Steel Armstrong
New member
"I'LL HAVE TO PAY YOU IN CASH. I'D LIKE TO USE MY CREDIT CARD, BUT IT WOULD GIVE AWAY MY SECRET IDENTITY."
Steel Armstrong's voice reverberated through the grocery store; some people took photos with their phones of the titanic being in line at the checkout, cape flowing behind him.
His enormous fingers encased in gleaming gauntlets expertly picked their way into a small brown wallet, clamping onto a ten-dollar bill and holding it out to the cashier, who accepted it after a moment of brief hesitation. His items - various small foodstuffs, a set of batteries, some hand soap, and a can of Coke - fit snugly within a single plastic bag, which he happily hefted along with the receipt provided by the clerk. If any tried to glimpse his ID, searching desperately for his real name - they would see what appeared to be a perfect replica of a driver's license with a photo of his helmeted head. Name: Steel Armstrong. Address: Wherever he's needed.
With the unrest in the city following the convention attack and rumors of predatory violence at night, it was understandable that some had their reservations about his presence here in the Safeway. Was this a stunt, or was he actually a meta-human? Nothing about his behavior seemed unusual other than his manner of dress...as for his immense size, he was naturally intimidating. The explosive way that he said "HELLO!" to any who met his gaze, along with a small wave, felt unnatural, like an actor playing a character - but at no point did the persona fade. The featureless helmet never came off, and its bearer never stopped to wink at a camera, to do anything to suggest that going shopping in a 7' tall suit of armor was anything other than routine.
Armstrong hadn't fought much crime lately. He had lifted a person's car out of a spot along the side of the road after another Pittsburgh local had double parked over it - carefully lifted, so as not to leave any grooves in the metal where his hands held it. The owner of the automobile had seemed to suggest that the titanic muscleman move it as a joke - only to be surprised when his car was casually deposited in the middle of the tarmac. The superhero had barely broken a sweat. In return, he received a selfie with the incredulous driver. All in a day's work.
He was strong - prodigiously so - but until today, he had seemed mostly harmless.
When exiting the grocery store, he proceeded to walk down the sidewalk outside - it was true that he could leap from place to place, but that was a lot of effort, and his aim was to be among people, rather than over them. He'd pet dogs and wait for the lights to change at crosswalks like anyone else, occasionally interjecting with small talk - "YES, THE COLDER WEATHER IS NICE" - and for the most part, despite what seemed to be ample potential, he never did anything that could be remotely categorized as violent.
On this particular afternoon, as the 'walk' sign changed from a disapproving red hand to an eager green stick figure, the squeal of tires from up the road tore through the city air, along with the piercing wail of police sirens.
A gray semi truck roared down South 21st with no sign of stopping, full of bullet holes and with sign of forced entry - in its tow, a small fleet of squad cars gave chase. The occupants of the stolen truck let loose with a hail of gunfire, the brazen daytime theft sending them barreling into the path of the cluster of pedestrians -
- until -
CRUNCH.
A swift axe kick into the grill of the truck brought it to a sudden, devastating halt. The driver of the truck - seatbelt neglected in his haste - was propelled through the front windshield, only to be caught in an instant by the gargantuan silver mitt of Steel Armstrong, who held him aloft by the scruff of his shirt like a pet owner held a kitten after it made a mess.
"WELL, WELL, WELL. BAD LUCK FOR YOU. CAN'T STEAL AT NIGHTTIME BECAUSE OF ALL THE VIGILANTES ABOUT - CAN'T STEAL IN THE DAY BECAUSE OF ME. HO-HO. DON'T YOU FEEL FOOLISH, MY FRIEND?"
The helmed titan threw his head back and chuckled. In response, the beleaguered bandit turned his submachine gun on his captor, spraying him across the chest with gunfire to no avail. The spent slugs trickled to their feet like birds bouncing off a very clean window, but the thunder of the gun going off had panicked the gathered crowd. In response, Armstrong simply shook his head and crushed the barrel of the weapon in his grip.
Then, as what could be seen as a hail mary move, the robber's eyes flashed red, and he unleashed a pair of twin beams from his eyes.
These, too, were resisted, but not without difficulty. As the parallel lines scorched burn marks into his chest, Armstrong shook the man like a can of soda. The lines fizzled.
"A META, LIKE ME. NOW THAT IS INTERESTING. DID SOMEONE ASK YOU TO DO THIS, EH?"
He'd heard the rumors, of course. Organized supervillain gangs. Was this one such member, or merely a lone wolf, as it were?
It would be of paramount importance to find out. Perhaps the danger had not yet passed. As law enforcement began to encircle them, and smoke rose from the busted-up car, he kept his eyes and ears open. Whatever came next in this thrilling saga, he had a deadly feeling of foreboding danger that lurked just out of sight. He would need to meet it head-on, and at some point, get new groceries to replace the ones he'd dropped to get in front of the truck.
Just another day in the adventurous life of Steel Armstrong.
Steel Armstrong's voice reverberated through the grocery store; some people took photos with their phones of the titanic being in line at the checkout, cape flowing behind him.
His enormous fingers encased in gleaming gauntlets expertly picked their way into a small brown wallet, clamping onto a ten-dollar bill and holding it out to the cashier, who accepted it after a moment of brief hesitation. His items - various small foodstuffs, a set of batteries, some hand soap, and a can of Coke - fit snugly within a single plastic bag, which he happily hefted along with the receipt provided by the clerk. If any tried to glimpse his ID, searching desperately for his real name - they would see what appeared to be a perfect replica of a driver's license with a photo of his helmeted head. Name: Steel Armstrong. Address: Wherever he's needed.
With the unrest in the city following the convention attack and rumors of predatory violence at night, it was understandable that some had their reservations about his presence here in the Safeway. Was this a stunt, or was he actually a meta-human? Nothing about his behavior seemed unusual other than his manner of dress...as for his immense size, he was naturally intimidating. The explosive way that he said "HELLO!" to any who met his gaze, along with a small wave, felt unnatural, like an actor playing a character - but at no point did the persona fade. The featureless helmet never came off, and its bearer never stopped to wink at a camera, to do anything to suggest that going shopping in a 7' tall suit of armor was anything other than routine.
Armstrong hadn't fought much crime lately. He had lifted a person's car out of a spot along the side of the road after another Pittsburgh local had double parked over it - carefully lifted, so as not to leave any grooves in the metal where his hands held it. The owner of the automobile had seemed to suggest that the titanic muscleman move it as a joke - only to be surprised when his car was casually deposited in the middle of the tarmac. The superhero had barely broken a sweat. In return, he received a selfie with the incredulous driver. All in a day's work.
He was strong - prodigiously so - but until today, he had seemed mostly harmless.
When exiting the grocery store, he proceeded to walk down the sidewalk outside - it was true that he could leap from place to place, but that was a lot of effort, and his aim was to be among people, rather than over them. He'd pet dogs and wait for the lights to change at crosswalks like anyone else, occasionally interjecting with small talk - "YES, THE COLDER WEATHER IS NICE" - and for the most part, despite what seemed to be ample potential, he never did anything that could be remotely categorized as violent.
On this particular afternoon, as the 'walk' sign changed from a disapproving red hand to an eager green stick figure, the squeal of tires from up the road tore through the city air, along with the piercing wail of police sirens.
A gray semi truck roared down South 21st with no sign of stopping, full of bullet holes and with sign of forced entry - in its tow, a small fleet of squad cars gave chase. The occupants of the stolen truck let loose with a hail of gunfire, the brazen daytime theft sending them barreling into the path of the cluster of pedestrians -
- until -
CRUNCH.
A swift axe kick into the grill of the truck brought it to a sudden, devastating halt. The driver of the truck - seatbelt neglected in his haste - was propelled through the front windshield, only to be caught in an instant by the gargantuan silver mitt of Steel Armstrong, who held him aloft by the scruff of his shirt like a pet owner held a kitten after it made a mess.
"WELL, WELL, WELL. BAD LUCK FOR YOU. CAN'T STEAL AT NIGHTTIME BECAUSE OF ALL THE VIGILANTES ABOUT - CAN'T STEAL IN THE DAY BECAUSE OF ME. HO-HO. DON'T YOU FEEL FOOLISH, MY FRIEND?"
The helmed titan threw his head back and chuckled. In response, the beleaguered bandit turned his submachine gun on his captor, spraying him across the chest with gunfire to no avail. The spent slugs trickled to their feet like birds bouncing off a very clean window, but the thunder of the gun going off had panicked the gathered crowd. In response, Armstrong simply shook his head and crushed the barrel of the weapon in his grip.
Then, as what could be seen as a hail mary move, the robber's eyes flashed red, and he unleashed a pair of twin beams from his eyes.
These, too, were resisted, but not without difficulty. As the parallel lines scorched burn marks into his chest, Armstrong shook the man like a can of soda. The lines fizzled.
"A META, LIKE ME. NOW THAT IS INTERESTING. DID SOMEONE ASK YOU TO DO THIS, EH?"
He'd heard the rumors, of course. Organized supervillain gangs. Was this one such member, or merely a lone wolf, as it were?
It would be of paramount importance to find out. Perhaps the danger had not yet passed. As law enforcement began to encircle them, and smoke rose from the busted-up car, he kept his eyes and ears open. Whatever came next in this thrilling saga, he had a deadly feeling of foreboding danger that lurked just out of sight. He would need to meet it head-on, and at some point, get new groceries to replace the ones he'd dropped to get in front of the truck.
Just another day in the adventurous life of Steel Armstrong.
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