Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  Gray Eyes smiled at me, “I thought that might change your mind.”

  At that moment, I hated him almost as much as I hated myself.

  This was idiotic. Earlier, when the two black SUVs had rolled into the rock quarry, I should’ve turned around, found Arnold, and gone home. If I had, his life wouldn’t be on the line.

  Now, because of my idiocy, I had to kill a man to save my best friend from certain death. I grimaced morosely to myself.

  Ice Statue Sully.

  Karambit Kayhill.

  Sumo Miguel and his brother Golden Grill Javier.

  Why not add Tied Up Guy to the list? I didn’t even know his name.

  What was one more murder?

  Because that was what this would be.

  Not self defense.

  Not even close.

  Killing a helpless, beaten man in cold blood.

  By freezing him to death.

  The very thought made me nauseous.

  This wasn’t what I had signed up for when I got my super powers.

  How was I going to live with myself after this?

  I didn’t know.

  But I did know, if I didn’t commit murder right here and now, Arnold would die before my eyes…

  —: o o o :—

  Thanks for reading!

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  —: Book 3 : Lady Liberty & Wildfire :—

  —: Chapter 1 :—

  It was dark and deadly quiet.

  The moon was out, coating the steep walls of the canyon with a sickly silver glow.

  My best friend Arnold Beaks had a gun to his head. He knelt on the gravel and shook with fear as his mind raced. His panicked thoughts came to me as if he were saying them out loud.

  Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…

  Gray Eyes held the gun, a long automatic pistol with a sound suppressor. Gray Eyes was the dominant bossman of the gang of men dressed in black jackets who surrounded us. Many of them had elaborate FwCK tattoos scrawled on their necks, but not Gray Eyes.

  We were all gathered in the back of a secluded and remote gravel quarry in Lakeside, California.

  Two of the thugs held assault rifles with suppressors.

  The others held pistols.

  One of them was Bowling Ball, the same thug who had tried to mug Pudgy Batman in that downtown San Diego alley with the help of his recently deceased friend Ice Statue Sully.

  But I digress.

  Arnold flicked his frightened eyes at me, his mind still spinning, I don’t wanna die! I’m too young to die! I can’t die like this! My parents’ll kill me!

  I felt terrible for Arnold.

  I had gotten him into this.

  As far as I knew, the cavalry wasn’t on their way. No one was coming to help.

  I had to find a way out of this or Arnold would die.

  Kneeling between him and I on the hard-packed dirt was bloody Tied Up Guy. Gray Eyes had been planning to assassinate Tied Up Guy until Arnold and I had interrupted their festivities. Shortly after, Gray Eyes and his men had caught me and Arnold running around on that rock processing equipment. Now, in exchange for Arnold’s life, I was supposed to kill Tied Up Guy by freezing him to death like I had Sully.

  “How is this supposed to work?” Gray Eyes asked in his imposing baritone.

  Bowling Ball grunted, “He grabbed Sully’s ankle and froze him. That was it. Strangest thing I ever seen.”

  Gray Eyes lowered his automatic, took a step back from Arnold, and smiled at me, “Show us how it’s done, kid.”

  The other thugs were still pointing their rifles and pistols at Arnold.

  I couldn’t make any sudden moves without risking him getting shot.

  “Can I stand up?” I asked. “I have to be touching your friend if I’m going to freeze him.”

  “Certainly,” Gray Eyes said. “Be my guest.” He motioned with his pistol.

  I stepped in front of Tied Up Guy. He was sitting on his heels, too weak to kneel properly. Up close, his face was a bloody mess. Bruised eyes half-swollen shut, two front teeth missing, bloody hair hanging in sweaty strings.

  “What are you gonna do to me?” he asked, frightened.

  I looked down at him. “I’m going too… This isn’t going to hurt.” I had no idea if that was true or not.

  Tied Up Guy started weeping, “Please don’t kill me. I’ve got a wife and kids, man! Baby Hannah is two and Jackson is four! My wife doesn’t work, man! She takes care of the kids full time. I don’t have life insurance or nothing. Please, man. Don’t do it! Please! I’m begging you!” He sniffled and snorted hard enough to make bloody snot spurt out onto his upper lip.

  Gray Eyes sighed, “That is quite a performance, Vince. But it begs the question: were you thinking about Hannah and Jackson when you were fucking me up the ass? Or did that only occur to you now?”

  “Please!” Bloody Vince blubbered. “My kids need me! Please!”

  Gray Eyes glared at me, “Do it.”

  I put my hand on Vince’s shoulder. Started to pull heat from his body. Slowly because it was a hundred times harder to do this when you knew their name and they were begging for mercy instead of shooting you eight times from point blank range like Ice Statue Sully had.

  Vince started to shiver. “What are you doing, man? Your hand is cold. Damn cold.”

  “Relax,” I said gently. A colorful mental picture of Vince’s body appeared in my mind, similar to an infrared heat map. As always, I could see the flowing temperature gradient as his heat transferred to me. I knew at some point, if your body temperature went low enough, you’d pass out. Maybe I could put Bloody Vince to sleep before his shivering got any worse. Falling to sleep before slipping away forever couldn’t be too bad, could it? There were worse ways to go.

  “Just try to relax,” I muttered.

  “I cuh-cuh-cuh-can’t ruh-ruh-relax!” Vince’s teeth were chattering badly. He wasn’t enjoying this.

  Neither was I.

  Gray Eyes watched all this with open curiosity.

  “Puh-puh-puh-please, man!” Vince pleaded. “I’m buh-buh-begging you! S-s-s-stop!” He shivered and spasmed as his skin turned blue. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t hug himself for warmth. Instead, he hunched his shoulders together. He shook so hard, he was going to shake himself apart.

  I clamped down harder on his shoulder, otherwise he might shiver free from my grip. I glanced at Arnold.

  He was watching as closely as everyone else.

  I told myself I was doing this for my best friend.

  I owed him for bringing him here. I was the reason his life hung by a thread.

  I looked at Vince.

  He was shaking so hard he couldn’t talk. The only thing that came out of his mouth were plaintive hisses and gasps. But his eyes were begging me to stop.

  Screw this.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I poured heat energy back into Vince.

  Slowly, his shivering ceased and he started breathing evenly.

  “What the fuck happened?” Gray Eyes barked in his commanding Al Swearengen voice.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “It was working,” Gray Eyes said. “Why did you stop?”

  “I didn’t stop.”

  “Yes you did,” he said w
ith authority. “You lost your fucking nerve, didn’t you?” Now he was glaring at me in disgust.

  I shrugged. “Sorry. I did the best I could. It doesn’t always work.”

  “I know bullshit when I smell it.” Gray Eyes grumbled angrily. He stepped in front of me until we were eye to eye. “You fucking freeze Vince to death right now, or so help me, I will ice you and your sloppy side-shit of a friend. Starting with him. You’ll watch.”

  I stared back. “I told you, I tried. It’s not an exact science.”

  “Last chance,” Gray Eyes smirked like an evil game show host who was offering me a fabulous new car in exchange for my eternal soul.

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill Vince. I didn’t care what Gray Eyes said.

  “You made your choice,” Gray Eyes grinned. “Boys! Disappear these three fucks. I don’t ever want to see their faces again.”

  “You got it, boss,” Bowling Ball said with good humor. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Gray Eyes turned to two of the other thugs and said, “Pasty, Spaz, let’s go. We have work to do.”

  Both men wore black leather jackets. One was pale skinned and the other Hispanic, presumably “Pasty” and “Spaz” respectively. They and Gray Eyes climbed into one of the waiting SUVs and drove slowly out of the dark canyon, disappearing into the night.

  When they were gone, the quarry was dead silent once again.

  The remaining men were Bowling Ball, Rifle Thugs #1 and #2, and a fourth FwCK man.

  Chuckling merrily to himself, Bowling Ball walked around to the back of the other SUV and returned with two plastic 5 gallon gas cans. “We’re supposed to execute Vince and bury him. But you?” He stabbed me with a hateful glare. “You I’m gonna burn.”

  He uncapped one can and poured it all over me. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to smile. Gas fumes shot up my nose and tickled my nostrils. I winced, trying not to inhale. Despite my super resilience, my nose was shouting at me not to breathe the noxious fumes. My super powers had changed some things, but not everything. I still needed to breathe clean atmospheric air like everyone else.

  “That oughta do it.” Bowling Ball threw the empty plastic gas can aside. It clattered hollowly on the gravel. He pulled a book of matches out of his pocket, tore out a match, and held it to the striking surface. “Say your prayers, fuckface.”

  I prayed for him to get this over with because I couldn’t hold my breath forever.

  Bowling Ball struck the match.

  Ssss!

  It flared up dramatically and he threw it at me.

  FOOMPH!

  I went up like a fireball.

  Bowling Ball was amused. “Ha ha ha! Look at him burn! That’s for Sully, you piece of fucking shit! Burn! BURN! Ha ha ha ha!”

  I concentrated on sucking all the heat energy into my body, but not so fast as to extinguish the flames. Cold liquid gasoline wouldn’t do me any good. The flames burned and burned and I drank it all in. Every last joule. Metaphorically, of course. I was still holding my breath.

  While that was happening, I concentrated on extracting whatever heat I could from the cold gravel beneath my knees. Eyes closed, I saw the colorful pattern of heat energy from the ground flow upward into my body as the rest of me burned. As you might imagine, I was collecting heat faster from the flames than the ground, but every bit helped.

  I assumed my cotton clothes had burned to shreds within seconds. Didn’t bother me a bit. I had been smart enough to leave the important stuff in the car, namely my phone and wallet. I didn’t need clothes.

  Vince grumbled quietly to himself in disgust, “Why’d you have to burn him alive, you fucking fucks? Couldn’t you’ve shot him first? Put him out of his misery at least?”

  Bowling Ball said, “Shut the fuck up, Vince. You’re next.”

  Arnold watched with bated breath. He knew the drill. He had personally witnessed my resistance to heat several times. Yet still he thought, I hope this doesn’t kill him…

  I considered reassuring him telepathically, but I was too busy concentrating on extracting heat from the flames and the ground. Eventually, the flames died out as the last of the gasoline burned away.

  Bowling Ball frowned, “What the… he’s not even burned!”

  I opened my eyes and offered a devilish grin.

  “Try the other can,” one of the thugs said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bowling Ball said. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll put a bullet in his brain. He ain’t got no body armor there.” He was right about my total lack of body armor, and there was a reasonable chance he might be right about the vulnerability of my brain.

  I was in no hurry to test my theory that a bullet to my brain might kill me. Obviously, getting the bullet past my super-resilient skin and skull was no simple matter. That said, no one had tried shooting me from point-blank range in my ear canal or up my nostril or in my eye socket, but if they did, and they used a high-powered rifle, might such a fast-traveling round pierce my eardrum and make its way to my brain? If that ever happened, who was to say I’d survive such an injury? Not the aliens with the green eclipse machine that had given me my powers. Their lips were sealed.

  But I wasn’t afraid of a little burning gasoline.

  Bowling Ball poured the other 5 gallons on my head, lit another match, and set me ablaze.

  Repeat me holding my breath while extracting heat energy from the flames and up from the ground.

  Any remaining bits of my clothes and shoes were now ashes. Except for my leather gloves, which were hanging on by several proverbial threads, and the rubber soles of my boots, which based on feel, had apparently melted to my feet. They hadn’t burned into my skin, but it felt like they had adhered to all the wrinkles and crevices of my footprints. Like I had built in rubber treads, which I didn’t need because of my super-resilient feet.

  A small amount of gasoline remained on my skin, meaning the flames continued flickering, thought they were quickly dying out.

  “Is he glowing?” one of the thugs said.

  “That’s the flames,” another said.

  “No, he’s glowing all orange and shit.”

  Bowling Ball stared at me with disgust.

  I smiled back, reveling in the feeling of potent power coursing through my body. Normally, containing this much heat energy should’ve made my skin crawl. Instead, I was enjoying it. Either my body had grown more resilient to holding heat, or I was drunk on power. Probably both.

  Now that everyone was confused, it was time to take charge. I sent a telepathic message to Arnold.

  On the count of three, I want you to fall forward onto the ground. Blink three times if you heard me.

  Rifle Thugs #1 and #2 were right beside him, so I wanted him out of the line of fire.

  “You guys hear something?” Rifle Thug #1 asked quizzically. “Something about blinking?”

  Had he picked up on a hint of my telepathic send? Sure seemed like it. Perhaps I’d sent it out in too broad of a pattern? Or I needed to learn how to narrow the beam? I didn’t know. I could worry about it later.

  I stared at Arnold.

  He blinked three times.

  I thought, One. Two. Three!

  Arnold fell forward.

  Rifle Thugs #1 and #2 started to react.

  I blasted them with jets of fire from my hands, trying to release only half the excess heat I had stored up. Any remaining fragments of my charred leather gloves still sticking to my fingers were instantly incinerated.

  Both Rifle Thugs burst into flames from the waist up and dropped their rifles in a panic as they rolled on the ground, slapping themselves while trying to put the fire out.

  I fired another blast at Bowling Ball, encasing him in a raging fountain of flames from head to toe. Perhaps I used a little more energy on him than necessary. I couldn’t help it. If it wasn’t for him—

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Bullets bashed into the back of my head and I slammed into the gravel face first.
<
br />   The fourth thug.

  Behind me.

  “No!” Arnold shouted. “You killed him! You killed my best friend!”

  What did I say about skull shots?

  —: Chapter 2 :—

  My head pounded like I’d been hit with a hammer.

  But I wasn’t dead.

  The backs of skulls were far harder than eardrums and eye sockets.

  I rolled over on the gravel and glared at the thug who’d shot me from behind. He held a pistol. A 9mm from the looks of it, which meant nowhere near the kinetic energy of one of the assault rifles held by the other men. That likely also factored into my survival.

  “What the—!” His eyes goggled in surprise and he lowered his guard just enough.

  I fired the remainder of my excess heat at his face. It wasn’t enough to set his entire body on fire, but his head went up like a torch. He dropped his pistol and clawed at his melting cheeks.

  I got my feet under me and exploded forward, punching him in the gut because it was the biggest target and I didn’t want to miss. After my impact, he went flying backward and slammed against the rocky ground 15 feet away.

  Meanwhile, Bowling Ball was running in circles, every inch of him spewing fire.

  Both Rifle Thugs were still rolling on the ground, trying in vain to snuff themselves out.

  Bloody Vince stared at the scene from where he knelt like he was either witnessing a miracle or watching the devil himself take his revenge.

  A little of both, I think.

  Arnold gasped, “Thank fuck you’re not dead!”

  “Nope,” I said. “But he might be.” I nodded over at Torch Head. “We need to get out of here.”

  Arnold picked up his eyeglasses and put them on before scrambling for one of the assault rifles. “What should I do about these guys?” he said, holding the rifle with confidence. Arnold didn’t own an assault rifle, but he had friends who did, and had gone shooting with them plenty of times over the years. He eyed the four burning thugs. “Do I shoot them or just let them burn?”