Digitz (superhero flash fiction/short story)

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Digitz always wondered: when it came to sucker punches, who was considered the sucker? The clown doing the punching, or the idiot who didn’t see it coming? The answer seemed all too obvious the split second it took for his face to go from CrackaDoom’s fist to the unswept floor below.

“You just got knocked out, homey,” Doom’s voice echoed in the darkness of Digitz head. Geez, thanks for that, man. Good looking out. If he could talk, that’s exactly what he’d have said. But no, Digitz couldn’t talk. He could barely even think, making him virtually useless in the fight his friends were in against the supervillains known as the Thrillmasters.

“Just hurry up and get that safe open, big dog. We can only hold The Block down so long!” The tinny sound of a comm unit coming from CrackaDoom’s body.

The Block’s hangout consisted of little more than a reinforced basement and a few partitions for privacy. The only thing of value was the vials of Boost they kept in Stay-C’s safe, in case they ever had to go against some heavy hitter Talents.

Vials they could use right about now. Vials about to be snatched out from under them like some trap-house robbery.

Digitz needed to clear the cobwebs, He needed to access his powers.

Numbers dance for me. 02493059234….

CrackaDoom tried the combination written on the paper in his hand. Bzzt. Once. Twice. Three times. He stared at his huge hands, wondering if fat fingers were to blame. It took the stupid mutha an extra few seconds to realize Digitz had gotten in his head, had changed the way he could read the numbers.

“Thought you knew what was good for you. Gonna have to put you back to sleep!”

The Thrillmasters had obviously obtained some intel on The Block. The safe combination and what was in it; how to neutralize Digitz and the best time to catch the team off-guard. But clearly, they didn’t know everything.

Digitz might not have a granite jaw, but his Daddy didn’t give him no glass. And the extent of his power was more than just jumbling numbers. As Doom lumbered in his direction, ready to lay the wood down one final time, Digitz reached once again.

CrackaDoom overshot him and ran right into the brick wall, knocking himself out.

Funny thing about numbers: people didn’t realize how often they used them, from counting the seconds on a clock, to intuiting how many steps it takes to get from point A to B.

“Naw, son. That’s a knock-out.” He said, holding himself up over his defeated foe.

The rest of the battle went downhill for the Thrillmasters. Wasn’t hard to figure out who the suckers were if you look hard enough.

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About lacolem1

I'm a first-year Physics graduate student who spends his long drives from Mississippi to Texas thinking of new ideas and writing/enacting stories and publishable content in his head. I've been a comic book geek since I was 12, an internet philosopher since 18, and a wannabe media inventor since five minutes in the future. I love the beauty of short form fiction a la Maupassant, the ticklish excitement of flowery prose a la Bradbury, and the strict directness of blunt imagery a la Hemingway. Alas, this is countered by my love for bad black-and-white sci-fi from the 50s, bad Benetar-esque pop music from the 80s, and Bridezillas and the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I'd like to think I have a natural talent for words and storytelling, but I guess it's up to you guys to decide
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