Disclaimer:

With several clicks on my heels, I want to own the Incredibles, I want to own the Incredibles... Wish denied ...Darn!

DarkSoar presents

An 'The Incredibles' fanfiction

The Secret Origins of Mr. Incredible

"Freshman Year"

Chapter 3, part three (Complete version)

...FIGHT!

Warning: Expect a little profanity in this chapter. Nothing serious though

"Who's first?"

Sweeping his eyes over his assembled opponents, Bob saw that every one of the Wolverine Five (as Sam named them), was willing to step forward and claim that position. He idly noted the presence of Jenny; she was holding on to Joe's arm quite possessively and was snuggling close to her boyfriend. Every now and then she would throw Bob the Glare of Death(tm), which didn't affect him at all. Completely ignoring her pathetic efforts at intimidating him, he patiently awaited an answer to his proposal.

He wasn't kept waiting too long. One of the Wolverines accepted it with an eager expression, even though the evidence from his last fight was still in the process of fading. Joe Miller pulled Jennifer close to him for a deep kiss and hugged her close; she whispered something in his ear that made him smile in glee. Turning his head towards Bob, a hungry look of revenge burned in his eyes. After Jennifer relinquished her hold of his arm, Joe began walking forward, rolling up the sleeves of his blue and white sweater as he went. He jabbed a finger at Bob and said, "Me, you little piss. I want to get me some payback for last week!"

Bob just smiled and casually wave for Joe to approach.

"Hey, looks like someone's eager to die!" exclaimed Kreiger, snickering. The other Wolverines chuckled and started mock-begging Joe to have mercy on the freshman.

Jennifer was busily cheering her hunk on. "Joe honey, teach that rude jerk a lesson for me, will you? And do it right this time around, after all, you and I have a reputation to protect!" Said boyfriend winced a little at the subtle reminder of his previous loss; it was obvious to Bob that Jennifer still held it against him for bumping into her in the hallway. He rolled his eyes and thought, 'Damn, will she never get over that?'

Dismissing her from his thoughts, Bob refocused his attention on Joe and frankly told him, "I've got a bit of advice for you Miller. Unless you're a sucker for being beaten down and you want to be humiliated in front of your girlfriend, your team, and everyone else, I sincerely suggest that you stand down and let someone else fight. If you don't, then I can promise that I'll make you hurt a lot worse this time. The truth of the matter is, you can't beat me no matter how hard you try! And that is my last warning to you. Take it or leave it, I don't care which one you choose but make it quick. I've got a busy schedule ahead of me and I want to finish it all up as fast as I can." Finally finished with his speech, Bob folded his arms over his chest and awaited the reply.

Scoffing loudly at his opponent's hot air, Joe pointed at him and glared menacingly. "For a little piss, you sure can talk big, but the real deal is, can you back up that crap falling from your mouth?" Then he finally noticed the layers of cloth wrapped around his opponent's arms and hands. Coming to a conclusion, he said, "So you say, but I gotta wonder why did you bring some bandages with you? Hey look everybody! Parr brought his own bandages for his boo-boos!" Some of his teammates laughed disdainfully while a small number from the audience chuckled mildly.

"They're needed to protect my fists from your ugly face!" Bob replied, the laughter affecting him more than he would admit. Yet another reason why he needed to beat the utter crap out of Joe today. "I wouldn't surprised if Jennifer gives you the boot after you LOSE again," he added for good measure.

"Like I said, you can talk the talk but can you walk the walk? And leave my chick out of this, you little piss!" Joe put up his fists and assumed a fighting stance, edging closer towards his archenemy.

"'Little piss', 'little piss', is that the only insult you've got? For a big idiot, you sure have a limited vocabulary. I mean, c'mon, is that all your tiny pea-sized mind can come up with? Then again, I shouldn't be surprised, after all, you don't even notice it when Jenny manipulates you into certain situations, like last weeks' fight for example." Bob shook his head in mock sympathy. "Now how pathetic is that?"

"I said, leave Jenny out of this," Joe stated in a barely controlled voice of anger.

Bob recognized the implied threat but decided to ignore it. "Ah, don't worry, I'll leave your face alone, for the most part. That way, she won't be scared when she tries to kiss your already ugly mug," he taunted his rival. "Maybe one or two hits. Or more. I'll avoid your jaw, I want you conscious enough to be able to enjoy all the sorts of wonderful pain that you'll be feeling very soon."

"I'm gonna shut that big mouth of yours up for good," Joe sincerely promised.

"Ooooh, I'm scared."

The two opponents then silently understood that the time for talking had passed. Without a further word, they started walking towards each other purposefully, with their fists raised in their respective stances. Bob began circling around the captain of the Wolverines, who immediately reciprocated. The tall blonde immediately noticed that Joe had indeed learned from his mistakes and was being more cautious, not charging ahead blindly like before. His trained eyes studied his opponent's stance and he was not impressed. By what he could see, there were various holes in Joe's defense and the strikes which were possible from that stance were quite easy to predict. The two of them continued doing this for several more seconds, shuffling to the left and right randomly, watching the other's movements with an eagle's scrutiny...


Joe was hyped up and ready to rumble. He'd been anxiously waiting for this chance to avenge himself upon Parr, and the promise that Jenny had whispered to him spurred him on.

"If you win, you can come over later tonight."

That was ALL the incentive he needed to pulp Parr's face into mashed meat. Last week had been a fluke; he'd been careless and had underestimated his opponent. Not today, though, today was going to be VERY different. That little piss was going to be a whole world of hurt and worse after Joe was done with him. Oh yes, Joe was going to make him look like a complete loser in front of everyone here and eventually turning him into the laughing stock of Bernard High.

Turning his attention back to the coming fight, the football captain began inching closer and closer to Parr. His entire body was brimming with energy; he was primed and ready to block and punch at a split-second's notice. Focusing all his attention on Bob's shoulders and arms, the moment they twitched he would immediately react.

Closer...closer... three feet apart...two feet apart...almost within range, his mind noted. Any time now Parr would make his move and he would block and then counterattack right away, thus keeping Parr on the defensive. From that point on, it would be downhill for Parr all the way.

There!

Parr's left shoulder moved and his fist shot out. Joe acted without a second thought; he moved his head to the side, while at the same time shifting his weight to his right foot and cocking his right fist back...


"Oh...my...gosh..." mumbled Russ in shock as he watched the fight between the two boys. Fight? It was more like a one-sided slaughter.

Sam's mouth was hanging agape as he silently agreed with his cousin's inadequate comment. He'd expected a beat down, but nothing like this. Scott Winters reaction was similar and of like mind.

Lucius was shaking his head in pity. Compared to this, what he'd witnessed last week was child's play. "Bob," he muttered in disbelief, not realizing that for once he called his friend(?) by his real name.


All the impatience suppressed by Bob burst free, flooding his system with adrenaline. A fast jab flicked out towards Joe's face, who instinctively responded by twitching his head to the left. However, it fell short, it was never meant to connect only to serve as a distraction. Bob pulled that arm back while simultaneously stepping in with his right foot, and while twisting his upper body, unleashed a powerful right roundhouse, all in one smooth motion.

Joe's world went white with pain as Bob's wrapped fist slammed against the left side of his face with the force of a sledgehammer. He staggered to the side, desperately trying to recover. "That's one!" snapped Bob, already on the move, taking advantage of the temporary stunned Miller. Stepping in with his left foot, the young Parr's left fist half buried itself in Miller's stomach, quickly followed by his right. Relentless, Bob pushed his attack, focusing on Miller's stomach and abdomen, spurred on by the adrenaline rushing through his body.

He struck out with a double left-right straight combo to the chest, pushing Joe backwards further, then with a hard low left hook to an unguarded kidney. Ignoring Miller's yelp of pain, Bob lashed out with a similar attack, this time with his right arm, to the other kidney, making Miller yell out again. Grinning in pleasure at how he was doing so far, Bob took a step back to analyze the situation, as well as catch a quick breather.

It seemed that Joe was struggling desperately to regain his breath as well, and was frantically backing up. So far, aside from his first punch thrown, he hadn't had the opportunity to attack at all. Of course, that was exactly how Bob wanted it. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, George's son prepared to continue the assault.

However Miller had recovered much quicker than the freshman had anticipated. As Bob once again stepped closer he was hit with a right straight appearing out of nowhere. Or it would have if Bob's reflexes and training hadn't kicked in, causing him to sway his upper body to the side, just barely dodging the surprise attack. The young Parr felt Joe's fist brush the hair above his right ear and he frowned. If his father George hadn't pulled a similar tactic many times in the past during their sparring sessions, Bob was certain he would have suffered from a broken nose. His opinion of Miller's abilities rose a bit higher and he reminded himself that he had to be more cautious.

Bob forced himself to table his thoughts for later consideration as he lifted both of his forearms in front of his body and face to block a furious array of attacks from Miller. Thanks to the layers of cloth wrapped around them, the pain from the impacts was muted down to almost being negligible. Joe snarled in frustration and persisted, alternatively using straights and hooks. But Bob's defense was on a higher level as he bobbed, weaved, and blocked, incidentally dodging everything with mere inches to spare. All the while he was wearing a cocky grin on his face, which further enraged Miller.

'What an idiot,' thought Bob, ducking to his head to avoid a high right hook. 'Just by looking at his shoulders and the positioning of his arms, I can almost predict what kind of punch he's going to throw and prepare for it. He's burning up whatever energy he managed to pull up from God knows where, while I'm conserving mine by dodging with the least amount of effort.'

Of course, Joe didn't realize this; he was too stuck on trying to nail a solid blow on the hated Parr. "You damned slippery weasel!" he shouted in frustration, "stand still and fight like man!" An underarm swing cut through empty air as the freshman easily sidestepped it.

Bob shook his head in mock pity. "And what's your definition of a man? Or rather, do you really think that you ARE a man to begin with?" Although initially Bob had wanted to knock Miller out as quick as possible, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps that wasn't the best way in dealing with his opponent. After all, in their first fight, he'd taken down Miller with only two blows but the football captain didn't learn his lesson because here he was again, fighting with Bob. No, it was obvious to George's son that something else had to be used instead of pure brute force alone. Something else to utterly convince Joe to leave Bob Parr alone for GOOD this time.

"Awww shut up! You don't know who you're talking to!" raged Miller, trying for a freint, followed by a double jab, and finishing up with a roundhouse punch. The first was ignored, the second was deflected and the last was ducked. Bob made no move to counter-attack; he just kept with his defensive maneuvers while at the same time taunting his opponent and grinning wildly.

"Sorry Joey, but I've got a pretty good idea who I'm talking to," Bob remarked with a grin. "Robert Parr, meet Joe 'Glass Jaw' Miller!" He laughed out loud, ducking a right straight as he remembered how he'd taken down the football captain with only two blows. "Now if that wasn't pathetic, I don't know what is!"

"Arrgggghhhhh!" One guess on who that was.

"C'mon man, it's not that bad! It just means that you simply do not know your weaknesses," Bob stated. "Yak, yak, yak. Here I am, doing all the talking, how rude of me," he said in a decidedly insincere voice. "We'll talk about you now, okay? So, I'll bet you're wondering, what in the world is this freshman talking about? Who does this guy think he is? I've got no weaknesses! I mean, I'm Joe Miller! I'm the captain of the Wolverines! I'm the toughest and most respected guy on campus! I knock over guys bigger than me on the field like they were made of straw! I've got one of the most beautiful girls in school as my chick and I'm the envy of the entire school!"

"Shut UP—ooof!" Joe's frantic attacks had finally cost him as he had paid no attention to his defense. Bob had moved in while Joe was distracted by his anger and struck him twice in the same spot; a sliding right straight followed by a low left hook. Taking a step back, the blonde freshman glared at the Wolverine captain, "Hush, I'm talking now."

"Maybe you thought it made you untouchable somehow," Bob went on with his lecture, idly stepping back to avoid a vicious backhand. "All that so-called fame feeding your ego, causing you to grow more and more arrogant. A touch of assumption, now and then, to every situation that you encounter. I mean, what kind of a man jumps to conclusions and punches someone in the chest for just standing near his girlfriend? What kind of MAN blinds himself when it's OBVIOUS he's being manipulated by said girlfriend? What kind of a MAN allows his two friends to be involved in a man to man fight?" He paused momentarily to land one of his strongest punches to Miller's stomach, causing him to bend over and start coughing.

Stopping as if in deep thought, Bob tapped his chin, with his eyes turned heavenward as if seeking an answer. As if dissatisfied with none making itself known, he shrugged and returned his attention to a still recovering Joe. "Guess you never thought it was important, asking yourself such questions before. So let me tell you Miller, I've known a lot of people like you before and they all thought of themselves as real MEN. You know the type, you understand who I'm talking about, right? You see it every time you look in a mirror."

His body loudly protesting the abuse it was enduring, Joe managed to push the pain away and straightened up, curling his fingers into a tight fist. Unfortunately for him, Bob noticed this latest effort and did something about it in the form of a right cross that struck Joe on the cheek hard, and then delivered a quick one-two into his abdomen, sent him staggering a few steps back and to the left. A right straight snapped out and impacted squarely on Joe's forehead and snapped his head back while simultaneously

"Two, three," Bob commented off-handedly, keeping track of all the hits Joe's face had taken so far. He resumed his speech in a contempt-filled voice, "So, do we have an answer now? Just what kind of man are you, Miller? Have you figured it out yet? I've given you a lot of clues by now."

Bob waited a moment, then impatiently shook his head. "Hell, I guess I"ll have to tell you. You're such a damn clueless idiot, you have no idea what you're doing, much less who you are. You push people around, counting on your size and attempts at intimidation to see you through. You jumped into this fight half-cocked, arrogant, and hot-tempered and now see what you get?" He punctuated this with a shoulder slam that knocked Joe to the ground.

"What I'm trying to say is, you're a good for nothing BULLY! AND I HATE BULLIES!" proclaimed Bob, shouting at the top of his lungs. As if that were a battle cry, he leapt into action, seeing that Joe had already risen to his feet. He pummeled Miller in the gut with a series of rapid, tight underarm swings and stepped back, finishing up with a fierce blow across the right cheek that knocked his opponent down. "Four!" he shouted at last.

Joe, his mouth bleeding at the corner and his left eye beginning to swell shut, managed to push himself to a sitting position and gape at Bob blankly. The words he was hearing echoed throughout his skull, different from all the signals of pain emanating from his body. "Wh-what the hell are you t-talkin' about?" he muttered, dazed.

"Still with me? Oh, good," snarled Bob angrily, all the memories of him being picked on by various bullies in the past pushing his temper up. "You're such a pathetic loser you don't know how to treat people right! Your attitude stinks man! You're making other people's lives miserable and you don't even care! But you better watch out, one of these days, you're going to step on someone's toes, and you're going to find out that you bit off more than you could chew!" He paused, then said, "I guess it's just your bad luck that someone turned out to be me, huh?"

"True to your nature, you didn't know or didn't care who I was when you decided to hit me on that day we first met. You just thought that I was someone of no consequence, didn't you? Well, allow me to tell you something. I'm walking death! I'm an unmovable mountain! I'm the one knocking you down on your ass and I'm enjoying it!" True to his words, Bob was grinning like a maniac and his eyes were burning with joy.

Taking a moment to study his opponent's condition, it was clear to Parr that Miller was on his last legs. Bob told himself that he had to end it now; he had four other guys to fight with after all. Acting on his decision, Bob told Joe, "Don't tell me you give up already? I'm just beginning to warm up here. Come on, you said you were going to 'shut my big mouth up'! Well here I am, still talking and without any problems doing so!"

Bob didn't attack but proceeded to taunt, tease, and insult the battered Miller as the football captain stubbornly struggled to his feet once again. Finally, he succeeded, although shakily, and managed to bring up his fists in a weak approximation of a fighting pose.

"Impressive," Bob complimented his nearly beaten opponent. "You got some guts there, I'll give you that. But, I'll have to make this quick; I"ve got other people to entertain and I hate to keep them waiting." Bob looked Joe straight in the eye and told him in his most deadly serious voice, "This is going to the only time I'll tell you, so listen up. Starting from right now, leave me the hell alone, Miller, or otherwise, you won't like the consequences; the beating you recieved today will be nothing compared to what I'll do to you if you ever try to mess with me again in the future."

He paused for a moment to see if Miller had gotten his message. Well, better safe than sorry. "You understand me, Miller? We'll just leave each other alone and then everyone will be happy."

Staring balefully at his hated enemy, Joe spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the ground and said shakily, yet angrily, "Go to hell, Parr. I'm not gonna stop until I get even wi--."

The impact of a fist meeting jawbone interrupted him as Bob shut him up the quickest way he could. The tall blonde sighed, "Some people never learn. Five." Joe staggered back but somehow managed to remain standing.

"Okay, let's do it again, with more feeling," Bob commented, took his time and then threw a stronger left hook to the other side of Miller's jaw. For good measure, he prepared for yet another hook when--.


The other four Wolverines were quite unhappy at the moment. After all, seeing their highly regarded captain being beaten so effortlessly wasn't exactly something to be happy about. Tonan and Thompson were all set to rush in to ambush Parr, but Kreiger and Cohen held them back.

"Hey, c'mon man! Lemme go!" roared Thompson in anger, struggling to get free.

"Sorry bud, can't do that," stated Kreiger resolutely, though he looked as if he wanted to rush in there himself. "Joe will be pissed that we interrupted his fight, even if he's losing. You know how he is. Besides, there's the matter of the agreement he made with Parr."

"Screw that!" yelled Tonan, "Joe's getting pounded and that's all you can say? Damn it, let me go!" He twisted and turned, trying to break loose of Cohen's firm grasp. He caught a glance of the two combatants, and it was obvious that Joe was on his very last legs. Tonan's heart sank; he hadn't known about his old friend having a glass jaw until it was revealed to him the previous week. And now Parr was beginning to throw a series of punches aimed directly at Joe's jawline.

Tonan knew instinctively that it was all over for the captain of the Wolverines. His rage increased when he remembered the depressing fact that Joe hadn't landed a single solid hit. He had to do something!

But what?


"Hahaha! Lookit the faces on them, they gotta be pissin' mad!" exclaimed Lucius as he pointed over at Tonan and Thompson. He was enjoying this immensely; watching Miller get a complete, thorough beatdown was quite satisfying for some reason. What also made it better was, although Lucius wasn't close enough to hear the specifics, that Bob was clearly giving Miller a piece of his mind.

"Yeah, that's the way Blondie! Show that ass who's boss!" he cheered.

"Thank goodness it's still the first guy," muttered Sam as he watched the one-sided fight, er, slaughter. This WAS not a good start; hopefully one of the remaining four Wolverines would be able to bring Parr down for the count. Not that he had anything personal against him; he just plain didn't like to lose a bet.

Russ on the other hand was watching with growing respect for Bob's abilities. If the blonde was able to fight the remaining four Wolverines on this level, he and his cousin and Winters would each lose five dollars. Oh well, if that came about, then at least some good came out of the whole mess.

Scott's only reaction was to grunt in deep thought and adjust his eyeglasses.

It was then that Lucius noticed Ray Tonan suddenly break free of Cohen's hold and charge into the field. His eyes narrowed as the African American teenager immediately saw what his purpose was.

There was only one thing to do.


"Blondie, watch yer back!" a familiar voice yelled out, somehow managing to make itself heard over the noise of the gaggle of students.

Immediately recognizing Lucius's voice, Bob caught the meaning of the warning right away. He wasn't surprised at all; Joe wasn't the only one who'd learned from the previous fight. Bob had been alert for a possible ambush from the rear ever since the beginning. Anticipation churned up within him; it was a perfect opportunity to test out that Muay Thai technique his dad had taught him over the weekend.

The spinning backfist.

Moving quickly, Bob stepped in with his right foot and mentally aimed for Miller's left jaw. Bringing his right fist level to his chest, he took a deep breath, winding his upper body up while twisting at the hips. Then he spun around on his right leg, extending his right arm out like a flag pole and setting his fist vertically. As he rotated, his head caught a momentary glimpse of Tonan rushing towards him, an enraged look on his face. That was all he saw and his spin continued to complete a full 360 degrees.

Backfist met left jaw.

Result: Joe's consciousness, after such a long valiant struggle, finally decided it was a good time for some badly needed rest.

Translation: Joe promptly collapsed in a boneless heap.

"Seven," Bob huffed in satisfaction. Remembering the threat from behind, he swiveled around with his fists up defensively. Tonan was still running towards him and closing in fast. It looked like the Wolverine was planning on tackling Bob to the ground.

Bob was not an idiot and he knew that being on the end of Tonan's rush would seriously hurt. He had to think of something quick!

Two thoughts immediately sprang into life. One, he owed Lucius again a second time, and Two, he would something Tonan wouldn't expect him to do, or at least he hoped.

And there was no more time left for arguing with himself; Ray Tonan was less than ten feet away. Bob crouched and spread his arms to his side in a wrestling stance, making it look as if he would meet his Ray's charge head-on. There was no doubt in the crowd's minds that Bob was an idiot and would undoubtedly come out as getting the worst of the exchange.

That would've been true, but for one simple fact.

George Parr did not raise an idiot for a son.

Said son waited until the last minute. When Tonan was only four feet away, Bob threw himself to the side, rolled, and came to his feet in one smooth acrobatic move. He'd been correct; the Wolverine member hadn't been expecting him to do that.

When one hundred and seventy pounds of almost pure muscle (ten percent fat) starts going like a train, it's pretty damn hard to come to a sudden stop. Physics dictate otherwise, even if brakes are involved. The simple fact of the matter is, Tonan, once he got going, was hard pressed to come to a halt. Especially when he didn't know that he would need to.

But he did eventually come to halt, and was halfway in turning around when Bob Parr smashed into him from behind. It seemed that the distance Tonan had overshot his target (Bob) was sufficient to give said would-be target a good running start to perform a tackle that would do any pro football player proud.

"Back at'cha!" yelled out Bob as their two bodies collided into each other.

Once again not expecting that sort of move on Bob's part, Tonan was completely caught off guard, and he went down like a sack of rice. Bob's tackle had all the effect hoped for; his opponent's breath had been blasted out of his lungs. George's son was grinning wildly; he had all the advantage and wisely chose to capitulate on it.

Maneuvering himself so he sat on top of Tonan's chest, Bob slammed a hard right down onto the Wolverine's solar plexus, ensuring further that his opponent's breath wouldn't come back yet. He gave a loud laugh of triumph and retracted his fist, aimed higher, and proceeded to pound the utter crap out of his helpless opponent.


"Yeah, yeah, that's the way Blondie! Kick that foo's ass!" cheered Lucius as he punched the air excitedly. Beside his skinny cousin, Sam, who had temporarily forgotten about the gamble he and his cousin had made with the blonde-haired boy, was whooping loudly in support of Bob. Russ ignored both of his cousins, he just looked at the scene with calculating eyes, trying to see if Tonan would at least fight back.

"The hell, is there nothing that Parr can't do?" asked Scott in growing amazement and respect. "He's beating this second guy more easily than he did the captain!"

The rest of the Bernard High students present had all gathered closer to watch this unexpected turn of events. About half of them were freshmen, some of whom had been rejected when they'd tried out for the Wolverines, were cheering Bob on, yelling their support. The other half was comprised of pro-Wolverine individuals; other members of the Wolverines (who weren't involved in the fight), a good number of sophomores and juniors who were, more or less, fans of the football team. To this half, Ray Tonan was considered a very good tackler, and even better at avoiding such. To witness him getting tackled from behind was perhaps the second most depressing shocks and letdowns of the day, the first being the defeat of Wolverine Captain Joe Miller.

And there were those who expected better, who expected a fairer fight from one of the Wolverines. From them came howls of "Coward! ", "Cheater!", and "Serves you right, trying to attack from behind!"

Without voicing it, everyone knew that should the blonde-haired freshman emerge victorious (something that was growing slightly possible), the events of that day would dramatically change the Wolverines, if not Bernard High, in a way that could well be irreversible.

And a single person would be at the top of it all, Robert Parr.


The person who could be at the top of it all was on top of HIS current situation, literally.

Bob had a great time, methodically punching Ray Tonan in several strategic areas on the face. The other boy's face was a bloody mess and his nose was already broken, red liquid streaming down his face and staining the grass. His eyes were on the verge of swelling shut and Tonan himself was on the verge of unconsciousness.

After merely two minutes of fist-meeting-face, with a final blow to the right jaw, it was finished. Nodding his head in satisfaction, Bob confidently stood up and walked away, knowing that the Wolverine was down for the count. The blonde had taken pity on the older boy and had purposely avoided loosening any teeth. He'd concentrated his shots on the cheeks, jaw, and eyes. The thought had occured to him that if their positions had been reversed, Tonan would've not been so merciful as Bob had been. It didn't matter to Bob though, that wasn't his preferred way of doing things. He'd gotten the job done, that was what counted. He shrugged away any more thoughts on the matter and then began to get his breathing under control, to try and regain some of that energy he'd used up in the fight with Miller, and then Tonan.

Turning to face the three remaining Wolverines, who were talking amongst each other, Bob stood there silently, wisely choosing not to spend any energy unnecessarily by shouting threats or taunts. He wished that he didn't talk as much as he did with Miller, but there was nothing to be done about that. All he could do now was wait for his next victim...errr...opponent.

It seemed Lady Luck was with him. As he watched them, he realized that Cohen, Kreiger and Thompson weren't talking to each other. In fact, he could've sworn that they were arguing...?


"Hell noooo. And I mean that, haaaayuuullll nooooo! I ain't going next!" exclaimed red-headed Pete Thompson. He couldn't admit it, but from his behaviour, it was fairly obvious to his two friends that he was close to panicking. A far cry from that Sunday morning in the park when he was all fired up for getting revenge.

"C'mon Pete, don't be such a chicken! You're taller than that Parr; you can take him!" That scolding came from Robert Cohen, who did his best to hide his fear behind his words of encouragement towards Thompson. After seeing what Parr was capable of, all of Cohen's enthusiasm for this fight had grown wings and swiftly flown away.

Pete shook his shaggy head furiously. "Nuthin' doin'! Dat guy's a monsta, I tell ya! He played around with Joe and then took 'im out wit' no truble at all! The Cap'n wuz nuthin' to im! And heck, Ray didn't even have a chance ta throw a single punch! Dat's all the reason I need ta let me know dat there's no chance in hell I'm gonna fight him!" Pete was mad that this Parr guy scared him but unfortunately his fear was much stronger than his anger and thus held him in check.

Quarterback Kreiger was stunned speechless. In all the years he'd known Joe Miller, Kreiger had thought the Wolverine captain unbeatable. Sure there was all that talk about how Parr had knocked Miller out last week, but Kreiger had dismissed it without a second thought. He didn't believe it, and had assumed that Parr had help in last week's fight. But now, after seeing Parr beat Joe with so little effort, he could not deny it the fact that the rumours had been true. He, like Thompson and Cohen, felt very uncomfortable with the fact that Bob Parr turned out to be something they had never encountered before.

At the same time, all three felt a most uneasy feeling grow in the pits of their stomachs. It was obvious to them that every one of them had badly underestimated their opponent. At the beginning, the Wolverines thought that Parr was crazy or simply lacked any sort of sense. They'd laughed and made jokes about his sanity, all the while planning to stomp him but good. They all believed that Parr would either chicken out, or just avoid coming to school altogether. They never expected Parr to challenge them outright, but still took it in stride. After all, who in the world could fight and win against five football players, right? It should've been a cinch, an easy lesson for the Wolverines to 'teach'.

But it wasn't. And the result was that the three of them were rattled, stopped in their tracks, and were questioning the wisdom of setting themselves against Parr.

Then, almost by a miracle, they eventually became painfully aware of several of the comments their audience was shouting at them.

"C'mon Cohen show us your stuff!"

"What's the matter with you three? Scared?"

"He's only one guy! Go on, Thompson, kick his nuts!"

"The Wolverines are all chickenshit!"

"All right Parr! Show 'em who's boss! Kick all their asses to the moon!"

"Yellow-bellied, lily livered faggots!"

"Move it you idiots! You afraid of him or what?"

"Hey Quarterback, do something you little coward!"

At the beginning, many of the students who'd chosen to stay after school and watch the fight didn't really expect Bob to last that long. They were surprised and shocked at Bob's easy victory over Joe, who had been thought as one of the toughest guys on campus. When Bob had started smashing his second opponent Tonan into the ground, that was when his fellow freshmen started to seriously support him.

And now judging from the ratio of insults growing, it seemed that more of the upperclassmen were starting to become rather dubious. With two Wolverines lying still unconscious on the field and the remaining three obviously arguing but not fighting, it was kind of hard not to be.

Cohen, Thompson and Kreiger had to make a decision soon. The crowd was slowly, but eventually, growing more and more anti-Wolverine by the minute. Bob was still resting, silently grateful for the unexpected breather for he still had a long way to go before fully recovering from the previous two fights.

Wincing at the insults, Kreiger decided right there and then he'd had enough. The Wolverine QB stopped listening, thinking, or speaking; he just acted. Freed from the shock of seeing his captain get beaten down by the crowd's outcries, a gradual rage had begun to build within him. While the three of them were standing there like a couple of retards, Parr was making a mockery out of the Wolverines fighting spirit! The team's reputation was at stake! He snorted derisively at his two teammates; the idiots were still arguing, so he decided to go ahead and leave them be. What a bunch of useless wimps!

John Kreiger stepped forward, a determined snarl visible on his lean face. He raised his right hand and pointed it at straight at Bob. In a loud voice, he declared, "Okay tough guy, I'm up next!"

The freshman replied, "Oh good, I was getting was bored just standing here waiting for you guys to stop wimping out."

Kreiger seethed at the reply, and replied almost against his will, "That was a pretty good move, bushwacking Ray like that. Well, you won't be pulling that trick on me, I can promise you that." His anger crawled back and washed away a good portion of the unease that was there earlier.

The quarterback wasn't surprised when Thompson and Cohen immediately quit arguing as soon as they heard Kreiger's words and kept silent. He'd no doubt that they were thanking their lucky stars that they didn't have to fight at the moment. In fact, he was surprised that they hadn't run away yet.

Parr shrugged and said, "I won't need to. Tonan just needed to be taught a lesson about attacking from behind. You don't look that stupid though."

Kreiger smiled thinly, "I'm not. Well, shall we go at it?"

Bob lifted an eyebrow and smirked in return. "Sure." He started towards Kreiger with his fists raised. Both of the boys knew that time for talking had ended.

Kreiger went to meet him.


For a moment, George's son had hoped that Kreiger would be dumb enough to try and pull a risky move like Tonan had done, but no such luck. It looked like he'd have to do this the hard way. Bob shrugged; well he had no problems with that. His recent victories had given his confidence a real boost. There was also the fact that Cohen and Thompson looked like as if they weren't that willing to match fists with him. Heck, even Kreiger had an air of a sort of cautious resignment about him, though he seemed determined enough.

The yelling of the crowd having died down minutes ago, the two combatants steadily advanced towards each other. Bob waded in fearlessly, ready to fight, while Kreiger's was a bit more slower. Having seen what Parr was capable of, the Wolverine wasn't about to rush in like a fool, unlike a certain teammate of his. No sirree, he was adamant about playing it safe; maybe he could wear Bob out somehow. After all, the blonde freshman just had to be tired after his last two fights, if they could be called that. 'Complete domination' was the term Kreiger would have used.

A jab rushing towards his face quickly snapped Kreiger out of his thoughts. He ducked back, however the jab had been only a feint, used by Parr to buy time to step in range for his real attack, a right straight.

Kreiger frantically threw his head to the left, dodging it with inches to spare, and sidestepping, trying to get around Bob. If he hadn't seen that tactic used on his captain, it was possible it would have connected with his chin.

Bob frowned as he matched his opponent's movements, keeping Kreiger in front of him at all times; it seemed that Kreiger had paid careful attention during his first fight. "Awright," he murmured under his breath, "let's see how you deal with this."

With that, Bob suddenly attacked again. A double snapping right jab to get Kreiger's range, followed by a roundhouse and a low right hook were fired off, all of which were accompanied by the blonde stepping in with his upper body hunched over and forward.

His opponent managed to avoid the first two blows by sidestepping to his left (and in doing so also avoided the third by pure luck), but let out a small squeak as the right hook, which would have struck him in the kidney area if he hadn't moved, connected squarely with his chest. Pain flared in the area of impact but it wasn't blinding; in fact, Kreiger forced it away and quickly counterattacked.

Knocking Parr's outstretched arm away with his left, it was the Wolverine's turn to step in and throw a right straight.

Bob was caught off guard; he didn't expect such a quick reaction. All he could do was turn his head to the left, letting his cheek (and not his nose) take the force of the strike. The strength behind the blow was suprising and unexpected, causing him to be rocked back on his heels, losing his balance temporarily. The experience made his respect for his opponent to grow a bit more. Kreiger was stronger than he looked, much stronger; he had a good right arm, which made sense as he probably had to use it to throw the football long distances.

Temporarily was apparently enough for Kreiger, who eagerly grasped the advantage. He hammered Parr in the stomach with a hard underarm left swing, slammed a right roundhouse to the jaw, and a quick left straight to the chin, knocking Parr's head back.

The recipient of all those blows was stunned temporarily, and a message flashed from his body to his brain, helping him analyze the situation.

Bob's body: "Red Alert! We just got punched three times!"

Bob's brain: "DUH!"

Bob's body: "Look out Brain, incoming!"

While the teen was having this enlightening conversation with himself, Kreiger pushed his attack, mightily encouraged by the success of his initial hits. Surging forward, he was intent on knocking Parr out (or trying to anyways) with the followup strikes, a thudding left jab and a high riding hook that impacted above Parr's left eye, causing the skin to break and blood to flow.

The damage done was serious and painful, as well as causing Bob to see white spots before his eyes. Although he'd rested as best he could after Tonan, he was still more than little spent. Even though Bob hadn't been hit once in his two fights, he had wasted a good amount of energy that hadn't been recovered when he'd rested.

Despite that, despite the blows to the face, despite the fact that Kreiger was surprisingly stronger than he looked and a decent fighter to boot, despite all of it, Bob Parr was far from finished. Though not moving as quickly or as energetically as he had earlier when the marathon fight started, the pain spiked his anger, which in turn flooded his system with adrenaline.

The QB was halfway in executing a right hook when something exploded against the side of his face. Stunned, he didn't know what hit him and that cost him as a low uppercut caught him in the belly, forcing him to stumble back. It was then he suddenly grasped what was happening; somehow Parr had managed to recover from his hits far faster than expected, and now the freshman was retaliating.

Gritting his teeth in anger, Bob went for Kreiger. He wanted revenge for those blows he'd taken, he wanted to make the Wolverine hurt, cry out in pain, and beg for mercy. He'd show him true agony now! Thus infused with newfound anger, Bob proceeded to explode in a fury of hooks and jabs.

Said Wolverine saw the look in Parr's eyes and something there told him to instantly bring up his defenses, which he did. That turned out to be a wise decision one second later as his opponent's offense flurry brought itself to bear, although a bit slower than expected. But Kreiger didn't panic and kept his cool; he'd knew better from watching Joe's fight. By backing up and putting his forearms, the quarterback managed to weather the storm. Sweat cascaded down his face as he fervently concentrated on keeping those punishing fists at bay.

His arms and shoulders would be one big bruise by tomorrow, Kreiger knew, but that was a small price to pay. He kept alert, knocking aside a roundhouse, ducking and bobbing, on the lookout for anything that would help him, anything he could turn to his advantage.

A couple of seconds later, he got it. Parr had grown careless in his anger and consequently his attacks were loosening up, leaving openings in his defenses. Carefully calculating, Kreiger patiently waited for Bob to overextend himself. He wasn't forced to wait long; Parr swung a powerful looping roundhouse that Kreiger immediately ducked. Bob was off balance for a single, crucial moment.

Like a human jack-in-the-box, Kreiger popped back up, delivering a quick right handed uppercut that forced Parr back. An eager gleam in his eyes, Kreiger moved on to continue.

Trying to shake off the effects, Bob struggled to put up his forearms but didn't quite make it. A combination of blows fell upon him, courtesy of Kreiger and despite his best efforts, several slipped past his guard. Smirking, Kreiger began yelling out several insults and waded in confidently. He continued his attack by launching a combination of quick, light jabs and slow, heavy blows, throwing in a few more feints to make things interesting.

It was only thanks to his boxing regimen and many hours of training with his dad that Bob was able to defend against more than half of them. He didn't dare counterattack though, and chose to focus almost exclusively on blocking. He wasn't entirely successful at that either. Once he fell for a feint and rolled his head to the side, just in time to get his left cheek solidly introduced to Kreiger's fist. It knocked his head back and caused him some extreme discomfort, but Bob doggedly ignored it and continued on.

It was obvious to everyone watching that Kreiger held the advantage of entering the fight fresh. He was trying everything he could to pressure Bob Parr into making a mistake but so far, the freshman was doing a pretty decent job at blocking Kreiger's offense.

A right straight, a left underarm swing, a combination cross and jab; Kreiger attacked again and again in determination. He knew his momentum was building, and was rapidly gaining the upperhand. Parr's defenses were beginning to fail as more and more punches got through. Every wince of pain from Parr heartened and encouraged Kreiger so he increased the tempo of his attacks accordingly.

Bob was losing and he knew it. He didn't like that, it angered him, so he worked his mind, trying to think of a way to quickly win. He knew that whatever he came up with, it would have to be done quick. He was growing tired quickly, his arms, although bandaged, were sore from struck, and his muscles were protesting the strain he was putting them through.

Then an idea came upon him. It was very risky and had a ten percent chance of working but Bob didn't have any better ideas at the moment.

Talk about pressure.

Calling upon his flagging reserves, George's son glared at his opponent, knocked aside a right hook, and, before a second attack could arrive, threw a roundhouse of his own. If it had been any faster, it would've caught the target napping, but as it was, Kreiger ducked.

That was a mistake.

The football player discovered too late that he'd been faked out. Parr had staked everything on Kreiger ducking and so was already executing the first part of his final attack. A rising uppercut appeared out of nowhere and caught Kreiger right under the jaw. The force behind it had blown Kreiger's head back so forcefully that the Wolverine was looking up at the sky.

His entire front was wide open.

It was perfect. Bob gathered all of his remaining strength, bent down, and cocked his right fist back. Then before Kreiger could regain his senses enough to move or dodge out of the way, with a loud cry, Bob charged forward and drove his most powerful blow he could fiercely into Kreiger's wide open stomach.

The results were incredible.

Kreiger's upper body hunched over, his face turning green and his eyes bulging as the strength behind the prodigious punch lifted him off his feet, sending him flying three feet backwards. Upon landing on the ground, the QB instantly rolled over on his stomach, rose unsteadily on his knees and began vomiting uncontrollably, yellowish puke spewing from his mouth.

"Yuck!" exclaimed Bob as he returned to a normal standing position. The other Bernard High students followed with similar sentiments while the other Wolverines started cursing and swearing angrily. Ignoring all the background noises, Bob looked at the battered Joe in surprise and commented, "Damn, I didn't mean to hit him THAT hard."

It was true, and he felt a little guilty for doing so. But what was done was done, and most importantly, Kreiger was definitely out of the fight.

That point was proven mere seconds later when he collapsed facefirst in his own pile of vomit. Bob backed up a few steps and let his clenched fists fall back to his sides as he relaxed and let his breathing slow down from his exertions. He hurt all over, was extremely tired, and was almost drained of all his energy. What he really wanted to do at the moment was to collapse to the ground and close his eyes, but unfortunately he wasn't finished yet. There were still two more people to fight, and although the thought of even throwing one more punch seemed an impossible task, Bob's pride refused to allow him to give up or show weakness. He'd come this far, it'd be a shame to walk away! Somewhere in the back of his mind which wasn't concerned with his fatigue, mind numbing weariness, or shortness of breath, he congratulated himself on a job well done, at least so far.

Three guys down, heck, that wasn't such a bad performance. Then the blonde freshman suddenly remembered about a similar victory last week. He smiled grimly and muttered to himself, "Gosh, seems like ages ago. Huh, wonder who's next?"

Gingerly wiping the blood dripping down his face, Bob somehow resisted the urge to touch his newly acquired wounds. Through pure determination, he managed to stay upright and pasted an angry expression on his face. Maybe he could psyche them out; at this point, he'd take any advantage he could. Gathering the remnants of his flagging energy, he started walking towards the remaining two Wolverines, albeit slowly.

Towards Robert Cohen and Peter Thompson.


Two people witnessed the brutality of Parr's final attack, and their respect of him increased.

So did their apprehension.

"Holy cow! Lookit wut he did ta John! Gross man! Parr doesn't take any prisoners!" babbled Thompson, on the edge of losing control.

"Shut up! I saw what he did, I'm not blind!" retorted Cohen harshly, though he too felt very uneasy and fearful of the prospect of facing off against the freshman.

To say that the two Wolverines were intimidated was an understatement. Thompson had turned pale, while Cohen was sweating profusely. They looked at each other and instantly began stammering out half completed and hardly understandable sentences.

"To hell with Miller's agreement, if we gang up--"

"Oh crap, lookit the beatdown he gave ta John! It was much worse than--"

"--on him, we might be able to beat him--"

"--that of Joe's! Man, I sure don't wanna end up pukin' on the field--"

"--good and through. Listen, I've got an idea --"

"--I ain't never gonna live it down, doin' sumthin' like dat in front of ev'ryone--"

"--How about you distract him from the front while I--"

"--so I'm sorry buddy, but I fer one sure don't want my face ta be re'rranged today cuz my girl sure won't like it when we go 'a smoochin--"

"--circle around Parr and attack him from behind--"

"--which is sumthin' I luv ta do, so I'm reaaaally sorry 'bout all this but I'll just--"

"--that way we'll keep him off guard, wear him down, and eventually we'll win! So Rob, what do you say to that, huh?"

"--say my goodbyes fer now an' I'll see ya later!"

With that, Peter Thompson, proud linebacker of the Wolverine football team, gave a quick salute to his good friend Robert Cohen, turned around and ran like the wind.

Stunned by his good friend Peter Thompson's abrupt departure, Robert Cohen's mouth fell open and he stared stupidly at his so-called friend's rapidly diminishing figure as Thompson hightailed it out of there. And then he overcame his shock and the inevitable anger at being abandoned sprang up. "Hey, you stupid coward! Come back here, you jerk! I'll kill you Thompson! Get back here and help me!"

But either Thompson failed to hear him, or just plain didn't want to listen, the result was the same. Realizing the futility of further shouting, Cohen rubbed his forehead and complained, "Oh great, what else can go wrong today?"

As if in answer, from behind him a voice called out, "Ready or not, here I come!"


Bob tried not to show it, but he was very relieved when he saw Thompson running away. The odds against him had narrowed considerably, in fact, had been cut in half. That was good; Bob wasn't at all that certain he could withstand a prolonged fight against two more opponents, but against a single one, his chances looked pretty decent, even in the shape he was in.

Quickly a simple plan formed in his head. He would have to concentrate fully on defensive maneuvers like he did with Miller, except without the talking. He would have to conserve his energy as much as possible by blocking instead of dodging. The layer of cloth wrapped around his forearms would definitely come in handy then. He would have to draw Cohen in, let him get overconfident, and then suddenly go on the offensive when the Wolverine least expected it to happen.

Bob grimaced. Simple in theory, extremely difficult in practice. He was hurt, his face was bleeding (a little, but still bleeding), his arms felt like they were going to fall out of their sockets, and a hundred other things. But Bob was certain of one thing; he was going to walk out of this field holding his head high in victory. There was no other ending he would accept.

Bellowing in a voice that everyone could hear, he took a line from one of his favorite games when he was a kid.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

It was time to finish this.

"Hahaha, that li'l chickenshit! He'll never be able ta show his ugly mug 'round school now!" Lucius laughed in exultation.

Lucius's two cousins, along with Scott Winters, were all guffawing, Russ a bit ruefully. It was clear to them that there was a very good chance of them losing the bet, but watching Bob squash or scare away his opponents one by one was very entertaining. The trio were now convinced that Lucius's story of what had happened the past week was true. How could they not be? There was proof happening right in front of their eyes.

Their fellow students, at least those who were in support of Bob, were shouting and cheering madly. Those in favor of the Wolverines were either quiet or loudly cursing the football team for being so weak.

Hearing his name being chanted in praise lifted Bob's spirits, although he still had doubts about being able to beat the last one. Still, all that support helped encourage him and renewed his determination to emerge victorious. Wearily raising his fists for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day, he forced himself to move slowly towards Cohen. He fervently hoped that Cohen would think it was due to caution, rather than an effort to waste as little energy as possible.

For his part, Robert Cohen was trapped between two equally opposing desires. He wanted to run away, just like Thompson had done, and save himself a beating. On the other hand, to do such a chickenshit thing was almost unbearable to think about. What was he supposed to do? He eyed an approaching Parr with some apprehension. Despite his three finished fights, the freshman didn't look that tired (a deliberate effort on Bob's part) and was probably still capable of handling at least one more.

Unfortunately for Cohen, there had been had one thing he'd been keeping secret from everyone else, including his teammates.

He didn't have any experience in fighting at all. Tackling in football was one thing, and he was in great shape, but he'd never thrown a serious punch at anyone before. From that point of view, it was understandable to see why Cohen was scared and considering to beat a hasty retreat. Bob Parr was obviously very experienced in fighting, and it made Cohen extremely hesitant in taking up the challenge.

The only reason why he'd joined the other four was because he assumed that between Thompson, Miller, Kreiger and Tonan, they would have worn Parr down and eventually defeat him. They were eager to fight so Cohen would be more than happy to let them go first. But now, since all his assumptions had turned out to be wrong, Cohen had to make a decision.

Fight or flee?


Bob was amused to see the indecision in Cohen's eyes as the Wolverine visibly struggled whether to run away or stay and fight. George's son wouldn't admit it, but he sincerely hoped for the former. If it weren't for his stubbornness, he would've fallen over as soon as he knocked Kreiger out. If Cohen chose to stay, well, Bob would just have to do the best he could to survive.

At the moment, he was in front of Cohen, standing five feet away with fists clenched at his side, and patiently waiting to see what his opponent would do. Although grateful for the chance to rest and catch his breath, he kept alert. No telling what would happen, especially after Tonan's attempted ambush.

A few seconds later, his caution paid off when suddenly a right fist struck out at him.

Decision made, Cohen committed himself and followed up with several more wild swings. He was delighted to see that two of them managed to strike Parr in the face and chest. Of course, such an early success encouraged him and he sprang forward, a gleeful smirk on his face. 'Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all', he thought.

And that was the last thing he remembered thinking as darkness, along with eight painful impacts, seized him.

While Robert Cohen fell backwards unconscious, Bob dropped his fist wearily after throwing a right hook. He snorted weakly; Cohen had thrown a whole lot of wild punches and seemed not to have a clue of what he was doing. Bob had fought several guys like that in his old elementary school and had instantly known what to do. He'd left himself open and had intentionally let himself get hit. As he'd expected, Cohen had grown overly reckless and had jumped in. That was when Bob had called up the last of his strength and pounded him systematically in the stomach and face, desperately hoping that would be enough.

Luckily enough, it had been.

Falling to his knees in exhaustion, Bob raised his right fist in the air and shouted in triumph. The crowd echoed him, praised and cheered him for battling successfully against all odds. Despite the aches and pains all reminding him of their presence, he'd never felt better. The sweet glow of victory filled him, enveloped his entire being. He'd accomplished the impossible and a great pride settled over him, even as he slumped to the ground for some much needed rest. After so much work and effort, he'd finally come out on top.

The winner.

End Chapter Three, Part Three

Author's Notes:

Yaaaaaaaaayyyyy! All right Bob! Four out of five, not bad huh?

Boy am I glad this chapter is over! Felt like my brain was on overload or something :D I will admit that I was a bit lazy when I wrote Cohen's part, but since I wrote about him having such a hard time against Kreiger, I decided to give Bob a break. Hence, Thompson running away and Cohen being, ummm, a pushover.

Now, I could have written fight scenes for Tonan, Thompson, and Cohen but it would have been a bit too repetitive (Bob takes on opponent, Bob barely beats opponent) and a bit boring to read. And frankly, I did map out five separate fighting scenes for each of the Wolverines but it grew too boring for me, so I decided to spice things up a bit.

And now, for some bad news, (no, I'm not gonna stop writing this), I'm going to take some time off the Secret Origins in order to work on some of my other fics. But no worries, Chapter four will be here...eventually!

I'll rely on you guys to email me reminders at (and suggestions if you like) about doing work on chapter 4 so I won't forget, okay? Thanks and see ya!