Who Knows What Evil Lurks in their Hearts?

Connor stumbled backwards into the line of gangsters. One of them laughed pushed the scrapper towards his boss. Smith caught Connor, helping steady him. Connor felt a bit of give in his mouth. He spat a pink stream at Percy, who wasn't fast enough to move. A glob of bloody tissue landed square on the gangster's boot. Directly in the middle of the puddle was one of the scrapper's teeth. 

"Now you've gone and done it mate," Percy cried. "These boots cost a fortune!"

"Forget him!" Smith yelled back. "He's nobody. Just an idiot who I brought with me. You all want me, right? Just let him go."

"Oh we'll let him go alright. In a body bag."

Before Connor could get a word in, the world around him grayed out. A ripple in the air came from behind Percy. The scrapper looked up to see Silas standing there. Gone was the Pinnacle's previous look. Now, his arm mirrored Connor's mecharm. His coat had deepened to a pine green, and across the bottom of his face ran a bright red scarf. Only his nose and eyes were visible. From either side of his coat the Pinnacle withdrew bolts of lightning in the shape of pistols. He twirled them without a care in the world.

You know what's going to happen, Silas shrugged. You're the one who provoked him. And while I'm all for justice and peace, sometimes the 'Master of Men' has to show what he can really do.

Let me guess, Connor rolled his eyes. This one's the Shadow?

A haunting laugh drifted from the Pinnacle's throat.

What is your obsession with these pulp heroes?  the scrapper muttered.

Hey, let's see you provide power for countless radio sets for almost a century, Silas said without pause. I know all the stories, can recite them to a tee. And right now, it looks like it's time to let the lead speak.

With this, he vanished in a flash. Time resumed its normal flow. Percy resumed yelling; Connor didn't care. The scrapper was too busy thinking through his options. Silas was still bound by whatever his new mecharm did. Even so, this would be the first actual test to see what happened when the Pinnacle's power was tapped into. Connor had opened the throttle wide the first time. Would easing it out be enough to let him survive this encounter?

The scrapper focused back into the scene at hand. Smith had strode forward, yelling right back at Percy. The gangster gave a sharp laugh and turned his eyes back on Connor. A moment passed. The scrapper lowered his good hand down and slightly turned the valve. He could feel a tinge of power building up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" Connor asked innocently. "Your toothy voice was so boring, it sent me right into a daydream."

This sent Percy over the edge. His face turned red as hellfire, and his hands went to his hips. Connor shoved Smith out of the way, leaping backwards into the group behind him. Percy didn't care. The vest underneath his long coat erupted in uniform flame. Connor felt two rows of holes punch through him and the thugs behind him. All three went down in a heap on the concrete amidst a variety of curses. The gangsters yelled at their leader for his rage, never expecting him to go this far. Percy screamed insults over them at the scrapper, his bottled up fury at being in Center finally spilling over.

Quietly Smith cursed Connor's combination of stupidity and bravery.

Then the scrapper's body lit up with a massive bolt of lightning and thunder.

He found himself literally hovering back onto his feet. On his face was the familiar iron mask. His mecharm had apparently sprung a leak, and was covered with a jagged arm made of pure power. Connor looked to either side of him, seeing cowering goons. Underneath the mask, he smiled. On top of it, his eyes danced with a devious light. Equal parts cowardice and hate for their leader caused the men to abandon him without a thought.

Connor fixed his eyes back on Smith. The rebel was stood in shock, which turned to relief. His friend was still in control. The scrapper's eyes then swung onto his enemy.

Astonishingly, the Brit was keeping his composure.

"So, a bulletproof vest and holothrower," Percy whistled. "Impressive. To an imbecile."

The castle-vest launched yet another volley. This time, Connor threw his arm up in front of himself. Slag dripped down to the concrete. Percy's goons whispered among each other. The Brit simply groaned.

"And his mecharm is a flamethrower," Percy rolled his eyes. "Boys! A reward to the one who brings me that blasted device!"

Money was apparently a greater motivator than fear. Several of the goons took off without a thought, rushing to meet Connor. Smith tripped one before another came to blows with him. While the normal men fought, Connor morphed his arm into a jagged blade. A trio of goons rushed in to meet the scrapper. With a single swing, each one was incapacitated. His arm had passed through each one. Electricity lanced throughout their bodies, showing their skeletons in cartoonish fashion. Each one was thrown to the ground groaning. Another Connor grabbed by the head and extended his arm forwards. Percy sidestepped as the goon was taken down the corridor a hundred feet straight into a wall. He slumped to the ground. Connor's arm zoomed back without an issue.

The scrapper and the Brit faced each other down like gunslingers. A mock tumbleweed of punches and kicks rolled past, Smith and the goon still at blows. Neither of the men moved for a solid few moments.

Percy's hands lunged downwards with inhuman speed. Connor brought his arm up, quickly forming the shape of an extended handgun. Two shots rang out like cracks of thunder. Percy yelled as the controls on his belt short circuited. His head swung between them and Connor. The scrapper began to pace forward menacingly. The Brit quickly both hands up.

"N-now hold on," he stammered. "W-we can talk about this. Your mate, we'll leave him alone. You can keep your fancy tech and we'll shove off. Sound good?"

Connor just kept staring down Percy. The Brit's gaze was fixed upon those solid red orbs. He began to breathe in and out, fighting the urge to run. No Yank with overdone tech was going to get the better of him. Even so, he had just iced several of the gang. Better to regroup and figure out a way to-

Connor's real arm lashed out and grabbed Percy by the throat. The Brit gasped as the scrapper lifted him several inches off the ground. Connor was impressed by his new strength. Though he was more thankful for what was about to come. His parasite's glee at basically causing Percy to pee his pants was rising. Yet Connor pushed that aside. This was his moment, not the Pinnacle's. The scrapper raised his left arm, palm up.

"You know, I read a book once about a famous pirate," he began. "Somebody like you. Who thought he was as free as a bird. Then it all blew up in his face."

With this, Connor thrust his palm forward. He dropped Percy into the blow. The Brit went flying backwards, castle-vest beginning to overheat. He slid to a stop a few feet from his unconscious colleague. Then the worst happened. The Brit flew a foot into the air, his back now on fire. Over the sound of misfiring ammo came yells of pain. Somehow, Percy managed to wriggle his way out. He scrambled down the staircase, screeching like an animal.

"Give my regards to Captain Kidd!" Connor yelled after him.

A thud was heard to his right. Looking over, Smith had finally managed to knock out the goon he was wrestling with. The rebel glanced up. A mixture of blood, sweat, and tears was on his face.

"Did we get 'em?" he managed to get out.