Note: This issue takes place from Diver's POV.
PWOP!
I stumble forward, stomach lurching from being quickly reassembled in less than a second. My body tingles as I cough up bits of flem into the sidewalk.
"You'll get used to it."
Wind Duster pats me on the back while glancing around at our surroundings, from what I can tell he's teleported us over to Niswander Heights.
"What WAS that?!" I ask, referring to the stoner dude we just encountered. Don't ask, you really don't want to know.
"Teleporting." Mark frowns slightly. "I told you, like... five seconds ago."
"No, not that." I straighten up and look at the building before us. A neon sign flashing brightly above us. "...where are we?" I ask, my previous question seeming less important.
"This... is the Indigo Bar." Mark tells me. "Second best place in this whole City." A couple walks by... they give our costumes a strange look before carrying on down the street and laughing loudly. "Founded in 1957 and a popular pit stop for the City's worst criminals."
"Right..." I crack my knuckles. Time for some fun. "What's the plan?"
This time Mark pats me on the shoulder. "Let's get messed up!" A quick flash of purple fills my vision and when my eyes open again, Mark is dressed in regular, casual clothes, a white t-shirt with black jeans and sneakers. "Right, man." He says. "Get dressed into your civies."
"I can't take these off or I'll die."
"Oh." Mark stares at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "Bummer." Another flash and he's back in costume. Together we walk through the doors into the somewhat seedy bar that Mark has brought me too. "It's more fun in costume anyway." He whispers. Every head in the room swerves in our direction... and... wow. Mark wasn't kidding. Looks like I walked onto the set of Sons of Anarchy. Bikers galore... and tattoos to go with black leather jackets.
"Uh... hi." I say awkwardly to a few as we walk towards the bar stand. Mark steps towards the somewhat overweight chick working the late shift and tries to go all Bradd Pitt from Fight Club on her.
"Hey, there." Is it possible to get DRUNK without drinking alcohol? 'Cause I think Mark has managed it. "Me and my pal, Diver here would like two..." He glances at me. "...drinks?"
"What kinda drinks?" The bartender asks, complete disinterest on her face.
"I don't know... I didn't think I'd get this far. Uh.... two... vodkas."
Jesus.
"Right." The woman pours our drinks into tiny little glasses. "Anything else?"
"They're fine, Barb." A voice calls from the entrance. Almost immediately a hush falls over the entire bar... and I've already guessed who it is... "You two the punks that beat up ma gang?"
Mark and I turn slowly, three guys are standing behind us. The guy in the middle is of African descent, he's wearing black sun glasses, a grey vest and cargo shorts. To his right is a tall, pale, buff guy with a thick, black goatee covering his lips... and right in the middle of the guy's forehead is what appears to be a single, wide yellow eye to accompany the two blue ones by his nose. To his left is a short... 'imp'? That seems offensive... but you get the idea. He's dressed like something out of a 1940s Noir film, complete with a fedora upon his head and a pistol in his hands.
"They sure are, boss." Fedora mutters before spitting on the ground. "Clobbered a bunch of our guys back at the docks." Sunglasses scowls at us.
"He right, Foresight?" He asks the Eye-Guy. Foresight tilts his head forward slightly... apparently he's nodding. "Kick their asses." Sunglasses orders, seemingly uninterested in the entire affair.
"Who the hell are you?" The words blurt out of my mouth before I can stop them. Sunglasses glares at me like I'm something he's stepped on, a look of disgust spreading across his face like some kind of virus.
"It don't matter who I am." He clicks his fingers sending his two lapdogs straight for us before turning and casually strutting out the door. As Foresight marches straight for me, the only thought passing through my mind is: 'What an asshole.'
Foresight's hand plunges towards my throat, I punch him in his cheek... it doesn't seem to do any real damage. He grips me by the neck and effortlessly chucks me across the room.
"OH CRAP!!!" I scream before slamming into the wall. It suddenly dawns on me that all of the bar's patrons have vanished. They probably left out the door while we were talking. In the corner of my eye I see Fedora landing a kick into Mark's chest sending him staggering backwards... then I see Foresight marching towards me, kicking a table aside. I spring up to the ground, prepared to charge right at him... then I see Eye-Guy's foreeye turn red... and I guess what's coming next. A ball of blazing red energy shoots straight at me, I jump to the floor, the ball exploding above my head.
BWAKOOM!!
My ears ring... and after what feels like a second, Foresight has picked me up off the ground like a stray cat and cucked me across the room... again. I see Mark punch Fedora in the face, breaking his nose and spraying driplets of blood onto the floor... then I crash headfirst into him.
"OOF!"
We both land on the floor in a crumpled heap of colourful clothing and groans.
"Ow..." I mumble, moving slightly to try and get into a better position to stand up. "Sorry... I'm still new to this sort of thing." Mark uses the nearby barstand to help him up. He groans slightly, rubbing his back.
"It's alright..." He grumbles. "I got beat up a lot when I first started this crap.."
KLICK!
Fedora and Foresight both glare at us, Fedora pointing his pistol right at my chest, Foresight staring at Wind Duster with murderous intent. They've got us pinned in the corner of the room.
"I have to admit..." Fedora wipes the blood from around his nose. "I'm a bit disappointed."
"First day jitters..." I say, my eyes fixed on the gun. "I'll get over it."
Fedora smirks slightly, his eyes hidden beneath the rim of his hat.
"Boy..." He clicks the gun. "'Over' isn't a word I'd recommend using right now."
To be concluded by @knightofthechronicle
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