Of the grandparents he had, he’d only ever met Paula and Iris. He was sure there was a reason for it, since they weren’t dead, and his parents never talked about them. He knew now why he never met his mom’s dad.
It was hard to think, to remember how he got here. Patrol- mom wasn’t feeling too great after the last one, still hadn’t fully recovered from her head injury, so he went out by himself while she slept. Dad was with the League. He was all by himself, but that was okay because he was totally old enough to patrol on his own. He’d gotten halfway through it before something went wrong.
A heavy weight snapped out of the shadows and hit him in the shoulder, dislocating it and sending him flying. He screamed, cut the sound off, and rolled to his feet. Shit, shit, shit. Where’d they go?
When a weight hit the back of his head, he knew he was completely screwed.
Sportsmaster knew how to keep the kid alive long enough to carry out his mission. Lawrence Crock didn’t lose, especially not to his own daughter. She thought she won, that she made a life free of him. She had to be reminded that she’d never be free of him.
He pinned the half-dead boy beneath his foot, holding the phone he’d scrounged off him before calling his daughter, leaving their location and the demand she came out or else before hanging up.
He listened to the wet sounds of the boy’s breathing, betraying a crushed chest and punctured, collapsing lungs. The dislocated shoulder was the first of his injuries but in no way the worst, bones broken all over. He knew the cracked skull must be the worst, leading to bleeding in the brain and swelling and if she didn’t hurry he’d fade before he could finish him off.
But he shouldn’t have doubted her desire to protect. And the moment she arrived he smirked, and crushed the teens throat with his heel, the weak breaths becoming whistles before they stopped all together.
And then he turned, heading to the chopper that would get him out and away.
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