บท 40: Issue #38: Dawn Of The Child Soldiers
This is pure combat. No suit, no gadgets, no rules–Well, a couple of rules, namely no killing or heavy injury and other such guidelines.
No suit, no gadgets, some rules, no powers; just fist against face, leg against chest, and head against crotch.
Dick has his game face on as he rushes forward, starting the round with awakened ferocity. He's before me before I'm even aware of his second step, but counter-flow techniques are already ingrained in my body. I roll to the left of me, evading his bent knee by a smidgeon before pushing my sole against the cave floor to tackle his landing body.
His slightly off positioning gives me enough leverage to hit his torso with my torso, which I couple in with a grab to his left outer thigh and another to his right elbow. Dick crashed into the floor with a crunchy thud, eliciting a worried "Crap" out of me.
He seems alright by the next second, seeing as he's already freed his left leg from my grasp and uses it to roll on top of me, wasting the precious technique I used on him and the energy I spent.
"Really?" I ask as he repositions his left knee into my chest while keeping my right arm trapped by his right leg. "C'mon, dude. I can get out of this. Easy."
Dick replies with an incredulous smile, but remains silent all throughout my attempt to free myself. By the next second and third attempt, anger and frustration mixes in my brain and tries to force me into forfeit. While I have considered being a petty jackass, I don't think our relationship can survive it–I was also talking shit earlier, and it seems like a bad precedent to be a sore loser.
As such, I do what I do best. With both of his hands free and able to deflect my only good arm, I settle for the next best thing. My stomach gurgles with practiced ease as I projectile vomit into Dick's unwitting face.
Green bile sprays into his delicate face, startling him in disgust and, more importantly, he gives into the reflex of said emotion by trying to wipe away the vomit in his face. This loosens his grip on me so much that, with one quick push, he tumbles off of me.
"Cloth trick!" I shout while scrambling away as far as possible and standing up on all twos. "Told you I can do it."
Dick glares at me as he wipes away the last of the vomit, standing four meters away from me. "What the crap's your problem, man?"
"Oh, now you talk." I grin. "No, but seriously. I just pictured all the times that I lost all my energy in my body and, Boom! Projectile vomit! You want me to do it again?"
Dick grunts in frustration before taking a step forward and relaxing into an orthodox boxing stance. His knuckles crunches pleasurably as it settles into a fist, pointing his dominant one towards me.
'I can't believe this guy. My favorite anime's Hajime No Ippo.'
I, too, settled into an orthodox boxing stance, but not before swiping my nose with my thumb, copying a famous character mother watches on Thursday evenings.
'That means you're fucked.'
We circle each other, head bobbing up and down and left and right. For the next few seconds, we play chicken; when one steps forward, the other takes a step back and if another pushes in a quick jab, the other fakes a heavier retaliatory blow.
The actual fight starts when Dick recoups his lost energy, taking a large step forward and tries to put in a gut punch with his dominant right arm. My body reacts instinctively with a left arm block, but I forgot that he's ambidextrous and that costs me a ton.
The gut punch is a feint–one that I realized all too late–as he reels it back in and plants his left foot into the ground and his winded left fist checks me with a cross to my cheek. The punch hurts, but not as much as the stumbling I take when I fail to find a clear floor to plant my feet into.
I fall to my ass and, before I can get back up, Dick is already in my tail and launching another strike. The fist slows down and turns into a flick as it lands on my temple.
"Got you!" Dick's serious expression softens into a bright smile, his hands in front of me to help me up.
'Goddamn it, Edmund. He likes to feint, you should know this. He's a fucking trickster, illusions and second-guessing is his fighting style. Easy. Calm down. I'll get him. Next round.'
Batman steps out of the shadow and most probably notices the expression on my face, but does not step in.
"Round goes to Robin. Sparrow. Your takedown is an impressive, exceptional use of your opponent's failure to comprehend that a battle is won through patience and perseverance. Your… bizarre accomplishment in generating enough velocity to turn your power's side effect into a combat move is worthy of acknowledgement. Try not to gloat about it."
He turns towards Dick, who's still trying to wipe away the vomit on his top. "Robin. Trapping your opponent, who is physically stronger than you is impressive. Sparrow's strategy to use his weight, while it has merits, has one large flaw… a more agile enemy can use that weight against him…"
I can't help but interrupt at that point. "I, uh, is this you calling me fat? Do you want me to lose weight?"
Batman disregards Dick's light chuckles as he regards me with a soft look. "No. You have broader hips and waist. That means you are naturally going to be physically heavier than Robin's lithe form. Not allowing you to consume large amounts of calories will only restrict your metahuman ability, preventing you from developing it further."
I chuckle at his barely disguised positive comments on my body.
"Let me resume, then. Luring Sparrow into a boxing where your larger wingspan is an advantage, all the while trapping him into a narrow-minded pursuit of victory over a perceived slight to his dignity." Batman glares at me as I take a step back. "Do you still want to continue for another round?"
"Yes." We both answer at the same time.
Batman nods and melds back into the shadow until only his white eyes are visible. "Then, begin."
The second round is much easier on my body than the first one, with Dick aiming to rectify his first mistake by circling around me for a few seconds. Still, he is still the same twelve-year-old kid who threatened to kill me if I take too long taking a shower in a manor that has four fucking bathrooms.
'I mean, by god, who the fuck has a favourite bathroom and why didn't he tell me that before I got into the shower!'
It doesn't take long before we begin close quarter combat, polishing off our hand-to-hand combat. Still, that short CQC bout is merely foreplay before Dick truly tries to take me on.
He knows pain isn't a problem for me, which means that Silat is off his options. His aikido is good, but not better than mine as my learning method is far more brutal and swift than his. I quickly deduce that he's going to use Brazilian jiu-jitsu.
While Batman provides rudimentary lessons on the martial arts he has mastered, he offers advice on which martial arts are proven to be most effective on us. I, myself, am partial to Hapkido and Taekwondo but more on the former, since I can use weapons in that art.
Speaking of, Dick tries to force me into a chokehold since I can't vomit into him that way. Yet before he can even wrap his forearm around my neck, I lean forward and bite his arm. I've already learned my lesson from Lady Shiva and have four other escape plans when someone goes after my neck. This one is the least brutal one but is certainly the second grossest one.
The rest of the round involves me rolling and scrambling away to subtly tire him out and force him on his back at the last second. Although he knows that's what my plan is, the inevitability of that ending dawns on him by the time his breathing becomes difficult.
Sure enough, as he stumbles forward with the intent of locking my knee joints, I push forward like a boar and strain from the sheer agony of grinding my nose against the cave floor. That pain becomes relief when I find Dick disoriented enough for me to clasp his arms together on his back.
"Round two goes to me, bitch!" I shout as I free him of my grasp and fall onto the hardened floor. "God. That's so hard."
"Ahh!" Dick groans audibly, huffing and puffing to the tune of Staying Alive. "Why are you so hard?"
I chuckle at his wording, further aggravating his groans.
"You're a child." He says.
"I am. I really am."
•••
We halted at two rounds due to the fact that Batman dislikes it when we hurt each other too much, but also because we dislike it when we hurt each other too much. Most of my bruises are mostly around my torso and neck, but the ones I have at my extremities are light enough that people won't treat me as a battered child.
With the extra media attention my family is having during this candidacy, I wouldn't want to ruin that bastard's plan lest he take it out on me or my mother.
'Or should I? It certainly merits a discussion. Chesterfield is corrupt as fuck and while having my father as a deputy mayor is great, I, of all people, know what he would do in that position.'
Slowly, as I can, I exit the bathtub and rub the water off my sensitive skin. Alfred already has my clothes ready with a few more stored somewhere in the manor since I've been training here for half a year. In fact, I think I can occupy a guest room at any moment and it would be a semi-permanent lodging situation.
I won't take it, of course, but it's nice to know that I have other avenues of shelter.
As I exit the bathroom, my fresh eyes land on an irate child glaring at me. Crossing his arms and tapping his foot, Dick roughly grabs the towel on his shoulder and walks past me in a huff. I try not to giggle at his actions as I dress up and head towards the Gazebo outside of the manor proper.
Bruce Wayne sits atop the southern part of the stark white gazebo as streaks of flowery vines strings down the lattice. Now wearing a silken robe with puffy sleeves and a wide collar, Bruce greets me silently as he taps on the redwood table at the center of the gazebo.
The table isn't all wood, after all, at least not all of it. Two vertical wooden plates that end on the centerpiece protrude diagonally, connecting each other as it briefly projects a blue screen with the Batman symbol in the center. From there, Bruce dives into his other work, which mostly consists of handling Wayne Enterprise's R&D department under the cover of Luscious Fox, as well as creating an intensive schedule for us and his alibis.
"You have a metal table with dual screens on a gazebo. God, you really are rich." I remark as I slide into the chair adjacent to him before reaching in for my choice of mid-afternoon snack.
"I have needs, Edmund, and those needs are to be met lest the world crumble under their inadequacy." He jests sternly. "Start one. I'm sending you a file."
I start with a groan, but acquiesce and slide up a plate. "What are you sen–Oh, my god."
•••
Utility/Gadgets:
Current: None - 0/5
Thermal Compound (Toggled)
Carbon Dioxide Ejection System (Toggled)
Hypersonic Emitter Built-in Taser (Toggled)
Communicator Button (Toggled)
Tear gas pellets
Mini explosives
Basic Acid Neutralizer
Shark Repellent
Wireless Device (Connected to the Batcomputer)
Silver Nitrate (interchangeable with White Phosphorus)
•••
"While you don't have Richard and I's utility belt, I have installed five different patches within your suit that can be used to store such paraphernalias. It is easily accessible and will not impede any of your mobility." He informs me as he takes a bite out of his muffin.
"So, I get to choose five?" I control my breathing before slapping my cheeks and muttering, "Man, you're going to regret this."
•••
There is a full moon tonight, silver illumination cascading down the city streets. High above the hubbub of midnight Gotham, a man in a bat costume sits precariously atop a gargoyle as he surveys the city underneath him. Alongside him are two smaller kids under equally impressive statues.
That's us, and this is our first night patrolling Gotham as a team.
Robin's red-and-green uniform shines with a metallic glint, having now known that his very suit has thin strips of alloys woven into the fabrics. Unlike mine whose metals are external and removable in creation, the Robin suit is a mixture of ancient, orthodox weaving techniques and the state-of-the-art material fabrication provided by Maxwell Lord–the newest ally and financier of the Justice League.
"Should we take a picture?" I ask, instantly dousing the grave, and almost, bombastic ambience created by our poses.
"No." Batman answers, pointing towards the western reaches of the city. "I just received a report that someone broke in at ACE Chemicals last night. We're going there to investigate."
"Cool!" Robin exclaims, a little too loud. "I mean… Indubitably."
Batman stands up from his gargoyle and falls down with arms spread across the horizon, free-falling down the fifty-story tall building. I run towards the ledge and see his cape takes a much more hardened texture as he glides towards the nearest small building.
"So, we're just gonna jump–" Robin doesn't wait for me to finish my sentence as he, too, jumps down without hesitation. Unlike Batman, who glides like a brooding chipmunk, Robin uses a grappling hook to swing towards the same building.
I don't very much like to compel the laws of physics during these kinds of things–more often because I, myself, don't understand half of them–but I kind of get the feeling that the steel cable holding Robin's weight is as relatively strong as the ones that holds up the Golden Gate Bridge.
Still, they're leaving me behind, so I jump off the balcony and, for a moment, let the howling winds caress my cheeks and much of my free-flowing hair. That moment stretches far too long, however, as a sinking feeling suddenly invades my heart and, for a moment, I thought about my body splattering in the sidewalk and letting all the people see me as nothing but a bloody cake filled with flesh and turd.
But I shake my head free of that nihilistic shit and conjure a portal below me while another appears five meters above me, which allows me to fire off a grappling hook at the optimum height and speed.
The writing on the computer was right; the moment I swing downwards, the suit compensates for the inertia and presses on my body. My legs follow the angle of my swing, causing the cable to tighten and stress against my enhanced weight.
When my parabola reaches its peak–far above the third tallest skyscraper within the area–I release the hold of the initial cable hook and let myself fall once more, following Robin and Batman in our travel towards ACE Chemicals.
Thanks to the suit's intuitive and user-friendly design, I don't have to deal with the G-force when swinging fifteen rooftops just to get to the industrial side of Gotham. Sure, there may have been a smidge of vomit that I swallowed during the third and fourth swing, but that's just because I ate a lot of bananas the hour before our patrol.
As I land and roll on the ground, minutes after Batman and Robin has done so, I heave a sigh of relief in knowing that the faster I get used to doing that across the city, the better it is for my stomach, throat, and sphincter.
"Couldn't… we have… used… the Batmobile?" I ask through ragged breathing, hands planted on my waist.
"This will be part of your training from hereon in. Alfred is setting up a centrifuge in the Batcave; that will allow you to accustom your body to the changes brought by the sudden increase in physical demands." He answers as he takes out his Bat-noculars and uses it to spy on the entrance of ACE Chemicals. "Also, I just wanted to show you my favorite part of every patrol."
"The… skyline?"
He nods fondly. "The skyline."
"You gotta exercise more, dude." Robin snickers at my exhaustion.
"Go… yourself." I spit a glob of saliva at the nearest drainage before Batman grunts and shushes both of us.
"Gate to the entrance is unlocked, vibrations detected on the northwestern portion of the plant." He informs us before turning towards us and asking, "Can anybody tell me the reason why criminals are digging a hole in the northwestern portion of the factory?"
Robin is unsure of his answer, but voices it out nevertheless. "Uh, to gain access to the sewer system?"
"How are we even sure that they're digging holes?" I ask, confused as to how Batman came to that conclusion. That confusion settles down once Batman produces a tablet out of nowhere that reveals an unobstructed view of four criminals in black clothing.
One of the men is spreading a white clay-like substance over a large area before detonating the clay and crumbling the surrounding area into nothing but rubble and dust. After the contained destruction, another criminal wields an anti-gravity device that looks like a mix between a metal detector and a jackhammer and uses it to pick up the rubbles and detritus, cleaning the bowl of concrete free for the other to use the clay explosive once more.
"Remind me not to doubt you again." I remark as I catch the sight of a familiar figure. "Is that… Is that King Shark?"
"Nanaue…" Batman retrieves the tablet, eyeing King Sharps form as the last of the three men continue feeding him glazed donuts. "The League has been eyeing the terror of the Pacific islands, especially after the Atlantean ambassador requested a file on him from Diana."
"He's a merc?" I ask.
Batman grunts in acknowledgement. "Jaws-for-hire. On the basis that the rewards are redirected to the set of Caribbean and Pacific islands under his supposed control."
He taps the tablet and shows it to us once more, now revealing the blueprint for the entire factory.
"Robin. I will give you five minutes to come up with three plans; an assault that leads to the incapacitation of the four intruders, including King Shark; an escape plans if and when reinforcements come or if the threat of King Shark is unmitigable; and an extra plan in case an unnatural phenomenon occurs during our fight, be it a natural disaster or the appearance of a supervillain as dangerous or greater than King Shark."
"Oh, cool. I can do that." Robin nods furiously.
"No, he can't. Be serious." I groan under the excitement emanating from Robin's face.
"I am. Serious." Batman grunts once more and turns back towards the factory. "Take the tablet. Your five minutes starts… now."
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