Overpowered

It’s not defeating villains or anything, but I’ll take it.

No one recognizes me when I approach the intersection where at least a dozen shirtless guys have gathered in the middle of the street. Dozens more onlookers crowd around, cheering and booing each other. I lace my fingers together in front of my chest, crack my knuckles and release a wave of power that pulses through the air, knocking humans to the ground.

All but the two humans in the center of the circle collapse.

Now I have their attention.

The fighters appear to be in their twenties. One is covered in tattoos and blood and the other, just blood. “I am Hero Maci Might and I’ve come to put a stop to this.”

The tattooed guy spits out a mouthful of blood. “This don’t concern you.”

A woman in a tiny miniskirt and tube top tries to scramble up from the asphalt but I hold out a hand and knock her back down with a small burst of power. “Actually it does concern me. Because my job is to protect humans. You can’t just go around beating each other up for the fun of it.”

“That’s all it is,” the bloody guy says. “It’s just fun. We ain’t hurting nobody that don’t want to fight.”

In a weird way, I might actually agree with him. If everyone is a willing participant in this game of beating each other up, why should Heroes care about it? Unfortunately for him, this is my first mission and I’m going to successfully complete it. “Sorry gentlemen, this isn’t allowed. You’re on public property and you’re endangering innocent bystanders.” Ignoring the indignant groans around me, I step into the center of the crowd and appraise everyone. “I’m assuming everyone without a shirt is involved? I need you guys to line up and scan your thumbs.”

Scanning their thumb print on my BEEPR will register them in the system and alert us to any repeat offenders. Supers don’t directly punish humans except for extreme circumstances. We save lives, prevent loss, issue a severe warning and then hand their info over to the human police officers.

Most humans obey the laws after receiving an up close and personal warning from a Hero.

Tattoo guy spits at my feet. Guess he’s stupider than he looks. I hook my depowered hand around his elbow and flip him to the ground. Only he doesn’t fall to the ground. He doesn’t do much of anything.

I falter for a fraction of a second and then go after him with my left hand. This time he shifts on his feet but he doesn’t fall. Power streams out of my fingertips in frustration. Several humans cry out in discomfort from the power but the two men in front of me just smirk. Tightening my grip on his elbow, I swing my foot underneath his in my third attempt to take him to the ground. Instead of watching his kneecap give out, he lets out a snort of laughter and high-fives his friend while remaining firmly on his feet.

What in the hell is going on here? Humans are not this strong. I logged one hundred and eighty hours of droid training to properly prepare for safe handling of humans because their bodies are so fragile. But this bastard just remained standing when I swiped his leg with enough pressure that should have sent him crashing to his knees, crying out in pain and begging for mercy.

“This is a formal request to stop resisting my orders.” I request backup on my BEEPR before holding out my wrist to the still laughing man. “I need your thumbprint.”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Bite me.”

Anger boils up inside of me. Deep and guttural, from a place I try very hard to keep buried. I’ll really regret this if I can’t hold back my rage, but not nearly as much as he will. “This is your last warning.” I peer at the guy’s bloodied friend so he knows I’m talking to him as well. “Severe injury will occur if you refuse. I need your thumbprints and your cooperation immediately.”

“Sure thing, boss lady. But first I need you to kiss my ass because I’m not doing a thing you say.”

Bloody friend nods. “We ain’t scared of you.”

I can’t help it when I burst out laughing. Humans are completely insane. More than enough witnesses are present to back me up when I inevitably get summoned to appear before the Elders for mistreatment of humans. So I draw in a sharp breath and release it in a torrential outburst of power, ready to unleash all of my pent up anger on these two idiots.

If their bones happen to go splintering through their skin, well they can’t say I didn’t warn them.

Tattoo guy dives in front of his friend, his eyes thirsting for a good fight. I tackle him to the ground, shove my knee into his crotch and slam his cheek onto the pavement when he tries to bite me. He yells some kind of code word to his friend but while he’s distracted, I press his thumb to my BEEPR and then slap him across the face with his own hand just for good measure.

A steel-toed boot slams into the back of my skull, sending my vision into shards of blurred lines for a second. When I recover, I’m being pinned to the ground by the dual efforts of the fighters. I can’t believe my own freaking eyes when I have to struggle to pull out of their grasp. How are these humans so inhumanely strong?

The crowd recovers from their stunned silence. Cheers roar out and bets are placed as I fight the men off me, kicking and punching and even digging my nails into a throat before I’m shoved back again. The entire scene on Bourbon Street is exactly the same as when I arrived, only now I’m the target of their little fight club. A bead of sweat breaks out across my forehead as I twist one of the guy’s wrist inward, making him collapse under his own body weight. My right hand is nothing more than a useless limb as it feebly tries to defend against the tattooed man’s jab into my ribcage.

I’m losing.

I’m fighting two humans and I’m losing.

Their bones don’t break as easily as they should. I rip out a handful of messy hair from one of the men attacking me and he cries out in anger instead of pain. I told him he would be sorry, and now he will be. I slip a Retriever hook from my sleeve. Hopefully this doesn’t kill him but if it does--well, I’ll worry about that later.

The man’s new bald spot reflects a stream of sweat and blood in the neon lights of the French Quarter as his body goes completely rigid. My hook flies with complete accuracy and lands an inch deep into his muscular gut.

A few onlookers scream in terror. The crowd shrinks back. My other attacker shoves his hands into his pockets. I’m slightly out of breath now as I approach him, ready to accept his surrender and take his thumb print. My right arm throbs in pain. I’ve never experienced pain for so long before. A soft crinkle of shattering glass has him smiling. His eyes close and he looks completely blissful for a fraction of a second.

He charges toward me.