Time Mob Introduction Story

I. ON RITA

         Rita’s fingers rhythmically beat against the wall like the pitter-patter of rain. She drew a shallow breath, which became an exhausted sigh. The eyes behind the door were staring, waiting. Judging. Her hand refused to approach the doorknob, as if it were surrounded by a protective aura.

         “Composure. That’s what matters.” She repeated to herself, attempting to stand erect. A fake smile in the vanity mirror and a tug on her blazer consoled her enough for what was coming. “We’ll get through this, we always do.” Her hand made contact with the cold brass doorknob. A twist and a shove lead to a load creak that announced her presence.

         Her eyes darted around the room. Familiar faces and familiar eyes greeted her. The intensity and respect with which they stared made Rita almost nostalgic for the days she would have to shout to get their attention for even a moment.

         Her presence was fading - she was reaching for words that wouldn't come out. “I can't do this to them. I can't. They’re my family.” she mused, all but paralyzed in front of her companions. “No. As their leader, I accepted the responsibility to tell them things like this.”

         “Caporegimes,” She called out, “I apologize for this sudden meeting. If this could have waited, I would have held it until next week.” Her knuckles clenched instinctively. “Our police contact and legal protector, Commissioner Alan, has been relocated. The new one is named Commissioner Mandrake, and that’s basically all we know about him. That, and, I received a phone call from Alan - the new commissioner is much less tolerant of our organization.”

         “So?” the man to left of her interrupted, putting his feet up onto the table. “We’ve saved half of the figheart police force’s lives, and the other half is too scared to step foot near our building.” He flung his arms back, resting them on the back of his head behind his bright blue fohawk. “And besides, even if that whole office of pigs were to come after us, we’d put them on the ground in seconds. This new commissioner doesn't know who he’s messing with.”

         The giant of a women further down the table gave a small cheer to this performance, causing Rita to roll her eyes at both of them. With a firm landing of her fist upon the table, she restored order to the room, and continued, “Would you two listen? He knows exactly what we’re capable of. He’s called in a SWAT team, and certainly not a lower ranked one. According to Commissioner Alan, we can expect them as early as tomorrow.”

         A surly hispanic man further down the table had to put one hand over his mouth to stop himself from spitting out his water, the other hand crushing the metallic cup he was holding. The rancor of steel twisting filled the room for a moment, and then the room was silent. An eternity later, the blue-haired man rose to speak.

         “Okay, now listen, let’s think about this rationally. So the big pig of the bunch decided to call in his hogs. So what? Calling in a SWAT team on what was clearly a rush order to fight a group of petty thieves isn’t exactly a decision you can make and still keep your position. Especially seeing as we were the ones who took down those other 2 criminal gangs, not those useless cops. Once his higher ups hear about this - especially if we send the SWAT team back crying like babies - he’ll be in hot water.”

         “Are you crazy?” The hispanic man interjected, “You’re talking about fighting a SWAT team! Even with our powers, none of us are nearly bulletproof. They’re gonna be at our door in a squad of at least 12 packing carbines!”

         “Hey Juan, nobody asked you,” The blue-haired man retorted, “and I don't exactly see any other choice. We’ve been here for too long to just dig up and go. They’ll have to drag me out that door, kicking and screaming.”

         Rita smiled for the first time since she had entered the room. “I hate to say it, but Don Onion is right. I know I’m not alone when I say that I have nowhere else to go. But that’s fine, because I could scour my mind and I would fail to find anywhere I would rather be. We’ll need a plan, though.”

         The leader only spent a moment in thought, her brain accelerated by fear and adrenaline. “Mima, I want you to get in touch with our news contact. Tomorrow, I want the headline in the paper to be ‘New Police Commissioner Wastes Resources on Wild Goose Chase.’” She called to the large woman further down the table. With a nod, the large woman exited.

         She then turned to the surly hispanic and asked, “Juan, you’re by far the strongest one here. The only way this attack will work is if we ambush them on the way here - if they reach our doors, it’s the end. I want you to hide at the entrance to the alleyway, flip their vehicle on the way in.”

         “I will be ready.” he replied, arms folded across his chest.

         Finally, she turned to the blue fohawk. “Onion, seeing as you’re so confident, you and your three robots will need to carry out the ambush. These SWAT members are the creme of the crop, you’ll need to be ready for anything.”
“Yeah, got it. It’ll be like shooting pigs in a barrel. And what will you be up to?”

         “I will sneak into Commissioner Mandrake’s office to negotiate the terms of his surrender. I will force him to claim to be unfit after this fiasco and resign, and they will have no choice but to bring back Alan on such short notice. Any questions?”

         Rita’s eyes once again explored the room, and yet this time no eyes looked back. Each pair was aflame, impassioned with schemes to defend their home. No more needed to be said.

         “Meeting adjourned!”

II. ON MIMA

         By the time Rita had ended the meeting, Mima was already halfway to the news contact. The dark, 6’11” titan trod down the streets of Figheart, her instincts long since adapted to the concrete jungle. Two blocks and a sharp turn later, she was at the door of Figheart Press.

         “Hey! Tell Giorgia that Mima’s here!” she shouted, knocking on the door of the building. A hustling of footsteps within was followed by the parting of the door. A girl with a hip, half-shaved hairstyle in a bomber jacket appeared, wearing a stern demeanor that melted as she saw Mima.

         “Oh, what a miracle. It’s been a slow week, I’ll take whatever you’ve got.” She lead Mima through the office, the lethargic workers burdened by a lack of content perking up as Mima walked by. As the two of them entered an office, a silent cheer diffused through the office: they would have a headline.

         The woman poured herself a coffee, black, and for Mima she produced a tall syrupy drink more cream than coffee. “So, what have you got for us today?” Mima took a sip of her beverage, and the other woman could not help but to snicker at the mustache of cream that was left behind.

         “Well, the new police commissioner called a SWAT team on us.”

         “That’s it? There was a SWAT call last week, I thought you would be bringing us a headline.” The woman sighed, returning to her scowl.

         “No, no, you’ve got to look at the spin you could put on this! We’re a bunch of little thieves and he called a whole SWAT. This was, by the way, directly against the orders of the last police commissioner, who was relocated.”

         “Yeah, sure, that does sound front page worthy - in a side column. C’mon, you’ve gotta have more than that.”

         Mima was halfway to the bottom of her drink, while Giorgia had already swigged her whole cup down as if it were medicine. “Alright, what if he were to resign?”

         “That’d be front page. But darling, he just got here, how are you gonna get him to-”

         Something clicked.

         “-oh, I see what’s going on. You all are trying to smoke this floozy out. We help put on the pressure with the story, you all mop up the swat team, he’s as good as gone. Sure, We’ll run your story. Not like we got anything better. We do a follow up when he resigns, it soaks up the readership like crazy. I’m with ya.”

         Mima finished off her drink and gave Giorgia a smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

III. ON JUAN

         The twisted steel cup was taunting him. Mocking him. Each distorted fibre of metal seemed to be heckling his current state. His strength. His passion.

         “How cruel that my greatest feat would be twisted so violently against me.” He articulated to nobody in particular, in the usual dramatic fashion with which he was wont to use. With a slap of his fist the cup was pressed flat against the table. In the meeting room he sat alone, his mood beset by his typical veil of false drama.

         “My envy is unfounded.” he whispered to himself, fist still clenched atop the splintered metal he had once drank from. And from an outside view, the envy was more than unfounded - who else among them could flip a car with ease? He ripped apart rebars with his bare hands, split brick like paper, and could shatter windows with as little as a flick.

         Yet still his heart was deep green. Even when he thought back to the days before his power, the praise he received felt mocking in hindsight. “A beauty!” they would shout. “The king among men - Don Juan! Blessed with a chiseled form, a greek statue, more marble than man!” And yet now to be a normal man, a rank he had once thought himself far surpassed, had become an unachievable goal.

         His brown eyes flared green when he saw his companions draw their keys. Their time keys - the impossible objects that let them become more than themselves. And yet, when the dust cleared, their powers faded, and they could perform as a normal man could.

         Juan retrieved his phone from his pocket. The deep black case around it creaked as his gripped the device. He thought through the amount of things that had to be specially made for him.

         Gunmetal phone case - that was a start. Anything less collapsed when he attempted to hold it. A set of kitchen utensils and cookware made of carbon steel, so they could withstand his grip. A concrete bedframe reinforced by heavy rebar - and even that had to be remade twice a year. Each object was crafted with kindness and care, out of nothing but concern for him, yet he still felt like a toddler in a child-proofed house.

         Long after the dust had returned to the ground and been swept away by broom-wielding men and gusts of wind that were wont to assist them, his strength remained. An unexplainable phenomena, a power that never faded. It plagued him at every moment of his life, an inescapable burden.

         Don Juan clenched his fists as he made way for the door. He was glad he would get to flip a car tomorrow.

IV. ON ONION

         Don Onion’s fingers rhythmically beat against his keyboard like the pitter-patter of rain. He drew a shallow breath, which became an exhausted sigh. The eyes of his creations, though dead and black, were staring, waiting. Judging. His hand refused to approach the activation key, as if it were surrounded by a protective aura.

         “I’ve done this a thousand times.” He repeated to herself, attempting to maintain his sitting posture. A fake smile reflected by the computer screen and a tug on his waistcoat consoled him enough for what could happen. “It worked in the simulations- it’s got to work here.” His finger collided with the enter key - it was too late to change anything now.

         Worried seconds became worried minutes as the code compiled. One mistake - one false step - and they might not exist. The coder couldn’t take his eyes off his creations. He thought about how stupid, how completely outrageous this system was - sentience based on continuous running, not unlike a human. If his code were to have a fatal error, if his system were to crash and reboot during a transfer - their cultivated personalities would be lost.

         “With enough time and money, I’m sure I could make it better. I could make it less dangerous for them.” He said to nobody in particular. His breath exploded into some combination of laughter and an exasperated scream. “I can do it, it will be easy. God, I’m such a dick.”

         A loud beep and a green light saved him from his thoughts. Light returned to the eyes of his three creations - the boot had run successfully. The middle robot, a short, pink, girl-like form, immediately cheered. The sight of Meines rebooting always brought Onion joy as it twist the knife into his heart - “If only I could awaken so happy, so grateful.” The robot on the left, a tall, grey, male-like form, emerged completely stoic, unsurprised.

         “I knew you could do it, Onion.” He stated, retrieving his cap from the shelf and putting it back on. Onion was always shocked at the faith Lebens put in him - it was always more than he knew he deserved. The final robot, a purple-blue womanly form, emerged opening and closing her palms, rotating each joint carefully. She smiled at Onion. “Hey, guess we made it through again, huh, champ?” Onion smiled back at Dasmärchen - the only one of the three that made any sense to him.

         “Alright you three, here’s what’s new. We’re going to be fighting a SWAT team tomorrow, and as much as I, personally, would like to fry some pigs, Rita’s all caught up with this whole “respecting public protectors” thing. So, naturally, the three of you needed some quick, non-lethal weapons. We’ll only have a second to take them all down after Juan knocks ‘em all over. Dasmärchen, I’ve equipped your stave with a stunning spell - locks up their muscles with electrostatic signals.

         “Sweet.” She replied, leaning back against the wall.

         “Meines, you’re packing disabling darts instead of poison. They’ll temporarily destroy all sense of balance and motor coordination. Don’t take ‘em lightly, though, these things could put a bear on the ground.”

         “Wow, gee, this will be interesting.” replied Meines, staring at one of her new darts intently.

         “And Lebens, you’ve been armed with a knock-out gas. One whiff of that will put most things that breathe on the floor.”

         “I have always felt a certain superiority to breathing creatures, I suppose.” Lebens replied.

         “All three of you will need to bring your A-game tomorrow. I trust each of you, though. We’ll show those SWAT pretenders who the real protectors of figheart are.”

         “Will you be remembering your time key this time, Onion? Last time was quite embarrassing.” Lebens commented.

         “Oh crap, yeah! I think it’s still upstairs. Don’t know what I would do without you, Lebens.”

         Onion crept up the darkened stairwell to his room, only stumbling once or twice. He made a note to himself to change the lightbulb for what must have been the hundredth time, and advanced into his quarters. His time key immediately stood out - no other object in the room was remotely similar. He had hewn it from a branch of yggdrasil when he first made his escape, powered it with the golden amber contained within the bark.

         The faint glow of the key would always remind him of his ingenuity, his cunning, yet it also carried bitter reminders of his past. As was typical, he was forced into an active effort to shake such thoughts from his mind. “I escaped them, turned their greatest resource against them- I was the only good creation to ever leave that place.” He repeated to himself, almost choking on his half-belief.

         The key to his powers was deposited into his pocket as he approached the door to make an exit. There was no time to spend reflecting; Mima would be counting on him tomorrow.

V. ON CONFRONTATION

         The sky was clouded on the day of the attack, the sun blotted out by a dark grey blanket which choked out as much light as it possibly could. Don Juan was positioned within the entrance of the alleyway, concealed by the shadows cast down from the buildings. Onion and his creations were a half-block down, hiding in an alcove they had added to the side of their home (illegally, of course, but with structural soundness far beyond the government standard.)

         Rita had long since departed for the police building. She had found her way to its ceiling, and found entry through the ducts. In the cramped darkness she crawled, scarce making a sound with her snake-like movements. She internally chuckled as she thought upon her high-school years when she had cursed her small and thin frame, even though it now served as an imperative asset.

         Upon arriving at what she knew to be the head office, she quietly attempted several screwdrivers on the vent until she found one that worked. Onion’s specially made tool worked like a charm - a small gripping device used to loosen screws from the other side. A small set of magnets held the screws to the vent after they had been completely removed - Rita dared not risk the sound they would make falling against the floor.

         Once the fourth and final screw had been twisted beyond its last thread, she took a deep breath as she carefully retrieved her pistol from her belt. She re-positioned herself with a silent swing of the legs, ready to burst through the metal grating. With a thrust of her legs the vent tumbled to the floor. She pointed her weapon at the chair in the center of the room, currently faced away from her, and as she landed and locked the door.

         “It’s over, captain.”

         She felt the bile welling up in her throat as she referred to the man who threatened her family as a captain. She could only hope it sounded as venomous as it felt. There was no response - she cocked her gun loudly to get his attention.

         “Well? Are you going to surrender, or not?’

         At that moment, a knock graced the door.

         “Captain? Are you in there? I thought you left with the S.W.A.T. team.” An officer said, jiggling the locked doorknob. Rita grinned - she could hardly believe that the captain had handed himself to them. What an immense error he had made! Despite knowing just how dangerous they were, to the point where he would call in an attack squad, he still decided to put himself directly in the line of fire.

         “I’m coming in!” cried the officer, as they swung open the door. They had arrived too late - they were met only by an open window and an empty room.

         Rita immediately called Don Onion when she ducked behind a small café. The phone was hardly able to begin its first ring before the call was answered.

         “What’s up?” Onion opened.

         “The new police commissioner didn't have the sense to stay out of the fight. He’s going to be with the attack team.”

         “For real?”

         “Shocking, I know. But we can't let this opportunity pass. I won't be back by the time they arrive - which could be any minute. I want you to capture the commissioner when he arrives - it will be easier to make him surrender if he is trapped on our home field.”

         “Gotcha.”

         Onion hung up abruptly, which hardly surprised Rita. After a passing glance at her watch, she made way back to her base.

         At the same time, an intimidating vehicle was approaching the very same inconspicuous brick building. The men inside wore uncomfortable expressions - it wasn't everyday that a S.W A.T. team was told to “be ready for absolutely anything.” Their captain, a gruff soldier-type whose body was equally covered in scars and tattoos, carefully inspected the length of her rifle. In the corner of her eye, she caught a signal from her driver.

         “Get ready men.” She announced, readying her weapon. “We jump out in half a minute.”

         She counted down the seconds as they approached the alleyway.

         “Five… Four… Three… Two-” She didn't get to finish. Flipping a car was a difficult task - even for somebody with incredible strength. Grabbing onto an object moving at high speeds and then bracing yourself in a way that allowed you to apply enough force to turn it over was a nearly impossible challenge. However, compared to the 150 kph fastballs he was used to hitting, grabbing a 60 kph truck was almost trivial for Don Juan. The bottom tire cleared his knee as it flew into the air, and as the car landed sideways, the windows all shattered.

         Within the vehicle, the men were struggling to regain their bearings. The captain glanced at her men discontentedly - two of them had fallen unconscious from the tumble alone. Driver notwithstanding, that was a fourth of his men. And even so, before the driver even knew what was going on, a dart pierced the left end of his neck and he fell limp.

         “Another inch to the left and you would've killed him.” Onion badgered, patting Meines on the head.

         “Yeah, but I didn't kill him. Gosh.” Meines retorted, audibly huffing at him. By the time the S.W.A.T members had opened the sideways door, Dasmärchen had already sprinted over and vaulted atop the downed vehicle. As two armed men exited, she slid down and landed between them.

         “‘Sup?” She spoke, before her two rail-like arms reached out and her thin metal fingers found purchase on the two of their heads. “Minka-mykjask!” she cried out, as magic crawled from each of her cold, hard digits that materialized as lightning, crawling through the men’s joints and causing them to seize.

         The purple witch grinned, ready for her next opponent to exit the van. However, the next object to roll out of those steel doors was a small metal tube. Däsmarchen could hardly say “Flashbang!” before she was completely disoriented in a sea of light and sound.

         “I shall handle the others.” articulated Lebens, as he calmly approached the side of the vehicle. With uncanny precision, he bored into the metal wall and stuck his hand through the aperture. “Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.” he dramatized as knock-out gas poured from his hand into the vehicle.

         The remaining men quickly succumbed, but the captain was not so easily stopped. The monstrous figure burst from the van, coughing, sputtering, and fighting her induced drowsiness. She managed to raise her weapon and fire thrice from the hip, piercing through the purple witch knocking her down.

         “Däsmarchen!” Onion shouted, drawing his time key. He raised the glowing branch into the air, and traced the shape of a fletched arrow with broad, exaggerated strokes. “Temporal Integration: Escapist!” He announced, as power swirled from the key into his body. Onion accelerated to incredible speed and landed a sharp left hook on the captain before she even realized he had started moving. In the span of a second, he scooped up his downed creation and propped her against a wall on the opposite side of the alley.

         “Dude… you need to chill.” the damaged witch claimed, pointing at her wounds. “She busted up some joints - no big deal. You’ll just have to buff them out.”

         Onion didn't waste a moment. He sped back to the van and kicked his adversary square in the forehead. She stumbled back, and let loose several bullets, none of which found their impossibly fast target. After a half moment of contemplation, the captain formulated a plan. Onion rushed in, landing hit after hit on the captain, who attempted to sidestep each blow.

         The effort seemed futile, but with each failed dodge her timing got slightly better. And despite thousands of gigabytes worth of knowledge of every living creature compounded by thousands of hours worth of study in various fields, Onion couldn't put together her plan in time. She perfectly sidestepped his punch while launching her left arm outward - a nasty clothesline that turned Onion’s speed against him.

         Meines rushed in and landed a dart on the captain - but she turned and shot out one of the small pink robots legs, putting them on the ground. She looked down at the fallen creator, and pointed her gun at him. “You’re under arrest.”

         Onion devolved into laughter, before spitting at his opponent. “Turn around, numbnuts.” Before she could glance behind, two bony metal hands embraced her shoulders and emptied a magical 30 mA current through her joints. Däsmarchen smirked before kicking the downed and seized captain in the stomach. She and Onion high fived as they began loading the defeated S.W.A.T. members back into their vehicle.

VI. ON MANDRAKE

         During the skirmish, a sports car slid into the alley as its owner vaulted out, landing between Don Juan and the confrontation.

         “So, you are Commissioner Mandrake, Ja?” Juan questioned. Instead of waiting for a response, he immediately caught Mandrake in the chest with a jab, sending him flying backwards into his car, shattering a window. Juan pridefully sauntered over to his opponent and cracked his knuckles.

         “I could have punched you far harder, you know. I just decided that I shouldn't break all your ribs, Rita would be mad.” He smirked, and continued taunting. “Some genius you are. You knew how dangerous we were, and then proceeded to confront one of us in a one on one match. Kind of dumb on your part, Ja?”

         It was at that moment that Mandrake grabbed his dog tag and spun it around. The other side was solid sapphire, and emit a glow Juan easily recognized.

         “Temporal integration: no man’s land.” Mandrake shouted, and a cannon-like bang flung Juan away from him. Juan’s jaw dropped. The new police commissioner knew about their powers because he was an integrator himself - Juan was dumbfounded.

         “That’s right, I’m packing something far scarier than big muscles or quick movement. The integration of all the trench battles during the great war. No man’s land: an integration that allows me to create force, sound, chaos - all the horrors of a trench battle are at my fingertips.” Juan lifted a trash can and hurled it at his empowered enemy, but he just launched it back with a compressed burst of noise. The deflected projectile slammed into Juan, sending him back several feet.

         “Idiot. My powers far outweigh whatever yours - and that’s with this garbage dog tag time key. Image how powerful I’ll be once I take your keys - I’ll be invincible.” Juan rushed at Mandrake again, who flipped Juan over him and into the car with a pillar of force. The commissioner drew his handgun and began firing at Juan, who ripped of the car door to use as a shield.
Mandrake retrieved another clip. Juan saw his opportunity. He flew out of the seat and bashed the severed car door into his foe. The cold steel plate connected with Mandrake, causing him to drop the gun. Juan lowered the car door. Mandrake raised his arm to force his opponent backwards, but Juan was upon him. A crack echoed through the alley as Juan slammed his head into his foe. Mandrake stood still for half a moment before collapsing.

         “Hey, Onion.” Juan shouted, dropping his mangled car part to the ground, “I do not think this commissioner was in it for the police work.”

VII. ON AN AFTERMATH

         Rita’s fingers tapped out the rhythmic beat of a popular club song. She sat proudly at the head of the table, a black briefcase in front of her. The eyes of her companions stared at the object curiously. Her hand approached the clasps as slow as possible, holding the audience in suspense. With a click, Rita lifted the lid, showing row after row of bound bills.

         “Holy crap.” Mima mouthed. “How much is that?”

         “One hundred-thousand euros.” Rita replied. Mima gasped, and further down the table Onion’s eyes widened.

         “And where did you get this money?” Onion blared, still recovering from shock.

         “This money is the bounty that the Hogo-sha Nine put on Commissioner Mandrake. His time key was stolen from them.” Rita explained. “This wasn't all that they gave us - they used their influence to cover our tracks.”

         “For real?” Mima blabbed.

         “Yes, you can check the files: As far as the record is concerned, Mandrake was a criminal who escaped prison in Japan, flew to Italy, and attacked a S.W.A.T. team in an alley while posing as a police commissioner. He was ‘sent back to Japan to be tried there.’”

         Onion scoffed. “I can't believe the Hogo-sha are a government funded top-secret influential sort of thing. They can't even make a decent time key.”

         “They’re not a group of misfits who go around performing semi-legal activities, either.” Rita verbalized, closing the Euro-lined briefcase.

         Don Juan shrugged. “I can't believe we beat the life out of a S.W.A.T. team and a police chief and ended up being the good guys.”

         Rita’s eyes once again explored the room, and yet this time no eyes looked back. Each pair was content, rolling back as the members of the team bantered and laughed. No more needed to be said.

         “Meeting adjourned!”