SHAKY GETS SUPERPOWERS AND KILLS BAD GUYS

SHAKY GETS SUPERPOWERS AND KILLS BAD GUYS.

“I got this from a man in a pub,” Robbo’s bloodshot eyes were wide in wonderful, drunken delight. “It’s a litre Shaky and cost fuck all!”

Shaky, veteran of the streets for nearly Thirty years, somehow still managing to live with knackered kidneys, sclerosis, and the shakes, hence his nickname, smiled his toothless grin and grabbed for the bottle.

“Ah, ah!” Robbo pulled it away, “Me first!”

Shaky watched placidly as his longstanding drinking buddy gulped down a large mouthful of the odourless liquid. He had learnt to be patient over the years, he was usually the last drunk standing if any booze was being passed around. He was known to have hollow legs and a constitution of an ox. Robbo smacked his lips, looked at Shaky and true to form passed out. Shaky grabbed the large bottle a moment before it would have smashed.

“Thank you.” He nodded to the unconscious body on the discarded, rotten, weather soaked bedspread that served as Robbo’s “home.”

Shaky threw his head back and took his share of the spoils, and like his friend promptly passed out, somewhere in the far distance finally the bottle shattered.

He awoke and he was certain his head had exploded. With very, very bleary eyes he looked around for the fragments of his brain only to see that Robbo, his mattress, the smashed bottle, in fact everything was gone.

“What the fuck!”

 Everything he owned, which wasn’t much, was gone, it was as if him and Robbo had not been there for the last six months.

“What the fuck!”

 Strangely in that instant his head cleared and he sat up, however it came with the driest throat he had ever experienced, he was almost gagging with the dryness.

“I need a drink.”

He took one last puzzled look around, Robbo must have gone off in the night, but he can’t have cleaned up this good, that drunken old twat could barely walk straight, so how could he have done this. But the mystery would have to wait because he had only one thought.

“Drink!”

 Thankfully, he had a few quid in his pocket and at Four in the morning he could get a decent drink in the local 24 Hour Spar. They would serve anyone, it was the reason it was one of the few remaining stores in the area. To his utter amazement he wanted a soft drink. He hadn’t drunk a soft drink in years, in fact he could not remember the last time he had wanted, let alone tasted anything non-alcoholic.

He stepped through the doors of the 24 hour Spar and knew immediately something really bad was going on. There was a scream and then a crash and then another scream.

“Give us the fucking money!” a very, very loud voice barked. “Don’t be a cunt, it’s not yours, just fucking give it to us..”

 Normally at any sign of trouble he would have turned around and got out as fast as he could but something made him continue and it wasn’t the thirst, not even curiosity but something he didn’t understand.

“Who the fuck are you?” He walked into a large, thick set man with a balaclava stretched over his big face. “Get out of here you smelly old cunt or you’ll have some of this!”

A large baseball bat was shoved towards him and for a long time afterwards Shaky had no idea what happened or why it happened, but he quickly, in fact inhumanly quickly grabbed the bat and shoved it away from him, it went straight through the man’s head. There was a moment of complete stillness, the body slumped and Shaky was stunned. There were two other robbers at the counter waving large baseball bats, they turned, looked at Shaky, then at the twitching bloodied body at his feet.

“What have you done to my mate!” One of the robbers screamed. “You old cunt! Your fucking dead!”

“Look out.” It was a woman’s voice and Shaky was jolted out of his trance, just in time to see yet another baseball bat looming over him, then it came cracking down onto his head.

And two things happened at once.

He didn’t feel the impact and the robber who had swung the bat screamed as both his wrists broke with a terrible shattering sound. There was a clang as the bat dropped and the robber bellowed an ungodly noise as he looked in horrific disbelief at his two twisted hands. The other shocked robber stopped dead in his tracks. He somehow managed to quickly come out of it and his rage drove one thought through his mind, he was going to mess this smelly old cunt up for what he had done to his friends. He charged wildly.

It was the last thing he ever did.

 Shaky stepped forward, took the bat in mid swing pulling both of the robber’s arms clean out of their shoulder sockets. The scream and gush of blood made the woman who had warned Shaky moments earlier violently sick behind the counter. The Robber went completely silent as his mind tried to comprehend that a massive shock was bringing about a brutal death and a few seconds later he was gone.

Time stopped and Shaky looked around at the carnage, the second robber was looking up at him in pure terror, the agony of his injuries was so much he could not even whimper.

 Shakey looked up at the woman who was staring back at him as if he were a monster.

“I am a monster!”

He grabbed a bottle of water as he stumbled out of the store, somewhere, somebody shouted “sorry” and it wasn’t until a few hours later he realised it was him.

He hid for two days.

Over the years to get away from the ordinary citizens of the city who often cursed, spat, or attacked him for the sin of being homeless, he had found dozens of places where he could hide in plain sight because nobody gave a shit about a dirty old tramp. The Den was one such place. In a tattered and neglected oasis of nature, a small park saved from greedy developers by a rich man who never forgot his humble beginnings. Shaky had found a small clearing amongst trees, far enough from the main park to give him some semblance of peace and safety. When the violent daydreams of his ugly, dark childhood overwhelmed him, then the den offered solace and peace, sometimes even more than the booze, but of course there would always be a bottle with him just in case.

He slept most of the time and didn’t crave booze. It was too early to tell if that was just shock, but over time he came to understand whatever had been in that bottle Robbo brought had also taken away the craving for the terrible oblivion of alcohol.

Finally, hunger and thirst drove him desperately out of his sanctuary in the early dark hours of a new day. He made his way to a small service station not far from the park, a place where sometimes he bought a few cans. The doors were open so he did not have to brave a CCTV swamped serving hatch in which most of the staff sat safely behind reportedly bullet proof glass! Inside there was a very, very strong smell of weed and he nearly gagged. He stepped carefully into the shop, keeping his face lowered just in case he was somehow recognised.

“Hi!” A young man grinned from behind a raised counter and took a drag on a thick, lovingly rolled joint. “Come in, come in!”

Shaky nodded at him and relaxed, this guy was so far out of it, he doubted he would recognise his own mother. He could get down to the serious business of looking for some unhealthily lifesaving snacks.

“It’s all free,” The young man spoke slowly, concentrating on every word “It’s my last shift and I do not give a flying fuck. 6am and I am the fuck out of here forever and anyway the owner’s a cunt and he deserves to be fucked!”

He giggled and took another drag, he offered it to Shaky, there was a moment when he was tempted but it passed and he shook his head.

“You don’t mind if I continue to get fucked up, do you?” The young man again took in a massive lung full of the drug.

After all that had happened Shaky could not but help smile. “You get nice and fucked up mate, I don’t mind!”

The young man laughed, “I fucking will!” And took yet another hit, then slowly blew out a mushroom cloud that tentatively buzzed Shakey’s brain. He had to admit it did feel good.

“Have you seen this,” the young man lifted up a newspaper and to Shakey’s horror he was looking at a blurred image of himself on the front page. “This fucking dude, he’s a fucking hero!”

Shaky nearly dropped the bottle of water. His quickly looked up at the camera inside the service station and then cursed his stupidity, he looked down even quicker. Shit he would be tracked here. Shit, shit! He should have gone further away from the den, but if he were on the front pages, he would be seen anywhere and that would have brought its own problems.  

 “The world is going fucking nuts about this guy.” The young man was looking at the front page. “A hero!.”

Shaky turned away, the man fumbled in his pocket and brought out a battered smart phone, “The fucking video is all over the net, viral to the max!”

He held up the phone towards Shaky, still with his back to the young man he unthinkingly turned around where he heard the first scream.

“Oooooo man!” The young man shouted. “That was nasty!”

Despite himself he came forward to get a better look at the video, it didn’t matter now.

“Yeah,” the young man giggled. “Really fucked up two of them, they bled out and the only one who lived is like messed up in the head. Can’t talk or nothing, they reckon he’s a vegetable in some hospital somewhere. Under Police guard apparently. Cops guarding the bad guys, how fucked is that!”

Shaky nodded and looked down at the now split empty bottle.

“It’s cool,” the young man smiled, “Help yourself, like I said everything is free tonight!”

He took and drank another bottle, then managed to find his croakily scared voice. “Do they know who he is?”

The young man laughed a clouded, thick smokers laugh, “Cops have no fucking idea!”

With a deep relief he began to look for something to eat.

 The young man went on. “This guy is a hero, they should give him a medal. I’m a chilled kind of guy and yes I’m stealing from the cunt who runs this place, although he deserves it, but those fuckers were out to hurt people and that’s not fucking cool, so they got what they deserved. Fuck them!”

He took another drag on the joint and once again with a huge grin offered it to Shaky, who once again declined.

“I hope this dude,” he pointed to the screen. “Goes out and fucks up more bad guys. Fucking coppers are a waste of time, half of them, especially in this city are as rotten as my dick!”

Shaky laughed, more out of relief than humour, the young man grinned at him.

“This dude,” he pointed to his phone. “He is a real hero and fuck knows we could do with one!”

 And in that moment everything changed for Shaky. He knew his body was damaged beyond repair, even now that he had amazing strength and renewed energy, he just knew that deep within his soul he felt that death was close, and that final, incredible drink had sealed his fate. And in the remaining time he was being given a last chance to atone for a life he had thrown away. For all those wasted years on the streets, driven out by a violent father and a drug numbed mother, the streets where he had been nothing, a piece of shit under the shoes. After all this time maybe, he could find redemption.

“Yeah,” he spoke softly. “This guy is a hero.”