Hurt Kid/A Second Opinion
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Dave's Super Grocery
5th Street, Moorhead, Minnesota
1:04 AM
April 3, 2008
The sky wept tears of chilling water, pouring down on the lonely and dim parking lot. Craggy asphalt and faded paint drowned in the rain, reflecting the spectacle of the burning grocery store, which outshone the streetlights. Jackson Sparx looked up at his good deed. The freezing rain did nothing to snuff this joyous occasion. An enamored grin defied the cold, and dark auburn eyes were absolutely transfixed upon the burning building. He mouthed something then:
“Good god!”
The rain, the fire, the reverence, all of them attacked his senses, rushing him across planes of ecstasy he had never known. This was his best work yet. He hadn't planned on the rain, but not even that could stop him.
These things also blinded him to his surroundings. A figure stood at the edge of the parking lot, watching him. He wore a stocking cap over dark brown hair, a brown leather jacket, baggy cargo pants, combat boots, and a white T-shirt. Most distinctive of all, however, was the Louisville Slugger “sheathed” like a sword on his back, and the mask. The mask was an odd piece, not resembling any known creature. It was a skull, that much was clear. It obscured the figure's expression, as if the night and the rain weren't doing the job well enough.
The figure began to approach Sparx, casually. He called out to him. It was loud; almost louder than the fire, almost louder than the rain. And it was angrier than both.
“Sparx!”
Jackson's head twisted back, and his awe-filled expression bled away, as if the rain had finally won. These two were not friends.
“You. I've heard of you.”
The figure “drew” his bat, and held it gently in both hands, crossing his waist. “No kidding? Then you know what's going to happen.” The figure tapped the bat against his hand a few times, to drive the point home.
“Uh-huh. Listen, “Hurt Boy,” you see this?” Sparx's head swivels back to face the now-collapsing structure. His arms rise to indicate the fire with arms of praise.
“This is my work. You don't want to become my work.” Sparx's lips twist into a grin at that. Nice touch, he thought.
“We both know you're too gutless to kill someone, Sparx. And certainly not good enough to stop me.”
Sparx stood quickly at that, facing him. “What!?”
“You heard me, you flaming fuck. Let's go.” He held his free hand up, beckoning him forward with a “come hither” gesture.
Killing this asshole might get me further, but it's a lot of heat. I've never killed before...
He huffed, a puff of hot breath rising into the air, amused. A lot of “heat.” Good one.
His new adversary wasn't going to wait. He charged instead, quickly, his baseball bat gripped in both hands. Sparx didn't have time to react, and “Hurt Boy” pounded his weapon against Sparx's belly with a great “thud!”
Jackson's breath left him just as violently. He doubled over, falling to his knees. His blood began to boil, even as he began gasping for new air. This fucker deserves it.
The vigilante lifted the bat above his head, ready for a strike. Sparx lifted a hand quickly, “aiming” at his enemy's midsection, and fire erupted from his hand, only to be quenched as the rain drowned his palm and forearm's heat. As his steam rose from his arm, Jackson looked in horror as the bat came down on his shoulder with another “thud!”
Sparx clutched at his collar bone, now frantically attempting to escape the kid's next blow. “Hurt Boy” angled his bat parallel to his waist, twisting his torso for a wicked strike from the side, going for Sparx's knee.
In desperation, the pyrokinetic rolled onto his knees and lunged at him, grasping at his jacket. This barred his next attack. Sparx, with a worried expression, caught a glimpse of his adversary's cold blue eyes, hidden in the recesses of his grotesque mask. They stared back, unflinching. Jackson let go of the kid's jacket to rear back for a punch, but the other was quicker. He released hold of his bat, wrapping his arms around Sparx and slamming his head against the pyro's. The mask, with its angular and rough texture, scraped hard against Jackson's face, and the force dazed him.
Before he knew it, a fist drove into his solar plexus, and another ground his ear against his skull. Sparx shook his head to escape the daze, blinking a few times.
“Fuck you kid!” He roared only inches from the masked avenger. Steely eyes narrowed, sensing an attack.
Jackson's hands then ignited once more, but with greater ferocity. Enough to fight off the rain, at any rate. His eyes began to glow, outshining the now wet and smoldering remains of the grocery store. The burst flash burned through some of the vigilante's jacket, and caused him to back away from the heat.
Sparx took a good look at his arms, now smoldering in the rain. A wicked smile crossed his face, and his glowing eyes fixed upon his bat-wielding foe. Guess I just need proper motivation; now I got this. Now it was he who gave the “come here” gesture, with fiery hands. “Come on, you wanted a fight you fucker!”
The other appeared to flinch, and that was all Sparx needed to see. Now for a taste of your own medicine. He sprinted forward, hands outstretched, ready to explode as soon as they found their mark. “Hurt Boy” moved to dodge, but not before Sparx had a stroke of creativity.
Flames suddenly erupted fully from his hands and arms, in a white-hot spectacle, not inches from the kid's hidden face. A miniature explosion of heat and light. The flash blinded his enemy, and he stumbled backward, giving Sparx the opening he needed.
Moving swiftly, the pyro got behind his dazed quarry, and brought down a fiery fist upon their right shoulder, immediately burning through the wet leather and fabric beneath, and scorching the flesh. The young vigilante roared in pain, throwing his weight forward to get way from the heat.
The fabric lining the inside of the jacket and his dry T-shirt caught fire as oxygen rushed in, and flames erupted from his back. The kid collapsed on the asphalt, tearing off his burning clothes as quickly as he could.
Sparx watched with a triumphant grin. This guy's dead. I got this.
His ego blossomed as his enemy then fell onto his hands, coughing. The pyro had burned a gorgeous little crater into his attacker's back. It steamed in the rain.
And then the kid got back up. He rolled his shoulders, shuddered a little as the rain ran down his back, and took in a deep breath.
“Oh yeah. That was good. Let's have some more.” The shirtless masked avenger cracked his knuckles, and stared right into Jackson's eyes.
Spax could hardly believe it. “You want...more? Is this a joke? I just burned a hole in your back.”
“Honestly, fuckface, you could've done much worse. This'll heal in a week. Let's see you give me something worse. I dare ya.”
Sparx was on the verge of horror, now. This guy's fuckin' with me. He didn't start this fight just get his ass kicked. Did he?
“Alright. I can do worse. How about your corpse, well done? No, better yet: blackened!” With that, he raged forward, determined to burn his challenger alive, despite the rain, arms blazing against the downpour.
If only he could see the smile obscured by that strange skull.
If only he could see the newly retrieved bat, hidden against his leg, out of sight.
As the pyrokinetic got within range, “Hurt Boy” suddenly reared back, bringing his weapon backward as far as he could, before swiping across with all his might, connecting with Sparx's left knee, completely shattering all bones in the vicinity. With a mighty yelp, the arson addict crumples forward, landing on his ruined knee, eliciting another cry of pain. He finally crashes, despite his best efforts to fight the paralyzing pain, headfirst onto the wet asphalt. His hands sizzle. Their fire is extinguished, and steam rises.
The kid stands above his felled enemy, numb from the rain, his hot breath escaping towards the sky. He removes his wet stocking cap, running a hand through his hair, resting the bat on his shoulder. He looks down at his enemy, and sirens gently call out from a distance.
Sparx lay on his stomach, shaking from the pain. He cries out every couple of seconds, slowly rolling onto his side, clutching his destroyed knee. When he can muster the strength, he looks upward. Jackson's eyes subside back to their auburn color, and he fights tears and rain to see the skull-faced figure standing confidently over him.
“Are-Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“I've already done it. Punished you. For the thousands of dollars in property damage you've caused. Dozens of jobs lost, Jackson. That's on your head!"
“But, I'm si--” He's cut off by a kick to the stomach.
“You're not sick! You're a fucking idiot who can't control himself!” He yells over the rain.
“I've been diagno--” He gets another kick, this time to the head. “Fuck!”
“Some dipshit psychiatrist isn't going to tell me who to punish. Thousands of fucks like you get off easy every day because of their bullshit “diagnoses.” You needed a second opinion. That's me.”
Sparx coughs, curling up in as best a fetal position he can accomplish, with pain wracking his body and a haze obscuring his awareness. He can only hear the rain and sirens in the distance, as they persist in growing louder by the moment. He finds a light at the end of the tunnel, and offers a slight chuckle, defying his assailant.
The kid kicks him several more times, driving his heel into the criminal's ribs. “Oh good! Having fun!?”
“They won't keep me for long. They don't know what I am. And I could escape.”
“Oh, they know who and what you are, don't kid yourself. They've gotten a heads up.”
Sparx growls, growing defiant again. “I'll burn my way out of any police station. And I'll find you.”
The masked avenger, with ferocity and speed, lifts his bat and jabs it downward, spearing into Jackson's stomach. He stands straight once more.
“Sure you will. And then I'll have to break both of your knees. Maybe your jaw, too, to shut you up.”
He turns to walk away, out of the illumination of the streetlights and smoldering convenience store.
“If you get out, look for Hurt Kid, because he'll be waiting.”
