“Spidey sense” was probably copyrighted, so Radar came up with the term “Bad Feeling”.
He was getting that Bad Feeling as he walked past the Metropolitan Bank. He stopped, and went inside.
The bank was empty, two tellers at the front. Two men were sitting in the lobby. He walked in and the tellers looked up at him. He put his hands in his pockets, and walked to the side. There was no policeman that he could see, which he thought was weird.
One of the tellers caught his eye, and Radar just nodded to him, glanced above him at the clock. 11:32 a.m.
That’s when the doors burst open and men in prison orange streamed in, brandishing guns and knives. “Everybody get down!” yelled one, spraying his semi-automatic in the air.
Radar knew that these guys were the vanguard for someone else. The teller behind the counter screamed and ducked behind it. One of the prisoners grabbed one of the women by the hair from the back and shoved her at the vault door.
The prisoner who spoke yelled at her to open the vault. She fumbled with the keys and opened the vault. Six men stayed trained on the tellers and the two men who were sitting at the lobby. One of the prisoners looked down the barrel of his shotgun right at Radar. Radar slowly moved his hand and twisted the ring on his pinky finger. “Don’t shoot me, mister,” he said pleadingly.
“You don’t move, I won’t,” said the man menacingly. He waved the shotgun. “Get down on the floor.”
Radar knelt, then did get down on the floor. He hoped the the computer would show where he was.
The door to the bank opened. All of the men swung their guns in that direction. A young man, head to toe in black even including black gloves, came in and a woman with a veil stumbled in right behind him. The woman was bent, old and her hands curled in on herself, even as she walked with a cane. The young man had chalk white skin and green eyes that almost glowed.
“Get down on the floor!” a prisoner yell.
The young man said coldly, “I hope you will forgive my sister for not yielding to your demand.”
“Get down, mother fucker!” He got closer to the young man, the barrel of the shotgun in his face.
The young man reached out and grabbed it, ripping it from the other man’s grasp. Then he shoved it forward, hitting the man in the chest. The man stumbled back. The gun’s barrel bent in his hands like butter, and he snapped it off.
One of the other prisoners grabbed the sister and held a knife to her throat. Her veil had slipped, and Radar gasped. The woman’s face looked melted on her, all the parts of her face in the wrong place. She still had a look of terror in the eye that he could see.
Radar knew that the man with the knife didn’t know how to use it, and also knew that no matter what happened the woman was going to be scratched at the very least. He watched the young man turn to the man who held the knife.
Radar’s guard had moved to join the other ones who flanked the young man, and Radar could predict where the gunshots, if any, were going to go. No one was going to come in. Radar got up slowly, and the young man flicked a glance in his direction before focusing again on his sister. “You even so much as draw a drop of blood, and I swear you will die the most horrible of deaths.”
“Alexander, no!” pleaded the woman.
Radar moved, tackling his guard. His guard held onto the gun for dear life, and then chaos ensued. The young man moved at the same time Radar did, tackling his sister and the man, throwing both to the ground. A gun went off somewhere. Someone screamed. Radar was too busy kicking the guard in the crotch to get him to let go of the gun. The man twisted his hips, but the blow connected in some way, because he released the gun.
Radar turned the gun on the guard and kept his eye on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one man moving. Radar ducked, knowing the man was going to throw something, and the knife that was thrown got his guard in the throat. Radar whirled, amid the sounds of screaming. He didn’t risk a glance behind him to see who was screaming, but kept his gun switching between two of the prisoners.
One man had dropped his gun and ran. The other didn’t have a gun and put his hands up, his hands wide with terror.
Radar smelled something rotten still coming from behind him. He saw out of the corner of his eye the young man come in his view.
Then the group started coming back from the vault, as he could hear. Radar looked at the door, and seconds later in walked Swoop, knives blazing, at the same time the group came back from the vault.
The prisoner leader looked at the scene, made a motion with his hand and everyone’s gun went up. “I believe this is called a Mexican standoff.”
“Fuck that,” Swoop said, and, with a sweep of his wings, attacked. Radar ran into the fray, and guns started blazing. With the butt of the gun he slammed one man in the face. He glanced to the side to see the young man merely reach into one man’s chest and pull out his heart. Radar stared, his body reacting seconds before a gunshot grazed his head.
In moments, the three young men stood over the bodies of broken, bleeding, or unconscious prisoners. Radar dropped the gun, Swoop’s knives disappeared, and the chalk-white young man went back to his sister, helping her up from her twisted knees. The veil had dropped, so Radar saw the extent of the damage to the woman’s face, and could not look at her. Swoop stared unabashedly, and Radar ribbed him. He also looked down.
Radar then knew that the young man was coming to the bank to get some money, and the young man was calculating how much he could take out for the next few days. They were very tight, and they needed the money. Radar looked at the young man and said, “We could use someone like you.”
“I doubt it,” the young man said, going over to the teller.
His sister tugged his arm. He looked at her. His sister nodded her head a couple of times. Radar now noticed the young man’s shirt was beginning to fray, and his gloves that he had come in with were gone. “Pardon if I don’t shake hands. My name is Alexander, and this is Lexi.”
Radar nodded to them both. “If you say you’re with us, these people who died…well, they won’t arrest you as a villain.” Radar knew this. He wanted to protect Alex, even if it meant they would get in some sort of trouble. Radar handed him his brass ring. “Here, put this on your pinky until we get a real one for you.”
“I apologize, but that ring will not stay on my hand long.” He motioned to the body on the floor that was rotting. “As you can see, my powers are of the destructive kind.”
Swoop said, “Mr. Mike made it. It’s magic. Maybe it won’t.”
Radar offered the ring again. “We’ll risk it. Here.”
Alex offered his hand, palm up, and Radar dropped the ring into it. It didn’t smolder, or melt, or corrode. Alex put the ring on his pinky, and it sized to his hand.
Just then, the cops came. After “What happened” came “Who are you?” They demanded this from the three young men standing around.
“Teen Guardians,” responded Swoop. “We help people an’ shit.”
((Inspired by Social Distortion’s video for “Machine Gun Blues”))