The night sky reflected a hazy glow from the city lights below. It was past
the hour and the law abiding citizens of Paragon City were comfortably
tucked away in their lavish apartments and housing estates. However, believe
it or not a few of Paragon City’s citizens are not law abiding, in fact,
some don’t abide to much.
One group in particular; a bunch of rag-tag-jean-wearing-thugs, stood out on
the unkempt scenery of Cheery Hills. Holding an assortment of crude yet
lethal looking weaponry they marched around the hill in deep discussion with
“That one” spoke a member to the back of the group. They turned.
“No, we did that one last week.” replied the leader.
“Silly sod, had a dust up there, a right good ‘un it was too.” The rest of
the gang jeered in amusement at the memory.
“Ol’ Jimmy got stomped sumthin’ chronic.” grinned another gang member.
‘Liar!’ replied a flustered Jimmy.
“Yes you did, I bloody well saw you. That troll geezer picked you up and
threw you clean over the wall.”
“Never mind that lads,” interrupted the leader, “I say we do that one.”
The gang looked down on an unsuspecting apartment building which had
obviously seen better days. The front door to the block hadn’t been kicked
in yet so it was obvious they hadn’t raided it yet. There was a unanimous
agreement of nodding.
“I hope I gets to smash some heads in.” wheezed a gang member.
“All in good time lad. Now does everyone remember the rules?” spoke the
leader who knowingly knew that his gang were all idiots and didn’t remember,
so without pausing for their answer he outlined the rules again. “Now, first
things first, any plunder goes directly to me and I’ll share it out later.
Any big ‘uns in there then I want you all to be over him before I can say
“Whats a parche -”
“…and last but not least, don’t forget that if we run into those bloody
trolls I don’t want any runnin’ away, especially you Jimmy. Yes you. Ok
lads, when your ready we’ll…”
“Good evening gentlemen.” came the interruption. The gang turned to the
source. “I hope I’m not imposing on important matters?”
“You?!” spoke the leader in a commanding yet slightly terrified voice.
Before him stood the strong frame of British Power. The red and white clad
armour of the hero glinted in the moonlight as he stood proud, towering over
every member of the gang. His facial features masked by a full helm with
wings arching to the sides.
“Good to see you again. Behaving yourself?” came the sarcastic remark from
“Wouldn’t dream of behaving badly mister Power. In fact, we wouldn’t dream
of doing anything - GET HIM!”
As predictable as ever the gang of mindless thugs lunged themselves at the
hero. Fortunately for British Power he actually had intelligence and knew
what to expect. His first expertly timed manoeuvre came in the form of a
sweeping punch to the jaw of the first gang member, who coincidentally after
this fight was never able to talk again, and was sent reeling to the floor
beneath the rest of the Outcast. The next gang hoodlum was sent crying over
the wall at the bottom of the hill in a remarkable throw by British Power.
“Jimmy you bloody fool! I swear after this you‘re going to put more weight
on!” shouted the leader after the hoodlum.
The next thug came at the hero with a baseball bat and a viscous cry of
“I’LL KILL YOU!”
“What an original battle cry,” came the hero’s reply as his fist connected
with the thugs face in a crunching display of over 18 violence.
Then came the rushing sweeps of might from the sword of British Power.
Chopping baseball bats in half and slamming his opponents to the wet ‘grass’
of Cherry Hills.
“I say, are you having as much fun as I am?”
“KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” Shouted the leader in a
furious rage that blurred his sense of normality and it was only moments
later did he realise he was the only thug left.
‘Well well.’ smirked British Power; not that the leader could see the smirk
behind the full helm, but the hero made sure his voice gave a good
impression of a smirk. Naturally it angered the thug even more.
There was a sudden arch of charged lightening that lashed out from the
clumsy hands or the leader and straight at our hero. When the flash subsided
the leader could see British Power standing slightly bemused by the
“Ha!” Yelled the leader. “Did I forget to mention certain recently
discovered powers? I think I did. My bad.” There was another flash.
“Easy lad. I can do more than just arrest you, remember poor Jimmy?” Another
flash followed. “Right then” struggled British Power as he clambered back to
“Bring it on tights!” Shouted the leader.
The hero regained his footing and then charged, his sword of power held high
for that critical strike. The leader brought about his own baseball bat and
the weapons clashed with a spark of electricity supplied by they thug.
Another swing and another clash. Then another clash. Another swing. Then
another spark of electricity. Then British Power finally became bored and
head butted the thug.
“I’m the criminal! I’m meant to fight dirty!”
“I didn’t realise fighting dirty was exclusive to criminals.”
“Well it is, and I’m going to show you why I’m the best!”
A gun shot rang out and bullet scraped past the helm of our beloved hero. In
a flash of lightening and another gunshot British Power couldn’t help but
feel cheated, but then again, his head butt was uncalled for…despite how fun
it was. However, now he thought it was time to bring out the big guns. In a
quick flash of super calculations the hero could see he heavily outweighed
the thug. So, without delay a brutal body slam was performed on the
unsuspecting thug. Then in a display to show why our hero’s second title was
Power, he picked up the thug and threw him crashing through the brick wall
of a nearby apartment building. This was followed by a distant “Good throw
mate,” as a fellow superhero flew past the scene on his way to a different
set of heroic duties.
“All in all, I’d have to say it was a good night.” beamed British Power as
he noted the blinking lights of police cars driving up the road to greet him
and do the subsequent arrests of said thugs. The police chief on the scene
waved himself forward and greeted the hero with a familiar hand shake.
“Well done lad, you did a good job on these Outcast.” he said in a worn out
and tired voice.
“You’ve done a good job yourself.” replied British Power in a friendlier
“What? I didn’t do anything?”
“I’m talking about your shoes, you actually polished them?”
“Well yes, I thought I’d smarten myself up a bit. Makes an smart impression
on the rest of the force.”
“First rule of fighting crime, if you can’t dress fancy then dress smart.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Make sure you do.”
Finally, British Power gazed around the scene and in a rewarding tune he
said to himself, “Now, where is the nearest pub?”