Chapter 25: INJUSTICE PT. 3

New York City, New York

"God damned thugs." The older man swore, his arthritic knuckles biting into the worn seat before him.

"Those are the ones I want the damn pigs to shoot, but no, they shoot fucking kids. He thundered, getting silent nods from the surroundings.

"Cops won't do shit. Cottonmouth is paying the damn crooked bastards off." Another passenger lamented.

"Where is Luke? Didn't he say he would clean up Harlem? See, this why that devil guy is much better; look at Hell's Kitchen; damn gangsters won't even set up shop there anymore."

"We have bigger problems than the mobsters. Tombstone gang has been pushing in on the Stokes gangs, and it's getting bloody; shootouts, stabbing, even murders are commonplace."

Cole listened in to the conversation. The streets always talked regardless of what people assumed. You just needed to know where to be to hear what's happening. This was viable information; he would digest what he heard later.

He was keenly aware of other gangs and groups operating in the world but didn't bother with them; there was only so much he could do alone, and he had no qualms with organized crime. He wasn't Superman, at least not yet. He couldn't float above the planet and listened to calls for help, at least not at the time. He stared at the ring on his finger.

His limited scope was the sole reason he wanted to create his group. He did have a line that shouldn't be crossed, and women and children were on that particular line.

His three-day suspension came at an ideal time. His emancipation order would go into effect Monday. His family would fight it, but there was a glaring loophole that they had neglected. Why was a child of a multimillion-dollar company wallowing in an orphanage in the worst part of Manhattan? Especially when he had aunts and uncles that could have adopted him.

Cole's only concern at the moment was his slip. He could not know if his identity had already been exposed, especially with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s abilities to retrieve information. He could assume with a hundred percent certainty eyes were on Jeremy York.

'There's nothing to do about it.' He thought. The system hadn't given Cole a mission, so there wasn't any way to rectify it with its powers.

His introspection halted at the mention of Tombstone. Jeremy York rose inside him at the mere mention of the hated name. The person mentioned was one of the figures in the memories Cole had been forced to see.

Cole was weary of Tombstone in the past. The albino mutate had a list of abilities that made him a powerful bruiser. The man was a heavy hitter, with no idea what version of the man he was up against, causing him to tread carefully. That was power beyond him before, but now, he raised his hand; the nondescript ring on his index finger had changed things.

Once again, he couldn't help but wonder what level of power he would end on or if his upper reach was unlimited. The system had no qualms granting him dominion, and the ring, a medium to a particular emotion spectrum, a realm of power to his knowledge, wasn't native to the Marvel universe, wasn't something to scoff at

The bus he was currently on came to a smooth designated stop. A young mother and her teenage daughter quickly stood, the mother herding an almost identical copy of herself ahead of her. The distressed duo attempted to pass the gangbangers before being stopped by the largest one, his legs protruding from the single seat he had usurped.

Cole had observed the man cursory but hadn't seen a reason to intervene. The gangbanger had a mouth full of gold, and he was covered in assorted tattoos. The system hadn't pinged; this situation didn't warrant its privy, so why should he care?

He could already tell what was about to happen to the woman. He sighed inwardly. He looked up, observing the camera pointing down the aisle. Without much trouble, he turned off the lone camera., and the lights inside the bus began to flicker. He just loved Wayne R&D.

HCole slowly rose from his seat. The occupant's eyes were downcast, attempting to ignore the raucous laughter of the gang bangers that swarmed from the seats, hands grabbing inappropriately at the two ladies who fought their feelers away with kicks and punches; the more they fought the craze and wanton the bangers became.

The mother lashed a final time but was subdued by one of the wirey bangers. The others soon began to pull the daughter into another seat. The bus driver looked through the mirror, horror written across his face. The bus swerved, forcing the driver to refocus back on the road before he wrecked and harmed them all, his hands growing white from gripping the steering wheel.

Cole had sat at the back of the bus to be left alone to his thoughts. There was only one other person on the late bus, a couple of seats ahead of him, so Cole's methodical approach didn't go unnoticed for too long.

The elder exclaimed. "Young man, don't do anything you'll regret." The elder was the same outspoken man from earlier. He remembered that the neighborhood was safe and the inhabitants stuck together. He barely could recognize his community now; only the memories he held dear were left of his childhood home.

With each step he took, his customary costume began to appear on his body; as his trademarked red cowl coalesced around his head, safeguarding his identity, he turned and regarded the man who had spoken, causing the man to suck in air and press himself into the seat, not out of fear, but out of the semblance of the moment, for the older man had grown up in a time when good man had to do wrong for the betterment of the whole, or they all would have suffered injustices.

"Lord in heaven, it's you! You're just a kid. Oh my God, young brother, please do something, help them." The older man said as he looked at my departing back. I chucked back a reinsuring thumbs-up.

He had property in Harlem; technically, he was cleaning up his front yard. He would instill enough fear in Harlem as he did in Manhattan. Harlem's situation was out of con; with Luke Cout out of the picture, the bad guys had grown wanton. It had not gone unnoticed that the Capes, like Spiderman and Daredevil, steered clear of the city.

"Get your hands off my daughter, mother fucker." The petite lady fought like a badger and dodged one of the older teens, sending him flailing into the seat.

The others jeered and pressed against her, pulling at her purse and shirt; rips and tears were already showing on the daughter, who fought as the teen began tugging at her backpack.

Goldmouth, Cole nicknamed him, apparent leader, backhanded her so hard that her body went over an entire set. I expertly; the closer thug didn't even register my knife protruding from his collar, blood spluttering. His eyes soon reported the pain and the figure looming from behind...

The second man had whirled around at the sudden scream of pain, anger on his face at interruption before his face paled. He took stuttering steps back, bumping into a member of the game.

I was already before him, the blade piercing inside his stomach. I didn't want to kill them, mainly because they were teenagers and the rage of battles past hadn't emerged.

He had spoken, too, possibly. The teenager was gasping for oxygen. Cole observed him. His vision and hearing pushed beyond human norms, and the teen's sound denoted his diagnosis of the problem. He had collapsed the teen lung. He deserved it.

He stepped over the dying teen. Well, if he didn't get medical help, he would die albeit a slow, dreadful death.

Cole's gauntlet hand grabbed another gangbanger head, and he threw him bodily behind him. The fourth reached for a concealed weapon, Cole's hand clamped against his searching one, and he yanked with more strength than usual, his upgraded stats causing him slight trouble, but he was adjusting. The banger had been lifted into the air, his body denting the bus's roof before falling back into a groaning, crumbled mess of limbs.

The bus became eerily silent. Red Hood's brutality was on full display. Only the sobbing teen could be heard, held hostage, gold mouth using her as a shield, his gun pressed against her head.

Gold mouth snickered, unimpressed. He leered toward Red Hood. He heard of these heroes. The best way to deal with one was to put a body between them and you. He licked the side of the girl's head to show who was in charge.

"Back off, freak," said Gold Mouth. He looked behind him before he jabbed the gun at Red Hood.

He fired; luckily, it was at me. The bullet crumbled against the hardened leather jacket. The bus occupants began to scream and ducked in their seats, and I tilted my head at the stupidity of the gang banger.

"Let her go, and you'll only have three months of eating from a tube," I said warningly, my voice modulator making me sound far more menacingly than any supposed hero should.

"What the fuck!" He took more steps back. He unloaded the gun. Fourteen more shots rang out. I stood still. The caliber of the weapon had no hope of harming me in my armor, and I doubt it would be more than a nuisance unarmored. The bus driver lept from his seat, dashing out the door, phone in hand.

"Alana! Please don't hurt her. That's my baby." The mother managed to right herself as she screamed for her daughter. I raised my hand to soothe the mother.

"Deals off," Cole growled; the lights began to flicker, darkening the bus before he acted. Beyond human capability, his hand flashed forward; a Batarang ate up the distance at speeds beyond the gangbanger understanding and amputated his fingers wrapped around his weapon.

He leaped forward, the daughter screamed, and my hand grappled the banger's throat as I raised him off his feet. He fought and kicked, but he knew he was done.

"Stokes is going to fuck you up bitch." He gasped.

"Thanks to your little crew stunt. He's now on my list. But you won't be around to see it. When you do get back on your feet, try the cemetery. I punched him low, shattering ribs before dropping him; a knife appeared in my hand before I stabbed him, nicking his lungs. I cut him enough that the sirens I heard could keep him alive as he slowly suffocated from his blood; maybe he could share a room with his buddy.

Flashes and clicking of cameras alerted me to the stillness around me. The mother and daughter huddled together, the mother giving me a complicated look. The passengers began to stand, admiration in their eyes, as a loud whistle started the others to clap. The older man shouted my name; the whistle was from him. He returned my gesture from earlier and gave me the thumbs up.

"That's what I'm talking about. Fuck them up. Now, that'll show them you aren't the daredevil." He said as the teen in between us had the camera facing me. He had been going live.

"We need this. I'm so tired of the gangs. Did all of you see it? Red Hood has heard our pleas; he's come to Harlem, finally." The teen said in the camera.

"Thank you." The mother said, approaching me.

"Take this. I'm a criminal defense lawyer; if you need help, find me." She said, glancing at the bleeding gang bangers.

I regarded her outstretched hand. "I can keep a secret," she hurriedly said. I nodded slowly. Maybe. I do need more lawyers; even if I gave Legal the go-ahead, I could still use other eyes for my plans in the future. I took the card and made it disappear without concern for those watching.

"Oh my. Is that a mutant ability?" I regarded her, interested. She placed her hand on her mouth and looked around worriedly.

"We will talk," I said.

Sirens grew closer, real close. I made my way to the exit before a squad car rolled up; officers hopped out, guns in their hands pointed at me.

Helicopter whirled ahead, the spotlight turning the night into day. We stopped in a neighborhood where windows were up and phones were out.

I looked up toward the sky and shook my head.

Tony Stark had just had his coming out ceremony, declaring himself a hero. Cole had always thought doing that was dumb; masks were made for a reason, and he swore to keep his in one capacity or the other.

"Red Hood, freeze." An officer said as he made steps toward me, tires squealing in the distance as more cops zeroed in. His partner reached and stopped him. He shook his head.

'Smart partner,' I thought as I turned on my heels and ran into the alley. The copter whirled as it tracked me; I turned around mid-jump, my M1911 forming in my hand, and fired the bullet rung true, hitting the spotlight and causing the pilot to bank hard left.

He had a sudden epiphany. He couldn't believe he ran into the future District Attorney of the southern district. The contact card flowed between his fingers like a magician's trick as he blended into Harlem's nightlife.