Bed of Roses

People Get Their Asses Kicked

TW: fighting scene, violence, mentions of blood and bleeding
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     "I'm getting wind of a robbery case on West Twentieth," Tubbo's voice crackles through my brand-new earpiece, which is now linked to my comm bracelet. Probably for the best, considering my habit of breaking earpieces and ignoring ''important'' messages. I completely forgot that I had it, if I'm being completely honest.
       I stop in my tracks, realizing Tubbo never specified what kind of establishment was being robbed or by who. "West Twentieth Maine," Tubbo better  fucking pick up. Ear-piercing static comes through before his voice does. "No, side lane. Thirty-fourth Avenue, building six-two-eight," he supplies. I know the direction I need to go in to reach Thirty-Fourth Avenue, but that's about it.
      "I've got directions pulled up, sending them to your comm now,'' oh thank Prime. Within an instant, I've got an entire map of the city, with the specific route I need to take highlighted in red. I didn't know those existed. The earpiece crackles again, "Oh, by the way, the map will still show you the correct way to go even if you're traveling by rooftop. Thought you might like that, Blackthorn."
        He was right because I do like that. It's especially useful in my line of work. Once I got there it was obvious that these people weren't here to play. Which is fine with me, since I have the ability to turn light into knives. Well, daggers, actually. Point is, I have superpowers, weapons, and street smarts. These guys only have two of those three things. Probably.
        Honestly, the fact that they're robbing a bank tells me that they actually don't have street smarts. Everyone knows that robbing a bank is the most cliche thing for villains of all kinds to do. Although, part of me wonders whether they got that. Maybe they did and just didn't give a fuck. Maybe they didn't and genuinely thought it was a good idea. Either way, I get to kick their asses.

        A small ping can be heard from the corner of the room where the Craft family once sat. "Wil, what did I say about leaving your comm-link on," Phil scolds his oldest child. Then his comm-link goes off, despite him having turned it off as soon as he left the office. "Maybe it's mandatory," Techno suggests. "If that's the case then why didn't yours go off," Wilbur bites back.
      "Boys," their father warns. Both men back down at their father's call. "They're paging us, Wil. Robbery at Thirty-Fourth Avenue," he reads off, the glaringly blue hologram highlighting message and route alike."Why us," Wilbur whines as he dons his suit, much to his brother's chagrin.
      "Probably because you're the 'best hero,'' Techno teases. Wilbur rolls his eyes and huffs in response. "Or because there's a vigilante at the site," Phil informs the other two, still scrolling through the message on his comm-link. "Phil stop reading the damn thing and get ready," Phil sighs at his son's scoldings. "Don't sigh at me, we both know that  if you kept reading all you'd be doing is fucking up your eyes."
        Phil laughs at the irony of the situation. "Techno, you'll be fine by yourself right," Phil checks as he prepares himself to carry Wilbur for several miles. Techno nods, and with that final confirmation, the pair take off.

        A blindly swung right hook is thrown. Blood can be felt dripping ever so slowly, and adrenaline just as quickly as fists could be thrown. Tommy jumps to the left, barely avoiding a swift kick to his already injured face. He supposes, quite angrily, that he'll miss work tomorrow.
      He throws a left jab into the other guy's stomach (or so he hoped), and brings his knee to the scumbag's dick with full power. He can hear sharp crackles of static in his ear, but can't focus on the noises that follow them. With a  quick duck of the head, he swings his leg up and kicks back with enough force to rival a boxing kangaroo. That's two thieves down, if the whump that came from behind him was anything to go by.
      There couldn't have only been two people robbing a bank. Sure, he knows there's the get-away driver, but there's still someone missing. His body still had enough adrenaline to fight one more person, and he has a feeling he knows where they were hidden.
      As he runs towards the part of the bank where the money is kept, he can hear the fizzles, cracks, and pops of one of his friends trying to contact him. He decides that they can fucking wait. He runs at lightning speed, jumping high enough to reach the ceiling. He just barely manages to grab the steel bars that the building is comprised of. Still, he reaches one of the bars and grips it for dear life. He swings his body around the bar once, twice, three times. With the final swing, he launches himself forward and feels the rush of air against his skin.
       He nears the ground and does a backflip, landing like a gold-medal gymnast. Now that he's on the ground, he realizes how still his surroundings are. That means he's getting close to his target. There are only a few rooms for him to be hidden in if he's in the same corridor as Tommy. It seems this poor man has horrible luck.
       Tommy took two people down single-handedly, what's one more? He stops in his tracks, suddenly aware of a sound in the distance. It's faint, like the smell of blood from a newly cut lip, but it's there. He dares not move, lest his target spots him. One way or another, he will make this low-life thief cower in a corner. They want attention, then by god, he'll give them attention. It's all the same to him, if he's being honest.