Like a good communist, I own nothing.

"Gauntlet: Crucible"
Part 1

May 3

Dinner is the time of day when families get together in their homes; fathers come back from work, children from school and play, older kids from part time jobs. I know this, because I've seen it on TV, and because, sometimes, when I look down at the city and into those homes, I see happy families talking and laughing over hot home cooked meals. I see some families having heated arguments. I see many families watching TV together, as the adults stay up together to watch late night programming while the children go to bed. I tell myself that I am not envious, even of the families that argue, because they are beneath me. I go to what passes as my home, in time for what we would call dinner. But I hate, above all else, the silence.

My name is Boomer

Mojo Jojo was not in one of his better moods. He was growing impatient, this much was obvious to everyone - Mojo was nothing if not subtle. Around the dinner table, the four members of the family, the team, ate quietly. Boomer watched their expressions while he poked away at the Pork Lo Mein, not feeling particularly hungry. Mojo, their creator, and to an extent their father, was of primary interest to the blonde boy.

Mojo sat, of course, at the head of the table. He ate with silver hashi 'chopsticks.' Boomer found eating Chinese food with Japanese instruments almost amusing. Almost. Mojo was not much for amenities or distractions. The rest of the family used disposable plastic utensils, but their creator had his own set of silverware hidden somewhere, (Boomer suspected where while the others didn't care) and he had brought out his silver hashi for tonight.

Boomer looked down at the Pepsi can, almost empty, and finished it off. His hunger wasn't present tonight, but his mouth was dry, and the carbonated drink wasn't helping the situation a whole lot. Without a word, he got up and went for the fridge. His movement caught Mojo's eye for only a second, but Boomer's actions rarely concerned Mojo. He, like Butch, were still his 'good evil sons.' Just maybe (Boomer occasionally indulged himself by thinking) Mojo loved them. But if he did, why had he abandoned them? Boomer had so many questions he wanted to ask their creator, and no will or opportunity to actually voice them.

Pouring a glass of water instead of another cola, Boomer headed back to the table and his quiet observations. Butch was about to finish. Boomer's raven-haired sibling was shoveling food into his mouth with spoon and fork, hardly seeming to chew, and only pausing to wash things down with a long swig of the two-liter Pepsi bottle by his side. Butch liked his food spicy and easy to eat, and Kung Po beef fit the bill as good as anything. Not surprisingly, Butch hardly tasted his food, and gulped down vegetables and meat in equal measure without complaint.

Brick sat at the end of the table, opposite Mojo. His hat still on, though somewhat higher on his head, letting his head breathe more easily than normal. He stood upright, as opposed to slightly hunched like Butch, and ate slowly. Brick savored his meals, and dipped each dumpling as if it was his last, eating each one in two exact bites. He finished them all, put the empty tin dish from the take out place aside, then went to his Moo Shu Shrimp with similar practiced, almost mathematical, dissection. He folded each pancake the same, and seemed to enjoy organizing and orchestrating the design and consumption of each one.

He never smiled, however.

Brick was undoubtedly their leader, and Boomer figured that was likely the problem. There could only be one leader, and Brick was obviously unhappy taking orders from anyone, even their creator, even though returning to the Mojo had been by his design. Brick's accomplishments, his power, and his cold intensity clashed with Mojo's envy, his intellect, and his hot head. Brick kept silent, however, biding his time. Boomer knew this all too well, and Mojo suspected it. Their falling out, however, had not merely been a product of their different minds, but of their plans. Brick had done what Mojo had not, what Mojo had failed at so repeatedly, and there had been a fundamental rift between them over what next to do.

Boomer understood this, but he did not like it.

He respect both of them, even Mojo, for Mojo had given them life. They owed him for that, if nothing else. Mojo had taught them, when no one else would, taken them in when they needed a place to stay, and train, and keep warm. Indeed, sometimes, they even had fun, when Mojo managed to pry himself away from his plans and inventions. Mojo and Brick had a running game of Axis and Allies going (Brick ended up being Allies), sometimes he and Butch would play football, and he would tolerate Boomer watching him work and wanting to talk, to a point anyway.

He was proud of them, definitely.

He also needed them, Brick had said so often enough, and Boomer knew it to be true.

Perhaps, also, Mojo feared them.

"I'm done!" Butch wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and messily threw away what was left of his food into the brown paper bag it had all come in. He stood up and walked off, rubbing his stomach. "I'll be in the TV room practicin.'"

"I'd like to talk to you later," Brick spoke up at his retreating brother. "You know about what."

"Right, right." Butch waved him off. Butch spent most of his time training and relaxing, either in the Battle Room with a bunch of special weights Mojo had made for him, or in front of the TV, watching one of the many 'Learn At Home' Martial Arts videos. Recently, he'd taken to Thai Kickboxing. Brick often joined him, and they'd stay up late watching illegal pay per view and old Las Vegas Boxing matches. Boomer preferred to get so sleep early or cruise by himself, and rarely joined in. He had no real interest in vying with either of his siblings in the contest to be the 'best fighter' or 'toughest bastard' or anything similar.

Boomer preferred to hit the town.

He'd recently taken to hitting more than the town, actually. One of Brick's standing 'policies' had been maintaining order in 'their' town. Mojo wanted to run things through fear and intimidation, but Brick preferred manipulation and control. If a crime occurred in Townville, they stopped it - not because it was the right thing to do, of course, but because it ensured continuing control over the people, and dependence on the protection and oversight of the Rowdyruff Boys. It was a theory of Brick's, and Boomer didn't have a problem with it. It gave him a chance to blow off steam.

Plus, they could take whatever they wanted from the city.

Go anywhere.

Do anything.

Brick was definitely the brains of the operation - the tactical and strategic brains, anyway. That was, no doubt, why Mojo felt threatened by him, and so proud of him, at the same time. Knowing better than to leave the two alone across the table, Boomer stayed until Mojo finished eating, and without a word, left. Brick relaxed only a fraction with Mojo's departure. The change would have been undetectable, save for Boomer's close understanding of his brother's moods and emotions.

Brick looked up at the homemade (probably atomic) clock bearing Mojo's grinning face next to the fridge. He blinked in surprise. "It's later than I thought."

"Should I go get Butch?"

Brick nodded, and quickly finished his Moo Shu. He was rushing himself, a very unusual action from the Rowdyruff Leader. Boomer was about to throw out his Sweet and Sour chicken when he thought again of it, and took it with him. As expected, Butch was watching one of his Thai Kickboxing tapes and trying to translate one of the joint locks for their... unique physiology. He groaned when he saw Boomer, sighed loudly, and paused the tape. Together, they headed downstairs, into the subbasement built into the Townsville Volcano.

They had guests to attend to.

Boomer paused at the bars.

As always, when he got close to them, Boomer felt a slight tingle on his skin, like Goosebumps. He narrowed his eyes a bit, and saw the faint glow to the bars of the energy shield built into them. It was an inescapable jail, guarded by inescapable jailers. But it was better than death - Boomer knew this firsthand, and at the thought of it, he felt a rage building up inside him that had been absent for several days.

"Hey!" He called, his voice angrier than he'd wanted it to be, thanks to the old memories.

Behind the bars, in the darkness, two light blue eyes opened, and blinked at him, adjusting to the darkness of the cell. They quickly took a panicked look. Boomer sighed inwardly, and quickly flicked on the lights, bathing the place in soft fluorescent glow. The eyes showed instant recognition, a flash of a different type of fear, and then something akin to acceptance and even happiness. Boomer snorted softly at that.

Deactivating the energy grid, and opening the door, he walked in without fear or hesitation - it was far easier now than it had been before. He watched their captive closely, checking her health and trying to gauge her 'progress,' as Brick would call it. Her hair was a mess, and she had obviously stopped caring, as it fell out of its normal style, and into a jumble of golden curls around the sides of her face and shoulders. Her blue dress, a lighter colored opposite of his own long sleeved shirt, was smudged and slightly ripped from their last fight, days ago.

"At least we didn't kill you," he thought bitterly.

Bubbles seemed to sense something to him, and backed up against the cot in the cell, afraid. Boomer chastised himself for losing control, for wanting to lash out. He wanted to hit something, pound someone, but he also wanted it to be someone who wasn't already demoralized and defenseless. He reminded himself that there were others who deserved it more. He needed to get out. He needed to think. He wasn't Brick - cold and uncaring. He wasn't Butch - angry and overeager. He was the middle ground. He HAD to be the middle ground to Brick's need for control and Butch's need for action.

"Here," Boomer said, less roughly, and held out the paper plate. It had originally just held a pile of white rice that had come free with the other food, but Boomer had thrown on the Sweet and Sour chicken that he hadn't felt like finishing.

She looked down at the food, and carefully took the plate from him, as if unsure whether it was a trick or not. Maybe she thought he'd throw the food on the floor, or at her, or something else terrible. Boomer was surprised that the thought of it hadn't come to him at all until now, when it had been under a list of things he 'wouldn't do,' instead of 'could do.' He ignored the notions. Butch might do something like that, especially a few days ago, but Boomer couldn't really find the cruelty in him to do any more than they had to, even as thoughts of death, of bodiless agony, tried to challenge that notion.

"T... Thank you," She stuttered a bit, and started ravenously eating with her hands. They were Brick's orders: no utensils. Boomer agreed with them, on common sense if nothing else. He put a small paper cup with cold water, and a single ice cube, down next to her, and watched as she ate.

He also remembered Brick's words.

Brick's plans.

Bubbles finished eating quickly - it was the only meal of the day for her and Powerpuff's had the same ultra-fast metabolisms that he and his brothers had. She looked up at him from where she sat, on the cot, and he handed over a few paper towels to let her wipe her hands.

"B... Boomer..."

"What?" He answered gruffly. He was anxious to leave, to fly through dark night skies: to let loose and lose control for a few precious hours.She looked down at her trembling hands, wrapped up but still wringing together, trying to get them clean.

"What?" He asked again, more softly this time.

"I... just... it's so dark in here when you leave..."

"What of it?" Boomer asked, knowing where this was going.

"The Pr'fessor... he used to leave the... the door open a bit, and..."

"No can do. You don't want me to get in trouble do you?"

"No!" She said, quickly. "No, I don't!"

"You want my brothers to be pissed off at me 'cause you're supposed to sit here. In the dark."

"I... just..."

"You what? You're afraid of the dark. I know." He knew his tone was cruel; he knew the old anger was rising. He had to get out before he did something he'd later regret. "You think the dark is bad... At least you're not dead! Do you have any idea what it was like for me? For Butch? For Brick? Do you even CARE?!"

"B...Boomer... I'm sorry... I just..."

"You just thought about yourself! You just forgot how I sat in the dark, messed up, alone, every moment in blinding pain, for months! ...Months!" His voice was approaching an angry roar, now. His fists were clenched, and as he loomed over her, his mind noted how she was shivering, afraid, tears in her eyes. She was alone, separated from her sisters, thrown into a dark cell, deprived of food and water and companionship. It was only a fraction of what he had endured, but would he, could he, inflict even a quarter of what he'd gone through on another living soul without regret?

"Damn it," He said, finally, took a deep breath and headed for the door. "I'm going out tonight. I'll ...think about picking you up a nightlight or a candle or something."

"Thank you," She said to his back, pleadingly.

He ignored her, closed the bars, and reactivated the energy grid.

Boomer exhaled deeply, eyes closed, as he flew slowly through the night air. Townsville was far below, an expanse of brightly lit streets, dark alleys, and multicolored venues. Boomer loved flying, slowly, without a care in the world. He was like an eagle, now, here. He was so free, so uninhibited...

It had been about four days since they'd defeated the Powerpuff Girls. Many had fled, expecting the worst, and then returned, when the worst hadn't manifested itself. It had tried, of course, but Brick had quickly put an end to it. Unlike the Powerpuff Girls, he had given his brothers a blank check to do what they wanted with those who broke the law, except themselves of course. They rarely moved out together, and each Rowdyruff interpreted what was 'appropriate' differently.

Brick himself rarely did much crime fighting, despite it being his imperative that they do so. When they all went out together, Brick seemed to most enjoy sitting on top of the Townsville Metrowest Building's radio tower and thinking to himself. Butch took to it with aplomb, hunting through the streets in the worst parts of the city, looking for violent criminals. Why Butch preferred dealing with those sorts, Boomer wasn't totally sure. Maybe he felt less remorse 'dealing with' them, maybe he even identified with them. Butch had left a string of bodies in his wake, usually crippling his victims in a fairly brutal manner. The fact that it did it to rapists and murderers seemed to diminish the horror he inflicted on them.

Boomer preferred more conventional fare.

Purse-snatchers, petty criminals, bank robbers, and things of that nature interested the blonde Rowdyruff. These were not really hardened criminals, but they still deserved what they had coming, and unlike Butch's preferred targets, they were always plentiful. Murders and bank robberies had skyrocketed soon after the Powerpuffs had been dealt with, but had quickly dropped off dramatically. The petty acts against society, however, had steadily maintained a healthy presence in Townsville, especially at night, when the Powerpuffs went to bed. It was a pity, and a surprise, for many criminals that Rowdyruffs went to sleep when they felt like it.

As if on cue, Boomer heard a scream, and looked down, pinpointing its source. His vision magnified and focused, and he saw a large man with a black sweater pull another, smaller, man in a suit and tie out of a blue Lexus and throw him to the curb. A simple car thief would do as well as any, and the blue ruff dropped down to earth, in a gravity-assisted dive. As he did, he admired the car: a very nice job, and an excellent choice in color, though Boomer preferred convertibles. Not too sporty, but still a very nice ride.

Landing on the roof, he sunk his hands into the fragile metal, and tore off the top half of the speeding car. Boomer smiled at the surprised and shocked criminal at the wheel.

"Hey, buddy!" He waved the torn off roof with one hand. "What's this? Windows rolled up, doors locked, don't you know its convertible weather?"

The criminal's mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Boomer just shook his head. "Anyway, so... stole a car, eh?"

"Um..." The criminal slowly nodded, afraid.

Boomer still smiled. "Hey, I ain't mad. You just wanted to go for a ride, right? What's the harm in that?"

"Er... yeah. Just... wanted to go for a ride!" The guy nodded vigorously, now.

"Well...! Why didn't you just say so right off the bat, pal?" Boomer jumped off the car, still matching its speed, flew under it, and lifted it off the ground. With a mighty heave, he threw it up and away, towards the ocean. The screams of the carjacker disappeared as he flew into the distance. Boomer chuckled softly and flew back up into the cool air.

"Enjoy the ride, jackass." Boomer turned down at the few people below on the streets, and in hastily parked cars. "Let this be a lesson to all you people! Wear your damn SEATBELT! It is, after all, against the law not to."

Quite a few citizens hastily clicked their belts in place.

"Good!" Boomer grinned, hearing them, and took off into the sky. After a few minutes, however, he realized he had developed a case of the midnight munchies. Soaring down, he found a good enough looking convenience store gas stop that was still open, and floated in. The only one around was a Korean guy behind the counter who got real nervous when the Rowdyruff entered.

"Yo, old man!" Boomer waved at the guy, picked up a bag of potato chips, and was about to leave when something caught his eye while passing by an isle near the front. Thinking it over for a few seconds, he grabbed the birthday candles and pocketed them. A Rowdyruff never paid - he took what he wanted, when he wanted. He went where he wanted, when he wanted. He did what he wanted. The people of Townsville had come to accept that as the price they paid for their 'protection.'

Some, perhaps, even thought it only fair.

Floating out of the store, Boomer felt a tingling in the back of his neck, and instinctively leaned back as a flurry of bullets passed in front of him. Boomer turned, slowly, and saw an armored man in the shadows. A red visor covered the man's face, attached to a black helmet. Boomer dully noted the gouts of flame that erupted from the extensions to the man's shoulders, and upper back, as he roared forward, large .50 cal rifle firing. Boomer's eyes narrowed, he threw up the bag of chips, and he flew to the side and around, trying to keep ahead and away from the rounds. He knew from experience that their nightshade capsule bullets were more than enough to slow a Rowdyruff down, if not kill him with repeated blasts that could break the skin.

"Well, I wonder what the odds were of this brightening an otherwise dull night out?" Boomer weaved between the shots.

The weapon was no doubt dangerous, but bullets were still easy enough to avoid given their speed. It was deadly as a first shot weapon, though, and amazingly enough, the man aiming it kept pace with the Rowdyruff. Boomer sharp eyes picked up the small white tube connecting to a collar around the man's neck, feeding him tiny amounts of Chemical X, enhancing speed, metabolism, strength, stamina, and a hundred other things, even as it shortened his lifespan to less than a decade.

"The only bets I'm taking..." The mercenary spat. "Are how many pieces you'll be in when this is over!!"

"My money's on one," Boomer quipped, and his eyes flashed white before narrowing into a crimson beam. "You know, you guys really need to get out more! At least to the local video store, this revenge gig is so overdone!"

"Ha!" The man's head snapped to the side, and the beam shot over his shoulder. "Missed!"

"Lemme suggest a movie." Boomer smiled as his eye beam cut into one of the gas stations outside the convenience store, just as conveniently placed behind the armored merc. It glowed white hot for a split second before exploding in a fountain of flame and ash. The man arched his back and screamed as it engulfed him and threw him forward.

"Batman Returns, maybe?" Boomer chuckled, and raced forward to finish the job. The blast had only stunned his opponent. Boomer complimented the effect, by solidly uppercutting the man, and tearing the melted rifle from his hands.

"That was cheap!" The armored man's jetpack and shoulder stabilizers lit up in midair, and he righted himself. His hands glowed, and he fired off blasts of crackling purple energy. "But it won't save you! I'm one of the best!"

"Oh, I'm impressed!" Boomer was hard pressed to dodge and weave through the ever-increasing density of attacks. "But that doesn't change one thing..."

"Yeah? What's that?" The man called back, as a blast cut just past Boomer's face, slightly singing his cheek.

"I'm..." Boomer held up one arm and pulled back the other. His speed multiplied as he kicked in his afterburners, blue flames engulfing his body. "BETTER!"

With a thunderous crash, his fist slammed into the mercenary's jaw, shattering his visor and cracking his helmet. As his neck twisted around, Boomer tore into his wounded opponent, repeated blows destroying and breaking the black and white armor, and crushing and breaking the man underneath it. The Chemical X alone allowed him to survive the blows at all, but the fight quickly ended as it had to.

The battered body hit the ground with a wet bloody splat.

"Another one bites the dust." Boomer landed nearby. He saw the man slowly breathing and figured he'd probably survive - laid up in the hospital for a few months at least. He briefly considered killing the man, but it would only turn him into another martyr and encourage his friends to turn to the Professor for augmentation.

"Idiots," Boomer grumbled, not sure whether he meant Brick and Mojo, for allowing the Professor to go about his business largely unmolested, or these people for turning to the man to avenge the 'death' of the Powerpuff Girls. Still, Brick was no fool, and if he was right... letting people play out their futile 'vengeful hero' fantasies would work out better in the long run than hunting them down and kidnapping or killing the Professor.

Besides, it was fun.

Hands out, he caught the bag of chips he'd thrown up earlier, and headed back to Mojo's Observatory, a smile on his face. Boomer felt better than he had all day.