Post by Kid Amazo on Jan 2, 2013 20:31:57 GMT -5
Someone once said “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco” However perhaps that someone never dealt with the situation that had exploded from out of the blue. Crazed people soon began cropping up in San Francisco’s Downtown district, though many large cities had their fair share of crazies, many now were armed, faces soured with manic dourness riddled with desperation and fear. Almost entranced looking, they were almost certainly certain they were going to die, that everyone was going to die, and before that could happen – they would make sure they live their own lives the fullest and damn the expense of those that got in their way.
Jeremy Brooks, 46 years old, a police veteran who had been on the force for more than 20 years, working a beat as the bastards crawled from the woodwork. Armed with and assortment of weapons ranging from crowbars to 9 mm pistols. Jeremy knew the direness of the situation, but felt he might be able to talk down some of them. “Hey now, HEY! Put down the weapons – it doesn’t have to go down like this.” He tried to reason, but unusually one of them raised a hand in the air and shouted “KOBRA!” and with that, the rest were sent into a frenzy, bullrushing the officer as well as lashing out at pedestrians.
A few shots rang out, Jeremy’s pistol was knocked away causing him to pull back he had two choices – defy the wave of rioters or call it in and hopefully prevent it from spreading. Pain shot up his arm as he realized two of his fingers were broke back where his hand was struck. Only enough time, he raggedly pulled back and get on the handheld radio transmitter “Officer Brooks to Dispatch, a violent riot has broke out in the downtown district by St. Codgers street, send backup imm-“ though he never spoke so clearly and so quickly in his life, the pang of the metal bar broke his jaw and sent the man down on the ground with a swelling mound on his forehead.
A frenzy of kicks began stomping the courageous officer, but he was not alone. Various retailers and small businesses soon found street-side display windows shattered, doors kicked off their hinges. The rioters had a purpose – raise as much terror as possible, steal as much valuables and money as possible, and leave a broken mess for the local heroes, the Titans, to clean up. However they were not the only ones in town…atleast for now anyhow.
As law enforcement scrambled, deploying crowd control units to encounter what they thought was merely a standard angry mob or a group of rioters, instead was a thinly veiled terrorist act. Pedestrians were being wounded, chased, beaten, and some even killed. It happened in such a short time, barely planned, though Frank was in town, flying high above the skyline of the city before his hearing intercepted the radio signals from police radios. Stopping dead in his tracks, ‘The Kid’ as he was back to calling himself, hadn’t encountered anything like this and regretted not flying closer to the surface but kicked himself now for playing it safe.
“Good going, kid. If you weren’t afraid the League was still waiting to bully you more you might have done something smart for a change.” Frank muttered to himself, genuinely guilty he wasn’t in the neighborhood to prevent the casualties but then again, when did he ever do anything flawlessly as a hero? With haste, he shot down to the surface, people were scrambling, screaming which caused brief disorientation until his ears adjusted to normal. The first thing he witnessed was a large thuggish looking man in a wife beater standing over a mother and child with a lead pipe, aimed for the head.
Before he could react, he felt another rioter leap onto his back, wrapping his arms around Frank’s neck. He cussed as he felt another strike him fruitlessly. He didn’t want to injure the Neanderthals, but he had no choice as a jet of fine red lasers struck out, heating the lead pipe rather quickly as it glew red hot and singed the hands of the would-be murderer to the pipe itself, causing him to scream out as he attempted to pull his hands away, smelling himself burning. He dropped to his knees pretty quick as Frank reached up, grabbing the next man by the scruff of his neck and throwing his end over where he would land hard on a bit of concrete which had blown off a nearby wall due to a kerosene canister exploding minutes prior in the crossfire.
With one man in agony, the other with the wind knocked out of him he bit at his lip.
’Okay…maybe went too far on that guy with the pipe, but he’ll live…’ The Kid thought to himself “Alright, woman, get to cover, I’ll deal with this.” He would assure as she rushed off with child in toe – though if only he had any idea what he had gotten himself into.
Jeremy Brooks, 46 years old, a police veteran who had been on the force for more than 20 years, working a beat as the bastards crawled from the woodwork. Armed with and assortment of weapons ranging from crowbars to 9 mm pistols. Jeremy knew the direness of the situation, but felt he might be able to talk down some of them. “Hey now, HEY! Put down the weapons – it doesn’t have to go down like this.” He tried to reason, but unusually one of them raised a hand in the air and shouted “KOBRA!” and with that, the rest were sent into a frenzy, bullrushing the officer as well as lashing out at pedestrians.
A few shots rang out, Jeremy’s pistol was knocked away causing him to pull back he had two choices – defy the wave of rioters or call it in and hopefully prevent it from spreading. Pain shot up his arm as he realized two of his fingers were broke back where his hand was struck. Only enough time, he raggedly pulled back and get on the handheld radio transmitter “Officer Brooks to Dispatch, a violent riot has broke out in the downtown district by St. Codgers street, send backup imm-“ though he never spoke so clearly and so quickly in his life, the pang of the metal bar broke his jaw and sent the man down on the ground with a swelling mound on his forehead.
A frenzy of kicks began stomping the courageous officer, but he was not alone. Various retailers and small businesses soon found street-side display windows shattered, doors kicked off their hinges. The rioters had a purpose – raise as much terror as possible, steal as much valuables and money as possible, and leave a broken mess for the local heroes, the Titans, to clean up. However they were not the only ones in town…atleast for now anyhow.
As law enforcement scrambled, deploying crowd control units to encounter what they thought was merely a standard angry mob or a group of rioters, instead was a thinly veiled terrorist act. Pedestrians were being wounded, chased, beaten, and some even killed. It happened in such a short time, barely planned, though Frank was in town, flying high above the skyline of the city before his hearing intercepted the radio signals from police radios. Stopping dead in his tracks, ‘The Kid’ as he was back to calling himself, hadn’t encountered anything like this and regretted not flying closer to the surface but kicked himself now for playing it safe.
“Good going, kid. If you weren’t afraid the League was still waiting to bully you more you might have done something smart for a change.” Frank muttered to himself, genuinely guilty he wasn’t in the neighborhood to prevent the casualties but then again, when did he ever do anything flawlessly as a hero? With haste, he shot down to the surface, people were scrambling, screaming which caused brief disorientation until his ears adjusted to normal. The first thing he witnessed was a large thuggish looking man in a wife beater standing over a mother and child with a lead pipe, aimed for the head.
Before he could react, he felt another rioter leap onto his back, wrapping his arms around Frank’s neck. He cussed as he felt another strike him fruitlessly. He didn’t want to injure the Neanderthals, but he had no choice as a jet of fine red lasers struck out, heating the lead pipe rather quickly as it glew red hot and singed the hands of the would-be murderer to the pipe itself, causing him to scream out as he attempted to pull his hands away, smelling himself burning. He dropped to his knees pretty quick as Frank reached up, grabbing the next man by the scruff of his neck and throwing his end over where he would land hard on a bit of concrete which had blown off a nearby wall due to a kerosene canister exploding minutes prior in the crossfire.
With one man in agony, the other with the wind knocked out of him he bit at his lip.
’Okay…maybe went too far on that guy with the pipe, but he’ll live…’ The Kid thought to himself “Alright, woman, get to cover, I’ll deal with this.” He would assure as she rushed off with child in toe – though if only he had any idea what he had gotten himself into.
