The rain swallowed him again, and the only thing left was the echo of blows, water, and a barely audible sound beneath distant thunder.
Frogstrike, contrary to what his opponents expected, landed quickly and silently on a wet wall, turning invisible during the jump, right next to the armored truck, behind the five attackers he hadn't hit. The enemies, still confused by the sudden appearance, quickly went on guard and looked up searching for him. Some raised their weapons; others—specifically the only supers in the criminal group—quickly began activating their own powers: one started projecting a relatively large electric glow over the wet pavement he was standing on, and the other simply began transforming into a metal form.
The hooded amphibian, seeing mainly those two, took a deep breath as silently as possible, letting the rain run down his hood and the wind over his invisible skin, while he stuck to the wall with his hands and feet. A couple of drops slid down his green goggles, distorting the scene before him for just an instant.
"Croak… this is going to be more interesting than I thought," the frog boy thought to himself, excited for what would technically be his first real fight since he became a super, and a nighttime vigilante.
He stretched his head a little further out, as far from himself as was humanly possible (he was a frog boy, not an elastic man), and observed the ones closest to the capsule, who were mainly the non-supers.
Deciding his course of action quickly in just a few seconds after presenting himself to the criminals, and before the men separated or could react, he chose to do the simplest and most comfortable thing for him, which was also possibly the most effective option available:
To croak.
Literally.
"CROAK."
It was a little less than a powerful whisper—barely loud for him, of course—but enough… for the men below.
The five enemies flew in different directions, crashing against the walls of the nearby buildings, except for the metal colossus, who only slid several meters back.
They were lucky he knew how to measure his power, and in the worst case, they only suffered several bone fractures. Besides, of course, being disoriented. And maybe useless eardrums for a while.
"C-coward…" the furious electric guy coughed blood, and those words, heard by the frog, were answered in a somewhat childish way: with a stream made from the drops of rain covering the frog-themed vigilante's armor. He gathered the water, manipulated it, and added a bit of venom from the skin of his hands, splashing it onto the wounded electric thief's face, leaving him unconscious instantly.
The three non-supers who remained began to recover, trying to orient themselves. Their armor started emitting a glow from the joints and chest, some sort of technological exoskeleton.
The metal guy didn't need to reorient at all: he was just as solid as seconds before the attack.
Frogstrike took a deep breath and launched himself toward the metal colossus, who had charged at him like an enraged bull seeing the color red. With a precise leap, as he got close, he stuck to his back.
"Wow old man, you got bigger…" Frogstrike commented while looking at the colossus, now four meters taller. "You're not a bullfrog, right?"
The giant tried to shake him off, but the hooded amphibian didn't move. His gloved hands made contact with the metallic-skin surface of the colossus and, in a simple instant, an icy cold produced by ice spread through it. The surface cracked and shone under the rain, and in just three seconds, the colossus was trapped in a large block of ice, rigid and trembling, with his head still free, panting like a cornered bull.
"You know old man, there are frogs that… croak… survive freezing temperatures, but it seems you don't, right?"
Without wasting time, Frogstrike turned his head toward the three who were trying to escape. With an agile stretch of his tongue, wet and poisonous, he caught them simultaneously. Their bodies were immobilized as their armor broke under the crushing force of his grip. Their screams were drowned out by the puddles and the sound of twisting metal.
Finally, Frogstrike's tongue delivered a paralyzing and sleep-inducing (but not lethal) venom directly into their bodies. Within seconds, the three fell unconscious, muscles relaxed, eyes closed, the rain erasing any evidence.
Silence returned to the street, broken only by the pattering of water on pavement and metal. The capsule remained intact, safe in the center of the scene. Frogstrike straightened up, breathing under the rain soaking his hood and suit, green goggles reflecting puddles and emergency lights.
"I admit it, it was a good stretch, although a bit short for my exquisite taste."
The frog looked at the people he had left unconscious (except the metal guy, who only felt very cold) and decided to gather them all in one place, placing them individually in holes in the ground for when the police arrived, which shouldn't take long.
But then he thought about it and decided to put them all in the same hole. It's not like they were going to complain about the good treatment they were receiving.
Right?
Not without taking a couple of things as… souvenirs.
Like those exoskeletons. They were practically calling to him, lying there unprotected, within reach of his tongue.
The rain kept drumming against the ledge where Frogstrike stayed after the fight. It was just common sense. If the guys he had caught with so much effort, sweat, and blood woke up or someone came to rescue them before the police arrived, better that the first tongue the thieves found was his and not the police's.
From below the building, the murmur of voices and radios rose; the voice of a reporter filtered through the humid air, clear among the sirens:
"—…reports from Rainford, ten suspects neutralized… a vigilante was seen on the rooftops—."
Frogstrike said nothing; he just raised an eyebrow under his hood at the reporter's stupidity (after all, he was literally still there) and let the rain clean his face.
A flash cut through the darkness as a camera pointed toward his silhouette. He didn't try to hide: the ledge gave him cover and, besides, he didn't mind being seen. If the photos showed he was there, at least it proved the thieves didn't get away scot-free. Better that than an official statement saying "suspects disappeared."
Also, honestly, this was technically his big debut, not only in Rainford's superhero scene but also in the world in general… maybe?
He stayed still, crouched, watching the points of light where the police were beginning to cordon off the street. The rain kept falling, and for a moment, in the click of another camera, he allowed himself a wide, satisfied smile.
Then he quickly jumped away from the area and swung through the city using his tongue.
The next day, the sky was covered, gray and heavy, but the rain wasn't falling as hard—barely a drizzle; only a cool wind moved the leaves in the street and shook the neon signs. Frogstrike moved through his hideout with a confident smile, the reflection of the workshop lights shining on his hair as he adjusted pieces of the servo-suit he had begun assembling. Each gear fit with precision; each brace seemed to promise strength and resistance far beyond his own. Still incomplete, the suit shone in several metallic sections, revealing that when finished, it would be something more than the suits of those losers from a couple of hours ago.
On the table, a pair of nunchucks rested aligned, their chains freshly oiled. Beside them, a bo staff waited for final assembly, while some small smoke bombs and a… attempt at something water-based rested as… uh, "utility" for his incredible and extremely powerful (not really) hydrokinesis.
Maybe a water sword?… or a maker of aquatic shurikens?
All of that alongside a couple more things: holsters, wristbands, thigh straps, a utility belt, bandages, gauze, thread and needle, etc.
Frogstrike leaned over the desk, adjusting a piston and testing one of the joints. His green goggles caught the blinking of the screens broadcasting the news:
"Series of bank attacks shake the city. Authorities baffled."
A couple of images showed puddles illuminated by sirens, and among them, barely visible, the mysterious green hooded silhouette that had watched the night before. He smiled with satisfaction.
"Well, looks like my debut was pretty… croak… impactful," he murmured, mostly to himself, since he was the only person there, while he moved the suit joint to test its mobility.
The boy leaned back in his chair, listening to the scarce details of the simultaneous attacks: seven banks, all attacked at the same time by supervillains "with no relation." Frogstrike tapped the table lightly, amused.
"Well, this is going to get interesting," he said as he grabbed the nunchucks and swung them skillfully, testing movements while his eyes scanned the suit and weapon plans. "According to my own research, super activity in Rainford has been escalating—croak—with time, to the point where this attack could escalate even more. This could—croak—be a boom of supercriminals. So maybe I'm going to need a bit more power before the action… so I'd better finish—croak—this armor as quickly as possible… even if this should take me months."
The city's cloudiness didn't take away the shine in his eyes hidden by those goggles, and the workshop—full of parts, cables, and prototypes—seemed as alive as he was. The sensation of control, the confidence in every movement, and the anticipation of what would come gave him that energy that only an adrenaline seeker like him could feel: the beginning of many chaotic nights, many more acrobatics… and, of course, many memorable pizza nights.