Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  Assuming it was Brock.

  No, it had to be him this time.

  She could see the headlight reflecting off the rock wall to the right. To the left was a sheer drop over the guardrail. 200 feet to the bottom.

  It was barely two lanes out here in the middle of nowhere. Passing cars had to go like 2 miles an hour whenever they had to pass each other, it was that tight. Two big enough trucks couldn’t pass each other, which was why they never came out here, and most people didn’t either, and why riders like Kristy loved to ride here. The road was nearly always empty, just like now.

  It was probably why Brock had followed her. He knew it was essentially a dead end, unless you wanted to ride all the way out to Indio before taking the long way home.

  When she got close, yup, Brock’s bike blocked the road.

  He sat leaning against the seat, muscled arms folded across his muscled chest. His Skid Lid was off, hanging from the Harley’s handlebar.

  Kristy cruised to a stop.

  Planted her boots on the road.

  Flipped up her visor.

  “Move it, Brock.”

  “Make me,” he grinned.

  Kristy heaved a sigh.

  She could go around Brock’s Harley, there was a tiny bit of clearance on each side, but she didn’t want him grabbing for her. Not because she was worried about her. She worried about her dad’s Ninja. She didn’t want Brock scratching it or knocking it into the rock walls on one side or the guardrail on the other.

  “Brock, don’t be an asshole. Move your bike. You’re blocking the road.”

  “Uh uh,” he shook his head with a satisfied smile. “Not till we talk.”

  Kristy smirked, “What, did the internet buy your story about me?”

  “Not yet. I’m givin you one last chance to get back together.”

  “Oh, so you’re blackmailing me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I did because that’s what this is,” Kristy growled.

  “No it isn’t,” he denied.

  Kristy groaned, “So you’re not threatening to tell the internet about me if I don’t pay you?”

  “No, not if we get back together,” he smiled.

  “Ugh! Brock! That’s effing blackmail!”

  “No, it’s love. I love you babe. I’ll do anything to get you back.”

  Kristy’s anger rose. “Are we doing this?”

  Brock shrugged muscles, “I got all night.”

  “Fine! We’re doing this,” Kristy seethed and kicked down the side stand in frustration. Pulled her helmet off. Her hair fell out of its bun and caught an updraft from the canyon as she walked up to him.

  “Always loved your hair, babe. Total fuck me hair. Best ever. My fuck me hair.”

  “It’s not your hair, Brock!”

  “Not yet,” he chuckled, reaching out to stroke it.

  She pulled back and barked, “It never was!”

  Brock refolded his muscled arms and flexed them.

  She rolled her eyes, “Would you stop?! I don’t give a flying eff about your stupid muscles!”

  “So you say,” he grinned.

  Kristy shook her head and huffed, “Listen to me, Brock. We’re done. The second you hit me at the convention was the second you ended any chance you ever had with me. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear how bad you want me,” Brock smiled.

  “I don’t want you!”

  Brock raised the pitch of his voice and said, “Oh, babe! I need you so bad right now! Dancing for these dudes and thinking about you is making me so wet!” He was mocking Kristy.

  She had said something of the sort at some point, but now she couldn’t believe she ever had. What’d she ever seen in him? Beyond his stupid muscles and rugged good looks?

  Ugh!

  K-Cray reminded her that Brock really was a good book cover. No, the best.

  He was that stupid handsome.

  No, stupid looks weren’t everything!

  Brock stepped up to her and raised a tender hand to her chin. Said softly, “I missed you babe, ever since you left me. Missed you so bad it hurts. Every night I think about you. About what we had. About what we could have, if only you’ll let me show you how bad I love you. I can’t sleep without you in my bed, babe. I need you in my life, babe. I’ll do anything for you. Any fucking thing. You can throw me around into walls all night, but I won’t quit you. I’ll never quit you. We’re made for each other, K-Cray. Made.”

  “You sound like a stalker, Brock! And don’t call me K-Cray!”

  “K-Cray who loves the lay-lay,” he teased.

  “Shut up, Brock!” Kristy pouted. Everyone knew Kristy loved sex. That wasn’t news.

  Brock leaned forward to kiss her.

  His inviting eyes flashed naked desire.

  Brock may’ve been stupid, but just ask anybody…

  There was no doubt…

  Brock was the best book cover ev-er.

  A muscled madman who was just a little bit too gorgeous for his own good.

  Just a lil’ bit…

  Kristy’s eyes searched his dashingly handsome face.

  His soft lips obviously longed for hers…

  His soft eyes flickered with the promise of undying love…

  He leaned in for the kiss…

  Those eyes effing lied!

  Kristy pushed a palm against Brock’s chest and shoved, sending him stumbling back. He stopped himself before falling onto his motorcycle.

  Kristy shook her head forcefully, “No. Uh uh. We’re done, Brock. You’re out of my life. Move your bike or I’ll move it for you.”

  Brock walked back to standing an inch in front of her. He puffed out his chest until it almost touched her boobs.

  “Stop it, Brock!” Kristy took a step back.

  “Make me,” Brock taunted, stepping forward.

  “Back up! I know what you’re doing and it won’t work!”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes! You’re trying to get me worked up,” Kristy sneered. “Get me hot.” She curled her lip in disgust.

  “Yup,” he grinned endearingly. He certainly knew how to press her buttons.

  “Well, guess what? It won’t work. I’m done. If you wanna tell the internet all about me, go ahead! See how far that gets you. See if that makes me want you back.” She arched an eyebrow, suddenly realizing he wouldn’t do it. He’d never tell anyone her secret if there was even a sliver of hope he’d get her back. She folded her arms victoriously across her chest.

  Waited for him to say something.

  He didn’t.

  “Goodbye, Brock.” Kristy turned to go.

  “Wait!”

  Kristy ignored him and kept walking, her hair flying out behind her as it caught the wind again. Without warning, Kristy’s head snapped back and her feet flew forward out from under her.

  Brock had yanked her by the hair.

  Super reflexes didn’t do any good if you didn’t know what hit you.

  Kristy slammed onto her back on the asphalt.

  She lay there looking at the stars, which were fairly visible in the night sky this far from city lights.

  Kristy wasn’t hurt, but was she ever pissed!

  This was the part where Brock was supposed to apologize profusely.

  Instead, he said, “I know how much you love it when I pull your hair from behind and fuck you like the bitch dog you are. Like a dirty fucking bitch. You love that shit. Don’t deny it. You fucking love it,” he chuckled confidently.

  He was right, but…

  Love?

  What did he know about love?

  At that moment, K-Cray took over.

  She shot to her feet and spun around, seething.

  Brock tossed a devilish grin, “There she is. That’s the hate face I love to fuck.”

  “What did you say?” K-Cray hissed.

  “Your hate sex face. Never had hate sex so good as you, babe. Not ever.”

  K-Cray marched toward him, gr
owling, “You like my hate face?! Huh?! You wanna see my hate face up close?! Huh?!” She was right in his face now and still moving forward.

  He backed up and chuckled, “That’s it. Get your hate on, babe! Show me how bad you hate me! Gimme your hate face! Hate me good, babe! Hate me so hard it hurts!”

  “You wanna see hate?!”

  “Yeah!”

  “Hate that hurts?!”

  “Yeah! Hate me until it hurts!” he laughed.

  “I’LL SHOW YOU HATE!” Kristy coiled her torso. Instantly untwisted in a spinning leap. High in the air, her leg flashed in a high roundhouse kick that connected with the side of Brock’s head.

  Had he been wearing his Skid Lid, it might’ve saved his skull.

  No helmet would’ve saved his neck.

  Brock’s head whipped so hard to the side, the seven cervical vertebrae at the base of his neck shattered into shards that severed his spinal cord at the T1 joint located at the top of his ribcage.

  You could hear the vertebrae crack.

  Like a series of seven wood planks snapping in half.

  The momentum of her savage attack sent Brock tumbling over the guardrail and bouncing down into the rocky ravine.

  Kristy gasped, eyes wide. She watched in horror as Brock’s body was tossed from boulder to boulder, cracking and crunching and spinning and flipping end over end all the way to the bottom 200 feet below.

  Kristy hopped over the guardrail and leapt down the steep slope, going from boulder to boulder like a graceful ninja warrior.

  When she got to where his body lay at the bottom, bent and torn and bloody, she knelt beside him and hissed:

  “Wake up, Brock! Wake up!”

  Brock would never wake up because Brock was dead.

  Kristy cringed.

  She’d just killed her ex-boyfriend.

  And she’d kind of maybe done it on purpose.

  Effing K-Cray!

  Look what you did!

  —: Chapter 32 :—

  “Doug! Wake your ass up!” Arnold banged his fist against my bedroom window frame from outside the guest house. “It’s Monday morning!”

  “What?!” I grumbled.

  “It’s almost 8:30! I need to get to work!”

  “So go already,” I groused as I flopped over in bed.

  “Don’t you want the car?”

  I sighed with intense irritation. With no more sick days remaining, I would be spending today at work instead of helping people. I did have vacation days, but I decided it best to save them for an emergency.

  Time to suck it up, no matter how tired I felt.

  I yawned big when I stood up from bed, and continued yawning while I got dressed (no time for a shower), yawned while I threw food down my throat in the kitchen, yawned while filling a thermos of coffee, and yawned all the way to SPAWAR until I dropped Arnold off.

  Arnold hopped out of the Prius and said, “You’re not going to fall asleep at the wheel on your way to YouDoIt, are you?”

  “Huh?” I yawned.

  “You look like Dozey the Dwarf. Maybe you oughta pick up a bottle of NoDoz or Five Hour Energy or whatever.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I yawned. “I’ll get more coffee on the way.” I held up my empty thermos. I had downed the entire thing on the ten minute drive here. I yawned again, “I gotta go.”

  “You sure you don’t want that NoDoz?” he laughed.

  I smirked at him as I drove off and headed toward Serra Mesa, the home of YouDoIt Inc.

  While I drove, the song Working Man by the band Rush played on the radio. It had a certain upbeat drudgery that perfectly encapsulated my feelings about my job. Optimistic about my paycheck, pessimistic about the actual work. That said, it made me feel a little bit better about my day.

  Thank you, Rush.

  Eventually I arrived at YouDoit.

  Or as I liked to call it, Ydiot (pronounced “idiot”).

  The Ydiot offices were in the same sparkling industrial park as KOSD-6, which was the next building over from ours. It was also the station where Tanner Landry and Colette Spears worked. I wondered if anyone at KOSD-6 would recognize me if they saw me here in the parking lot?

  Probably not because I wasn’t wearing my official Masked Jumper costume. I was sans mask, and wearing jeans and a navy blue polo shirt. Everybody knew the Masked Jumper was too cool for collars.

  After I parked in the crowded lot, I walked toward the shiny glass YouDoIt building.

  Man, I hated this place. In an optimistic sort of way.

  Once again, thank you, Rush.

  I laughed pathetically to myself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Clifton Yu, one of my coworkers, walking behind me toward the building.

  “Oh, hey Cliff,” I yawned while continuing my walk without looking back. I didn’t want him to see my face because I wasn’t sure what I was going to say if he mentioned how different I looked.

  Clifton followed, saying, “Are you laughing because you still can’t believe you work at Ydiot?” Clifton had been calling it that ever since I had told him I called it that. We were friends.

  “Huh?” I yawned again, still walking.

  “Me and the guys were making bets you finally realized how much you hate this place, and you were just working up the courage to give Sanjay your two weeks.”

  “Ha, no. I wish.” I yawned again. “I really was sick.”

  “Yeah, you look it. You catch-a the AIDS?” he joked, still following behind me as we walked.

  “Yeah,” I snorted over my shoulder, “from all the Tijuana hookers I had unprotected sex with all week long.”

  “I hope you tipped well,” he grinned.

  “I told them to put it on your tab,” I smirked.

  He laughed.

  Time to get this over with. Clifton sat in the cubicle across from mine. He was going to notice my face eventually. Best to tell him outside where no one would hear me making feeble excuses for the obviously impossible physical transformation I had enjoyed since getting my powers. I stopped walking and turned to look Clifton squarely in the eyes.

  Startled, he grimaced, “Dude. What happened to your face?”

  “Uhhh…” Maybe I should’ve thought of an excuse on the drive here instead of distracting myself with the radio.

  Clifton said, “Did you get plastic surgery? Is that why you were out sick?”

  “Oh, uh…” It was as good of an excuse as any. I nodded, “Yeah. Plastic surgery.”

  “Doesn’t it usually take longer than a week for the scars to heal?”

  “It’s plastic surgery, so no scars,” I smiled guiltily. “And I heal quickly.”

  “I guess you do,” Clifton said warily. “Did you get taller too?”

  “Working on my posture,” I lied.

  “Yeah,” he said strangely.

  “What?”

  “It’s just… now you look like an asshole.” Clifton’s face, like mine before my powers, was undeniably nerdy. His was particularly pinched and tense at all times. He said, “You sound like one too. Your voice is different.”

  “Must be the cold I had,” I lied. “Made my voice hoarse.”

  “Sanjay said you had the flu.”

  “That too,” I lied again.

  “Anywho, your voice is kinda… I dunno… more douchey,” Clifton snorted. “You aren’t trying to get a job in sales, are you? You want to get closer to Stazia, is that it?”

  “No,” I said with confidence.

  He was referring to Stazia Wilcox, the hottest woman who had ever worked at YouDoIt and probably ever would. By hot, I meant epic hot. Topless Pinup hot. Every straight guy at work wanted her. As far as Clifton and I knew, not one of them had ever gotten so much as a dinner date with Stunning Stazia. She was out of everyone’s league. Moreover, Stazia never had and never would talk to me or Clifton or anyone who worked in our department because she had no reason to.

  Clifton asked, “If you’r
e not trying to make a move on Stazia, then why the surgery?”

  He wasn’t making this easy.

  I almost told him my face had been torn up in the car accident with Cauterized Guy’s SUV, so I’d had reconstructive surgery to correct the wounds, but that sounded too far-fetched for Clifton or anyone at work to believe. I grabbed for the first thing I could think of and said, “I decided to go into porn.”

  Clifton suddenly grinned, “I hope they made your dick bigger.”

  I laughed and we resumed walking.

  When we reached the building, I opened one of the main doors and said, “After you.”

  Clifton walked inside and let the topic drop after that.

  Thankfully, nobody else said anything.

  As we crossed the shiny lobby, all I could think was, after what I’d been through in the past eleven days, being here was surreal to say the least. Everybody who worked here was bored. The receptionist, HR, sales, the engineers, the executives, all of us were bored, bored, bored — which probably explained why today, no one other than Clifton bothered to look at my face long enough to notice it was different.

  You could smell the boredom in the air.

  Don’t know what boredom smelled like?

  Come down to my office some day and take a whiff.

  Nothing interesting ever happened here.

  Nobody really wanted to work at a tax software company except to get the paycheck, for which I was thankful, in an optimistic sort of way.

  Geddy, Alex, Neil, thank you. And you, John Rutsey, for playing drums on the original album cut of Working Man. Now you’re all retired. Sigh. For 50 years, you helped give guys like me the optimism we needed. Thank you, sincerely, in an optimistic sort of way.

  With a heavy heart, I dropped into my standard office chair in my standard cubicle and turned on my standard PC. Everything seemed duller and more standardized than I remembered.

  No surprise there.

  I got up and made my standard morning round to the restroom and the break room to make my standard cup of coffee, making it number six of the day. Then I went to the standard Monday morning staff meeting and tried not to fall asleep while Sanjay droned on to our seven-member team about the same standard things he had droned on about every Monday since I had started working here.

  That Sanjay, bless his heart, conducted the meeting in an optimistic sort of way. Nobody looked at Sanjay while he droned. I don’t think he noticed or cared. At this point, our entire team did our jobs on autopilot.