Strike 2: Dawn of the Daybreaker by Charlie Wood Page A

chomped on by its fangs, Strike was able to roll out from underneath the Gore and blast it with a lightning bolt from his staff. Screeching and smoking from the electricity, the Gore ran out a door and onto the roof of the hotel.
    Pushing the door open after the Gore, Strike sprinted across the rooftop, ready for another round with his opponent. But, the hero realized, his part in the battle was done—somebody else was already standing at the edge of the rooftop, engaged in a fight with the Spider-Gore.
    It was a beautiful young woman. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and was dressed in a tight-fitting purple costume with a black cape. She had long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and the body of an Olympic volleyball player. Surprised and confused, Strike watched the battle: the Spider-Gore swung three of its arms at the girl, but she ducked, swung her legs in a circle around her, and knocked the Spider-Gore on its back. The Spider-Gore jumped up, ready to counter-attack with its eight legs, but found that the girl was gone. Unbeknownst to the arachnid, the girl in purple was now standing behind the demon; after quickly pulling two circular discs from her belt and holding them in her hands, she swung them across her body, one in each direction, and the discs flashed with a bright, purple energy. Instantly, the Spider-Gore was cut into three pieces—a head, torso, and legs. The three pieces dropped to the rooftop, twitching, but no longer a threat.
    Tobin had never been in love, but he was pretty sure this is what it felt like.
    “Hi,” the girl said, turning to Tobin. She moved her black hair away from her face. “You must be Strike.”
    “Uh...” was all Tobin could muster.
    The girl looked at Tobin’s feet. “Nice pants,” she said.
    Tobin looked at his exposed ankles. “They gave me the wrong ones.”
    The girl chuckled. “Right. You’re friends with the blue dog and the robot boy?”
    The girl leaned down to tighten her boots. Tobin watched her.
    “Well?” she asked, looking up at Tobin while she tied her laces.
    “Huh?” Tobin replied, his eyes glazed over. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. The robot and the dog. I know them.”
    “Then you better get to Sullivan’s Wharf if you wanna save their lives.” 
    “What? Why?”     
    “Just go there.” The girl turned to the edge of the rooftop. “Oh, and do me a favor,” she said, arching her head back. “Don’t tell anyone I told you any of that. Okay?”
    The girl jumped off the building and disappeared.
    “I’ll do anything you say,” Tobin replied, staring where the girl once stood, with a punch-drunk look across his face.
    ***
     
    With the old, rotting Sullivan’s Wharf warehouse barely standing from the battle within, Keplar and Scatterbolt finally escaped the wooden building and ran out its front door. Free from the super-powered criminals, they stopped to catch their breath in the parking lot, beaten up and exhausted.
    “You think they saw which way we went?” Scatterbolt asked, his internal gears wheezing.
    “No,” Keplar huffed, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Probably not.”
    SMASH! The wooden doors of the warehouse were blasted open, and the army of super-powered criminals and enraged monsters poured out of the building and stampeded toward Keplar and Scatterbolt.
    With the little bit of energy they had left, the dog and the robot ran from the twisted mob and toward the street. Just when it appeared they had nowhere else to go, an ultra-sleek, midnight blue racecar convertible pulled up in front of them and screeched its tires. It was Tobin, driving the Bolt Racer and dressed in his full Strike gear.
    “Get in!” Strike said.
    Scatterbolt and Keplar jumped into the car, Strike slammed his boot to the gas, and the trio of heroes screamed off down the street.
    The super-powered criminals and monsters didn’t give up, however—the creatures that could fly flapped their wings and took to the air, the villains that