Chapter 24
"Being a hero doesn't mean you're invincible. It just means that you're brave enough to stand up and do what's needed."
– Rick Riordan
Fort Bragg, NC - November 2042
Amidst a meticulously constructed urban training environment at Fort Bragg, Izuku Midoriya stood focused and alert. The mock cityscape around him buzzed with the orchestrated chaos of a simulated battle, echoing with orders and the sounds of engagement. He was part of a squad of Green Berets, each member exuding a blend of precision and purpose. The day's training centered on urban warfare tactics, a skill set Izuku recognized as vital for potential future confrontations.
Clad in standard combat gear, Izuku and his squad maneuvered through the cityscape, their M16 Carbines loaded with non-lethal rounds. They navigated the terrain, dotted with realistic obstacles, simulating the unpredictability of urban combat.
Sergeant Lucas, a seasoned Green Beret instructor, guided them throughout the exercise.
"In urban combat, every alley, every building, every street corner can be to your advantage. Remember, it's not just about brute strength; it's about how you use the space around you."
Izuku internalized these words, understanding their significance. The squad, including Izuku, practiced breaching techniques, efficiently entering and clearing rooms. Izuku's super-soldier capabilities made him exceptionally quick and powerful, yet he was here to refine the tactical application of these abilities.
During evasion and counter-attack drills, dummies representing enemy fighters emerged unexpectedly. While the squad took cover in a nearby alley, Izuku instinctively sought refuge behind a dumpster. Sergeant Lucas, observing their actions, offered encouragement and guidance.
"Great reflexes!" Sergeant Lucas praised. "Now, think strategically. What counters can we deploy here to shift from defense to offense?"
The squad huddled, brainstorming rapidly. Izuku, however, acted decisively. He retrieved a smoke grenade from his vest, hurling it towards the dummies. The area was quickly engulfed in a thick cloud, under which Izuku repositioned himself for a tactical advantage. Peering from his new cover, he neutralized the targets with precise shots.
"Correct, Private Midoriya!" Sergeant Lucas acknowledged with a thumbs-up. "Utilize every diversion tactic at your disposal to create opportunities."
The session progressed to disarming techniques. Izuku squared off against a Green Beret role-playing an assailant. With calculated and swift movements, he disarmed his opponent, demonstrating his improved combat skills.
As the day's training wound down, Sergeant Lucas addressed the squad with a mix of sternness and pride.
"Good work today, privates. But don't get complacent. There's always room to improve. Remember, the battlefield is constantly evolving, especially with the emergence of meta-humans. Stay sharp, stay adaptable."
The squad responded in unison, "Yes sir!"
"You're dismissed for the day."
Later…
With the day's training complete, the Green Berets recruits trudged along a gravel path back to the barracks, their conversation a low murmur of shared discontent. They cast occasional glances over their shoulders at Izuku Midoriya, who trailed behind, absorbed in reviewing documents on a clipboard.
One recruit, a tall, lean man named Jensen, broke the silence, his voice tinged with frustration. "Can you believe Midoriya? He's only been here like nine days, and he's already outperforming all of us. Makes us look like greenhorns."
Another recruit, Carter, with a dry sense of humor, quipped back. "Well, we technically are greenhorns, Jensen. But yeah, he's on a whole other level."
The group murmured in agreement, their expressions a mix of admiration and envy. A third recruit, Murphy, furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "What's his deal, anyway? Why's everything so damn easy for him? It's like he was born to do this."
"Or he has a cheat code…" A recruit named Davis leaned in, lowering his voice. "I heard a rumor... they say Midoriya might be a meta-human."
The group fell into a stunned silence before Jensen scoffed. "That's just wild talk."
But it was the quiet comment from Harper, a thoughtful and observant recruit, that brought a note of caution to the conversation. "Careful with accusations like that. You never know who's listening, and you better be sure before you label someone a Meta."
The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Harper's words settling in. After a moment, they reached a silent agreement, nodding to one another.
"Fine," Jensen relented, "but let's just keep our distance from Midoriya for now. No sense in getting mixed up in whatever he's got going on."
Unbeknownst to them, Izuku, with his enhanced hearing, caught every word. He paused for a moment, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Letting out a quiet, despondent sigh, he refocused on the documents in his hands, resigning himself to the isolation that had grown accustomed to in his life.
After finishing his meal in the sparsely populated mess hall, Izuku Midoriya walked towards the barracks, his steps steady but thoughtful. Accompanying him was Staff Sergeant Ted Gray, the same recruiter he had met at the recruiting station in San Francisco; the place where had met Doctor Hatsume and began this new chapter of his life. Since then, SS Grey had been reassigned to oversee Izuku's specialized training in the All-Special Forces Training Program.
As they strolled under the dimming sky, SS Grey glanced at Izuku, his expression reflecting a mix of concern and curiosity. "I noticed you were pretty much on your own during dinner. Everything alright, Midoriya?"
Izuku let out a slow exhale, a sign of the thoughts he'd been wrestling with. "Yes, sir, everything's fine. It's just… I've been in training for several months now. How close am I to being deployed to Japan? I feel ready, sir."
That was, indeed, an understatement. In the six months since his transformation into a super-soldier, Izuku had undergone intensive training with various elite units including the Navy SEALs, Marine Raiders, Army Rangers, Night Stalkers, and the Coast Guard's DSF. His training wasn't just physical; he'd also completed SERE training and had chosen Russian for his language training, considering the ongoing war.
His enhanced abilities allowed him to absorb new skills rapidly, surpassing all initial expectations.
SS Grey paused, removing his cap to run a hand through his hair, his demeanor reflecting both admiration and caution. "You've certainly come a long way, Midoriya. Frankly, I don't think anyone's ever trained across so many special forces groups in such a short time. But remember, becoming a master is a continuous journey. You've still got time here at Fort Bragg, followed by a few weeks with the Pararescuemen."
Izuku's eyes held a glint of determination as he queried further. "And after that?"
SS Grey hesitated, his gaze shifting slightly. "That… will be a decision for the higher-ups."
Izuku nodded, understanding the protocol, "Understood, sir…"
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of SS Grey's phone. He pulled it out, his expression shifting upon seeing the caller ID.
With a deep breath, he answered. "Good evening, Senator. How can I help you?"
After a brief exchange, SS Grey turned to Izuku, phone in hand. "It's Senator Brandt. He wants to speak with you."
Confusion flickered across Izuku's face, but he accepted the phone, unmuting it. "This is Private Midoriya speaking, sir. You wanted to speak with me?"
Senator Brandt's voice, jovial and upbeat, came through the speaker. "Private Midoriya! How's the training going?"
"It's been challenging, sir, but I'm making good progress."
"That's excellent to hear! You're making us all very proud. So, I have a question for you."
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you like baseball?"
The question caught Izuku off guard, his brow arching in surprise.
Los Angeles, CA - November 2042
The energy at Los Angeles' iconic Dodgers Stadium was electric, buzzing with the anticipation of Game 7 of the Fall Classic, a showdown between the two blueblood franchises: the New York Yankees and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Amidst the sea of blue and white, in the bullpen, stood Zak Powers, a figure of confidence and prowess.
Zak, at five-foot-eleven (156 cm) with a well-defined physique, was the epitome of a natural athlete, his years of rigorous training evident in his lean frame. His brown hair fell casually over his right eye, partially obscuring his hazel gaze that was fixed on the field ahead. The tanned skin of his face showed a trace of arrogance, a byproduct of years of accolades and adulation.
As he warmed up, his mind was a whirlwind of ambition. This was his moment – the climax of a sensational rookie season that had catapulted him from the minors to the majors in record time, making him the most talked-about pitcher in the league.
'This is it. This'll be my first championship as a pro.' Zak thought to himself. 'After this, there'll be no stopping me. I'll be more than just a sensation; I'll be a legend.'
Amidst his reverie, one of the assistant coaches approached, his expression serious. "Powers, I know you've made your mark with your fastball, but you need to work on your breaking balls a bit more. The Yankees lineup is no joke, especially their leadoff."
Zak's sneer was almost immediate. "No need, coach. My fastball is all I'll need tonight. Trust me."
The coach, accustomed to Zak's arrogance yet still hopeful for his growth, sighed silently. Despite his frustration, he couldn't argue much; Zak had been phenomenal throughout the season.
As Zak resumed his practice, the coach's thoughts lingered, 'No pitcher is unhittable, kid. You'll learn that someday. I just hope it's not the hard way, and certainly not tonight.'
Unaware of the coach's silent hopes, Zak entered his windup and pitched another fastball, leaving another indention in the padded wall along with the others he had left previously.
A flash of disdain crossed Zak's face as the coach's words echoed advice from a past he preferred to forget.
"You really should expand your pitches, Zak." The words of ten-year-old Izuku echoed in his mind. "I mean, even the best pitchers have breaking balls they can throw when they need to."
"Shut up, Zuku!" Ten-year-old Zak barked back. "My Power-Ball is the only pitch I'll ever need. It's unhittable!"
Zak furrowed his brows, determined. 'I've made it this far doing things my way, and I'll only go further by the end of tonight.'
The night air was crisp as the sleek limousine pulled up to Dodgers Stadium. Izuku Midoriya stepped out, dressed impeccably in his U.S. Army Mess Dress Uniform. He followed Senator Brandt along an exclusive, roped off path leading to a luxury suite, the atmosphere buzzing with the excitement of the impending game.
Senator Brandt was in his element, chatting animatedly as they walked–donning a Dodgers uniform with the number 1 and the name 'POWERS' emblazoned on the back.
"You're in for a treat, Private Midoriya. The pitcher starting tonight is a fireballer, straight from the minors to the majors. A real sensation!"
"Yes, sir. I've heard things about him…" Izuku's thoughts briefly drifted back to his complex past with Zak.
Though he would prefer to move on with his life without Zak in it, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious to see how his former friend would perform under the pressure of baseball's biggest game: Game 7 of the World Series.
Upon entering the suite, they were greeted by a gathering of distinguished guests, a mix of political and social elites. Senator Brandt wasted no time in introducing Izuku.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the young man who saved my life during that meta-human attack on Fort Erskine, Private Izuku Midoriya. This kid's an American hero in the making. He's the standout of the SSR's super-soldier program, a project I had the foresight to fund."
Izuku, maintaining a composed exterior, offered polite smiles and handshakes to the guests. However, internally, he felt a surge of discomfort. He knew the reality – that Colonel Phillips had been the one to convince Senator Brandt to fund the project. Moreover, it was Teruko Hatsume who had truly believed in him from the beginning!
As Senator Brandt continued to bask in the glow of self-adulation, discussing Project A.M.P with the guests, Izuku's frustration grew. 'So, this is the real reason for the invitation,' he thought, realizing the Senator's intentions to enhance his political stature, especially with elections looming.
"Without my vote, the Strategic Scientific Reserve's endeavors would have never taken place." Senator Brandt boldly declared. "It takes vision to see the potential in such groundbreaking projects, I tell you."
Izuku's gaze shifted away from the political charade, finding solace in the view of the stadium. The sea of blue-and-white-clad Dodger fans buzzed with anticipation, a stark contrast to the political maneuvering within the suite. The National Anthem would soon play, signaling the start of the game. He focused on that, a welcome distraction from the unpleasant reality of being a pawn in political games.
Inwardly, Izuku steeled himself. 'Just bear through it, soldier. You've endured worse,' he reminded himself, his thoughts drifting to his friends - Peggy, Bucky, Sharon, James, Nick, and Namor. Their faces bolstered his resolve. 'If not for yourself, then do it for theirs.'
The atmosphere in the stadium was electric, charged with the tension of a World Series game hanging in the balance. It was the top of the ninth inning, and the scoreboard displayed a tense 0-0 tie.
In the luxury suite, Senator Brandt and his guests watched with rapt attention as Zak Powers, the rookie sensation, dominated the pitcher's mound. He had pitched a no-hitter so far, the Yankees managing only a few foul balls against his formidable throws.
One of the guests, peering through a pair of binoculars, remarked with a hint of skepticism, "Power's pitching speed is almost too good to be true. Seems a bit unnatural, don't you think?"
Senator Brandt laughed it off, his eyes fixed on the field. "Nonsense! The kid's just talented. If only our batters could match his performance..."
Izuku, sitting quietly at the periphery of the group, observed the game with a discerning eye. He was careful not to reveal too much about Zak's true nature as a meta-human. Despite his reservations, he couldn't help but analyze the unfolding game.
"I wouldn't underestimate New York's lineup," Izuku commented softly, more to himself than anyone else. "They're starting to adjust to Powers's style. Those foul balls are a sign. Their leadoff hitter's coming to the plate too."
"Brock Armstrong." A guest said. "That kid's on fire too. He broke Aaron Judge's homerun record this year, and he's a rookie to boot!"
"Heh," Brandt leaned forward, exuding confidence, "it'll be fine. Powers will put this guy away like the last time."
Meanwhile, on the field, Zak Powers exuded confidence with each pitch. He was in his element, the mound his domain. Yet beneath his cool exterior, frustration simmered. 'Just one run... that's all we need to seal this,' he thought, eyeing the scoreboard.
The Yankees' best hitter, Brock Armstrong, approached the plate, the only player who had managed to make some contact with Zak's pitches, albeit only fouls. As he settled into the batter's box, he gave a nod to the umpire and then fixed his gaze on Zak. 'This guy's got a golden arm, no sign of tiring. But something's off,' Brock mused, gripping his bat tightly.
Zak, determined to maintain his no-hitter, launched a fastball in the bottom inside corner of the strike zone. Brock watched it zoom by, unswayed. The catcher, sensing a shift in the batter's strategy, signaled for a changeup.
Annoyed by the suggestion, Zak shook his head vehemently. 'No way. I've struck this loser out twice with my fastball.'
He threw another fastball, but this time, Brock anticipated it perfectly. The bat connected with a sharp crack, sending the ball flying high and hitting the outside of the foul pole, mere inches away from being a home run.
The crowd gasped, the near miss sending a ripple of anxiousness through the stadium.
Zak scoffed under his breath, "Just a lucky swing."
The manager and catcher both signaled insistently for a slider, but Zak was unyielding. 'I know what I'm doing dammit! Let me pitch my way.'
Brock, noticing the pitcher's mounting frustration, readied himself for the next pitch with a confident smirk. 'He's sticking to the fastball. I've got him now.'
Zak, his jaw set, entered his windup for another powerful fastball. 'Two outs. Two strikes. This is it. The start of my journey.'
The catcher tensed, reflexively preparing for the full impact of Zak's signature pitch.
'All my strength is going into this!' Zak brought his leg down and whipped his left arm around. 'I dare you to try and hit this!'
He released the ball from his hand, sending it hurtling towards the plate at an astonishing 120 mph (193 km/h). A speed that no pitcher should be capable of throwing, and a speed that no batter should be capable of hitting.
CRACK!
Swinging his bat with all his might, Brock's bat shattered upon impact with the ball, sending it soaring high into the night sky. 'Just as I thought…' Brock thought, excitement welling up as he immediately recognized what he had done.
The stadium's majority of Dodgers fans went silent in utter disbelief while the Yankee players and fans in attendance erupted into wild cheers. The ball had left the yard straight down center field. Even the Dodgers players on the field were stunned.
Zak hadn't given up a run all season…until tonight.
Zak looked on in shocked disbelief, standing frozen on the mound. 'There's no way…' His eyes darted to Brock, who was jogging the bases. Their eyes briefly met with the Yankee player giving him a look that conveyed a hidden message.
'Does he know? Sh*t…' Clenching his fists, Zak's perspiration began to increase.
Later…
In the bottom of the ninth, despite the Dodgers' best efforts, they failed to score a run.
The final score was 1-0.
The Yankees emerged as World Series Champions, their jubilation filling the field.
Zak, meanwhile, sat on the bench, engulfed in stunned silence, his teammates offering muted consolation. They were all too stunned themselves.
The pitcher ignored them, his mind racing with his at-bat with Brock Armstrong. 'That son of a b**ch… He knows something!' His fists clenched in a mix of anger and apprehension.
With a steely resolve, Zak stood up and hastily exited the clubhouse.
While Yankee fans in attendance cheered and hollered, the air was thick with disappointment and speculation amongst the majority of Dodger fans following the dramatic conclusion of the Fall Classic.
Back in one of the luxury boxes, Senator Brandt, visibly frustrated, cursed under his breath. "Ah, dammit! They had it in their hands, and they just let it slip away!" He exclaimed, unable to hide his dismay at his favorite team's loss.
Another guest, leaning against the wall with a glass of champagne in hand, chimed in thoughtfully, "You know, Private Midoriya was right. Powers should've mixed up his pitches a bit more. That last fastball was too predictable."
Brandt, however, was quick to dismiss the suggestion, his loyalty to the team unwavering. "Nonsense. It's not the Power's fault. The team's bats were just dead tonight. No support for the kid's incredible pitching."
The conversation took a turn as another figure, an older man with a keen eye for the game, raised an eyebrow and added, "Speaking of his pitching, did you see that? A 120 mile-per-hour pitch? That's not just talent; it's unheard of. No pitcher in the history of baseball, not even the greats, could reach that mark."
Izuku, who had been silently observing the exchanges, felt a growing sense of unease. 'Zak, why did you throw with all your strength?! Now everyone's going to be suspicious,' he thought, concern etching his face.
Senator Brandt scoffed, "Please, it's just raw talent. Nothing more."
Another guest, a younger woman with a playful tone, teased, "I bet you wouldn't be saying that if Powers was playing for another team. Like say, the Giants, for instance."
Brandt glared at the woman. "Don't even joke about that."
Izuku's attention was drawn back to the field, where Brock Armstrong was being awarded the World Series MVP trophy. He watched intently as Brock lifted the trophy, a sense of realization dawning on him. 'How could he hit a ball going that fast? Unless...' His thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
"Let's get going, Private," Brandt said, gesturing towards the exit. "I'd rather not watch the Yankees celebrate any longer than necessary."
"Yes sir."
As they began to leave the suite, one of the guests quietly excused himself. Stopping around a secluded corner, he pulled out his phone.
"Hey, did you watch the game? That rookie pitcher for the Dodgers, Zak Powers... There's no doubt about it, he's one of them. And I'm pretty sure the Yankees' best hitter is too," he whispered into the phone, a sly grin spreading across his face as the person on the other end spoke. "Make sure the right people know. After tonight, the world won't be able to ignore the danger of meta-humans."
Ending the call, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and left with a sense of satisfaction.
The night air at Dodgers Stadium buzzed with the post-game excitement of the Yankees' victory. Amidst the frenzy of media and players celebrating, Zak Powers, dressed in inconspicuous attire with his head concealed by a hoodie, approached Brock Armstrong, his expression a mix of anger and suspicion.
"Hey…We need to talk," Zak said, his voice barely containing his unease.
Brock, glancing at Zak suspiciously, nodded in agreement. Together, they moved to the other side of the team bus, seeking the anonymity of the shadows.
Once secluded, Zak's voice dropped to a whisper, laced with accusation. "Alright, Armstrong, out with it. You're one of them, aren't you?"
Brock leaned against the bus with a casual air, smirking. "One of them, Powers? You'll have to be more specific."
Zak's right hand tightened around an object in his hoodie pocket, his frustration mounting. "Don't play dumb! Regular people can't track that kind of fastball…and I refuse to believe that hit was just luck."
Brock straightened up, countering Zak's accusation with his own. "Right… Just like no regular person can throw a ball that fast. Tell me, what is your ability anyway?"
"Power."
Brock wasn't amused. "Seriously?"
Zak shrugged, keeping his hands in his hoodie pockets. "That's as much as I can say about it. What about you?"
"If you must know," Brock kept his voice down, "I can track and process things a bit faster than normal people." He tapped his head, smirking, "No one else would be able to track that fastball of yours, except me."
Zak narrowed his gaze. 'So his Meta-Ability is all mental, huh? Not enhanced strength… Still that does beg the question…'
"Then why did you wait to hit my pitch till the top of the ninth…in Game 7?" Zak snarled, bristling over the revelation that Brock had been playing him from the beginning.
Brock shrugged. "Sports is all about entertainment, man. Plus, I can't hit a homer every at-bat, otherwise, people will get suspicious. You know this." His tone then softened, hinting at an unspoken understanding. "Listen, Powers, as long as you keep quiet, I'll do the same. People like us, we need to watch each other's backs."
Before Zak could digest Brock's proposition, a disturbance from the crowd nearby caught their attention. The air was filled with shouts of anger and disbelief.
Looking towards the commotion, Brock's smirk faltered. "Looks like your fans aren't too happy. Tough loss to swallow, I guess."
Zak peered into the crowd and realized that their anger was not about the game. It was something more.
"They're meta-humans!" came a shout, followed by another, "ESPN just broke the story! Armstrong and Powers are frauds!"
The accusations reverberated through the air, intensifying the crowd's fury. "Damn Metas are ruining sports now too!"
Brock and Zak exchanged a shocked glance. Their secret was out, and chaos was unfurling rapidly around them.
Brock's teammates confronted him with disbelief and anger. "Is it true?!"
Brock, visibly unnerved, tried to defuse the situation. "Hey, easy fellas. It's not what it looks like."
But his teammates were relentless. "What do you mean? Are you a Meta or not?!"
"All the runs you scored…all the records you broke…Did you have a Meta-Ability to help you this whole time?!"
As Brock grappled with his incredulous teammates, Zak saw his chance to escape. He weaved through the parked cars, keeping his head low. In his haste, he collided with someone.
"Hey, watch it!" The person snapped.
Zak, startled, mumbled an apology, but froze upon seeing the man's appearance. The stranger had an uncanny resemblance to a jellyfish. Though mostly concealed by a long dark raincoat, his arms were replaced with long, bluish-white tentacles that resembled those of a deep-sea jellyfish. These tentacles were translucent, revealing a complex network of bio-luminescent veins that pulsed with a soft, eerie glow. The tips of the tentacles crackled with bio-electricity, emitting occasional sparks that illuminated his surroundings in a ghostly light. His face retained human features but bore an expression that was often cold and detached.
Zak's inner alarm bells rang. 'W-what the hell is this freak?!'
The jellyfish-man sneered at Zak's reaction. "What's with that look, punk?"
"N-Nothing…" Zak stammered, trying to maintain composure. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry…" He hated to apologize, but confrontation was the last thing he needed.
The man's annoyance was evident, but before he could retaliate, one of his companions intervened. "Let it go, Wade. This nobody ain't worth our time."
He was a fortress of man with his entire body covered in a rugged, rocky exoskeleton, resembling a walking sculpture carved out of granite. The stone covering his body was a mosaic of various shades of gray, with hints of darker veins running through like fault lines. Each of his movements were accompanied by a subtle grinding sound, as if tectonic plates were shifting with his every gesture.
"Yesss," the third figure hissed in a raspy, feminine voice, "I can see the Yankee bussses over there. Armssstrong's bound to be there."
She had an appearance that was both mesmerizing and unsettling, resembling a humanoid snake. Her skin had a subtle, scaly texture, reminiscent of a serpent, and was tinted with a greenish hue that seemed to shift in different lights. Instead of conventional human arms, her limbs were replaced with elongated snake heads, complete with flickering tongues and piercing, reptilian eyes. These snake heads had fangs dripped with acidic venom that shimmered dangerously. Her own eyes mirrored those of her snake limbs, giving her a hypnotic, almost otherworldly gaze. Her movements were fluid and graceful, akin to a serpent slithering effortlessly along the ground.
The jellyfish-looking man, Wade, briefly looked between Zak and his two compatriots in contemplation before scoffing. "Whatever." He placed the end of his tentacles back in his coat's pockets. "We got bigger fish to fry anyway. Count yourself lucky, punk."
Wade brushed past Zak before resuming his walk with his two companions.
"Wonder what Armstrong's ability is," the rock-man said curiously.
"Maybe it's his name's sssake like yours, Peter. Strong Arms, hehehe," the snake-woman chuckled.
"Doesn't matter. Imma fry that bastard for hitting that homer." Wade snarled angrily. "Lost so much damn money on losing that bet."
"That's what you get for gambling…" Peter sighed exasperatedly.
Zak sighed deeply in relief. "Tough break, Armstrong. Shouldn't have hit my pitch, you damn moron." He murmured under his breath as he continued walking away.
However, the snake-woman, with her heightened senses, overheard Zak. "Hmm? What was that?"
Zak froze, shocked. 'Sh*t! Did that ugly heifer actually hear me?!'
Peter and Wade turned, intrigued. "What is it, Serena?"
The snake-woman, Serena, fixed her gaze on Zak. "You," she said, "turn around and show us your face."
With his heart pounding in his chest, Zak made a split-second decision. With a swift movement, he pulled an object from his hoodie pocket and hurled it with all his might at the biggest of the three mutants confronting him. The baseball flew through the air, striking the stone-covered man, Peter, squarely in the chest.
"Oof!" Peter grunted, momentarily stunned by the unexpected impact. "What was—"
Seizing the moment, Zak broke into a frantic sprint, his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. His mind was singularly focused on reaching the safety of Dodger Stadium, where his car was parked in a private lot.
'Just need to get out of here,' he thought desperately.
However, Zak's string of bad luck was far from over. Midway through his escape, a sharp pain shot through his right leg, sending him tumbling to the ground. The cause of his agony was quickly revealed as Serena, quick and lethal as her namesake, struck with her snake-head arm, injecting her venom.
"I love it when prey runsss," Serena cooed, her voice dripping with cruel amusement.
Wade and Peter loomed over him. Peter's deep voice resonated with disapproval. "That was a bad decision, kid."
Serena, with a swift motion, revealed Zak's identity by pulling back his hoodie. Her hiss was tinged with glee. "Well, well, look who it is, fellasss? Baseball's new young face."
Wade's smirk grew as he recognized the fallen athlete. "Zak Powers. All-Time Rookie Pitcher. Unanimous National League MVP…Game 7 Choker. Fancy running into you out here."
Peter, examining the baseball Zak had thrown at him, noted the cracks in his rocky exterior from the hit. "He's the real deal. No one can throw a ball that hard and fast." He crushed the ball in his rocky hand, dropping the remnants to the ground.
Zak, writhing in pain from the venom, spat out his frustration and fear. "What the hell did you do to me, b**ch?!"
Wade's response was swift and electrifying, as a jolt from his tentacle sent Zak into further agony. "Watch your mouth, a**hat. No one talks to my friends that way."
Serena's chuckle was dark and sinister. "I injected my venom into you. Not enough to kill, just enough to make sure you don't run away, ssstud."
Zak's defiance, even in the face of overwhelming pain, was palpable. "Who the hell are you three stooges? What do you want?!"
Wade raised an eyebrow, his smirk undimmed. "You don't watch the news, do you, Choker?"
"People in the media like to call us LA's Renegadesss," Serena added, her tone mocking.
Peter shrugged, a gesture that sent small fragments of stone tumbling to the ground. "Hmm… Sounds like a sports team name, but it's cool enough, I suppose."
Wade leaned in closer, the threat in his voice unmistakable. "See, we bet so much money on the Dodgers tonight. A lot, actually. We came out here to kill that fraud Armstrong and hunt you down next. But you coming to us? That's just perfect. Now we can kill both of you frauds in the same night."
Zak, his voice trembling with fear, offered a desperate solution. "L-Look, I-I'll pay you! I got money!"
Wade's response was a calm yet cruel jolt of electricity from his tentacle.
As Zak howled in pain, his body convulsing uncontrollably, Wade's contempt was clear. "You know, out of all the people in this world, it's 'normal-looking' metas like you I can't stand."
Peter's voice rumbled, echoing the depth of their resentment. "This isn't just about money. While mutants like us are cast aside, metas like you live the good life, ignoring our struggles."
Serena's hiss was filled with venomous spite. "So much for Metas sssticking together."
"I think it's time Mister Powers here learns what it truly means to be a meta-human in this dark and unfair world." Wade sinisterly stated.
Lying on the ground, paralyzed by pain and fear, Zak stared up at the three mutants. Their eyes gleamed with malevolent intent, and he realized the full extent of his peril.
'Aw sh*t…' He mentally cursed.
As Izuku Midoriya, Senator Brandt, and their security detail neared the senator's limousine, parked in the vicinity of Dodgers Stadium, the din of the crowd outside resonated through the air. The mixture of cheers and commotion suggested a post-game atmosphere charged with heightened emotions.
Senator Brandt, ever observant, remarked casually, "It sounds like things are getting crazy over there." His tone was light, but his eyes scanned the area with a hint of concern.
One of the bodyguards, maintaining a vigilant stance, reassured him, "We'll make sure to avoid going out that way, sir."
Izuku, meanwhile, strained his ears, trying to decipher the nature of the uproar. The shouts, though muffled by distance, carried an undercurrent of anger, distinct from the usual post-game fervor. He thought to himself, 'What's going on out there? It can't just be people being rowdy over the game…'
Bodyguard 2, after a quick glance at his phone, leaned in to whisper to Senator Brandt, his voice tinged with urgency. "Sir, sorry to break it to you, but there's been breaking news. Zak Powers and Brock Armstrong have been exposed as meta-humans."
The senator's face registered surprise. "You can't be serious? Powers and Armstrong were seriously metas?"
Izuku's expression tightened. 'Zak knew better than to throw a ball that fast, but he let his pride get in the way.' He inwardly lamented.
Brandt let out a deep sigh, a mix of disbelief and disappointment in his voice, as he removed his Powers jersey, revealing a crisp white button-up shirt. "Though Powers was a natural born talent...Seems it was a bit too natural. What a shame."
Izuku felt a complicated mix of emotions. Despite Zak's past behavior, he couldn't help but empathize with his old friend, understanding the severe consequences this revelation would have for Zak's life moving forward.
Another bodyguard, ending a call, turned to the group with a grave look. "Police are en route. We've got reports of the Renegades causing trouble in the offsite parking area close to the Yankees team buses. For your safety, we need to leave immediately, Senator."
Izuku's attention snapped to the bodyguard. "Hold on, the Renegades?" He knew of them – a trio of mutant meta-human criminals notorious in the Los Angeles area. Their crimes ranged from petty theft to brutal homicide, and their propensity for violence was well-known.
Concerned for the safety of those near the Yankees buses, Izuku pressed for more information. "Where exactly are they?"
The bodyguard responded, "Offsite parking area, Lot 13, but—"
Without waiting for another word, Izuku took off at a sprint, his determination fueling his rapid strides.
"Wait! Private Midoriya, where are you going?" Brandt shouted.
Ignoring the senator and bodyguards shouting after him, Izuku was already sprinting out of the private, guarded parking area and into the vast public lots. He weaved his way through the thickening crowd and bumper-to-bumper traffic, his mind racing with urgency, darted through the lively tailgating lot outside Dodgers Stadium.
The air was thick with the aroma of grilling food, and the background was filled with the mingled sounds of music and televisions broadcasting the post-game show. The news of Zak Powers and Brock Armstrong being revealed as meta-humans dominated the screens, drawing animated discussions among the fans.
Amidst the chaos, a realization struck Izuku. 'It wouldn't look good for the SSR if I was identified…' He slowed down, scanning the area for something to disguise his identity.
Spotting a group of tailgaters, Izuku made a beeline towards them. The group, engrossed in the broadcast, barely noticed his approach. Izuku, wearing his army dress uniform, caught their attention as he came to a halt in front of them.
"Excuse me," Izuku began, his tone urgent but polite. "I know this is gonna sound weird, but could I please have your mask and sunglasses? Oh, and the jersey and ball cap too. It's an emergency!"
The man, a stout fellow with a beer in hand, stared at Izuku with confusion, momentarily speechless.
He wore a custom Team USA World Baseball Classic jersey that was mostly blue and littered with white stars, had red double zeroes, and a white name plate on the back that read AMERICA. On his head was a blue Dodger ball cap turned backwards, an American flag neck gaiter, and a pair of black sunglasses hanging down from his neck.
His eyes briefly flicked over Izuku's uniform, taking in the "private" insignia and SSR medal.
The man, still in a daze from the abrupt request, managed a response. "Uh, sure, but only if you trade me your jacket and cap."
Without a moment's hesitation, Izuku swiftly removed his army mess dress jacket and white cap, exchanging them for the man's baseball paraphernalia. He quickly donned the jersey, which hung loosely over his frame, placed the cap on his head, pulled the neck gaiter over his mouth and nose, and slid on the sunglasses.
The group of tailgaters watched in a mix of confusion and curiosity as Izuku, now disguised, gave them a brisk nod of thanks. "I appreciate it," he said, before darting off into the crowd.
His new get-up gave him the anonymity he needed as he continued his sprint toward Lot 13. The tailgaters, left behind, looked at each other and then at the discarded army jacket and cap.
"Did that just happen?" one of them asked, bewildered.
"Yeah, and I think I just swapped clothes with a soldier on a mission," the man in the jersey replied, still holding Izuku's jacket.
As they turned their attention back to the TV, the breaking news about the Renegades causing trouble in the Dodger's parking lot was played, making the tailgaters tense up anxiously. They weren't far from where the commotion was unfolding. Without a word, the people scrambled to get into their vehicles, not even bothering to pack up their gear.
Clad in an unassuming baseball gear, Izuku Midoriya moved through the night with an urgency that belied his nondescript appearance. He navigated the post-game chaos with the agility of a trained soldier, leaping over coolers and weaving between parked cars. His mind was laser-focused on reaching Lot 13 to confront the danger posed by the Renegades. The cacophony of celebration around him faded into a distant hum as he honed in on his target, propelled by a mix of duty and adrenaline.
The distant glow of flashing lights and the wail of emergency sirens grew increasingly pronounced as he neared the lot. Suddenly, the crack of gunfire pierced the air, followed by the urgent shouts of police officers. The atmosphere instantly turned to panic. Screams of fear erupted from the crowd as people jostled and shoved, desperately seeking safety.
Amid the chaos, Izuku's instincts kicked in. To avoid the surging crowd, he sprang onto the hood of a nearby car. His shoes clanged against the metal, drawing a few startled glances from the fleeing spectators. Without hesitation, he continued his path, bounding from one vehicle to another.
Izuku's rapid ascent across the tops of parked cars offered him a clearer view of the unfolding disaster ahead. The scene below was one of utter chaos – emergency lights flashed amidst the darkness, police officers scrambling to contain the situation, and the Renegades wreaking havoc in the center of it all.
Several vehicles were overturned, including the distinctive Yankees team bus, lying on its side like a fallen giant. Police officers, guns drawn, were desperately trying to form a perimeter, but their efforts seemed almost futile against the might of the Renegades.
Peter, the stone-clad giant, stood unfazed amidst a hail of bullets, his rocky exterior making him impervious to the gunfire. Nearby, Wade, with his electrified tentacles, was a storm personified, sending lightning bolts arcing through the air. Each bolt either stunned or fatally wounded the officers brave enough to approach. Serena, her snake-head arms writhing, spat streams of venom with deadly precision, her attacks causing chaos and injury among the ranks of law enforcement.
Amid the turmoil and wreckage of Lot 13, a group of over a dozen bystanders huddled together, a mix of fear and confusion etched on their faces. They included Yankee players, team staff, and media personnel, all caught in the Renegades' destructive wake. They were trapped by the chaos of overturned vehicles and the looming threat of the Renegades. Izuku quickly scanned the group; though visibly shaken and disheveled, they appeared to be physically unscathed, a small relief amidst the havoc.
However, sprawled on the pavement in front of them were two familiar figures. One was Brock Armstrong, the Yankees' star rookie hitter. He lay motionless, his arms twisted unnaturally and his body covered in patches of Serena's green venom.
When Izuku saw the other individual beside Brock, he felt his heart skip a beat. 'Zak?!' He internally shouted. 'What's he doing out here?!'
Sure enough, Zak laid helpless and severely injured on the pavement, with noticeable bruises and telltale signs of electric burns around his exposed shoulders and chest. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Izuku; the bully who had once made his life miserable for years growing was now in need of his help.
Izuku shook his head, refocusing on the dire situation. Despite their tumultuous past, Izuku couldn't allow his personal feelings to cloud his judgment. His training over the past six months had prepared him for moments like this.
Perched atop a car roof, the super-soldier crouched low, rapidly analyzing the scene. His eyes flicked between the trio of meta-humans, known infamously as the LA Renegades. His enhanced mind quickly cataloged their abilities, recalling the details he had meticulously noted from news reports months prior.
His attention first zeroed in on Wade Shockley. Blue lightning crackled and danced from his tentacles, striking down police officers seeking cover. 'Wade Shockley, a Mutant type. He possesses jellyfish-like traits and the ability to generate devastating bio-electricity.'
Next, his gaze shifted to Serena. She was unleashing a toxic spray of venom from her snake-head arms, emitting a foul stench that wafted even to Izuku's position. 'Serena Viper, another Mutant. Her snake-like physiology allows her to deliver deadly bites and project streams of venom.'
Gunfire redirected Izuku's attention to the final member of the group. The bullets were futile against his stone-like exterior as he nonchalantly hurled a car at the officers, sending them scattering. 'Peter Stonewall, a living fortress. His stone exoskeleton grants him immense durability and strength.'
Armed with this knowledge and a clear understanding of the scene, Izuku's mind worked at lightning speed, formulating a strategy. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and he had to use every bit of this information and what was in his surroundings to his advantage.
"Alright, soldier. Mission: start," Izuku Midoriya whispered under his breath, his resolve steeling.
He swiftly descended from the car roof, moving with a purpose towards the vehicle's rear. Utilizing his enhanced strength, he tore open the trunk lid, dismantling the locking mechanism with brute force. He rummaged through the contents, revealing the spare tire nestled within. With a firm grip, he pulled the tire off its rim with a powerful tug, showcasing his super-soldier prowess.
'Tire. Check,' Izuku thought, placing the tire on the ground. His next move was to create a significant distraction. Spotting a nearby overturned car, he noted the fuel leaking from its undercarriage. His military training kicked in, guiding him as he carefully approached the vehicle, mindful of the spreading gasoline.
Izuku opened the car's hood and quickly assessed the engine. The battery, still intact amidst the wreckage, presented an opportunity. He detached one of the battery cables, causing sparks to fly as it brushed against the metal frame. Carefully, he directed the sparking cable towards the trail of gasoline. As the sparks met the fuel, fire erupted, tracing the gasoline back to the tank. Within moments, a massive explosion roared to life, sending flames and smoke shooting into the sky.
'Distraction. Check,' he thought, sprinting away from the fiery scene.
The explosion drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity, including the Renegades.
Peter, caught off guard, turned to Wade, a look of confusion crossing his stony face. "You should be careful where you fire your lightning, man," he chided, suspecting a misfire. "There's bound to be gas on the pavement."
Wade, perplexed, responded with a frown. "I didn't shoot over there."
Seizing the opportunity provided by the explosion's distraction, Izuku acted swiftly via sprinting towards the electrified mutant, the spare tire in hand–moving with speed and precision honed by months of rigorous training. In a fluid motion, Izuku slipped the tire over Wade's head and down to his shoulders, pinning the mutant's electrified tentacles to his sides. The rubber tire acted as a perfect insulator, effectively neutralizing Wade's dangerous bio-electricity.
"Hey! What the hell!?" Wade shouted, dumbfounded.
Stunned by this unexpected maneuver, Izuku wasted no time and delivered a powerful, precise chop to the back of Wade's neck that ensured he lost consciousness.
Wade's body slumped to the ground, rendered harmless for the moment. 'Shockley insulated. Check.'
The police officers, previously huddled behind their vehicles and makeshift barricades, momentarily ceased their defensive maneuvers. Their eyes were fixed on the extraordinary scene unfolding before them.
"Holy sh*t! Did you just see that?" one officer whispered to his colleague, barely able to conceal his astonishment.
Nearby, another officer, cautiously peering over the hood of a patrol car, couldn't help but quip, "Guess we'll have to add 'spare tires' to the standard issue gear." His attempt at humor was a thin veil over the shock of witnessing the scene.
Among the bystanders trapped in the turmoil, a sense of awed shock spread like wildfire. The Renegades had dominated the scene since their arrival, proving to be a relentless force against even the most prepared police and SWAT teams. Yet, here was a seemingly random fan, armed with nothing but quick thinking and a tire, who had managed to incapacitate one of the group's most dangerous members.
In the midst of the confusion, a reporter, hunkered down with her cameraman, seized the moment. "Hey," she whispered urgently, "is the camera still working?"
The cameraman, understanding the significance of the moment, nodded affirmatively.
"Okay, start filming. This could get interesting," she instructed, her voice low but steady.
Complying, the cameraman quickly adjusted his camera, bringing it to focus on Izuku and the tense standoff.
As Izuku stood ready, the expressions on Peter and Serena's faces shifted from intense focus to surprise, their attention now fully on him.
"What happened?!" Serena hissed, her snake-like features contorting in disbelief as she stepped away from the unconscious Zak and Brock.
Peter, composed despite the tumult, grunted in recognition of the situation. "That guy used a tire to insulate Wade's electricity," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Sound thinking."
Serena, her fury undiminished, scoffed at Peter's observation. "He can't be all that sssmart to challenge us," she remarked, before launching a stream of venom at Izuku.
Izuku, anticipating the attack, dodged nimbly, the venom splattering harmlessly beside him. "Is that the best you circus freaks can do?" he taunted, challenging them with a tone laced with bold defiance.
"Circus freaks?" Enraged by the insult, Serena bared her fangs. "That'sss it! You're dead!" She lunged forward, charging straight at Izuku with deadly intent.
Peter, realizing Serena's impulsive move, lumbered after her with a frustrated growl. "Wait, Serena! Argh!" His heavy footsteps reverberated across the ground, causing a minor tremor with each step.
Izuku, seizing the opportunity, sprinted away, weaving through the maze of parked cars, drawing Serena and Peter into a chase.
With the Renegades distracted, the police officers seized the moment and sprang into action. "Let's move, now!" one officer shouted to his colleagues. "We've got a window – get these people to safety!"
The officers who weren't severely injured quickly mobilized, ushering the bystanders away from the immediate danger zone. They moved swiftly but carefully, guiding the group to a safer distance.
"Wait! We need to film this!" The female reporter protested as the officers led her and her cameraman to safety.
"Not the time! Let's move!"
Meanwhile, one of the officers knelt by Zak and Brock and radioed for medical assistance. "We need ambulances at Dodger Stadium Lot 13, ASAP! We've got two severely injured in need of immediate medical attention!"
After running crisscross through the parked car maze to throw Serena off his trail (even if it was temporary), Izuku ducked behind an overturned white taxi lying next to another vehicle. The maze of parked cars provided both cover and constraint, a factor he needed to use to his advantage against Serena.
'Reports have claimed that Serena's venom can be deadly even if it makes skin contact. I'll need protection.' As he looked around, his gaze was drawn to the white taxi's driver side door, which had a bold blue star on it.
Izuku ripped the door off its hinges with the sound of tearing metal. Clutching the door in his left hand, he thought,'Shield. Check.'
Nearby, a signpost caught his eye. With a firm pull, he uprooted it, asphalt crumbling at its base. 'Not ideal, but it'll have to do,' he mused, now armed with an improvised spear.
Suddenly, Serena's voice shattered the tense silence. "Found you!" she yelled, unleashing a stream of venom from her snake-head arms. Izuku, with reflexes honed through rigorous training, raised the door in defense. The venom splashed against the metal, fizzling harmlessly.
Izuku weaved through the cars, using them as barriers against Serena's relentless venom sprays. She soon realized her venom was running low and shifted tactics, leaping over cars to close the distance and lash out with her arms.
"You think you're sssome hero? Sssaving the day with ssscraps and trasssh?" Serena sneered, her attacks swift and deadly.
Izuku, unphased, parried with the door and jabbed with his makeshift spear. "Heroes do what's needed, with whatever they have," he retorted confidently.
"Isss that what you think you are?" Serena laughed mockingly. "This isssn't sssome comic book. The real world has no heroes – only people trying to sssurvive day by day."
"Maybe you're right, but some of us choose to make a difference regardless," Izuku replied, his determination unwavering.
Amidst their clash, the sound of cars being shoved aside signaled Peter's arrival.
Izuku quickly formulated a plan.
"You know," he said, dodging another of Serena's swipes, "your melee attacks aren't too effective here. Why not shoot more venom? Is it because you're running out?"
In a rage, Serena unleashed a final torrent of venom, but Izuku dove out of the way, redirecting the spray towards Peter. However, Peter, with his rocky exterior, remained unaffected. He glanced at Serena, annoyance evident in his stony features. "Lucky I have thick skin," he grumbled.
Izuku furrowed his brow. 'Should've known that wouldn't work. His rock skin protects him from bullets.' He then took note of the gaps in his exoskeleton; specifically, the indented cratered area on his chest. Had something managed to damage him earlier?
He narrowly evaded a devastating swipe from the stone colossus whose attack was so forceful it sent a nearby car tumbling across other parked cars.
At that moment, Serena, swift and venomous, joined the fray. She launched a series of rapid attacks, her snake-head arms darting towards Izuku with lethal intent. Izuku, shield at the ready, parried her venomous strikes, each block resonating with the sound of clashing metal.
Peter, capitalizing on the distraction, charged with the weight of a landslide. His massive fist connected with Izuku's shield, the impact propelling Izuku backward with tremendous force. His baseball cap went flying off his head while his sunglasses came off.
Izuku collided with the side of a pickup truck, his body denting the metal upon impact. He crumpled to his knees, gasping from the blow. His battered shield and makeshift spear clattered to the ground beside him.
Peter, aware of the escalating situation, urged his companion to retreat. "C'mon, let's get Wade and go! The longer we stay, the more cops that'll show."
But Serena, driven by a desire for vengeance, refused to back down. "Not until I kill him!" she declared; her eyes fixed on Izuku with lethal intent.
Struggling to his feet and leaning against the truck for support, Izuku braced himself for her attack. He narrowly dodged a strike from one of her snakeheads, which punctured the truck's paneling, leaving behind oozing green venom.
Izuku, recalling his training in close-quarters combat, expertly dodged and parried Serena's relentless attacks, each move calculated to avoid her venomous touch.
Frustrated with each missed strike, Serena lunged forward, aiming for a hit that she couldn't miss. But Izuku, showcasing his exceptional reflexes, caught her right snakehead arm at the base, preventing it from striking. As she attacked with her other arm, Izuku mirrored his earlier move, seizing her other snakehead arm.
Gripping her wrists tightly, Izuku caused Serena to cry out in pain. Seizing the moment, he pulled her forward and delivered a powerful knee strike to her solar plexus. Serena gasped, a mix of blood and spit escaping her mouth from the force of the blow.
As she doubled over in pain, Izuku quickly released her arms and executed a precise roundhouse kick to her reptilian face. Mindful of super-strength, Izuku made sure to hold back enough for it not to be fatal. Still, the impact sent her sprawling to the ground, rendering the snake-woman unconscious by the swift and decisive strike.
'Viper neutralized. Check.' The super-soldier didn't have a chance to rest though before diving forward to avoid being smashed into the pavement by Peter, who's blow created cracks and a gaping hole beneath his huge, rocky fists.
"Serena and Wade are both reckless, but they're still my only friends." Peter declared, his voice echoing with a mix of anger and regret. "Can't tolerate others hurting them."
Izuku countered, "I respect that, but they bring this upon themselves by choosing to hurt innocents."
Peter scoffed, "There are no innocents," before charging straight for Izuku.
As this fight played out, across Lot 13, police officers worked diligently to evacuate bystanders from the dangerous crossfire. Amidst this chaos, Wade was beginning to stir from unconsciousness.
Confused and disoriented, Wade found himself pinned to the ground, a heavy tire wrapped around his arms, effectively immobilizing him and rendering his electric abilities useless. With a grimace of frustration, he began to contort his jellyfish-like body, slowly wriggling and squeezing his way out from under the tire.