Jane

'A group of youths attacking an elderly couple in Raversham today were stopped by a mysterious masked man. He was wearing lycra leggings and a motorcycle jacket, and sprang on the attacking group with a flurry of blows before grounding one of the boys. The others fled, but the mystery man who calls himself The Disposer restrained the remaining attacker until police arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Flanshaw are very grateful to the hero that saved them, saying without his intervention, they could have been killed.'
'Recent riots across the country appear to be at an end. The riots, which have caused destruction of public and private property, along with hundreds of injured bystanders, started out as peaceful protests in London. The protestors were opposing a new law to remove the human rights of criminals, which has yet to be passed in the House of Commons. Many fear that the new law will give the government and police an ability to abuse the general public by imposing a criminal status on them, thereby removing any human rights that stop behaviour such as torture or privacy.'
'During the riots, several people have been spotted attempting to stop the rioters from attacking other people. These herioc citizens can not be named, as their identity was hidden by masks, cowls and costumes. Police are looking for one man, who was wearing a bandit mask and long black cape, for assault with a deadly weapon. The man was wielding a sabre, and used it to defend a group of women from attacking rioters. Two of the rioters were hospitalised with severe cuts to their arms and chests, none of the woman he defended were harmed.'
'Residents of Glasgow are testing a new public transport service this week, which could see a reduction in bus delays and accidents. The trial, run by Vertigo Transport Systems, will see a fleet of twelve new Fusion-powered Unmanned Civilian Transports replace several inner city bus routes. The vehicles are fully automated, including ticket dispensing and route adjustment  for closed roads, roadworks and accidents. They will also be the first public transport vehicles to be powered by the new clean fuel from TransGro Inc. Once the trial is complete, Vertigo plan to roll out the system to all major cities across the UK.'
'That's all from me, Jane Rayford, I'll be back tomorrow at six. Goodnight from all at Lookout News.'

Peter

"Listen to me, shithead: I was here first. You can sod off," Peter said, straightening his back to make himself as tall as possible. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he was staring straight into the eyes of the man in front of him. The atmosphere was thick with aggression, as if the smallest spark would send the whole place up in a fiery explosion of hatred.
"You what?"
"You heard me. Get lost."
Car engines ticked over around them, giving their stand-off an unnecessary growl to fuel the rising testosterone levels as both men squared up to each other. Onlookers stopped to watch, unable to free themselves of their inquisitive paralysis. Nobody dared make a sound or sudden movement, fearing the tempers of the two men would be focussed on them instead.
Peter could feel the heat radiating from the man in front of him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was baring his teeth. lines of saliva stretched out from his lips with every angry breath he exhaled. His body was trembling with rage, his leathery skin pulled taught across his muscular frame. His bulk was greater than Peter's, and his muscle-to-fat ratio was easily double his own. This meathead was obviously used to having his own way, or using his strength to make sure he got it anyway.
"Call me shithead again, and I'll shatter your jaw. Now, if you ain't gonna move your car, I'll move it for you."
Peter looked at him. If he was bluffing, he was good. Not a good man to play poker against; he could either make you fold and win, or lose and tear your arms from your body and bash you over your head with them. How had he got into this situation? Saturdays were always busy, and parking is a nightmare in the town centre, but violence before 10am? Foolish. A fool's errand. Not even something that he was prone to doing, probably hadn't been in a fight since his early years at school, and even then the fight was more like a slapping contest. No, this was not the way he wanted to behave, and he certainly didn't want to antagonise the grunting beast before him. Just back away, get in your car and try to find another space, he thought. You can collect your dignity another day. As the thought formed in his head, he heard a sound that both surprised him and filled him with fear. Surprise because it was his own voice, and fear because he heard himself say aloud:
"Shithead."
Time slowed as fury rippled through the man's body. He gritted his teeth, coiled his arm, and threw a punch with the force of a runaway train. He connected with Peter's jaw, sending him staggering backwards while his eyes rolled into his skull. The impact made a sound like a thunderclap, which seemed to silence the sound of the nearby traffic as if it really was sent down from the heavens.
Peter's backward fall was broken by the bonnet of his car. His vision swam for a second, but the blurring browns and greys of the concrete multi-storey car park disappeared as the grinning face of his foe filled his view. One oversized fist had him by the collar, the other was loaded for another strike. Grimacing from the first punch, and anticipating the fulfillment of the shattered-jaw prophecy, Peter scrunched up his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Instead, he felt the grip at his neck loosen, and opened his eyes to see another man pulling his attacker away from him.
This new contender was dressed from head to toe in wrestling gear. He had bright red knee-high lace-up boots, a golden leotard emblazoned with red and yellow flames, and a matching mask that covered his head save for the mandatory eye and mouth holes. Gone was Peter's fear, and even the pain in his face, both replaced by the hilarity of his attacker being carted off by a comic book character.
Peter and the previously apprehensive audience watched in perverse excitement as the wrestler dragged his victim in a rear headlock while he struggled to get free. He just couldn't get a foothold to shrug off this new threat, meanwhile his face was turning crimson as the blood in his head was trapped by the wrestler's burly arm.
"Stop it!" shrieked a nearby woman, rushing over to the two men still in their savage embrace. Neither paid her any attention, until she slapped the wrestler in the face. With that, he dropped the other man who fell to the floor wheezing, his face slowly returning to it's original hue.
"Violence will not be tolerated," said the wrestler with a Mexican accent.
"And who are you to stop it?" the woman asked.
"I am The Luchador!"
"You have to be kidding me," said the initial fight-starter as he regained his composure. "You lot into crime fighting now? Who are they sending to deal with bank robbers, Hulk Hogan?"
A few members of the gathered crowd giggled, and even Peter had to stifle a laugh.
"I am here to protect the innocent, to offer assistance to the needy, to-"
"I'm not needy!" Peter shouted, immediately wishing he hadn't as pain shot through his jaw.
"You see? Your not needed here, and you look stupid to boot. If anyone is a shithead, it's you." He turned to Peter, who was gingerly stroking his bruised cheek. "Sorry about the thump I gave you, I guess shopping just puts me in a bad mood."
"No worries, I had it coming. I shouldn't have called you that. Didn't know you had a bowling ball for a fist! You can have the space, by the way."
"Cheers mate. Go put some ice on that."
The men went their separate ways, instantly forgetting about The Luchador, who had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he had arrived.

Lori

The rain had been pouring down for hours, but it felt like days. Water splashed up from the ground as the raindrops hit like mortar shells from the heavens. Lori walked through the park, arms folded tight across her chest in an attempt to keep any warmth that hadn't already been sapped by the merciless weather. It was a short walk home from work, but this rainstorm made it feel much, much longer. Large puddles had formed across the footpath in several places, but her shoes were already wet through so she didn't avoid them. She just trudged through, hoping to get home faster where she could be dry, warm and safe.

It was a little after 1am, and Lori had finished her shift at The Golden Fleece. A university student, she needed any shifts she could get and bar work was the only job that could fit in with her studying and give enough hours to pay the bills. This part of town was gritty and dark at the best of times; right now it felt like something out of a police reconstruction, which seemed to fill up the TV listings these days. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something shifting. Shapes moved towards her, like the shadows were melting and flowing in her direction.
She quickened her pace. It was probably just a small animal, or a drunk trying to get out of the rain, but she didn't want to stick around to find out. Either one of those could be dangerous anyway, or disgusting. Or both. Her thoughts were interrupted by a creepy intoned call:
"Hey lay-dee!"
She kept walking, almost jogging. She didn't turn to look, partly out of fear of what she might see, but mainly because she needed to keep an eye on the path ahead of her. She could see the gate that lead out onto the main road, where there would by cars, lights, any kind of civilisation that would make her feel at least slightly safer.
"Wait lady, I wants ta talk with ya," the voice called, laced with menace but still far enough away not to cause her much concern. Just a drunk, she told herself. Nothing to worry about, just get yourself home.
"Ignoring people is rude," he said in her ear, almost a whisper. She tried to scream, but a wet gloved hand clasped over her mouth and pulled her back, dragging her to the ground. She could feel the rough, worn wool of the glove on her lips, and an unclean taste like sour milk filled her senses. She struggled with her foe, trying to free herself from his grip but he was too strong, and he wrestled her with ease until he was on top of her. She was on her back now, lying on the cold hard paved path, pebbles and twigs underneath her digging into her ribs and spine. She looked up through the falling rain, her vision blurred from the water in her eyes, and all she could make out was a dimly lit figure of the hooded man pinning her down. He leaned in close to her, his hand still clamped over her mouth. She was breathing desperately through her nose, and the foetid stench of his warm breath was a suffocating veil of horror, making her gag. She closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if she was crying tears or if it was just the rain pouring down her face. Her mind was racing with images of violent murder from movies, blood splattering and spraying from arterial wounds, and sharp, ear-splintering screams. Pain flared again in her back, as he shifted his weight on top of her and yet more debris from the weathered path stabbed into her.
"Now we're gonna have ourselves a little party, you and me," he said, drool dripping down from his cracked lips and landing on her cheek. She flinched, but his mass and strength were too much for her. She lay still, staring into the dark shadow of the man's face, too petrified to do anything else. She could see his teeth as he grinned, dull yellow blotches of colour taunting her sadistically. He had freed his other hand, and was grabbing at her jeans while the rest of his frame acted as a vice, keeping her slim body from wriggling away. Sudden fear consumed her mind as she realised what this creature was going to do. All she felt was panic. Her eyes darted around, trying desperately to see a witness or helper, silently pleading with the emptiness of the park to bring forth something, anything, to save her from this vile act.
Then she saw him.
"Get off her, you pig," the mysterious figure shouted.
He stood only yards away, dressed entirely in black, save for a strip of red fabric around his head like an eye mask. In fact, that was the only thing she could make out.
"Fuck off!" the drunk spluttered, looking up from Lori's pale face.
There was a sound of grunting, and straining, then the weight lifted from her chest. She got up so quickly that she almost lost her balance, and stumbled forwards before she regained control again. She looked ahead of her, where the two shadowy figures were standing nose to nose.
"What are you supposed to be, Spiderman?" the drunk yelled.
"No, I am Ninjetsu, and I am here to stop you."
Lori had heard about this. Superheroes, like in the movies and the comics, were popping up all over the place. Only they weren't actually all that super. Just normal, everyday men and women dressed up like the fictional crime fighters of the silver screen. She remembered seeing something about it in the news, a masked vigilante had stopped some robbers breaking in to a warehouse in town. And there were rumours that in other cities the same thing was happening. She hadn't really thought about it much, they were just stories to her, but here, right in front of here, stood one of those heroes. He had saved her, probably saved her life.
"Change your name to shithead," the drunk roared as he swung his fist into Ninjetsu's face. The punch landed with a thud, making Lori cringe with empathy and sending the hero to the floor, sprawling. The drunk turned, muttering to himself, and walked away.
"Are you ok?" Lori asked, rushing towards her downed protector.
"I'm fine, it's nothing," he said, rising unsteadily. "Are you alright? You are lucky I was here, this is a dangerous place at night you know. You really shouldn't walk alone."

"I know, I just never thought it would happen to me. Thank you so much, you really are a hero to me," she said, but before she could finish speaking he ran down the path, the red of his mask fading into the gloomy darkness of the night. She watched him disappear, like he dissolved into the night, then turned and ran home as fast as she could.

To be continued...