Just Call Me Suki
Written by Berkhart :: [Wednesday, 20 April 2011 04:04] Last updated by :: [Tuesday, 20 May 2014 19:25]
I’m on top of the city, literally. Perched on the edge of a fifty story building, I can stare down on all of you. I like that imagery, very fitting … makes you look like bugs to me. Anyway, how did I get up here? I flew of course. Some of you already know, a lot of you don’t, but …
Me = super powered.
There’s quite a few of us now, but unlike some of the tools out there, I don’t use a costume. Don’t need a secret identity either. Sure as hell don’t want a fancy name. Nope, I’m just Suki. There won’t be any tags like “Super”, “Mighty”, or any of that other bullshit attached to it. Oh yeah, and neither will I allow any cutesy names like “Pink Lightning” or “Punk Power”. Fuck that.
Gotta admit, I love the Power. Hell yeah I do. Who wouldn’t? You’re probably asking, what’s the best part of it? Sure, I admit, lifting REALLY heavy stuff rocks. Blowing a puff of air that can wipe half a city block off the map: Big rush. Running faster than … than … well, faster than anything: Cool as shit. Those aren’t my favorites though. No, what I love is that the Power allows me to be me. To do whatever I fucking feel like, and there’s nothing ANYBODY can do about it.
Don’t like that? Think you can do something about it? Yeah, didn’t think so. No need to throw it in your faces though. I’m bigger than that now.
It’s nighttime, about two in the morning, I guess. Oh well, don’t really need sleep anymore (still like it though).
More about me? Sure, why not? Despite the emo look, I do actually like myself … a lot.
Asian? Yep. Sorry though, I don’t own one of those ridiculous school girl uniforms and I don’t like Hello Kitty. Not only that, but I was born here in the States. That’s right, I’m American. I speak English too, and don’t know more than a dozen words of Japanese. Not that I disrespect my heritage or anything, but it’s just foreign languages were never my strong suit.
So, why am I up here? I know, I know, you’re thinking: that freaky super girl must be planning on how she’ll bring America to its knees. Fuck you, wrong answer. Steal the word’s supply of black lipstick? Heh, Conan said something along those lines the other night. Funny, but no.
I’m a hero, or at least, I think I’d like to be. Been at it for a few months now. Even with all this power in me, the job ain’t as easy as it looks. Had a few successes though, and I feel like I’m starting to get the hang of it. So, whose my arch-enemy? Mad scientist? Evil super twin? Cyborg killer from the future?
Nah, it’s you. All of you, and your small fucking minds. .
Oh well, guess I’m brooding again. A friend told me I do that too much …
… Police sirens … guess I’ll check it out … End of monologue for now.
. . . . .
Time for some fun. Even before the super-thing happened to me, I loved pushing the envelope. Big time adrenaline junky. While I can’t be seriously hurt too much anymore, I still get a charge outta doing things nobody else can do. A little shove off, and my butt leaves the concrete ledge I was sitting on. Fifty stories above the street … falling way fast. Everything should seem like a blur, but with the super powers, I’m able to visually process it all. Each detail in pure HD: the grime, the pigeon shit, the dude scratching his ass in front of his 30th story window. Yeah, being super ain’t always glamorous.
The street is closing in on me, but at the last second I pull up. Like to think I look graceful with my arms outstretched, while I soar to a higher altitude. Not too high though, because I want to stay close to the action. Thankfully, with all the crap happening to the world nowadays, there is a lot of action going down …
The ever growing ranks of super powered criminals dominate the news, yet to many people’s surprise; normal thugs still run the underworld. Worse, the relatively small number of super villains keep most cops unwilling to leave their stations. As a result, it was pretty much Christmas for anybody with a ski-mask and gun. That’s where I come in.
There they are … clueless to what’s coming their way. I can see the whole scene below. Typical Get-Away-Van rushing recklessly through the streets deal. It’s a heavy duty number too, lots of armor and horsepower, so it’s having no problems knocking cars and other obstacles out of the way. A ways back, I see the flash of sirens … not regular cops though. Looks like Diamond Corp guys: the country’s new, for-hire police force. They’re as big a tools and incompetents as the regular 5-0, but with larger guns and less worries about your civil rights. Not too fond of indie super types like me either, since our free-of-charge crime fighting cuts into their profit margins.
Whatever, I can wrap this up before and if they catch up.
Turning back to the crooks, a quick glimpse with X-Ray vision shows four guys and a ton of cash inside the van. Piece of cake.
I pour on the juice, and just-like-that, I’ve landed on top of the van. They’re moving fast, but with the powers in me, my balance is just as advanced as my super strength. Speaking of the strength, now comes the fun part. Ever see a 106 pound Japanese girl tear the hell out of some reinforced steel? Well, now’s your chance. Get your cameras ready in … 3, 2, 1 …
My fingers slide through the metal roof like it’s made of mud, and then I lift. Quick aside: doing insanely strong stuff like this is such a turn-on …
Tearing aside the roof is child’s play, and I love the confused, “holy shit” expression on the crook’s face as they look up at me. Really it must be a complete shocker for them, as one minute they’re about to escape with a million bucks, and in the next, an Asian chick wearing black and purple striped leggings is ripping the top off their van. In times like this, I love to throw out a cocky zinger, but there’s no time. Seems these guys are a bit more prepared than I realized, as one of them already has a pretty mean looking grenade launcher pointed in my direction.
There’s two ways for me to go here. I’m not a comic book “Superman”, and big shit like this hurts a little bit. So, I could dodge the incoming grenade (I’m faster), but that poses another problem. What if the grenade hits a building or some random bystanders? That really leaves me with no choice but option two: let the round hit me head on … and here it comes. Grenade nails me straight in the chest, and the ensuing blast sends me tumbling off the van.
The blast and hitting the street hurts quite a bit, and I don’t really recall the next few seconds. When I come to though, I’m in a none too graceful heap, and the crooks are rounding a corner a few hundred yards ahead. A quick once over shows no real damage to the bod, and thankfully whatever I’m wearing gets the same super effects as me. Good thing too, because buying new duds on a strict budget is not easy.
Before I can even get up, Diamond Corps is passing me by, while firing some kind of heavy machine gun at the retreating get-away-van.
Christ! Are they even trying to aim? Bullets are hitting everything BUT the crooks’ vehicle. I guess I have a new priority now: stop these fucking cowboys from causing more damage than the bank robbers. From where I’m sitting, heat vision seems to be good and speedy fit for this dilemma. One zap … then a second takes out both rear tires of their truck. Just like that, the Diamond goon’s vehicle grinds to a halt. Have to say it’s a satisfying feeling when an “on-the-fly” plan goes just right.
No time for celebrating my awesomeness quite yet though, because I still have some bank robbers to catch. For good measure though, as I’m leaping over the Diamond van, I snag its gun turret with one hand and tear it away in a single fluid motion. Before I get too far away, I hear the Diamond guys yelling shit at me behind my back. At this point, a responsible hero would probably let it slide, but no … that’s just not me. I mean really, what’s the point in being stronger than a 100,000 men, if I’m gonna let people mess with me? So, after a quick, midair U-turn, I’m heading back to the rent-a-Gestapo.
I’m hovering a few feet above their heads, a mean-mug plastered on my face. We stare each other down (technically they’re staring up) for a second or two, before I let the ruined machine gun fall from my hands. The heavy crash proves a point: I’m off the charts strong, and these douchebags are not. Their bravery pretty much melts away at that point.
“Problem?” I sneer. My question is met with the sound of satisfying silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Now, it REALLY is time to focus on the crooks. Super-vision lets me them heading down a long straight stretch on the main boulevard. Good, I hate chasing guys through curvy side-streets. They’ve got about a quarter mile lead on me, but c’mon … you doubt I can catch them?
In case you are worried, a bit of super-fast flying closes the gap between us in about five seconds. How to best wrap this up though? Well, if I was able to take down Diamond’s truck with my eyes, then why not the crook’s too? Once again, I go with one beam and then two beams, but of course, this time it doesn’t work. Nothing can EVER be easy. Even though I score direct hits to the tires, nothing really happens. Never knew an armored truck could keep going without tires. I’ll have to keep that bit of info filed away for future reference.
Ok, so the heat vision was a bust, and I’m not too keen on facing off with Mr. Grenade Launcher again. That leaves one alternative, and the more I think about it, the more it excites me. This is gonna be sweet.
In a few seconds I’ve again closed the gap between the truck and me. This time though, instead of landing on top, I change tactics, and fly beneath its axles. With less than a foot clearance between the armored vehicle’s bottom and the street, it’s a bit tight, but no prob for me. Mmmmm, now the REAL fun begins. I hover up a bit, so that my back and tush are touching the trucks bottom, and then I rise up slowly. Sure enough, I’m able to lift the armored van right off the ground!
Now this is SUPER STRENGTH! Hundred pound girl easily lifting 50,000 pounds of truck, money, and guys. Eat your hearts out you weak ass shits! Oh yeah, and did I mention I’m doing all that WHILE flying?
My body is tingling and I feel flush, but it’s not from exertion. (I’m going to totally need to make a booty call after this …)
Uh yeah, sorry. Anyway.
I’m gaining altitude, and rising over most of the downtown skyscrapers. A few lucky people are awake to see me being awesome. Why not give them a show? Feeling stronger than God himself (or is it herself?), I take one hand away from the truck. That’s right, twenty plus tons now being held aloft by just ONE hand. I feel huge power surging through every part of my body, as if showing off like this fuels me to even higher levels of strength. Confidence makes me stronger? I like.
Admittedly, it does take me about twenty more minutes to find the nearest police station. My cool points dwindle, as I float around obviously lost. It has to look kind of lame or bizarre to anybody watching: tiny super woman, holding a truck in her hands, while at the same time, flying around aimlessly. I never said my crime fighting skills were without flaws. Fortunately, I eventually find a station.
A few city cops are smoking outside their station when I arrive with my gift for them. I mean really, I’m giving them the bank robbers and all the evidence. All that’s missing is the big red bow. It’s probably too much to ask for any kind of gratitude, but still, I wish they at least did something other than stare up at me with their mouths agape. Never the less, I drop the truck and crooks off at the station doorstep, and I’m off. No need to look like I’m desperate for anybody’s approval.
. . . . .
By the time I get back to my apartment, it’s already 6. Should’ve started my shift at Starbucks already. Ah, fuck it anyway. I’m pretty sure the manager has a crush on me … or is possibly terrified of me. Honestly, I really can’t tell. Either way, he won’t fire me for taking an unscheduled day off. I feel a bit high after nights like this, which makes me want to snag some Chicago Black. Don’t worry; I stay mellow when I’m smoking.
In the meantime, I switch on the TV. Flipping through the channels, hoping to see if my good deed made the morning news. And voila! Looks like I’m on the local Fox news broadcast. Yep, somebody got a clip of me lifting off with the armored van:
“… this Diamond Corp video from last night appears to show one of the city’s super-humans pulling off a brazen heist. Here we see a young woman actually lifting a van, filled with over three million dollars, and flying away. Along with the robbery, the suspect is accused of disabling a Diamond security vehicle, and caused significant damage to the downtown area during her escape …”
It doesn’t get any better when an on-the-scene reporter breaks in a few minutes later with an update.
“… Diamond officials just announced that they have both recovered the stolen van, and captured the super-woman’s four accomplices. According to information I received from Diamond investigators minutes ago, the four suspects confessed theirs’ and the unknown woman’s involvement in this crime. Finally, the Diamond representatives briefed that they have yet to discover the stolen money, totaling nearly four million dollars, but are of the opinion that the super-woman likely is in possession of it …”
Uh-huh … yeah. There’s no way this can be good.