DOWNTOWN MARETROPOLIS
3RD SHIFT

The back door of the Carrean restaurant swung open, slamming against the brick wall with a loud bang. The worker, dressed in a stained white t-shirt, even morso stained apron over his black pants, and sporting a chef’s skull cap yellowed by many long hours of absorbing the sweat produced from slaving over the griddle, reacted to the chill of the night air with a shiver.

With a grunt he heaved a trash bag into the medium sized dumpster stationed just beside the exit, where it sat atop another bag that had surpassed the rim of the container. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck to massage the ache that had developed, taking the precious moments out of the hectically sultry kitchen to breathe some fresh air and let his body cool off.

The tight alley into which the door opened, was much like any narrow passageway to be found in a major city. Bent and broken garbage barrels, the bottoms of fire escapes, the minute squealing of rodents, and the ever-present stank that came with being little more than the taint of a city block. Despite its unpleasant aesthetics, the staff frequently used it for quick getaways, like a chance to smoke, or have a word with someone not inclined to use front doors.

Like the guests tonight. The dining room had been rented out for a private function, to a fairly large group of men who dressed well and kept a keen eye on their surroundings. To the outside world, they presented themselves as a wealthy organization of business owners, managers, and local philanthropists. Amongst themselves however, the Ponezetti family were the dominant mob in this part of the city, controlling everything from what drugs could be sold on what corner, to which cops could be put on payroll. In the interest of discretion, minimal staff was on hand tonight.

Lighting his cigarette in the doorway, the line cook was just glad to be as far away from the men in dark silk suits as he could be. He didn’t know what was being discussed at the tables, and he didn’t wanna know.

Knowing that his boss would notice him gone, the man dropped his smoke on the pavement, and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe. As his vision rose to take the turn back inside, he found himself staring into the muzzle of a black handgun.

Standing behind the pistol, was another man wearing a ski mask that left only his eyes and mouth exposed. Dressed all in black, slacks and a long sleeve high-collar shirt, his steel blue eyes that of a predator. The cook froze, staring into the cavity of the barrel like taking his gaze off of it would kill him.

“Shhh.” The man in the mask whispered, lifting the finger of his other gloved hand to his lips. “You don’t make a sound, I don’t splatter your brains all over the place, capisce?”

Being of Carrean descent, the cook didn’t know what the word translated as, but he knew perfectly well what it meant. He nodded like his head was having an earthquake, bracing himself against the door frame as the man carefully stepped past him entering the back of the kitchen. In his wake, four more men, all wearing the same kind of mask, and each carrying an automatic rifle. The last one in grabbed him by the collar and forced him to walk inside.

The leader of the armed men came up to the corner of a stainless-steel refrigerator, deftly putting his back to it as a waitress entered the room. Instantly his hand was over her mouth and the gun pressed to her temple. He waited a few seconds for her initial shock to wear off, letting her muffled scream pass before he tapped the muzzle.

“You just stay quiet sweetheart, we’re not here for you.”

He turned back to his men, tossing his head in the direction of the double doors to the dining room. They proceeded through the kitchen, the last one shoving the cook under a prep table, putting him on his knees. Gripping the waitress by the back of her neck, the leader coerced her likewise, kneeling under the table next to her coworker.

“Keep an eye on ‘em.” With the final command, the leader left to join the others, leaving his man to guard the hostages.

Lining up like a SWAT team, the man in front peeked through the small round window, seeing the patrons in the next room. An older man stood among the rest who sat, a drink in his hand as he gestured along with his speech, pointing to several of his audience. The lead man glanced back to his boss, “He’s here. They’re all here.”

“And so…” Pausing for dramatic effect, the patriarch looked over the members of his extended family assembled before him. Decked out in attire that befit his status, they grey hairs of his head and velvet red cummerbund signified that this man was to be listened to. “That is why the shorefront must be protected. If we lose that, then we lose-”

The doors to the kitchen burst open, the armed team marching through and covered the whole room in their field of fire before any of the attendees could pull any of their own guns out. The leader trained his Beretta 87 on the Patriarch, who glared back at him in disbelief.

“You had to know this was coming Antonio.” As his men leveled their weapons on the crowd, the leader strode up to the outer rim of tables, careful not to get so close that someone could do something brave or foolish.

“You were told to keep your filthy drug peddlers out of the north end! When your guys started poppin’ up where they don’t belong, we let you handle it, as a gesture of good faith. But now it’s not just that, now our guys start catchin’ beatings and left for the cops to pick up.”

“What the hell are you talking about!?” The older man barked, casting his glass to the floor where it shattered.

“We knew you were ambitious Antonio.” The hammer of the Beretta clicked as it was cocked back. “But we didn’t think you were stupid.”

In the kitchen, the cook and waitress huddled together in trembling fright, the presence of the man behind them like that of a wolf about to pounce.

When the gunfire erupted from the dining room, they were both so startled, they banged their heads against the underside of the table. The woman clutched both hands to her mouth, stifling the cry that rose in her throat. She clenched her eyes shut, and they both bowed to the floor, terrified that killers like these weren’t the kind to leave loose ends.

They were so overcome with fear, that they didn’t even notice when the lights went out.

“Hey! What the hell happened!?” Calling out to his men, any of whom were still alive to hear him after the shootout, the leader tried to pierce the total darkness of the room for any sign of movement. The only point of reference, was the series of windows along the street-side wall, where a few silhouettes stood out. As much as he didn’t want to mistakenly shoot any of his own crew, someone could get the drop on him and he’d never see it coming.

“I don’t know!” One of them called out to his left, “Did an electric line get shot?”

Though momentarily stunned by the idiocy of such an idea, he was at a loss to think of a better answer.

“Did Johnny kill the power box? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It was part of mine.”

This new voice he didn’t know, it was throaty, and spoke with a snarl. Before he could consider what was said however, another fire fight broke out on the opposite side of the room, muzzle flashes illuminating the space for milliseconds at a time. Members of both sides shouted in pain and alarm, and not just trading fire with one another. There was someone else.

Against the backdrop of the windows, the hit team leader saw men with guns raises their weapons, only for a body to seize upon them, and very violently incapacitate them. It didn’t seem to matter who it was, Ponezetti or otherwise, the crack of bullets gave way to the snap of bones and the screams of grown men.

Taken totally by shock, Jimmy “Flanks” watched wide-eyed as the rifle of one of his men was raised point blank to the figure’s head, only for them to switch positions in the blink of an eye. An arm wrapped around his man’s neck, and he heard the sound of punches being landed into the midsection, hard enough that something inside broke with every hit.

More flashes of gunfire, and the figure used his hapless opponent as a meat-shield, guiding him toward the source before launching him forward with such momentum, that both he and the firer were sent into the wall.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS JIMMY!?” His teammate latched onto his arm, and he could feel the tremors coursing through his body.

“WE NEED TO GET- ACKkkk!”

Jimmy could only gasp and recoil when a hand blacker than the shadows around it came around to palm his teammates face, and yank him back into the darkness. In a panic he fired blindly into the space where the attacker had taken him, too terror-stricken to contemplate if he had just shot his own man to death.

Then the sounds of fighting stopped, the restaurant suddenly plunged into silence. The only thing Jimmy could hear, was the beating of his heart and his own rapid breathing. It had all just happened so fast, retreat not even registered as an option. But now that his instincts to fight or flight had reconnected to his senses, he swallowed a lump of fear and bolted as best he could for where he remembered the entrance to the kitchen was.

He ran nose-first into the door, his momentum pushing him the rest of the way through. Eyes watering and his legs stumbling, the prep table seemed to appear out of nowhere and collide into his stomach, doubling him over.

“Jimmy is that you?” Left behind, he could hear the anxiousness in his man’s voice. The luxury of not knowing what had just occurred in the next room saving him from mortal dread.

“There’s somebody in there man!” Flanks went to push himself away from the table, but a hand gripped his ankle, and yanked his legs out from under him. The side of his face struck the steel surface, a spurt of blood splattering across. As he fell back in a heap against the wait staff counter, his vision came in and out of focus.

“Jimmy?” The final member of the hit team took a single step forward when he was struck in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and pressing him against the refrigerator. He tried to raise his rifle, but felt the handrail wrestled to the side, followed by a punch to his upper arm that broke the humerus in half.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”

The scream drew Jimmy’s attention, and through the blur of his concussion, he watched the top-half of the refrigerator door open, and a muscular dark figure grab his man’s head, shoving it into the opening. Over and over again, the door was brought to bear on his skull, causing the entire appliance to shudder violently with each impact.

When he was finally satisfied, his chest heaving from adrenaline, the figure let the man slump to the floor, leaving a crimson smear on the white frame.

“You two, under the table, get lost.”

Still quivering in their hiding place, the cook and waitress were hesitant to move an inch, especially after what had just happened only a few feet behind them.

The dark figure whirled around, and delivered a kick to the steel table that nearly flipped it over as it skidded back.

“I SAID SCRAM!”

The pair clambered over one another in their haste to reach the back door, dashing into the street like a pack of wild dogs were on their heels.

It was just now, that Jimmy remembered the gun in his hand. As the figure watched the restaurant workers flee, he raised his pistol, aiming carefully despite his shaking for the head of the mystery attacker. He pressed the trigger, only to hear the hammer click.

In the same second it took Jimmy “Flanks” to realize that he was out of rounds, the figure whipped his head in his direction and vanished.

A hand possessed of such crushing power Jimmy had not thought possible for a human, seized him by the wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. The same hand pulled him to his feet, before retracting to slap him upside the cranium. He fell to the floor, and began crawling away, towards the open exit.

“Jimmy Flanks… I’ve been looking for you.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Jimmy could just make out the man in the darkness, walking behind him as casually as a Sunday stroll.

“You know some people I wanna talk to.”

“Get the hell away from me man!” On his elbows and knees, Jimmy was only a few feet away from the alley when a hand on the back of his beltline dragged him back.

“No!” His fingers tried to find purchase in the tiled floor, but found none. The sheer strength of his assailant hauled him up, a single arm securing both of his behind his back.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to scream Jimmy.” The mouth just at the edge of his ear spat, a distinct tone of personal hatred. “I want to see the look in your eyes when you beg me for mercy.”

Jimmy felt the muscles of the man who held him, reminding him of how pro wrestlers are built. He was turned to the side, a hand forcing his face down onto another surface, this one smelling of grease. The mask was yanked off, exposing his bare skin to the cool metal.

“You feel that Jimmy? This is the grill.”

“NOOOOO!!” He screamed, the terrible understanding dawning on him. “For the love of god don’t do this! I’ll tell you anything you wanna know!”

“I know you will.”

A single, small click was heard. “You’re about to feel the heat Jimmy, a little more intensely than how your guys in the north end felt it. I want the names of your bosses, where they live, who they cheat on their spouses with, what they drive.”

The thought of betraying his Familia offended him to his core, but with seeing everything this stranger had done, and the rising warmth against his cheek, the primal urge for self preservation cast out all notions of honor and omerta.

He talked, and the hotter the stovetop got, the faster and more frantically he talked. Names, addresses, hairstyles, favorite watering holes, every bit of information his mind could retrieve in spite of escalating panic. Finally when the hot sting on his skin reached a searing point, the hand pulled his face away.

“Your cooperation is much appreciated, but I’m afraid I can’t just let you go.”

“What are you gonna do? Who the hell are you?” His answers came in the form of his whole body being lifted off the ground.

“I am going to wipe out the criminal scum of this city, one block at a time. You go tell your bosses that. For that matter, go tell your enemies too, tell the whole damn underground, I am coming for them.”

Jimmy’s body was shoved into the air intake vent that hung over the griddle, where he reflexively reached out for something to grab onto. His fingers and feet found the inside rim, where he braced himself.

“Hold on tight Jimmy. These griddles have a temperature range of 200° to 450° Fahrenheit. You could get some serious burns if you let go.”

The hands fell away, leaving Jimmy to strain himself in the effort to not drop straight down, even now he could feel the heat rising off the grill. Grease that coated the surface caused his grip to slide downwards in steady motion. A bead of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, and dripped to where it was evaporated in a second upon touching the griddle.

“As for who I am…”

A light shone through the windows to the dining room, illuminating just enough of the stranger’s face for Jimmy to catch a glimpse of one side. The man wore a dark grey mask that covered all but his ears, mouth, and chin, over his eyes was a pair of yellow-lensed goggles. Medium length hair draped down to the side, a shade of deep, dark blue.

Outside the street, two police patrol cars put their front wheels onto the curb, their headlights beaming through the windows to the inside. One officer who got out was stopped in his tracks by what he could see of the carnage. Shapes of men strewn across the floor, others looking like they had been in a car accident.

“Dear god…” He muttered, reaching for his radio.

The other three officers got as far as he did before human nature paused them in stride, none of them had ever seen anything like this in Maretropolis.

“Dispatch, this is unit 5-5 on site, we uh… we need medical, a lot of it.”

A young female officer began to approach the front door, but froze when a loud crashing sound was followed by a blood-curdling scream.

NEXT MORNING

The sun streamed in through the windows of a charmingly furnished living room, a woman in a fuzzy robe striding through as she stretched her arms.

Mica Hackett yawned, choosing to greet the day not with a jubilant optimism, but with the practical reflection she had gained from her night job. She scratched at the keloid scar on her throat as absentmindedly as if it weren’t ever there. Being a Sunday, there was little need for any rushed effort to get around to corporate business, of which there never seemed to be any end of.

Plopping herself down onto the couch, her long, long, long tendrils of purple hair curling around the backrest, and settling around her to create a comfortable brace of cushion. It had been a few weeks since she’d been able to get Gigan out of her hair, figuratively as well as literally, and a quiet weekend was welcomed.

Even though she had become somewhat used to his brand of humor, and his pervasive if not occasionally vulgar attempts at flirting with her, she needed some breathing room. He was interesting enough company, just not in so large a dosage. So they both figured that a vacation of his own following Iron Maredon on tour would be for the best.

A wisp of her locks coiled around the remote control as she spread her arms across the backrest, pointed it at the television above the fireplace, and pressed power. The screen blinked to life with the first thing she wanted to see in the morning, the local news. While the Mane-iac did all she could to protect the city, even she needed some periodic rest and relaxation. So it behooved her to stay abreast of local happenings, just in case something popped-off while she was in the office or slouching around in her jammies.

“-Wake of the capture of the Malice Mares…” The news of Mane-iac and her “bizarre unknown ally” defeating the alliance of super-powered villains had hardly been out of the mouths of newscasters since it happened. So it’s mention being the first thing she heard today didn’t surprise her. What did pique her interest however, was the side graphic next to the anchor, showing a picture of a well-known Carrean restaurant downtown.

“What in the world?…” Mica leaned forward in her seat, turning up the volume and focusing on the collage of crime scene footage that played.

“…ing to police investigators, the gunfire was the result of an inter-mob conflict, between the Ponezetti family, and the notorious Flankastro. There is however, reports from witnesses that there was another actor in the fray last night, a third party who laid waste to members of both sides.”

“Gigan….” Was her first thought, spoken aloud as if she were able to warn him off doing something stupid. “That better not be you.”

“Those same reports do confirm that it was not the chainsaw-wielding, foul-mouthed maverick that aided the Mane-iac in her victory against the Malice Mares. This photo of him on tour with Iron Maredon last night is confirmed to be authentic.”

Very quickly, an image appeared on screen, showing Gigan falling out of a tour bus, sliding down the steps on a cascade of empty alcohol cans and liquor bottles. Gesturing to the camera with a big smile and a thumbs-up.

“Whew.” Mica sighed. “Good for that, but now who do I have to worry about running around on the streets beating the hell out of criminals?”

Next on screen, was footage of the inside of the dining room, and the kitchen, along with pictures of the injured. Mica put a hand over her mouth, aghast by the brutality and violence meted out by what her combat experience could tell her, was done with bare hands.

“… Flankastro family member, Jimmy “Flanks” was the only one to provide police with a description of the mystery assailant.”

The mention of the name drew here attention, and the picture of him drew her to her feet.

“…As seen here, Jimmy suffered 1st & 2nd degree burns to his face, hands, and arms after falling onto a heated griddle, after being beaten and tortured…”

She didn’t know who could be responsible for this, but this kind of savagery was going too far, even for known criminals. Even Masked Matter-Horn was more civilized than this. Whoever this person was, they had to be stopped. She glared at the television screen, anger and determination flaring inside her.

“…When asked who had done all this, Jimmy told police that his attacker had actually revealed his name…”

Mica took a step towards the screen.

“…Shadowbolt.”

Author's Notes:

Shadowbolt voice reference: Jackie Earle Hayley "Rorschach" The Watchmen

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j14hVPIbQTE&ytbChannel=FilmicBox

In Part 2:

After a long week, Mane-iac finally confronts Shadowbolt. It does not go well.