Symbol of Hope
Chapter 5 - Contained
The cycle's roar faded as Armsmaster and Miss Militia crested the final stretch of road leading into the docks. The city ahead looked gutted. Smoke drifted through the streets in long gray ribbons, the smell of burning oil and saltwater thick in the air. Broken cranes leaned at awkward angles above the harbor, their skeletal silhouettes cutting through the haze.
Armsmaster slowed, scanning. The onboard HUD inside his helmet painted the battlefield in green overlays, seismic readings pulsing, heat signatures flickering through the dust. His sensors caught two dominant energy patterns ahead. They were moving erratically, colliding with enough force to register as shockwaves. The ground itself vibrated under their feet.
"Contact," he said, his tone even.
Miss Militia nodded behind him, her gloved hand steady against the seat. As they turned a corner, the sight came into view.
In the middle of the street, Superboy and Blockbuster were locked together, hands clasped, arms shaking with effort. Their boots ground into the fractured concrete as they pushed against each other, neither yielding. The sound of strained muscle and cracking stone filled the air. A deep rumble rolled outward, the asphalt beneath them spiderwebbing apart. Each movement sent pebbles bouncing, dust rising.
"D-1 and D-2 confirmed," Armsmaster muttered, killing the engine. He dismounted in a single motion, scanning the readings on his wrist display. "Energy output is escalating. Maintain distance until I—"
A flash of white swept past above them.
Glory Girl descended fast, landing hard enough to crack the pavement. Her boots scraped as she straightened, eyes sharp despite the dust streaking her hair. "Finally," she said, exhaling sharply. "Took you long enough."
Armsmaster didn't look at her right away. "Report," he said, tone clipped.
She blinked, thrown off by the bluntness. "Report?"
"Status. Casualties. Environmental risk. Anything relevant," he replied, eyes never leaving the readings scrolling across his wrist display.
Glory Girl's jaw tightened. The edge of irritation in his voice, that cold professionalism, rubbed against her raw nerves. "What do you think's happening?" She snapped. "Two guys beating the shit out of each other. There! That's your report."
The faintest pause. Armsmaster finally looked up. The expression behind his visor was unreadable, but the silence carried weight, the quiet disapproval of a man too disciplined to argue, yet clearly unimpressed. Then he looked away, already analyzing again. "Miss Militia, establish overwatch. Priority is containment. D-2's kinetic output exceeds pre-classification levels."
"Understood," she said crisply.
A low boom echoed across the street as the duel between Superboy and Blockbuster shifted again. Superboy twisted his stance, driving forward with a burst of effort. The pressure under his boots shattered another section of asphalt. He slammed his forehead into Blockbuster's nose, then shoved upward, breaking their lock.
Blockbuster's head snapped back. Superboy followed through with a right hook, then a second, faster, each hit hammering into the brute's chest. The impacts echoed through the surrounding buildings, glass rattling in cracked windows. He surged up, using the momentum to drive a knee into Blockbuster's face.
The blow lifted the giant slightly off the ground, a spray of blood and spittle bursting from his mouth. But even before Superboy's boots touched back down, Blockbuster's hand shot out and clamped around his leg.
For an instant, the world went still.
Then the monster turned and hurled him.
Superboy flew backward through the air like a cannonball, tearing through a line of abandoned cars. Each one crumpled as he hit, folding into itself with a shriek of metal before he smashed through the wall of a building. A plume of dust erupted outward, the sound rolling through the streets like thunder.
"Engaging," Miss Militia said calmly.
She was already moving. Her weapon materialized mid-step, a matte-black rifle forming from light and motion, its edges solidifying in her hands. She braced, set her feet, and opened fire. Controlled bursts, precise and rhythmic. Each shot left a faint flash of heat against her gloves, the recoil absorbed by her stance.
The rounds struck Blockbuster's chest and shoulders, sparking against thick skin, tearing shallow wounds that seemed to be the equivalent of paper cuts. Still, the barrage slowed him. He turned toward her, eyes blazing red beneath the grime.
"Maintain range," Armsmaster ordered. "Do not engage in close quarters."
He turned to Glory Girl. "Assist her. I'll retrieve D-1."
She frowned. "He won't listen to you."
But Armsmaster was already moving. The grappling line on his gauntlet fired with a sharpthunk, the cable anchoring to the edge of a half-collapsed warehouse. He pulled himself upward in one clean motion, vanishing into the haze toward where Superboy had landed.
Glory Girl clenched her jaw. "Fine," she muttered under her breath.
A sound like a bellowing beast cut through the air. Blockbuster roared, a deep, animalistic noise that vibrated in the chest more than the ears. He charged. The ground shuddered under his weight as he plowed forward, shoulder-first, through the line of abandoned vehicles. Metal screamed and buckled, glass spraying into the air. Miss Militia kept firing, her stance unshaken even as the monster closed the distance.
Glory Girl rose into the air, dust swirling in a spiral beneath her as her field displaced the air. The shockwaves buffeted her back, forcing her to steady herself before diving again. The air whipped around her as she struck Blockbuster's flank. The impact jarred her shoulders, but it forced him sideways, slowing his charge by half a step. She peeled away fast, dust and debris scattering off her field in a ripple of distorted air.
He turned, swinging an arm the size of a tree trunk. She dodged upward, feeling the wake of the blow graze her shield, a deep, soundless pressure that rippled through her ribs. She came down again, hitting him square in the jaw before pulling back.
Miss Militia adjusted her aim, firing in tandem with each of Glory Girl's strikes, her rounds targeting joints and weak points, forcing Blockbuster's movements into predictable patterns. The two of them, for a brief moment, moved like a team, rhythm and timing holding chaos at bay.
Then Blockbuster roared again.
He slammed both fists into the ground. The shockwave rippled outward, knocking over cars, shattering nearby windows, and throwing Glory Girl off balance. Miss Militia steadied herself instantly, ducking behind a broken wall as chunks of asphalt rained down.
Glory Girl recovered midair, breathing hard. She looked down at the mess, the damage, the fire, the endless noise, and realized how small they all looked against it. For every hit she landed, Blockbuster took three steps forward. For every moment she held her ground, he tore another piece of the city apart.
Below, Miss Militia stepped out again, smoke curling around her shoulders. Her weapon reconfigured with a sharp metallic click, barrel lengthening, scope shifting. She knelt, took aim, and fired. The high-velocity shot struck Blockbuster in the temple, snapping his head to the side and drawing blood.
It didn't stop him, but it made him pause.
That was all she needed.
"Keep moving!" Miss Militia shouted, voice firm. "Don't give him the angle!"
Glory Girl gritted her teeth and surged forward again, sweeping low and fast, striking hard before peeling away. Her heart hammered in her chest. She could feel her pulse in her ears. Her field hummed louder, strained against the constant hits. But she didn't stop.
-X-
The street lay broken and still. Smoke drifted through the gaps where buildings had been. Each distant boom from the docks shivered through the cracked pavement, followed by the faint, rolling echo of gunfire.
Superboy pushed himself free of the rubble. Stone slid off his shoulders as he stood, brushing dust from his suit. His breath came out steady, calm, though his chest still rose and fell with the rhythm of combat. He looked toward the horizon, where the sounds came from and took a single step forward.
A whine cut through the smoke.
Something dropped fast from above, metal gleaming against the light. Armsmaster landed in a crouch ten yards away, the impact kicking up a wave of dust. His halberd hung loose in his hand, the other tightening a strap on his gauntlet as his armor adjusted around him. The faint hum of internal servos filled the silence.
"Unidentified cape," he said, voice sharp and amplified. "Stand down."
Superboy didn't answer. He just looked at him once, brief and indifferent, then started walking again.
Armsmaster shifted a step to block him. "That's an order."
Superboy stopped. His expression shifted into one of annoyance.
"Don't," he said quietly.
The word was low, almost swallowed by the wind.
Armsmaster's visor tilted. "You're interfering in an active Protectorate operation. Comply or be detained."
Superboy's jaw flexed. "I'm done taking orders."
That was all he said. Nothing more.
Armsmaster's stance adjusted, the heel of his boot grinding into the cracked asphalt. His patience had limits, and this boy, whoever he was, had just reached them.
Blue light crawled up the edge of the halberd's blade. The air around it rippled faintly, humming with stored power. "Then you're a hostile," he said.
Superboy didn't move.
A muscle twitched in his cheek, his fists tightening once at his sides. The street was so quiet he could hear the faint electric buzz of Armsmaster's weapon charging. Smoke drifted between them, curling around their boots.
Another boom rolled through the distance, closer this time, followed by a deep roar that made the ground tremble. The fight was coming nearer, but neither man turned toward it.
Armsmaster raised his halberd, point angled toward Superboy's chest. "Last chance."
Superboy's eyes hardened. "Try it."
For a moment, they just stared at each other. The air between them felt thick, stretched thin by restraint.
Armsmaster's grip tightened. Servos whined. His breathing slowed, deliberate. The blue light along the blade flared brighter, cutting through the smoke.
Superboy didn't blink. His posture was relaxed, but there was something dangerous in how still he stood, a coiled strength, a refusal to yield.
The world around them seemed to fade, no city, no fires, just the hum of the weapon and the steady rhythm of two heartbeats waiting for the other to start it.
Another roar echoed across the ruins, shaking loose dust from the broken walls. The light from the halberd threw their shadows long against the wreckage. The air at the docks had turned into a haze of grit and smoke. Every few seconds another deep concussion rolled through the streets, the aftershock of Blockbuster's rampage somewhere ahead. Armsmaster could feel the tremors through his armor, the rhythm of a city being pulled apart.
Superboy stood in the middle of the ruined street, framed by half-collapsed warehouses and the orange light of distant fires. His chest rose and fell slowly, unshaken, a streak of blood and dust across the red emblem on his suit. The kid looked like he'd been carved out of defiance itself.
Armsmaster catalogued everything automatically, height, reach and stance, but numbers couldn't capture intent. He adjusted his grip on the halberd, breath steadying behind the helmet.
The boy moved first.
He burst forward in a blur of white and red, the pavement splitting beneath his boots. Armsmaster pivoted, the halberd sweeping up to intercept. The impact jarred his arms to the shoulder, the weapon ringing like struck metal. The blow's force cracked the ground behind him.
Fast, but linear.
Superboy followed with a hook that whistled through the air. Armsmaster dipped under it, twisting his weapon in a half-circle. The butt of the halberd slammed into the boy's ribs. The hit should have folded him in half; instead it barely made him shift his footing.
He came again, fists flashing, textbook punches that looked flawless and predictable. Perfectly executed, entirely uncreative.
Armsmaster parried one, then two, redirecting the momentum each time. His gauntlets ached from the vibration. He shifted position constantly, boots grinding over broken glass, his mind measuring angles and force.Form without instinct. Raw muscle wrapped around bad decisions.
The next strike ripped the air past his ear. He countered with a short burst from the halberd's power cell, electricity jumping along the shaft. The discharge cracked against Superboy's shoulder. Sparks flew; the smell of ozone filled the air. The boy flinched but didn't stop.
He lunged.
Armsmaster rolled to the side, using the motion to line up his halberd. The weapon spun once in his hands; he drove the blade into the ground. A circular pulse burst outward, lifting dust and loose debris in a shockwave that shoved Superboy back a half-step. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but it gave space.
He exhaled through his teeth, feeling the ache in his wrists. The armor was compensating, but each impact still hit bone. He shifted to defense, eyes narrowing.
Superboy charged again, raw speed born from strength, not technique. The first punch shattered the curb; the second carved a crater in the street. Armsmaster slid between them, feeling the wind scrape across his armor plating. The next came from overhead. He waited for the shoulder drop, then stepped in, twisting his hips and letting the strike sail past.
He swung the halberd cross-body. The blade flicked to life, an electromagnetic field sparking outward and catching Superboy's extended arm.
Armsmaster triggered the containment mode. Blue light crawled across the weapon, forming a magnetic tether that snapped tight around Superboy's bicep. The system screamed warnings in his ear.
The boy roared, muscles bulging, trying to tear free.
Armsmaster dug his boots in, gritting his teeth as the force dragged him half a meter across the asphalt. His shoulders burned from the strain. He twisted the halberd, anchoring it deeper into the ground and routing the current through stabilizers. The restraint field surged brighter, hissing with static.
Superboy staggered, pulling hard enough to make the halberd groan. Armsmaster released the primary grip before the shaft snapped, letting the weapon's autonomous systems maintain lock.
He fired a cable from his left gauntlet. The grappling line screamed through the air, embedding into the concrete behind the boy and looping automatically. He followed it with a second from his right wrist. The twin cables crossed, tightening across Superboy's chest and shoulders.
The sound of stretching metal filled the street.
Armsmaster's HUD flared red as the tension climbed. His breath came heavy now, adrenaline flooding in slow waves. He triggered the next stage, electromagnetic anchors fired from his belt, embedding into the ground. The cables snapped taut.
Superboy strained, every muscle in his body visible under the torn fabric of his suit. The cables glowed faintly from heat. The kid snarled, twisted, and almost tore one free, almost.
Armsmaster planted the butt of his halberd beside him, tapping a control on the shaft. The weapon discharged another pulse, syncing to the cables' magnetic frequency. The energy spread across the web, forcing the boy's strength back against itself.
For the first time, Superboy froze mid-motion. His teeth were bared, his arms trembling, but the tension held him in place.
Armsmaster stepped forward carefully, the heat from his armor fogging the inside of the visor for a second. His hands were shaking from effort, and he didn't even bother to hide it. He steadied the weapon's angle with a short exhale.
The boy's breathing was loud through the dust, ragged but furious. He glared up, still pulling against the field, the movement sending faint sparks across the restraints.
Armsmaster keyed his comm. "Control, this is Armsmaster. D-1 contained. Integrity at seventy-three percent. Requesting immediate transfer team to my coordinates."
Static flickered for a beat, then Piggot's voice came through, sharp and businesslike. "Acknowledged. Maintain containment. Miss Militia and Glory Girl are still engaging D-2; rejoin them immediately."
"Copy," he said, voice rough from exertion. He leaned slightly on the halberd, catching his breath. The armor's cooling vents hissed behind his shoulders.
He checked the readouts one last time: anchors solid, cables steady, containment field holding.Good enough.
The boy was still standing, breathing hard, muscles twitching under the current, but not breaking free. Armsmaster watched for another second, professional caution, not curiosity. Whatever this kid was, he'd drawn the line between power and chaos perfectly tonight.
He turned toward the direction of the battle. Even through the dust he could see the faint flashes, gunfire, light, debris flares where Miss Militia and Glory Girl were still struggling to pin Blockbuster.
He adjusted the halberd's settings back to combat mode. The field dimmed, the weapon returning to its usual hum. His legs still felt heavy, but motion helped more than rest.
He activated his comm again. "Control, this is Armsmaster. D-1 is stable. I'm moving to support the others. D-2 remains active near Dock 9."
Piggot's reply came through tight and low. "Understood. Prioritize Miss Militia's safety. We'll dispatch containment to your coordinates."
"Affirmative."
He gave the cables one last glance. The tension lines vibrated faintly, humming like taut strings. Superboy's head was bowed slightly, breath harsh, eyes tracking him but saying nothing.
Armsmaster raised the halberd in a brief half-salute, then turned away. His boots crushed glass as he walked.
He could feel the dull throb in his arms and shoulders, the kind that came after fighting too long against something stronger than you were supposed to survive. He flexed his fingers once to shake out the stiffness, then mounted his cycle. The engine whined to life beneath him, steady and familiar.
He looked once more toward the horizon where the battle still flashed in bursts of orange and white.
"Let's finish this," he muttered, mostly to himself.
The cycle roared, tires spitting dust as it shot down the ruined street toward the sound of the fight. Behind him, the containment cables glowed faintly in the dark, holding steady around the silent figure of the boy in white.