Rage recoil: Recoil

Bingo! I stared at the red truck through the window of the restaurant’s third floor. Gang members started to come off the truck container with wooden boxes in their hands. These gangsters didn’t even have masks on their faces. It was easy to tell that they already knew that no heroes would patrol this street at the moment. They were probably only going to discharge now and continued the deal after the heroes passed by.

All those wooden boxes were traveling through the big glass gate of the restaurant. I had to find a place to hide. The bottom of the tables wasn’t a great choice, even with the tablecloth covering them. I could imagine them using these table bottoms to store the cargo. Perhaps, the dumbwaiter could be a decent place to hide. The dumbwaiter of a restaurant this size was usually big enough for my size and too few in number for them to be used to store large amounts of contraband.

The dumbwaiter wasn’t in the actual room for eating but hid in another room behind a 180-degree corner. I split the door with my raw strength to enter and held my body in the air with my feet and buttock on the wall. I could hold myself here for a few hours, but I would have to get out if someone decided to get the cabin to the third floor. There was almost no sound insulation here. I could hear the little noise from the dining room and the steps of people going across the corner.

Luckily, the one who entered was the head of the gang. His muttering and commanding were like a gift from god.

“So the table bottoms aren’t enough? Just put them on the top. Be quick. Those Italians hate waiting. If you aren’t done when they arrive, no one knows what will happen,” the gang chief ended up shouting at the crowd. I could picture what was outside just by his words.

“Oh, why the fuck am I doing it. Can’t those giant assholes see how dangerous it is?” the gang chief started muttering to himself in the room. I would be annoyed if he was just a guy on the street, but he actually spilled some valuable things out.

The hero duo that usually patrolled this area needed to go to Clown Street first because their responsibility increased with their new car. They were normally on time, but the traffic in Clown Street was jammed with the premiere of the new movie. I could tell why it was a dangerous job. Many heroes honored their job maniacally and would abandon any vehicle just to complete the duty. They could show up anytime if they suddenly decided to go on foot.

At some point, he stopped muttering shit and waited for the Italians to come. I eventually got the worst prediction of the future, and it was already too late. “Hey, I want some cookies. See if you can find some from the kitchen or what. Send them up from the dumbwaiter, alright?” I could hear the chief biting his nails.

The cabin arrived with a breezy whistle. The gang leader stood in front of the door with a big grin on his face. The door slid away as the grin vanished with the rest of the man’s face. The gang leader fell and lay on the ground. His non-existing eyes stared at the ceiling.

I pulled back my hand while the scarlet fume contracted into the void. I did not feel sorry for the black man on the ground because I already showed mercy by melting his brain as fast as I could. I didn’t avoid stepping on his blood. After all, everyone in this building would be slaughtered.

The left-hand man became the next as he ran past the corner. He held up his gun and spent five bullets to alarm the building while ending his own life. I lost every single chance to take down those Italians as the man’s body went down with five bullet wounds.

Rage recoil: Golden Punch

The whole scene looked crazy when I finally arrived. Dozens of gang members were shooting into windows of a restaurant like it was a siege or what. I had no idea what had happened in the restaurant, but enormous bullets got continuously catapulted out of windows.

Those gangsters realized my existence the moment I entered the street, and I realized the destined destruction of my hatchback at the same moment. Honestly, I felt no reluctance in any form. After all, I didn’t pay for the car.

Most of the time, superheroes weren’t allowed to kill. Yet, we were allowed under life-threatening situations. The volley of bullets engulfed my car like a storm. The windshield shattered like the rest of the hatchback. The “shield” in its name provided no privilege against the storm.

With legs, they all moved away before my car got close to them. Things could be better if they just stopped firing. The situation could really be better for them.

I jumped off the hatchback the instant before it exploded. I promised, with my life and Alice’s, it was the deadliest vehicle explosion I had ever seen. The whole hatchback was blown into scattered toy bricks with wreckages popped out and pierced through the gangsters.

The explosion did me a great favor, but a few were still standing. The one with a clown mask on his face angrily tore it off and yelled a few dirty words while shooting fruitlessly at me. I jetted myself forward with my legs thrust at the ground and my arms crossed before my helmet. I was like a golden missile. My legs were my boosters, and my arms were my warhead. That guy firing couldn’t even react to my speed.

I first further contracted my fists to the side of the helmet with only the elbows pointing out. As soon as the socket made by my forearms caught the gangster’s gun, I launched out my punches. The right fist shifted the muzzle away, and the left one landed directly on his face. I felt, at least, the nose was broken.

The rest of the gangsters simply lied or prostrated on the ground. “I’ll break all your skulls if you dare run away,” I loudly announced to the crowd and rushed toward the restaurant building.