Maniacs On Patrol

The Riot Job (or A Bag of Chips)


I glared at Turboman. "Yer a damn liar," I growled.

He grinned at me in his own aggravating way. "You think so, fat man?"

"I know so," I said, slamming my hand on the table between us. There was a clatter of noise and Ringman let out a sigh.

"Can we stop that?" he asked, putting his chips back into neat little piles.

"Sorry," I said. "Call."

"Two pair," Turboman grinned, "Aces and queens."

"Aw, dammit," I said, throwing my cards down.

It was Monday night, which was Poker Night. Since my bar is closed on Mondays, it's a good place for some of the other team members in Monsteropolis to hang out, have a brew, and play some cards with minimal interruption. Turboman and Ringman were regulars along with Quickman who could sneak out of Skull Castle fairly easily and had gone out for more potato chips.

"Well, Hardy," Turboman grinned, "I hate to take all of your money, but I always end up giving it back to you."

"And yer business 's appreciated," I grunted, picking up the deck and dealing out the cards.

Quickman sped back into the room as I finished handing out the cards and sat down, distributing our various snack choices before picking up his own hand. "Bet's ta you, Quick," I told him. My own hand was a three, a four, a six, a seven, and a jack. Damn near a straight, but I hated drawing to the inside...

The scarlet speedster gave the cards a critical look. "I bet two."

"Call," said Turbo.

"Call," repeated Ringman.

"Two it is," I said, shoving the chips in the middle. "Make yer trade ins, folks." Quickman took two cards, Turbo took three, and Ringman took two. I sighed and discarded my jack, drawing the top card of the deck. I almost didn't look at it. Almost. "Well, Quick?"

Poker is one of those wonderful pastimes that allows you to look into someone's soul. Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, has a tell. A tell is something that you do without thinking when you're mind is in a certain place, such as looking at a good hand, or a bad hand. Everyone's tell is different, but if you play with the same people a lot, you get used to them. Quickman, for example, had a tendency to tap his foot if he had a decent hand. Fortunately, he was not tapping his foot.

"Two again," he said after some thought.

Turboman was stroking his chin. "Sounds fair," he said with a nod. "Call."

Then there's Ringman. Ringman is one of those people that learns about things like tells, and then does everything in his power to make that kind of thing something he doesn't have to worry about. Ringman consciously throws out all kinds of signs that conflict with each other, so you never know what the hell is up with him. Add to that the fact that Ringman doesn't fold unless he doesn't even have a face card, and he's a fairly good, if not somewhat annoying, poker player. "I'll see your two and raise you two," he said with a grin, a card flick, and leaning back in his chair. Three tells, all of them intentional.

Which made it four to me. My last card had not been the five I needed. "Fold," I sighed, putting my cards down. I really didn't need to lose more money tonight.

"Call," said Quickman.

"Same," said Turbo, and the chips clattered into the center.

Ringman grinned. "Straight," he chuckled, putting the cards down face up.

"Dammit," said Quickman.

"Well, all I have is two pair," Turboman sighed, flipping over a pair of fives and then... another pair of fives. Ringman stopped collecting the chip pile and glared at him.

"Wow, Turbo," I chuckled, "yer a dick."

The transforming leader of Drastic Measures gave me the smile I'd seen on his face a hand ago. "Well, you know how it is, Hardman. When you've got it, flaunt it."

Something in my ear went 'BEEP' and Snakeman's voice fuzzed into my head. "I need some backup on Fifty-Second and Forester," he was saying, with a note of urgency in his voice. "Preferably of the big, heavy variety."

"Ah, dammit," I said, standing up.

"Duty calls?" Turboman asked. I nodded.

"Well, it isn't my fault," Quickman shrugged. "Wily has something planned for next week, but nothing for tonight."

"I'll be back," I grunted as I made my way out the door. "An' don't try anythin'."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Ringman assured me as I closed the door.

"I'm on my way, slithers," I said over the team link. "What's goin' on tha' ya need MY help?"

"A protest group got a little out of hand," Snake replied, sounding a little out of breath.

"They chasin' ya?"

"Not in so many words," he said with what must have been gritted teeth. "The word 'Chase' implies I'm allowed to flee."

I made decent time to Forester street, and even from ten blocks away, I saw what he meant. A throng of bodies were viciously attacking something. It looked like a building. "Snake, tell me yer not in tha' mess"

"I slid my way into an old basement, but there's no way out that isn't angry people."

"Wha' th' hell were they protestin'?" I wondered as I picked up my pace and started to run down the street.

"The recent budget increase of the RPD," Shadowman chimed into my head. It was good to hear his voice. It meant I wasn't the only one swiftly approaching Snakeman's position. Dealing with an angry mob is much easier with support. "Seems that the efforts to appropriate some new equipment upset some people."

"Ironic, is it not?" Topman said with a grin as he pulled up alongside me. Even when my four ton frame is moving at maximum speed, Topman can keep up with me at an easy stride. "People are upset that we can protect them better."

"Yeah, all kinds of funny from where I stand," sighed Snakeman. "On the other hand, I can hear Hardman coming, so hopefully this will be quick."

I smiled broadly as I approached the crowd. They finally started noticing my approach with looks of confusion, and then gapes of horror. The smarter ones started to run. "BREAK IT UP, PEOPLE!" I bellowed as I slowed down and waded into the crowd. Topman, who was much easier to overwhelm, stayed on the fringes. I was forcing bodies back by sheer bulk when something hit me in the back that made the bottom of my stomach drop out.

Someone in this crowd had a magnet. A really BIG one.

I tried to yell something but my voice didn't work, and my legs surrendered soon after. I hit the ground hard, knees first, followed shortly by my face. People around me were yelling, some in panic, some in anger, and my head was on fire with voices, but none of them made any sense. Rainbow colors streaked across my vision, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I was screaming.

My world sank into pain and I started hallucinating, my brain trying to escape the reality where some asshole had just attached a magnet to my back. For some reason, only one thought was going through my mind in a rational matter:

I can't die here! This is barely canon!

Light and life sprang back into focus, and all I could see was concrete. Confused, disoriented, and more than a little pissed off, I stood up, paying little attention to the crowd that had tried to pile on top of me. I shook my head to clear it and looked around. On the outskirts, I could see Magnetman spinning a large electromagnet around and around in his hand. Topman, who was standing next to him, gave me a thumbs up.

"Much obliged, Kenta," I said, moving again through the crowd and closer to the building. I saw the entrance to the basement Snakeman had used and swept the remnants of the mob away from it enough for him to slide out and leap onto my shoulder.

"Thanks for the lift," he nodded before leaping off of me and over the crowd, landing easily on the other side of the mob. I started to wade back out into the street when something near the edge of the crowd flashed and Magnetman went down.

"DAMMIT!" Shadowman shouted, both out loud and over the link. "First Hardman and now this! Get Magnetman out of here!" Topman wordlessly grabbed our red friend and sped off. "Find that bastard with the Lightning Gun and take him down, guys!"

The military had come up with a wonderful weapon recently that had been dubbed the Lightning Gun. Basically, it was a big metal spike that built up an electric charge that was located on the same frame as an ion painter. The ion painter could create a charge differential as small as a tack on a target up to four hundred yards away, and then science took its course and the electricity stored in the spike would rush forward in a synthetic lightning bolt to strike the painted target. Not a happy idea when you have friends who are weak to electricity.

Fortunately, the whole assembly is big and bulky due to the battery that is required to operate it, so it was just a matter of finding someone attatched to their backpack. The roar of the crowd, now more afraid than angry, because mobs get confused easily, was overtaken by the sound of my Hard Knuckle as it shot forward and slammed into a likely suspect, knocking him down and sending him sliding out of the crowd across the concrete in a somewhat sandpaper way. Snakeman was on him in seconds, dismantling the backpack and Lightning Gun to prevent it from doing any more damage. I think he gave the guy a kick in the face too, but I chose not to see that, so it didn't happen.

Some of the mob was beginning to dispearse, convinced something had gone wrong for reasons I couldn't imagine, but as they cleared out, I caught sight of someone hefting a rifle. A big one. Its sleek lines, lack of clip, and rather ominous glow told me it was a laser gun.

And it was being aimed at Needlegal, even now passing the last street between her and the conflict.

I shouted something and my other Knuckle shot forward before my other one even got back, but there's no way on God's green earth I can beat the speed of light. The gun flared, only for a moment, before a blue laser bolt seared the air.

But the aim was off. The gun had been hit by something that WAS faster than the speed of light.

Shadowman descended like a bat from the depths of hell itself, and the poor idiot with the laser rifle never stood a chance. Hell, I'm not even sure he knew what HIT him. Quick, precise strikes severed tendons and elicited tortured screams before he was finally put down harder than even I think I could manage.

It's just as well, my Hard Knuckle was off by several feet.

As the last of the crowd dispearsed, we were left with our two assailants, with who knows how many others that might have slipped away in the confusion.

Needlegal arrived and looked at the laser rifle before voicing the question that was on all of our minds.

"What the hell just happened?"

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