[Two Months Later]
With the cash Harley "recovered" from her little stink-bomb heist, John had expanded the business. Three more pizza joints opened across the city, each buzzing with new hires running ovens and counters. Delivery scooters painted in the same bright red-and-white logo zipped down streets.
They rebranded the name from J&H Pizza to J&H&M Pizza. It wasn't just John and Harley's thing anymore. Maureen had earned her place. The girl who once looked at the world like it would crush her had become part of it. She worked hard, kept pace with Harley's antics, and slowly carved her smile into the life they were building.
Then came the ice cream. That was Harley's idea, but Maureen's power made it real.
J&H&M started pushing out tubs of ice cream and popsicles under their brand. The flavors were good, and so were the quality and quantity. Harley pitched it like she was selling gold, but John was the one who undercut the competition with cheap prices and used the limited stock tactic. The result was simple. They ate the lower market alive. Bodegas, corner stores, and even supermarkets carried J&H&M popsicles. Kids clutched them walking home from school, parents bought boxes in bulk, and every freezer in the city seemed to have their logo stamped inside.
John had called it good business. Harley called it world domination with sprinkles.
And Maureen? She just worked the machine in the back, freezing crates of popsicles in minutes with one sweep of her hand, always smiling a little at the thought that this was her contribution. Something sweet. Something people wanted.
Life wasn't all ovens and ice, though. Harley had taken it upon herself to teach Maureen the one thing she thought every self-respecting vigilante pizza girl needed: how to ride a bike.
It started rough. Maureen stalled the engine. She wobbled. She nearly toppled into a trash can on the first day. Harley, of course, laughed until her ribs hurt. But she never let the girl quit.
"C'mon, Bluebell," she had shouted over the roar of engines one night, both of them parked at the edge of an empty lot. "Bike's just like life. You fall, you scrape your ass, and then you get back on until you stop lookin' like a baby deer on roller skates."
Two weeks later, Maureen was leaning into turns with a grin plastered across her face. By the end of the month, she and Harley were flying down Dakota's streets side by side, engines screaming, cutting through traffic like streaks of light.
Delivery time dropped in half. Their reputation soared.
"Fastest damn delivery in the city," one customer bragged on the news after a clip of Harley and Maureen weaving through cars went viral. "Thirty minutes or less? More like ten."
So J&H&M Pizza became more than just food. It became speed, ice, and firecracker energy.
And in the middle of it all, John watched with arms crossed and that same tired frown that didn't fool Harley or Maureen for a second. He was proud and happy.
...
As for the city, the arson and theft slightly decreased after Hotshreak disappeared. The city breathed a little easier. The mayor tried to make it look as if he were the one who stopped the flaming menace and the press rolled with it... Politics...
But underneath the good press, there were whispers. Cops muttered about clusters of Bang Babies disappearing off the streets. Known troublemakers vanished. Old crews were going quiet. Rumor had it someone was scooping them up, one by one, and building a crew too organized to be a coincidence. Nobody knew who. The only hint was the shadowy figure seen near abandoned warehouses.
Harley called it "Dakota's Bang Baby Boy Band Reunion Tour." John didn't laugh.
J&H&M didn't stop their night work, either. The police scanners stayed hot. Whenever a robbery broke out or some low-level powered punk tried to shake down a store, the trio geared up. They weren't perfect. Sometimes they arrived late, sometimes they just scared people enough to scatter. But word was spreading. The pizza vigilantes weren't just a gimmick anymore. They were a problem for anyone thinking of making easy money.
Maureen had grown into it. She was still nervous before every fight, but she was really awesome when freezing the goons. Harley had turned her nerves into a running gag, calling her "Snow Jitters," but there was pride in every joke.
John didn't throw himself into the spotlight, but he was the one dragging them back to the alleys when things got too loud, kept their gear maintained, and reminded Harley that cops weren't fans of masked vigilantes smashing heads, even if they left free pizza behind.
Life balanced between normal and insane. In the day, they were a fast-food empire with sprinkles. At night, they were shadows chasing louder shadows.
And always, in the background, the rumor grew. A new gang forming. Something big coming. Something that made the police nervous enough to triple patrols near the docks.
One night, after a long shift and a quiet run, John sat on the roof of their first shop with Harley on one side and Maureen on the other. The streets below hummed with traffic, neon buzzing against the night.
"You feel it?" he asked quietly.
"Feel what?" Harley chewed on a cherry popsicle, already halfway melted.
"That it's about to get worse before it gets better."
Harley snorted. "Please. Worse is my middle name. Well, actually, it's Frances, but you get the point."
...
[9 PM]
A few days later, the shop was winding down. The ovens hummed low, the air smelled like melted cheese and oregano, and only three jocks were left at a corner booth trading jokes between mouthfuls of slices. Harley leaned against the counter, phone in hand, eyes glued to Angry Birds. Every time she nailed a level, she muttered "boom, headshot" under her breath.
John was wiping down the prep station when the printer chirped. A late order. He tugged the slip free and froze as he read it. Four large pizzas. One extra cheese and pepperoni. One farmhouse veggie with extra olives. One loaded with hot sauce, jalapenos, and red pepper flakes. And one with peanut butter and jelly.
His left eye twitched. Slowly, he looked at Maureen, who had just finished stacking boxes at the counter. She leaned over to read and her nose wrinkled.
"Peanut butter and jelly on pizza?" she whispered. "That should be illegal."
"Yeah," John muttered, though the absurdity wasn't what made his pulse spike. Something from his other life rattled in the back of his skull, memories of watching Saturday morning cartoons as a kid. Four strange orders. Peanut butter and jelly. Hot sauce madness. Extra olives. His hands clenched the slip.
The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
If he was right, this wasn't just some weird stoner's order. This meant there were four very specific customers in Dakota. Which meant chaos wasn't far behind. Those turtles always chase their arch nemesis, Shredder. Which means there is a chance that Shredder is in town with his ninja gang, and these recent rumors must be related to them. But if he joins hands with that shadow freak Ebon and his gang of Bang Babies, this will get nasty pretty fast.
Still, he got to work. He made each pizza exactly as written, layering the spicy one so heavy it almost smoked, spreading peanut butter and jelly that he had Maureen bring from upstairs. Harley wandered over and raised an eyebrow when she saw the lineup.
"Okay, I've seen freaky cravings, but this? Who in their right mind wants Skippy on a pie?"
"Don't worry about it," John said, sliding the last box shut.
Maureen frowned. "Shouldn't we call this in or something? This doesn't feel normal."
John stacked the boxes, his jaw tight. "I'll take this one myself."
Harley squinted at him. "Since when do you do deliveries?"
"Since now." He pulled on his jacket. "Lock up after closing. I won't be long."
He balanced the boxes in one hand and went out.
...
[3rd Street Avenue]
Luvin Park was almost empty, just a wide stretch of grass and a few scattered benches. At this hour, only stray cats and dogs kept the place alive.
But in the darker corner near the swings, four shadows moved. They kept low, voices hushed, but the hunger in their tone was impossible to miss.
"Man, I could eat a whole cow right now," one whispered, holding his stomach.
"Keep it down," another snapped. His voice had weight to it, calm and sharp. "We don't need anyone recognizing us. We're supposed to stay ghosts."
"Ghosts don't starve," the third muttered. "I swear if this pizza guy takes long I'll chew on my own arm."
The fourth gave a low laugh, tapping out a rhythm on the pavement with his knuckles. The sound built into a steady beat. One by one, the others joined in, stomping lightly or snapping fingers.
One voice rose low and hungry.
"Stomach rumblin', feel it twist and shout,
Need that pizza now, before I black out."
Another chimed in, sharper, snapping fingers to the beat.
"Extra cheese, pepperoni stack it tall,
Feed the crew quick, or we eat the stone wall."
The third voice cracked in with a laugh, his tone playful, almost mocking.
"Veggies on the side, yeah don't be late,
Olives, mushrooms, pile it on my plate."
The fourth voice cut through, calm but heavy, keeping them grounded.
"Stay low, keep quiet, shadows in the night,
Money on the bench, keep the deal tight.
We eat, we split, then we fade from sight,
No names, no faces, no streetlight fight."
Together, the four let the rhythm build, overlapping lines, their hunger shaping into a chant that echoed through the empty park.
"Hungry, hungry, can't you see,
Pizza man's the MVP.
Hot and ready, crust divine,
Drop it quick, the cash is mine."
A few feet away on a wooden bench sat the payment. A stack of bills was pinned under a stone so the wind wouldn't take it. The shadows kept their eyes on it, making sure the deal was clear. Money for food, nothing more, nothing less.
---[Don't forget those powerstones]---
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