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Post by Captain Admin on Jan 14, 2017 16:29:07 GMT
Lined with houses worth millions and pristine apartment blocks by the waterfront, life here is luxurious and affluent for some of London's richest.
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Post by Zero on Jan 20, 2017 1:04:23 GMT
Night had drawn in and the pristine white surfaces of Albert Bulmer's waterside flat were lit by pale electric lights. The barrel-chested behemoth of a man was slouched in an armchair, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the top two buttons undone. He brought his beer bottle to his lips - empty. With an annoyed grunt, he clambered out of the chair and made his way to the kitchen, fishing another bottle out of the fridge. He snatched up his bottle opener and tore off the lid of the beer. He brought the bottle up.
And then stopped.
The beer was floating up out of the bottle, forming an orb of liquid above it. Albert watched it for a moment. And then it fell. And so did he - forwards. With a sudden lurch, it were as if the whole room had been tilted ninety degrees. Albert's bloated body plummeted through the kitchen and into the far wall of the living room, crashing into a picture that had been hanging there. He lay, vertically, on his back, the broken glass of the picture frame cutting into him.
His breathing was heavy, his eyes wild, his body trembling under the influence of pain and adrenaline.
'What the fuck?!'
'Albert Bulmer.' The voice was deep, synthesised. Albert couldn't tell where it was coming from. 'People have been suffering - dying - in your flats. Suffering under the tyranny of your thugs. It ends now.'
Gravity snapped back into place. Bulmer hit the floor hard, grunting as he did.
'Who are you?! Who the fuck are you and the fuck are you doing?!'
'Go to your computer, ' said the voice. 'Log in to your bank. You're going to make a payment.'
'Fuck off!' yelled, Bulmer, picking himself up. He put a hand to his back. He was bleeding. He swore again, under his breath, and started looking around the room, hands at his sides, ready to lash out like a cornered beast.
'I'll give you a countdown.' Bulmer suddenly weighed twenty times his normal weight. He fell to his knees, struggling not be crushed under the sudden spike in gravity. 'Believe me, it is in your best interest to be at your computer before the countdown is up.'
Gravity returned to normal. Shaking, breathing far too quickly, Bulmer stood up, looking around. There was no sign of the intruder.
'Ten. Nine. Eight.'
Staggering, injured and alert, he crossed the room.
'Seven.'
'I'm going! I'm... I'm doing what you sai-'
'Six. Five.'
He ran to the side of the room, catching a glimpse of himself in the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. His normally slick hair was ruffled and his eyes wide.
'Four. Three.'
'Hold on!'
Beside the wall of windows was a desk, his laptop on top of it. He moved in the direction of the computer. With one slow, careful hand, he reached into one of the desk drawers.
'Two.'
His hand found the butt of a gun. He grabbed it.
'One.'
He pulled the gun out of the drawer, bringing it up in front of him, looking frantically about the room.
'WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!'
Glass shattered. Bulmer turned to the windows, saw the panes raining down in shards. As the wind howled through the flat, a masked figure descended into view, dressed in black and midnight blue. A circular white emblem was emblazoned on his chest.
'Zero.'
Bulmer squeezed the trigger. The instant he did, the gun crumpled into a ball around his hand, trapping and breaking his fingers. The gunshot was muffled, dwarfed by the scream that broke through his lips.
The masked man swept out of the sky, landing in the room.
Beneath the mask, fury was etched into Alex's every feature.
'Your time is up. You have exploited the needy and the desperate for too long. You have grown fat as they starved, lived in comfort as they froze, and kept safe in your ivory tower while your thugs beat them into submission.'
Bulmer staggered back as Zero approached. Then his foot stopped as Zero held out his hand. There was a blue glow around Bulmer's squat neck and he hurtled forwards, his throat landing in Zero's grip. The vigilante squeezed as his victim spluttered. Putting the slumlord into low gravity, Zero lifted him up with one outstretched arm. Turning around so Bulmer's back was to the window, Zero launched the man out of his grip. He stopped, still hovering in midair, just outside the empty window frame.
Zero crossed the room, standing on the ledge to face Bulmer.
'There are two ways this night can go,' he said in his deepened tones. He threw a punch into the slumlord's face, knocking him back through the air, out over the street far below. Bulmer's movement slowed, but did not stop. He kept floating steadily backwards, away from the safety of his apartment. 'Neither way ends well for you! But you might want to choose the lesser of two horrors!'
Finally, Bulmer came to a halt. Below him was no longer the quiet street immediately outside his back door. Instead, he was floating far above the dark and choppy waters of the Thames, the wind whipping at his body. He screamed out.
'What do you want me to do?!'
Another sudden lurch of movement and he was thrown into the far wall of his apartment, his nose broken, blood dripping over his swollen face.
'Go to your computer,' Zero repeated. 'You're going to do some online banking. I'll be patient. Can't be easy typing when you've only got one hand.'
Bulmer's right hand was still mangled in the twisted remains of his gun, blood falling from the mess of metal and flesh. He took trembling steps towards the laptop, Zero's piercing white gaze never leaving him.
'Okay... okay, just please, please don't hurt me. I'll do it. I'll do it, okay?'
Hunched over the computer screen, leaning on his right forearm, Bulmer typed with his left hand, logging into his bank account. He cast Zero a glance when it prompted him to use his secure key. He decided not to question it and typed his PIN into the small device beside the computer, before entering the consequent code into the login page. 'There. It's logged in.' He swallowed nervously. 'Now what?'
He flew across the room and struck the wall again, landing in a heap on the... ceiling.
'Stay out of my way,' said Zero. Bulmer fell to the floor, where he lay, nearly passing out.
Digging into a pocket on his costume's utility belt, Zero retrieved a slip of paper with a few bank details on it. Using those details, he made a payment from Bulmer's account, emptying it of everything he had. Zero went through Bulmer's other, linked accounts and did the same. Before leaving the computer, he did one last spot of "browsing". The slumlord could learn about that later. 'How kind, Mr Bulmer,' he said as he got to his feet. 'You just made a very generous anonymous donation to Shelter. Also, congratulations. You're broke.'
Bulmer wasn't there. He had crawled out of the living room, dragging himself into the kitchen, where he had prised his hand free of the twisted gun and then, with his good hand, grabbed a knife.
Zero emerged in the entrance to the kitchen. The slumlord lunged out from behind the corner. Knife in hand, he went for the kill. Zero acted on instinct. No time for gravity powers and nothing they could do at this range. He swept to the side. The knife grazed his chest, but did no damage thanks to the hardened suit. He landed a punch in Bulmer's wrist and his weapon clattered to the ground. A second punch hit Bulmer's jaw with enough ferocity to draw blood and a satisfying crunch. Alex had waited years to do that.
Bulmer reeled back and then, in a pain-fuelled rage, charged at Zero, arms outstretched and eyes bloodshot. He collided heavily with the vigilante, knocking him off his feet, only for the momentum to keep them moving as gravity gave way once more. Zero landed a double-footed kick into Bulmer's stomach and the man was sent crashing into the ceiling. The vigilante got out of the way before he hit the floor.
As Zero planted his foot heavily on his victim's injured hand, there was a bang at the door of the apartment.
'OPEN UP! Police!'
'Fancy that,' said Zero. 'As if someone called them.' Bulmer just groaned before Zero continued. 'And that same person may have, minutes ago, forwarded them copies of some of your... less flattering emails. Along with copies of some payments made from your bank account to some very unsavoury names.'
'Won't hold up in court,' Bulmer spluttered.
'It will when it's supported by the testimonies of your tenants.'
'They know if they ever ratted me out-'
'Your men would... what? Threaten them? Attack them? Those the same men you can no longer afford to pay? The same men who are going to be spending a good, long time in intensive care?'
'What?'
'You really think I'd pull a stunt like this half-cocked? Word is out - Albert Bulmer's time is up.'
'You'll be throwing those beloved, raggedy-arsed tenants out on the streets!'
'Local authorities will seize control of your building, get it up to scratch for the tenants... maybe even make you pay for the maintenance. How's that for justice?'
'POLICE!' The yells at the door were getting louder.
'They really are desperate to see you,' said Zero. 'Oh... that might be thanks to the last of your men I visited. Poor kid. Could tell his heart wasn't in assaulting innocent people. I let him go. Could have gone anywhere. Including straight to the police, as I strongly suggested.'
Alex had always felt sort of sorry for Sid. He had been forced and intimidated into joining Bulmer's gang of thugs the same way his tenants were bullied into paying up. This felt a little more like justice for him than a beating would have done.
'Why?' muttered Bulmer. 'Why are you doing this?!'
'Because you failed this city.'
As Bulmer writhed and grunted on the floor, Zero walked back into the living room and reached for another pocket on his utility belt. He withdrew a small can of spray-paint.
When the police burst through the door, they found Bulmer bloodied and beaten on the kitchen floor, all manner of property damage, a laptop full of incriminating evidence and, sprayed onto the screen of the vast television, a circular symbol. A zero.
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