Part Two:   2-Ton and Blast

The men had reached an uneasy level of familiarity by the time they reached Chinatown. It was destroyed and burning to the ground just like the rest of city. One hollowed out building had puffs of white steaming coming from it and smelled of broth and spices. Raphael pointed towards the building and nodded. When they entered through a large hole in the wall, A.J. closed his eyes and tried to bring himself back to a time when there were warm restaurants to gather in and food that didn’t taste like ashes.

They heard the clink of dishes touching and followed the sound through the dim dining room back to where the kitchen had once been. An abnormally large man was balancing on a tall bar stool pulled up to a counter, hunkered over a bowl of pale noodles swimming in weak broth. He slurped each noodle up hungrily, pushing them up to his mouth with wooden chop sticks that looked tiny in his large hands.

A.J. cleared his throat to make their presence known. The large man just grunted and continued eating without looking up from his bowl. Bits of noodle and broth dribbled out the sides of his mouth. He had sandpaper skin and sad eyes.

A.J. tried again, “Hey, 2-Ton, going to eat the bowl too or just stop at the noodles?”

Hearing the familiar name for the first time in a good while, the man’s grip on the bowl tightened until the sides of the thing cracked. Broth seeped out from the new cracks. He raised his huge head and leveled his eyes at the men for the first time. Recognition swept across his face, followed closely by rage. He chucked the ceramic bowl at Warren’s head, it missed and hit the wall with so much force that it exploded into a million pieces.

“Ed Harrington?” Warren confirmed the identity of the man, as if he really needed to. Ed “2-Ton” Harrington was one of St. Helen’s former residents, just like A.J. had been. Ed wasn’t a mental patient though; he was brought over from a small county hospital a few miles out, suffering from the ending stages of lung and throat cancer. A.J. remembered all the blood the man had coughed up in front of him. It had spilled over his cupped hands and splattered across the staff’s white coats.

Ed lumbered towards Raphael next, casting his 6’5 shadow over the man, swallowing him up in its wake. The ground shook. Ed was tall and carried an impressive amount of muscle and tissue with him. Since the experiments, he had become more lethal than an out of control Mac Truck. His strength and power were immeasurable, his bones unbreakable and his skin impermeable. He was nothing less than an indestructible force of nature. It was his stature that earned him the nick name “2-Ton” on the ward, and that was before they learned what he would later become capable of.

Before A.J. could even think about talking him out of it, 2-Ton took hold of Raphael’s scrawny shoulders and picked him up several feet off the ground. He stared into his eyes with an icy hatred and uttered a primal growl. Raphael moaned in pain and then promptly passed out from fear.

“Just let him down big guy, I’ve already checked them out. They didn’t come here to fight, they’ve got some ideas. Some good ones, I hate to admit.”

2-Ton grunted and let go, letting Raphael fall to the ground in a heap of dead weight.

“Ouch, that’s gonna hurt in the morning,” A.J. said, shaking his head. He couldn’t bring himself to feel all that bad about it though. “Where’s your buddy Calvin, he can’t be far, you two were always damn near inseparable.”

Without taking his eyes off the heap on the ground, 2-Ton shoved a thumb in the direction they could find Calvin and as if on cue, Calvin came around the corner carrying a second bowl of piping hot noodles.

“What the . . .” Calvin started to ask before dropping his bowl and holding out his left hand towards Warren, a blue pulsing ball of light immediately forming at his palm. A.J., who had seen everything that was about to happen about three seconds earlier, shoved Warren to the ground just in time to save him from getting his noggin exploded to bits all over place.

“A.J.? That really you?” Calvin looked happy to see his old friend at first but couldn’t imagine why he seemed to be working with the enemy.

“Yea Cal, it’s really me. Let’s hold off on the energy bombs for a minute ok, hear us out?”

Calvin straightened up and glanced at 2-Ton who shrugged, indifferent. “I go by Blast now. No one calls me Calvin anymore.”

“Uh huh,” A.J. reluctantly agreed, knowing that 2-Ton didn’t talk and Calvin couldn’t possibly have any other friends. “Blast it is. Clever. So now, let’s get down to business shall we?”

An hour later they were all seated at a round table, eating noodles out of broken China bowls like old friends. Raphael poked at his emerging bruises and complained often. Calvin looked over Warren’s drawings and rubbed his bald head. Ever since he had been forever changed by the serum that cured his lymphoma, no hair would grow anywhere on his body. His finger tips crackled with sparks of loose energy. He could gather and control all forms of energy, from the harmless battery power of a toy to the highly volatile energy of a nuclear power plant. It was not the kind of power you wanted a man like Calvin to have, classified as a delusional narcissist who often had difficulty telling his own fantasy from reality.

“So we’re going to be super heroes then, that’s the plan?” Blast gleefully eyed the drawing of himself in a skin tight blue and black unitard-like outfit that only ever looked cool in comic books.

“Your outfit is flame retardant,” Warren offered with a hint of light heartedness in his voice. He was clearly in awe of his own idea.

2-Ton half grunted, half laughed at the word “retardant.” Raphael rolled his eyes. “You’re going to use your gifts to create a symbol of hope to the survivors, maybe make some improvements to the quality of life around here in the process. Oh, and we’ll all become famous and powerful of course.”

A.J., 2-Ton and Blast all eyed Raphael angrily. “Gifts? Did you just seriously refer to what you’ve done to us as a GIFT?” A.J. envisioned himself leaping across the table and strangling Raphael until his beady little eyes popped right out of his head.

Raphael, perhaps sensing the immediate danger he was now in, looked down at the table embarrassed and traced a figure eight in the dust there. “Well, I . . . I mean . . . we could make it into something good. I figure.”

“We might at that. We might just become acceptable at least. But it will be in spite of you, not because of you. Let’s just get that straight right now.” A.J. smoothed his right hand over the handle of his shotgun he had kept faithfully at his side.

“Assuming that we agree to join your little group, when are you thinking we’ll make our grand debut? And do I get to blow anything up on day one? I was thinking I should show off my incredible abilities right away, you know, establish myself as the leader.” Calvin trailed off, sparks igniting in the gleam of his eyes as he formulated his new identity in his head.

“Who said you were going to be the leader? As if.” A.J. pushed his bowl into the center of the table and started to get up. He was starting to feel a bit too comfortable at this gathering, and that didn’t sit well him at all.

“We just need to pick up the final member, the details can be debated about endlessly on the way,” Warren stated, getting up from the table as well.

“Exactly,” exclaimed Calvin. “Like, we’ll need a name for our group. We can be “Blast and the Avengers’ or how about ‘The Silent Three’ and our gimmick can be that we never talk, ever. Silent, cool and deadly.”

“I’d like to see you be silent for a whole seven seconds,” A.J. said bitterly, “and I think the Avengers has already been taken.”

2-Ton picked up his duffle bag, and Calvin’s, and also a brutal looking lumberjack axe which he hoisted over his shoulder in a massive swing. They were all just about to set out again together when Calvin suddenly stopped, stepping in front of Warren to get his attention.

“Wait. Who are we going to get? Who is the final member of our team?”

Warren and Raphael exchanged nervous glances and then Warren put on his best kissing-babies politician smile. “You have to admit, a surly biker, a skinny bald guy and a brick house just can’t sell it alone. You need some sex appeal if you’re ever going to make a name for yourself, right?”

“Oh hell no,” A.J. said under his breath. He walked back to the table and sat down, shaking his head.

“You can forget it. I’m not working with that crazy bitch. Huh-uh, no way.” Calvin retreated as well, taking a place next to A.J. They both looked at 2-Ton, who shrugged silently and dropped his luggage on the ground, keeping only the axe in hand.

“I’m surprised at you. Especially you Calv- er, Blast. This could very well be your destiny. Haven’t you ever thought you were capable of greatness, worthy of adoration? This is your opportunity to take it and you’re going to let a little girl stand in your way?” Raphael spoke more words in that moment than he had said all night. This was the Raphael that A.J. remembered, the one who was full of unsubstantiated promises, eager to turn people to his favor.

“You have to admit her unique abilities could come in quite handy. I seem to remember her once erasing a surgical scar from Ed’s neck with a touch of her fingertips. Plus, she’s got that whole secret spy, constantly changing identity thing going on.” Warren played to A.J.’s unhealthy crush on the woman, and it worked.

A.J. got back up, although more reluctantly than before. He walked solemnly towards the opening in the wall that lead back out to the dark and threatening streets. As he passed Warren he tapped the man’s chest with the barrel of his gun. “You’re the babysitter. You keep her under control. I’m sure as hell not taking responsibility for what you’re letting out of Pandora’s box tonight.”