The Bellville Bridge Incident

The Uno Turbo purred (okay, wheezed) its way up the Bellville bridge, just past the station, where streetlights flickered like they owed Eskom money and the railing had seen more fists than a rugby pub.

The bridge was quiet, except for a few bergies arguing over whose turn it was to wear the one working takkie.

The three masked heroes sat in silence.

Mark cracked a Nik Naks packet open in the back seat. "So… are we just gonna sit here like mense watching National Geographic, or what?"

Brian didn't answer. He stared out at the street like Batman if Batman wore a Jet hoodie.

Jermaine adjusted the GoPro on a DIY selfie stick made from a mop handle and duct tape.

Then, finally, Jermaine broke the silence.

"Wait… why Bellville, though? There's like… no gangs here. Just expired Ubers and that one bergie who thinks he's DJ Khaled."

Brian shrugged. "That's exactly why. Here it's just bergies and druggies. Enough crime to train on, but not so bad that we die on the first day."

Jermaine blinked. "Wait. So we're in tutorial mode?"

Mark nodded. "Exactly. Like a starter map. Easy XP."

Then they saw him.

A man in a reflective vest, backpack slung over one shoulder, walking home from a long shift. Probably a security guard or Checkers packer.

And coming the opposite way?

A guy in a hoodie, hands deep in his pockets, moving a little too smooth. Eyes too shifty. Energy too dodge.

Brian's head tilted. "There."

Mark leaned forward. "How can you tell?"

"Look at the walk. That's a 'gimme your phone' walk."

They waited.

The guy in the hoodie stepped up to the worker, stopped him, and whipped out a blade.

Brian's voice dropped into action mode. "It's go time."

All three doors flung open.

Red.

Blue.

Green (with his phone already recording).

Mark whispered, "Operation TikTok Justice, commence."

Brian and Mark walked fast but cool, like undercover mall cops who listened to Eminem in high school.

The mugger barely noticed them until Brian closed the distance, shouted,

"HEY!"

and kicked the guy's hand full against the bridge railing.

CLANG!

The knife clattered to the ground and bounced off the pavement like a dropped boerewors.

The mugger yelled, "Agh, voetsek!"

Mark jumped in with a combo punch that looked like it came straight out of WWE2K16 and half a Bruce Lee dream.

The guy stumbled, tripped, and nearly flew into the road.

The worker stood frozen, eyes huge.

"EISH! Who are you guys?!"

Brian straightened his red mask, turned slowly like a telenovela villain, and dropped his voice two octaves.

"We are the Heroes of South Africa."

He pointed at himself.

"I am Red."

He pointed at Mark, who was brushing dirt off his blue hoodie.

"That is Blue."

Then he pointed to Jermaine, who was standing far away behind a street pole with the camera, whispering to himself like a Discovery Channel narrator.

"And that… is Green."

Jermaine waved one hand awkwardly. "Hi."

The worker squinted. "Wait, Green? Why he so far?"

Jermaine shouted back, "Because I record and I run! That's my superpower."

The worker was still trying to process what he was seeing when the mugger suddenly got up, face red, pride bruised, and fists clenched.

"Julle think you kak funny, huh?" the guy growled, wiping blood from his lip. "I'll moer all of you!"

He lunged at Brian with a wild punch.

Brian slipped it clean, turning sideways with the smoothness of a guy who watched too many fight breakdowns on YouTube. He dropped low and fired a vicious uppercut straight to the mugger's chin.

CRACK!

The man's head snapped back like a Pez dispenser. He staggered, legs doing a TikTok dance his brain didn't agree to.

Then...

"Haibo! You think you alone?"

The worker, now properly activated, dropped his backpack with dramatic flair, zipped it open, pulled out a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola wrapped in a towel, and swung it full-force into the mugger's face like he was playing street cricket.

THWACK!

The mugger spun mid-air like a Mortal Kombat character, eyes rolling, and crashed into the bridge railing with a metallic bang.

Jermaine was still filming. "Yoh. This content is too spicy. I'm gonna get demonetized."

Brian stepped back, stunned. "Uhm. I think he's out."

"Nope," Mark said, already sprinting.

"What?!"

Before anyone could stop him, Mark launched into a running dropkick, flying like a small plane made of chips and adrenaline.

BOOM!

His sneakers collided square with the mugger's chest just as the guy was trying to stand up. The impact sent him flying backward like a ragdoll…

OVER THE RAILING.

There was a beat of silence.

Then...

"AAAGHH, THUMP!"

They all ran to the edge, peering over.

The mugger lay at the bottom of the bridge, groaning and twitching like a man who just remembered his medical aid expired in 2017.

Brian clutched his head. "YOH. WE'RE GOING TO POLLSMOOR."

Mark turned pale. "I'm too pretty for prison, bro."

Jermaine was already Googling. "How long is jail time for heroic manslaughter?"

Then...

"Aghhh… help!"

The mugger moved. Rolled over. Cursed something about his spinal alignment.

They all exhaled like kids who just survived a math test they didn't study for.

Brian whispered, "Okay, okay, he's not dead."

The worker climbed up next to them, out of breath. "I didn't even hit him that hard, neh?"

Mark patted him on the shoulder. "No, you definitely did. But respect."

Brian pulled his mask down just a little to breathe. "You're safe now, bhuti. Go home."

The worker laughed, hoisted his bag again, and saluted them. "Thanks, bafethu. But next time maybe just call the cops?"

Mark replied, "We are the cops… but from Wish."

Jermaine shouted from the car, "Let's gooo! Before he wakes up and presses charges!"

They all ran back to the Uno Turbo, laughing and half-panicking.

Brian started the car, Jermaine switched off the camera, and Mark whispered a prayer.

The Uno rattled off into the night again, shaking from the potholes and adrenaline.

Back on the bridge, the groaning mugger rolled over and muttered, "Who even dropkicks someone… in real life?"