Rage recoil: Golden Punch

The lyncher’s suspected first appearance was in the last November. A group of professional bank robbers got their heads busted. Three of them could manipulate gravity, and two could dodge bullets. The Superhero Union thought it was done by a hero that didn’t report it, but the assumption was quickly dropped. They realized that local heroes couldn’t do it alone or even in a small group. Their next guess was that the group fought itself over money and eventually broke, which was proven wrong by the police’s report of the existence of an intruder. The current hypothesis was that the lyncher owned a superpower of reflecting projectiles and had been chasing after a drug-selling gang. The research part was supposed to be the police’s job, but the union decided to aid the research. That was why I was sitting in front of the computer at 10 p.m., putting the variation of “nothing found” into the grand paper of “no result”.

The thing was really stupid. The paper was stupid. The research was stupid. The decision to have Alice and me in this research was the stupidest. I got the idea that we were both melee fighters, and the guy could do things to projectiles. Still, the Union just shirked its responsibility on us.

I put my hands deep into my curvy blonde hair and forcefully scratched the back of my head while lying on the computer chair. I awfully needed to punch something now. I’d drown if I kept staring at this terribly small screen. Although Alice told me her laptop was the biggest type she could find, I still prefer my own eyes.

I picked up my gear at the corner of the room, just behind my sandbag. The alloy boxing gloves in my hands were made of gold and another something I had forgotten. That wasn’t a problem as long as I could still punch through walls with them. I put the gloves on the table and started to get into my heavy armor that was made with the same alloy as my gloves. The armor was simply a helmet and a loose cassock robe. The helmet wasn't as fancy as Alice’s, and the robe was just a sleeved dress made of golden alloy. Alice once told me that she used the old roman murmillo helmet as the model for my one. The metal grid design in front of my eyes was cool, and the hat brim actually stopped bullets from even approaching the gaps of the grid. It was useful, but I didn’t like it because it was practical. I loved it because Alice made it for me. The robe was much more boring. It had three holes for my head and arms, and it was made of golden metal. By the way, Alice also made my golden boots. These boots were crafted directly out of the reverse mold of Alice’s boots. It was a shame that the robe hid the boots. We would have a chance to show these identical boots everywhere.

I got into the black hatchback across the street. It was the car from the Hero Union. The union rarely provided transportation to heroes. Alice and I had one only because we were in charge of that lyncher. I used to night patrol with Alice before the union shirked its responsibility. It had been the fifth month of me patrolling alone. Although I did like the hatchback, and it did expand my patrolling area a lot, I still wanted to do it with Alice.

My routine with the car was to go west to Clown Street for the expanded patrolling area and eventually return to Rex Street to continue my usual routine. The Clown Street tonight was extremely dense. I could figure it was because of the new movie, even with my non-existing dick. If I remembered correctly, the film was about the old William. He was about 90 a few years ago. I didn’t even know if he was still alive. I hoped he wasn’t and wished he died the worst way possible.

The worst part was that my car got stuck right in front of the movie theater with that giant movie poster forcing my eyes to look at it. I punched the wheel as I sighed in the vehicle. I tried to stare at the golden gloves that I put on the passenger seat, but I simply couldn’t ignore the fact that a guy like William could get his own movie and fans. No one really cared about that girl he raped. Not even those feminists cared.

Another sigh escaped my mouth.

Sometimes, I wondered if it was my problem for never recognizing the power of wealth or if this corrupted world was the one at fault. I had been wondering the question since I understood good and bad, but Alice was the only one that treated my confusion seriously.

I still couldn’t accept the fact that the parents of that girl just kept silent for the money. Yet, who cared about my opinion?

The damn traffic jam held me in Clown Street for about 30 minutes. I felt I could hear my car yelling how that sucked.

The wind was blowing wildly today, but the gust never went into my car and windows. It could be considered a good thing as if I ever liked warm wind. I just didn’t like hot conditions in general. The sweat always got into my eyes. I just couldn’t adapt to it. Even when t happened whenever I needed to fight in my armor.

My car went leisurely into Rex Street when I thought I could only punch my sandbag today. It was like the old saying, you’ll never know before you arrive. The sound of gunshots was more than plainly loud. It started so suddenly that I didn’t realize it was the guns, and it was non-stoppingly unpatterned like there were at least ten rifles roaring. I repented my leisureliness while pressing my whole body on the gas pedal.