Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  But life would never be the same.

  —: Chapter 18 :—

  CRASH!

  Shards of frozen human flesh tinkling on concrete.

  CRASH!

  Screams of intense pain.

  CRASH!

  The shards scattered, skittering away from the point of impact in every direction. Wherever they came to rest, they glowed red. A spiderweb of red distress. A map of living human misery.

  …you’re hurting me…

  …fucking bitch…

  …she’s not breathing…

  …should’ve killed me when you had the chance, motherfucker…

  …my legs! I can’t feel my…

  …it’ll be our little…

  …this is for my sister! She was…

  …no, don’t! Please stop!…

  Gasping for breath, I shot up in bed, soaking wet with sweat. The distorted and echoey voices tore at my hammering heart.

  All those emotions.

  All those people.

  People in trouble.

  Now I was somehow connected to them.

  Just like with Pudgy Batman. Somewhere outside the guest house, there were people in trouble (or soon would be) all over San Diego. All over the country. All over the world.

  They all needed help.

  Who was going to help them?

  I couldn’t help everyone.

  Nobody could.

  But I had to help some of them.

  Had to.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could, wishing all this would go away. I didn’t want to be responsible for so many people. Having super powers was a fricking disaster.

  The emotional torrent of other people’s pain swirling in my brain was getting worse by the second, a red hurricane of distress and fear. If it got any worse, it felt like it would blow my head apart.

  I jumped out of bed, wanting relief.

  Immediately regretted it. The cries for help got louder. I wanted to crawl under the covers and hide my head under my pillow.

  The Spider-Man origin story flashed through my mind. Peter Parker had started out selfish. He didn’t care about helping people with his powers, only making money. When he first crossed paths with the thief who would later kill Peter’s uncle Ben, Peter considered the thief someone else’s problem. That same thief then killed uncle Ben. From that point forward, Peter vowed to fight crime until his dying day.

  Fuck Peter Parker.

  I had already saved a bunch of people from the car fire and Pudgy Batman. I hadn’t turned my back on any of them.

  Okay, if I was going to help, I was facing a logistical nightmare.

  Who was in trouble right now?

  Where were they?

  Who would be in trouble ten minutes from now, and where were they?

  What if two people were in trouble at the same time?

  Who was closer?

  Who was in more danger?

  I didn’t know.

  I didn’t fricking know!

  What I needed was an AI mapping algorithm like UPS or FedEx used. An AI that planned out the fastest route for me so I could save people from future danger in an organized way. Yeah, future danger. Not even UPS or FedEx had that. Even if someone did, I would still need to rank emergencies in order of importance. Obviously, there was no software for reading the hurricane of emotions careening through my mind.

  I would have to guess, listen to these painful distress thoughts bouncing around inside me like a bunch of rabid bats trying to tear me open from the inside.

  What fun.

  Honestly, this sucked.

  There was a very real chance if I walked out my front door, I might screw up the timing and end up helping nobody because I repeatedly went to the wrong location at the wrong time.

  I groaned.

  What was the point?

  I glanced at the clock beside my bed.

  2:42am.

  It was late.

  I was exhausted.

  My body still hurt from all the gunshots.

  I wanted to sleep.

  I needed to sleep.

  I dropped onto the edge of my bed and cradled my head in my hands and grit my teeth.

  I hissed, “I can’t help them all! I can’t!”

  Then I wouldn’t help any of them.

  Not tonight.

  Tomorrow.

  I flopped back onto the bed, arms spread wide.

  I was going to lie here until I fell asleep.

  …please don’t hurt my daughter…

  That did it.

  I jumped off the bed and threw on a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeve black shirt. Pulled on a pair of black boots. Dug an old black ski mask out of the back of my dresser.

  I hesitated.

  This was crazy.

  What was I doing? I didn’t know where this daughter was. I might drive all over town and never find her.

  …take anything you want, just don’t hurt my…

  No, I had to do this.

  I had found Pudgy Batman. I could find this mother — it was clearly the distressed voice of a woman — and her daughter and help them.

  As quiet as I could, I crept out of the guest house.

  Should I take my car or run?

  I didn’t think I could run 80mph.

  Definitely the car.

  I went inside to get my car keys.

  When I came out, I noticed the lights were on in the main house. Arnold didn’t leave them on unless he was awake.

  My aging Chevrolet wasn’t nearly as quiet as Arnold’s Prius. He might hear the engine starting or notice me driving by.

  Maybe I should skip the car and run.

  No, that didn’t make any sense. The mom and her daughter could be miles away.

  I turned and walked quietly toward my Aveo.

  “Move a muscle, and I’ll shoot you in the back, motherfucker,” Arnold growled behind me. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m not some old west cowboy who cares about honor. Honor doesn’t mean shit to me. I’ll shoot you in the back. Down on the ground, motherfucker.”

  “Arnold,” I sighed. “It’s me.”

  “Doug? What the fuck? It’s almost three in the morning.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither could I. All that damn debugging. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is code. Guh.” His voice shuddered with disgust.

  I turned around and pulled up my mask.

  He frowned, “Why are you dressed like a ninja?”

  “I’m not dressed like a ninja.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” he quipped and lowered his Glock to his side. “I thought you were a robber. You tripped the motion alarm.”

  “Sorry.”

  “If you’re not dressed as a ninja, why are you dressed like a cat burglar? Oh, I get it. You’re going over to Vangelina’s, aren’t you?!” He smiled mischievously. “Is she kinky? Is that it? She wants you to break in and scare her a little before you bang her?”

  I shook my head, snickering despondently. He had no idea.

  “What?” he frowned. “You were thinking it.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I had too many emotional distress thoughts bouncing around in my head. The bats. All those red-devil bats.

  “Then what the hell are you doing out here?”

  I explained my dream about the people in distress as quickly as possible.

  Arnold said, “Is it like with that fat Batman guy downtown?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know when or even if anything will happen. Or where. But I have to do something.”

  “You’re not doing it alone.”

  “The hell I’m not.”

  “Every hero needs a sidekick.”

  “You’re not Robin.”

  “Fuck Robin. Does Robin have a Glock?” He held up the gun with a gleam in his eye. “You know I’m a good shot.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Arn.”

  “I’m not. You’re my best friend. I don’t want you getting killed.”
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  “Me getting killed?” I scoffed. “I’m more worried about you than me. You don’t know anything about tactics.”

  Arnold smirked, “Yeah I do. I know tons.”

  “Oh yeah? When was the last time you got shot at?”

  He smiled, “Two minutes ago. I was playing Call of Duty.” Arnold was obsessed with POV shooters and played them all the time.

  “Arnold, a first-person shooter is not real life.”

  “So? If anything, it means I’ll be more brave because I’ve got experience but I’m not gun-shy because I don’t know what it feels like to get shot.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “So I’ll wear a vest.”

  “You have a bulletproof vest?”

  “No. But I can order one. Have it here by Monday.”

  “I’m going now,” I groaned.

  “Not without me, you’re not.”

  “Arn, I really appreciate it. But last time I checked, you aren’t bulletproof, with or without a vest.”

  He rolled his eyes, “Minor detail. Who’s going to drive the getaway car?”

  “Getaway? This isn’t a robbery.”

  “Stop being such a nerd. You know what I mean.”

  “Arn, I don’t want you to go. It’s too risky. You’re not going.”

  He gave me that look.

  I threw my arms up. “Fine! Hurry up or I’m leaving without you.”

  Five minutes later, we were speeding down 6th Avenue in Arnold’s white Prius with him at the wheel. He too wore black pants and a black jacket and black gloves. He also had a black knit cap on his head that did not cover his face. And had two stripes of black shoe polish under his eyes like an NFL player.

  I said, “Your shoe polish isn’t going to do anything.”

  “If I had more time, I would’ve put it all over my face. But you said we had to hurry, and I haven’t had a ninja mask since 5th grade. You on the other hand… Mr. Ninja.” He smirked at me.

  I sighed, “This is a terrible idea.”

  “This is an awesome idea. My car is much quieter than yours.”

  “But you can’t turn off the daytime running lights.”

  “Yes I can. You’re thinking of the old models.” He turned off the headlights, There was still light hitting the road in front of the car.

  I smirked, “You were saying?”

  He flipped a different switch and the road around us went completely dark. “I’ll even turn off the dash lights.” He twisted a knob and the interior of the car also went dark. “See? Stealth mode.”

  “Stealth mode?” I chuckled.

  “Yeah, stealth. Nobody can see us. It’s not like anyone is using radar on us. This isn’t Afghanistan.”

  “What about the cops? They have radar. Turn your lights back on.”

  “Stop being such a pussy.”

  “Lights, Arn. So nobody accidentally hits us.”

  “Fine.” He flipped them on.

  “Speaking of the cops, what are they going to think if they pull us over looking like this?”

  “They’ll think we’re robbers, obviously,” he said.

  “This is a terrible idea, Arn. I should be doing this alone. No reason for you to get in trouble too.”

  “Me being here is a great idea. What if you get hurt? You yourself said how painful it was getting shot. I’m not letting you do this alone, and that’s final.”

  “Fine. Fine! Just… just keep your eyes on the road.”

  He did. “So… where do we go? Do we just drive around until you pick up the scent or…”

  “I don’t know.” I closed my eyes and concentrated. At first, there were too many red devil bats bouncing around to pick out. Then one started to stand out from the others.

  …you don’t need to hurt us. We have money…

  Eyes still closed, I tried to sense a direction.

  South.

  I said, “Get on the 5 south. It’s somewhere in National City.”

  “On it.” He gunned it and took the onramp onto the freeway.

  “Don’t speed.”

  “I’m doing 70.”

  “The speed limit is 65.”

  “Relax. Nobody is going to pull over a Prius doing 70 on an empty freeway.”

  “Okay, then just… just stay in your lane. I don’t want CHP thinking you’re DUI. We can’t afford to get pulled over.”

  “You’re right.” He eased down to 67. “Is that okay?”

  “Fine.”

  A few minutes later, I felt an emotional pull. “Get off here. At 8th Street.” The offramp looped around. Once off the freeway, I said, “Go right. Now head east.” We stopped at a red light between an ARCO gas station and a parking structure.

  “Oh,” Arnold said. “This is where Southwestern Community College is. Right up the street. I work with a guy who got his associates degree here.”

  “Would you focus?”

  “What? I’m making conversation. You know I talk more when I’m nervous. It’s a coping mechanism. Man, what is taking this light so long? There is literally nobody on the road right now. Why isn’t it green? Nobody is coming.”

  “Be patient.”

  “I should just go.” He looked intently left and right, checking for cars. “Nobody is coming. I’m going.”

  The light changed to green when he was halfway across the intersection.

  “Don’t do that again,” I grumbled. “Cops, remember?”

  “All right, all right!”

  We turned down street after street as I homed in on the distressed voice in my head. The streets eventually went from a straight grid to turning in every direction.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” Arnold asked.

  “Nope. Hopefully we’re close.”

  After driving for a while, I started to worry. I wasn’t picking up any more emotional distress messages. What if things had started already? I hoped we weren’t too late to help. That would be awful.

  Sudden pain blasted my brain.

  …PLEASE! LEAVE US ALONE!…

  I hissed, “We’re getting close. Real close. Maybe you should park.”

  Arnold slowed and pulled over to the curb and parked in front of a dark tract house. All the other houses on the street were also dark, and the streetlights were widely spaced, making the entire neighborhood eerily gloomy.

  He turned the car off and said, “Okay, what’s the plan?”

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door. “The plan is you stay in the Prius.”

  “Wait!” Arnold reached up and turned the dome light off before jumping out of the car. “Hold on, Doug. This is serious.” He was whispering.

  “Exactly,” I whispered too. “Which is why you need to stay in the car.”

  “I’ll be fine. I brought my Glock.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I showed you back at the house. Did you forget already?”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Let me see it.”

  He fished it out of his belt. “See?”

  I didn’t care what he thought, he wasn’t ready for something this dangerous. “Is it loaded?”

  “Of course it’s loaded.”

  “Show me the magazine.”

  “Magazine? You mean Playboy?”

  I glared at him.

  He said, “Oh, right. You mean Hustler, right? Waaaay better than Playboy.”

  More me glaring.

  Him innocent, “Penthouse? A happy balance between pussy-shy Playboy and the excesses of Hustler?”

  Gritting my teeth, I grumbled, “You know what I mean.”

  “Oooooooh!” Arnold said apologetically. “You mean the clip.” Arnold smirked smarmily.

  “Magazine!” I barked.

  “Don’t be a Word Nerd, Doug. It’s bad for your blood pressure. Call it a clip. Fewer syllables.”

  “Show me the fucking clip already!”

  “See how easy that was?” Chuckling, he popped it out skillfully. “See? All 15 rounds.”


  I snapped the magazine out of his hand.

  He smirked at me, “I’ve still got one in the chamber. That’ll be plenty.”

  “Give me the bullet.” I held out my palm.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He snapped the slide back, the bullet popped out, and he caught it in one smooth motion. “Here.”

  I jammed the magazine and bullet in separate pockets.

  He said, “I may as well leave the gun in the car if it’s not going to be loaded.”

  “You need to leave you in the car.”

  “Doug. I thought we agreed. I’m here to help.”

  “You’re here to drive. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Okay. I’ll sit in the car.”

  “Keep the engine running.”

  “It’s a hybrid. I don’t need to.”

  “Whatever. Just be ready.”

  “How long do I give you until I come looking for you?”

  “Don’t. Just don’t. Stay in the car.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll stay in the car.” He climbed in and shut the door. Rolled down the window. Smirked, “I’m in the car. You can go now.” He waved his hands at me. “Skedaddle already. Crime’s in progress. Time’s a wasting.”

  I rolled my eyes at him before turning and walking down the sidewalk. I pulled my ski mask down over my face. Then I started running. When I picked up enough speed, I vaulted over the length of a random car because I could, then landed in the street and poured on the speed.

  Going faster and faster, I banked around several turns.

  …Let her go! I’ll give you anything! PLEASE!…

  My feet slapped asphalt as I pounded to a stop. Standing under a streetlight, I turned around slowly, trying to sense the direction I needed to go.

  Didn’t pick up on anything.

  Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary either. Aside from the parked cars, the street was completely empty. No sign of trouble anywhere.

  Was I early?

  Or was the problem in progress?

  I didn’t know, but it had to be going down in one of these houses.

  Which one?

  They all looked the same. Cheaply built one-story tract houses from 50 years ago. Probably military housing back in the day. Now the neighborhood was a grimy shadow of its former glory. Dirt lawns, leaning fences, and bars on all the windows.

  Which one was it?

  Too bad this emotional distress detection thing wasn’t an exact science.

  My anxiety grew as I kept turning. The longer it took me to figure out where the distress call was, the more likely I wouldn’t be able to do anything in time.