Super Reporter System - This Doesn't Happen in Huntsville

Chapter type: Conflict (versus others)

After making certain his daughters are on the bus to school (Samantha's job as a physical trainer means she needs to be there earlier than Brian does, so he takes care of the kids in the morning, and she gets them off the bus in the afternoon.)

[System warning: Distracted driving can cause accidents, such as with the distracted driver rapidly approaching you from behind.]

Brian switches one lane to the left, letting her pass him. She is, in fact, happily talking on her cell phone. He can see the shape her lips take as she's talking.

'Hey, System, can I learn to read lips?'

[Provisionally true. You have the eye acuity and neural processing, but have not shown interest since the turn of the century.]

'Wait, you mean I can?'

[Provisionally true. System warning, a police car has pulled onto the road behind you. System recommends changing back into the slow lane.]

Sure. Brian did that. It was the law, which (in spite of what his speeding tickets might say) Brian obeyed. Or generally obeyed. Except for some driving laws, which were just stupid.

The two cops passed him on the left, talking animatedly. Brian almost stared. Not because they were talking, but because it had been a while since he had seen two police officers in the same car.

#

Claire White, who had been called into work early, knew exactly why so many police were moving about.

"Keep it out of the papers for now, but yeah. Our killer has moved from just heads to the head, a shoulder, and the upper part of the left arm."

"Are you sure it's the same guy?" Claire asked.

"What makes you so sure it's a guy?"

Her aunt Piper had that look down. That perfectly pleasant look, unless it was directed at you. Unless you could see into the eyes, where the smile was replaced with 'What are YOU doing, you dumbass?'. Claire couldn't do it. "You know of any woman who could do this?"

"Know her?" he jokes, "I was married to her for three years. She could do this and go out for pizza."

"Uh-huh. And she still living in Oklahoma?"

"Nah, she moved to Nevada to live with her daughter."

"Well, I'll tell you what. It turns out to be a woman, I'll write a public apology. Until then, chainsaws just says MAN to me, so that's what I'm going to keep writing."

The officer shrugs. "Go ahead. The FBI has an advisor coming in later this week."

"Wait, so it's officially a serial murder?"

"Not OFFICIALLY, no. But it might be, so the captain put up the flag and asked for state support, and state asked the feds."

"Well, it if helps get this monster off the streets." Claire says. "God help me, but I wish Alabama had more heroes."

#

At that moment, Muscleborn was letting the champion of Birmingham's street fighters punch and kick him. It was supposed to be in punches the face, but both of them had rapidly realized how boring that was. Maybe they could have done that for an hour, maybe.

But Muscleborn was rapidly realizing that while he was taking pain, and possibly some light bruising, that he wasn't actually taking DAMAGE. He could just will the injured muscle tissue away, and replace it. Not quite with the speed of thought, but close enough that he could easily keep up with …

What was this scrapper's name?

Muscleborn realized he didn't care. "I don't think you're making any headway, do you?"

The sweating fighter shrugged. "It's your money, you want me trying to hurt you. But yeah, it's pretty clear you got some measure of toughness with those muscles."

"Good. We're done here." He walks over to his wallet, which he left on the kitchen countertop. He debates pulling out an extra hundred dollars, and then decides the fighter hasn't earned it. "As we agreed."

"Okay. Clean, legal money. Guess I can't say no to that."

"I guess you can't. Have a good day."

"You have a blessed day, too."

Muscleborn manages to keep a pleasant look on his face, in spite of the superstitious nonsense the fighter just spewed out. He shows the cretin to the door, already making his plans.

There is a colored man that Muscleborn learned of when he was still James Baker. James Brown was known as a musician, as "the hardest working man in show business". That isn't why James Baker admired him. Mr. Brown understood the value of land, and his estate holds most of the titles to land in his home city of Augusta, Georgia.

In his business dealings, James Brown, or rather the men he hired to manage his property, were merciless. They have become the model for what Muscleborn has in mind for Alabama. Maybe the neighboring states as well; there aren't a lot of people with the power to stop him.

#

"Hey, boss." Brian says when he gets to work. "Anything hot for the presses?"

"Got one of them LGB-whatever things for you. Guy dressed his male dog up in a dress. Address is in your email." <1>

"Well, I thank god that there's only one bleeding story out there. How's Claire holding up?"

"How's your WIFE holding up?" Luther responds. "Keep your nose in your own business."

"That's not what you pay me for, boss." Brian responds, pulling out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking my work email on my phone." Brian says, heading back to the elevator.

"That's a violation of company policy!" Luther reminds him. "What if someone gets that phone from you?"

"I've got a teenage daughter." Brian replies. "Let lesser phone-grabbers just TRY it."

[System could install encryption on your phone, Brian.]

'Can you limit it to just my work stuff?'

Brian doesn't want to tell his boss, but he sometimes works on articles on his phone, too. The keys are small for his fingers, but they serve.

[Confirmed. System is only waiting for confirmation.]

'Okay, do that, then. Use… kumquat4baNNanasplit.'

[That password is not as secure as it could be, Brian.]

'Would you have guessed it?'

[Yes.]

'Without direct access to my brain?'

[Unlikely.]

'Then it's secure enough. Now come on. Maybe there's enough going on in this man's neighborhood to snag another story.'

[Unlikely. To quote your wife, that sort of thing just doesn't happen in Huntsville.]

Brian shakes his head. Okay, so maybe the routine is a little routine. But it isn't as if there's NOTHING going on.

In ALL of Huntsville? There must be something.

#

"Ninety eight point eight degrees. Probably because she's running around like that." The spotter says into his microphone.

"Normal speeds?" Pierce asks from miles away.

"Normal for that age, yeah."

"Hrm. What about the woman?"

"Is the ability to bitch out a Starbucks employee a super-power?" replies Chance. Chance is their sniper, but his keen vision helps with other things as well.

Pierce sighs. It would be nice, it really would, if one of these recon in force missions didn't require the force part.

This mission wasn't likely to be that mission. James Baker had all the outside marks of a twerp. There may have been a proper medical term for it, but Sergeant Pierce didn't care.

There were points where human beings just walked over the slippery slope, when they became SOMETHING ELSE. Oh, they looked like humans, walked like humans, even acted like them. But there were things you could do, which Pierce had done, and then you weren't human any more.

You could tell yourself that it had been for the greater good, or in defense of self or others. Lie about there having been no choice. But there always was.

You could always choose to die as a human being. Pierce's mission was simple; make sure none of the monsters developed super powers.

Sure, there were sniper rounds and knockout darts, and some science nerd had come up with a way to contain the more common super villains. Some IDIOT of a nerd, who thought that did any good.

Pierce wasn't a nerd. He was a realist; he had seen what Angelfire had done. With her dead, there was no telling why she had done what she had. One day, she was the star hero of Seattle, the next just another mass murderer.

Joining Project Badger? If that was its real name? It hadn't even taken him thought. Sure, Humans for Humanity would be the ones holding the bag when he and his men died in action, but Pierce had managed to put that day off for a while, now.

And he'd keep that day as far off as he could, but he'd do his duty. Because that was what marines DID. All enemies… foreign or domestic.

Even if other marines would spit on him and call him traitor. Because after what he'd seen, he would kill the empowered, the ones called meta-humans, by the hundreds if he could.

It was the only thing remaining that made any sense.

<1> This author, and the Webnovel community in general, supports LGBTQ+. Luther Stern is a fictional character, and his views do not reflect the opinion of the author, Webnovel, or other persons either real or fictional.