall she was using as a bench while waiting. Punctual as ever, I see.

Crystal smiled. You know me. I like to get where I’m going quickly. She hadn’t talked to Abby in weeks, and her biggest fear was having to answer to her friend for having avoided contact this long. The initial interaction put her at ease.

They faced each other with tentative smiles on their faces. Then Abby caught Crystal off guard by stepping in to give the much taller woman a hug. Crystal returned the embrace.

Abby took a step back and looked her up and down. I won’t pry about why you disappeared, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

I know, and I’m truly sorry. Last month was just too much dropped into our lives.

Abby opened her mouth to say something, but then pursed her lips and let out a breath through her nose. It doesn’t look like you’re coming back, though.

No. Not today anyway, Crystal said. I just came here to give you this. She handed over the folders with files on Sight and his Visionaries that Deadeye had given her.

What’s this? Abby asked, grabbing the stack.

Information about Sight and his super-powered flunkies. Kill-O-What, Fear Mongrel. They’re all in there.

Where did you get it?

Crystal took a moment before answering. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Abby raised up an eyebrow, looking up from the files.

Just trust me. The intel is solid. You need to get this to Patrick.

Crystal didn’t expect the long silence that followed. She was tempted to say something. To ask Abby what was wrong before the young hero replied.

He’s gone, Abby said. After Graham got out of the hospital, he and Patrick stepped away for a while. Said they needed to regroup and think about this whole hero gig.

So who’s running things now. Did Sean step in to take over?

Abby tried to smile to soften the news. She looked up to face Crystal tilting her head slightly to one side. He left the same night you did. He didn’t even say goodbye.

Where did he go? She was a bit stunned by the news of Sean’s departure.

Home. He went to visit his father. At least that’s what Troy was able to get from him before he stopped answering his phone.

Crystal’s neck and jaw tightened. She folded her arms over her chest and closed her eyes. The team was slowly breaking apart. That meant there was no one left to challenge Armageddon.

Maybe it’s all for the best. We should be letting the police and the Supers Task Force bring down the Brotherhood.

Abby’s face hardened. Are you kidding? The Brotherhood has taken over every city block surrounding their base. The police can’t even get safely in or out of that zone. Abby’s voice got louder. The STF is losing people faster than they can recruit. No one wants to join that team.

Isn’t the government stepping in? Crystal asked. I heard the FBI is sending some support.

You’re too far away from the fight, Abby said. "We haven’t