Metallic clanking echoed up and down the street. It took its
half of the road out of the middle. New York City traffic stumbled to halt as
the big machine rolled into place. The treads bit into the asphalt tearing
chunks loose and leaving a trail. Worried exclamations of people sounded all around,
and horns blared. Small shops lined either side with patrons filling the
sidewalks. Everyone stopped to regard the tank-like vehicle and its smooth shiny
surfaces. It had no hatch, or visible weaponry and it didn’t move for several
minutes as people gathered.
The police arrived and an officer started knocking on the
metal hull.
“All
right, come on out.”
A whirring sound responded to him and panels opened on
either side of the vehicle to reveal speakers. From the front and back even
larger speakers rotated out from the hull. The speakers started to blast the
opening to the song ‘Ballroom Blitz’ as more panels opened on the head of the
tank. Large gun barrels protruded from five sides of the upper portion. People
were already running at this point. As the song reached “All right fellas,
let’s goooo” the guns began firing and the top of the tank rotating. The volume
of the music could easily be heard over the blasting of the cannons.
Store fronts exploded into confetti sized debris. Most cars
were below the line of fire, but trucks were cut in half. Light poles fell over
like fresh mowed grass. People ran, screamed, or threw themselves to the
pavement. The guns fired well above their heads, but debris still threatened to
kill many.
When you can move at twice the speed of light, sound means
nothing. There isn’t any. Electrode could see the paths of heavy caliber
bullets lined up in the air. He could see people on the verge of being trampled
as they fell under the panicked crowd. He had a choice to make. He could grab
bullets or grab people. At his speed, he could collect all the bullets
currently airborne and remove them. If he did, he would have to compensate for
the speed of the bullets or risk blowing his own hands apart in the process.
Where ever he moved them, they would still have their own velocity and
direction to deal with. He could cancel that velocity for some, but not all. So,
people it was. He had been told to remove the people anyway. After all, he
didn’t come alone.
Electrode, with care for his own velocity against human
bodies, removed everyone from close proximity to the death machine. He took
them to the lower level of a nearby parking garage. There were enough large
buildings between the machine and the garage that it wouldn’t be hit at all.
While this task seemed to be done instantly, for Electrode it was a painstaking
process of care and control. He could never forgive himself if he splattered
someone’s mother all over a wall.
As the firing and music continued, Electrode’s partner
watched the sidewalks clear of people so he could do his part. He floated in
the form of simple air, unaffected by the enhanced bullets flying through him.
They called Sandstorm the most powerful elemental in the world. Even with such
a title, this would not be so easy. Buildings in close quarters and a sewer
system with active gas mains provided complications. He couldn’t just command
the street to uproot on the machine without collateral damage and greater
threats. As it were, the bullets were about to cleave through close buildings
and into the ones beyond.
A loud CRACK sound told Sandstorm that Electrode was in the
fight. As the nuclear electric man, Electrode had more than just speed. He
struck the vehicle with a powerful strobe of nuclear lightning.
“That
didn’t get through the hull! It’s insulated too well!” Electrode shouted.
“I have
an idea.” Sandstorm made his voice boom through the air.
“Well do
it quick. This song and destruction combo is getting annoying.”
Sandstorm
could manifest himself as any combination or elements or weather. He even made
himself a giant at times of various combinations. He flew over the top of the
tank machine and manifested himself as a giant humanoid of pure iron ore. He
landed on the top swivel and grappled the cannons. The barrels twisted under
him and a loud screeching noise sounded. Metal within the turning apparatus
ground together and snapped as the sides blew out. The music slurred and stopped.
Still in his giant form, Sandstorm gripped the top of the
tank and tore it off to see who was driving. He dropped the junked lid in
disgust and turned back to a normal sized human being.
“Fry the
inside of that please.” Sandstorm said.
“Who’s
in it?”
“No one.
It’s a robot and I don’t want any surprises.”
Electrode
jumped up on it and melted everything within in a bright flash of power.
“Who
made this? The Raven?” Electrode asked about one of their worst enemies.
“I don’t
know. Raven usually tries to kill us, not everyone else. This isn’t like him.”
“Professor
Zombie?”
“Again,
why? Zombie wants to turn everyone into his hench-people. This doesn’t work for
him either.”
“Terrorism?”
“That’s
a possibility. There’s definitely a psychological approach to this with that
song. Whoever did this, wanted to create a presence for themselves.”
“Showmaster.”
Electrode nodded. “This would definitely be like him, but who would be paying
him?”
“That’s
the million-dollar question.”
(Yep, that's where this one ends, folks! Who is behind this bizarre attack? Be sure to follow for new stories, articles, and updates.)
