From the corner of a building, a man with green robes appeared. He delivered a brutal knife hand strike to the side of the neck of a policeman from behind. Snatching hold of the enforcer’s rifle, he twisted side on, giving an abrupt elbow to the throat. As the policeman let go, the martial artist spun, pushing his head into the wall. In that moment, everyone in the cave recognised the face of the martial artist… Jordan’s.
They started cheering and patting his shoulder in congratulations.
“I didn’t know you were an actor. When did you do this?” said Mick.
Jordan looked shocked.
“That isn’t me.”
“Grappler; here!” called the Jordan look alike.
“Thanks,” said a man appearing overhead.
He snatched up the rifle in mid somersault and landed in a crouch on the roof of a police car. Holding the butt by one hand, he swung wildly, swatting the barrel across the faces of three startled policemen. Another policeman took aim from across the bonnet of another car. His efforts ended in a curt retort from Grappler’s rifle.
“I’m definitely going to see this picture,” said Mick.
“These are the bad guys,” said Pat.
“Yeah, I wonder what the heroes are like?” said Nick.
More police angled their rifles from various vehicles along the street at the two criminals. A tall, heavy set blond haired man strayed into the centre of the road. He swung one telescopic metal whip above his head, and then the other. They cracked into cars used for cover by police. Metal chinking sounded where the metal tips pierced. A grin etched itself on the whip man as his whips glowed with electrical energy.
“Run!” police shouted.
They scattered for cover elsewhere as the vehicles exploded.
Mick began to believe the scene went on too long for a movie trailer. Perhaps they watched the actual movie.
An armour clad figure ran and halted in front of the whip man, shielding him from retaliatory fire. A receptacle opened in the thigh of the armour, producing a handgun. It’s wearer snatched up the weapon and fired single shots in quick succession. Each one found their mark, evident with the falling of policemen. A shot rang out, glancing from the armoured man’s helmet, shifting his head minutely aside. He glanced upward, scanning the buildings, then placed a hand to his ear.
“Multibeast, this is Javelin. There’s a sniper on the roofs; over.”
“I’ll take care of it; over and out,” a voice hissed in Javelin’s receiver.
The view changed scene to another section of the street, taking in a reporter with a microphone. Mick recognised the woman from a prominent TV news station, although he couldn’t place her. She appeared mid 40s with long red hair. Her frame seemed athletic, complementing anything she wore. Although still a beautiful woman, Mick assumed she was nearing the end of her career. Executives wanted younger faces to appeal to its shallow public.
What was her name?
It appeared at the bottom of the scene, Becky Moran.
“Viewers, I realise I’m saying little during this attack on Sydney, but anything less than what you see can possibly describe these super… beings?”