Excerpt: Gravity's Champions

“So, you see da redistribution of vealth firsthand! No persons getting hurt! Dis is superior communist crime!” bellowed a burly man with a shaved head as he bounded down the stairs of a bank full of bewildered folk. He raised one hand, clad in a boxing glove, and gave a friendly, authoritative wave - like a beloved leader.
“Remember da day dat you oppressed capitalists met Da Oglaaf - ah, I not mean to say dat, why you poot hand in my face?”
The metal-clad hand that cut the orator short was now shoving his skull into his getaway tractor.
“We have enough crime in our country without you exporting it!” declared Rocketman. “I’m here to show Neopolis what you are made of! No wait, I’m here to get off of me!” he flailed his limbs as an arm belonging to an even burlier man clamped around his neck. “I was talking to you, too! I’m talking to all of you! I’m - let go of my leg!”
“Comrades, incapacitate dis tool of the oppressors, while I take the fruits of our labor!” Wiping blood from his nose, the balding thief started his tractor, and gradually departed with a trailer full of moneybags.
Rocketman looked in every direction his helmet allowed. There were at least five very well-built men wearing bright red boxing gloves and farmer’s clothes, and those that weren’t holding him down were pulling back their arms.
“Invisible hand? Feel free to show up anytime now.”