A Drabble for Tripletroublefisher
@tripletroublefisher
From the rooftops, he could see everything. The city stretched out in all directions, blanketing the landscape with a million points of light. Even this late, the hustle and bustle refused to die down, people darting to and fro along the sidewalks, their chatter audible, even from ten stories high.
He tuned them out, the lights, the sounds, the smell of exhaust and wet pavement. There was only one thing he was looking for.
When he’s found Edward, he was curled into a ball on the street, bloodied and bruised, tears in his eyes. It was a sight the experiment would not soon forget. He’d helped him to his feet, gotten him somewhere warm and safe, cleaned him up. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. But now there were other matters.
The knot in his stomach turned into a mass of hot lead as he’d sat across from him in the diner. The young man had laid out his story for him, and he’d listened intently, the pulse in his ears getting louder with each word. Assault. Robbery. Terror. Someone had attacked his friend. Someone was out there, preying on innocent people. Someonewas hurting them, making them afraid.
He’s sat with him until the boy calmed himself, then he’d gotten him home safe. Once he’d gotten inside unharmed, Chicken Man turned his attention back to the streets.
It had taken some time, and for a few moments, he’d considered packing it up. For a few moments, the thought of going home and curling up in his warm bed seemed the only feasible choice.
Four large men, all wearing green masks, made their way through the streets and down an alleyway. He took a closer look. Sure enough, turtle masks.
They matched Edward’s description perfectly.
He climbed onto the fire escape as quickly and quietly as he could. The men were distracted, talking amongst themselves. Chicken Man could overhear them, going on about their haul for the night. Discussing their targets. Talking about how they’d strongarmed some little guy without any trouble not but a few hours ago.
At the mention of Ed, he felt his blood boil. He waited just a moment until they were directly underneath. Against his better judgement, he made his presence known.
Leaping over the rail, he landed squarely on one of the men, dropping him instantly. The other three stood in shock, staring at the avian in front of them.
“The hell are you?” One asked. It was difficult to tell with the masks on.
“So I gotta ask; which of you is Donatello?”
Keep them talking. Keep them distracted. No way to take them all on, not in a straight fight. Phoenyx was the fighter; he was…not. But if he could catch them off guard, he might have a chance.
They weren’t having it. The first one pulled a blade and rushed forward. So much for that…
Grabbing the first thing he could find, he snatched up a trash can lid and slammed it across the first man’s face. He reeled, staggering for a moment. Chicken Man swung the lid again, catching him under the chin. His head jerked back violently as he fell backwards.
Chicken Man saw his opening and took it, rushing forward and kicking him in the face as hard as he could. His other foot landed on the man’s shoulder, and he used his momentum to carry him towards the next man.
What should have been an easy tackle went south in less than a second. The thug grabbed the experiment and tossed him into the wall. Chicken Man’s head hit brick. He saw fireworks for a moment as a baseball bat came towards his face.
He let his body go limp as he slumped down, the bat sailing mere inches from his skull. He could feel the vibrations as it cracked across the brick wall above him.
The man pulled back his club and brought it straight down. Chicken Man rolled out of the way, the bat hitting concrete.
His legs were open. He pulled back once more. Nowhere for the experiment left to go.
With all his might, Chicken Man kicked out at the man’s knees. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it still knocked him off balance.
He had all of a split second to move until the man regained his balance. It was a low blow, but…
The heel of his foot struck the man squarely in the crotch.
Strike three. You’re out.
The thug groaned in pain, clutching himself, bat still in his hand. Chicken Man steadied himself and rocked forward, getting his feet under him. As deftly as he could, he grabbed the head of the bat and rammed the handle into the man’s solarplexus. Again and again, he slammed the bat into his gut, until finally he fell to his knees.
With a swift motion, he snatched up the baseball bat and clocked the man across the shoulder. He screamed in pain and grasped his arm with his free hand.
His head had been a clear shot. He could have ended him on the spot. It would have been tee-ball practice. No. He’d live. Go down that road again, and you may never come back.
The fourth and final man looked at his fallen friends, looked at the chicken man, and then looked to the mouth of the alley.
“No. You aren’t going anyw-” he was all Chicken Man got out before the man bolted.
Chicken Man grumbled and lobbed the bat after the man. It sailed over his head, missing him completely.
Fortunately, the man tripped over it as he ran, flying forward.
He struggled to get back up, only to feel a weight press him back down.
Chicken Man stood over him for a moment before leaning down, grabbing a handful of hair, and slamming his head hard against the ground.
The four men lay there, broken, bruised, battered, but alive.
Pulling out a roll of duct tape, he bound them together and fished around in their pockets. Sure enough, there was the wallet with Ed’s ID inside. The cash was all there from what he could tell. He made a mental note to ask how much was stolen in the future. Still, he’d throw an extra twenty in there for good measure.
The four men were bound together, back to back. For no particular reason, he pantsed the quartet and left them to their fate.
A quick phone call to the police and he was on his way.
All in all, it was over in less than a few minutes. Not bad for a night’s work.
Now to get Ed his things.
