Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

He frowned at me, “Have you ever heard yourself? Ever since your super powers, talk about war zone.”

  Ka-BOOM!

  A huge explosion boomed over the speakers and whited out the screen for a second before a red spray of blood coated the edges. The POV camera dropped to the ground like a dead soldier.

  “Look what you did!” Arnold groaned like I had broken all his toys. “My guy just ate a grenade! Stop distracting me!”

  “Sure,” I chuckled. “But maybe you should try X-Plane some time. It might lower your blood pressure.”

  “Are you kidding? All those buttons and knobs? There’s like five gajillion of them, and no matter what you do, NOTHING happens! You just stare out the front window of your plane at NOTHING while you—”

  Ka-BOOM!

  “Dooouuug!” Arnold whined. “Stop distracting me! I keep dying!”

  “X-Plane,” I reiterated quietly with a snicker before taking the last remaining bite of my final burrito.

  “It’s too boring!”

  “Then play Digital Combat Simulator. There’s nothing boring about dogfighting Soviet-era MiGs from the seat of an F-14 or F-18.”

  “Boooo-RIIIIING!” Arnold bellowed, his face scrunched up as he focused on the screen and clenched his controller and flicked buttons frantically.

  I laughed and chewed slowly and contentedly. Despite the volume of the game, I was pretty sure I could doze right here if I simply closed my eyes and—

  …GET OUT! THE WHOLE BUILDING IS ON FIRE!

  An emotional distress call slammed into my brain with the force of a Panzer shell, shattering my calm like the boss version of a red devil bat out of hell.

  Gagging and choking on my food, I leaned over the coffee table and coughed my mouthful of burrito onto my paper takeout bag.

  “You okay?” Arnold asked.

  “I think so,” I gasped.

  “You need a napkin?”

  “Got one,” I said, wiping my face.

  …THE SPRINKLERS AREN’T WORKING! GET OUT!

  That wasn’t good.

  So much for Fun Time With Fire at Heph’s being the only fire action I would see today. Now it was time for the real thing. People’s lives were at stake. I had to do something, but I didn’t want to put Arnold’s life in danger. His bulletproof vest was literally useless in a fire.

  And, unlike in a situation where a bunch of gun-toting thugs were determined to hurt us, this was Mother Nature doing what she did best: creating chaos. If she was hellbent on burning a building down, it was burning down. If Arnold got trapped inside somehow, adding my fire to the situation wouldn’t do him any good.

  Extracting fire would help, but an entire building fire? If my experiences during the Rancho Jamacha brushfire had taught me anything — Wildfire! — it was that extinguishing a large fire would require repeated heat extractions on my part, and time to dump the extracted heat outside before going back in for more.

  There was no telling how long it would take to extinguish a large enough fire. 10 minutes? 20? 30?

  That was more than long enough for Arnold to get trapped and die in a collapse or what have you. And, if he wasn’t crushed or burned alive, he could easily suffocate from the fumes and carbon monoxide poisoning.

  Yeah, I needed to handle this alone.

  I stood up to go. “I, uh, I need to get something from the guest house.”

  “Okaaaay,” Arnold said mysteriously. Did he sense I was up to something?

  I wasn’t waiting around to find out.

  Once outside, I ran into the guest house and grabbed an extra set of clothes to prepare for the likelihood that the ones I was wearing now would get burned off or lost or who knew what. Then I jumped into my rented Ford. I started backing down the driveway and nearly ran over Arnold. I rolled the window down and stuck my head out. Shouted, “Move it, Arn!”

  “You going someplace?” he asked with a hint of irritation.

  “To get some ice cream,” I lied. “What flavor you want?”

  “Disaster Delight.”

  Another distress call smacked me between the eyes and I winced.

  …SOMEBODY CALL 911! THIS PLACE IS AN INFERNO!

  I sighed, “No, Arnold. You’re not coming.”

  “Then you’re not going. Unless you plan on running me over.”

  “Move, Arnold. I’m serious. This could be dangerous.”

  “Then you definitely need my help.”

  I didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Get in.”

  “Do I need my Glock?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s a building fire.”

  “Let me get my Glock. Just in case. It’ll take two seconds. You better be here when I come out.”

  “Fine! Hurry up and get it!”

  “You’ll wait?”

  “Yes! And get your vest!”

  “You sure you’ll wait?”

  “Would you move it?!” I demanded.

  He ran inside.

  I seriously considered leaving him here, but I had promised I wouldn’t.

  He ran back out with his vest folded in his arms and dropped into the passenger seat. “Go!”

  “Did you bring your ninja mask?”

  He held his up, “Got it right here.”

  “And your Glock?”

  “See?” He pulled it out of the folded SAFEMAX vest.

  Seconds later, we sped north on the 5 freeway. We hit traffic where the 805 North merged with the 5.

  “Come on,” I hissed, wringing the wheel in my fists like it would make a difference.

  “I told you we need a helicopter. Or you need to learn how to shoot fire from your feet and fly.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Because of your fire-hurling arms at Heph’s today, right?”

  “Fire-hurling?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “Flame-thrower sounds too weak. You’re way past throwing.”

  “True,” I smiled thoughtfully.

  “Maybe it should be fire cannon arms?”

  “Much better,” I grinned.

  “Totally,” he chuckled. “Anyway, Did you get a kick when you shot those last three targets? The metal ones with the bullseyes and the weights on the bottom? The ones I drew on? I forgot to ask.”

  “Yeah, it was awesome,” I grinned.

  He frowned, “Not a fun kick. A gun kick.”

  “Oh, you mean a recoil.”

  Arnold groaned, “You are so Dr. Literal today.”

  I shrugged, “Yeah, I got a kick—” I added a smirk, “—of recoil. It wasn’t a trivial amount.”

  “How much? Like a twelve gauge or a hunting rifle?”

  “More.”

  “Like a fifty cal? Like a Desert Eagle or an M82?”

  “It’s hard to say because I’ve never shot any of those and because of my increased strength and body weight. When I weighed myself this morning, I was almost 315 pounds.”

  “You’re turning into a beast.”

  “Yeah. At this point, I could probably shoot a twenty millimeter cannon without having to worry about recoil.”

  “Hell yeah!” Arnold grinned. “That is sweet! You need that Minigun from Predator! The one Jesse the Body Ventura had!”

  “Why would I need one of those when I’ve got fire?”

  Arnold’s eyes lit up, “Dude! Can you make yourself into a fire Minigun? Talk about freaking firepower!”

  “I don’t know,” I laughed. “But I was thinking more about applying my firepower to flying. If I’m not mistaken, I can produce a significant amount of thrust. Unlike a gun kick, my thrust is continuous. When I shot that second human target at Heph’s today, my fire blast delivered continuous force for almost 4 seconds before the target tipped over completely.”

  “Yeah, I saw it leaning. And that other one went freaking flying.”

  I nodded, “If I can produce enough force to overcome gravity, and produce it long enough, there’s no reason I can’t fly.”

  Arnold’s eyes lit up. “D
ude!”

  “Tell me about it,” I smiled. “The only problem is collecting enough heat energy to do it. I might need to store a helluva lot more than I ever have. Getting my entire body weight off the ground will require a lot of thrust. More than it took to knock over a metal target.”

  “Maybe you need a wing on your back. Like that French guy you told me about.”

  “Yves Rossy?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “That might work, but I can’t very well walk around with a fixed wing strapped to my back.”

  “Why not?”

  I smirked, “It makes sneaking around a bit more challenging.”

  “Who needs to sneak when you can fly to and from the action?”

  “I doubt I’ll be able to store that much fuel. Wing or no wing. We’ll have to pack the wing in the car. How will it fit?”

  “Strap it on top.”

  I snorted, “And that’ll make sneaking around even easier.”

  “Oh, right. What about a hang glider? Those shrink down.”

  “They don’t shrink. They disassemble. The bags are like 15 feet long once you break the glider down. You have to put it on top of your car. And again, obvious. Worse, they take forever to set up. Won’t work in an emergency.”

  “Right. Too bad there isn’t something easier.”

  “There is. Flying with my own hands and feet and whatever other body parts I can manage. I just have to tackle the fuel issue first.”

  One of these days, I was going to figure out how to fly with my fire powers, even if it killed me.

  —: Chapter 19 :—

  A half hour later, we exited the 5 north and turned east on the 76, just south of Camp Pendleton South. A large amount of military housing was nestled in the canyons here. After passing a few off-ramps, we exited onto Mission Avenue, also heading east. The distant tower of flame lighting up the night sky told me we were too late to prevent disaster.

  Blame traffic and my exhaustion.

  This was never an exact science.

  Hopefully we were early enough to prevent any injuries or fatalities.

  “Holy shit,” Arnold said. “Is that where we’re going? It’s a freaking inferno!”

  “Yeah. Now you know why I wanted you to stay home. If they have firetrucks there already, there will likely be cops. You know they won’t let us in. I’ll have to sneak in.”

  “We’ll have to.”

  “No, Arnold. Your can’t sneak as fast or sneakily as I can.”

  “Can too,” he protested. Arnold was surprisingly light on his feet when he tried, and had gotten more so since cutting out the junk food. When he was dressed in black like now, he could practically disappear into the shadows. But that wasn’t enough tonight.

  I said, “Can you jump onto a 20 foot roof?”

  “No.”

  “Can you run 40 or 50mph?” Lately, I think my top speed was increasing. It had started around 40mph, but was now closer to 50 or 55 when I was going all out in a brief sprint.

  “No,” he sulked. “I wish I could.”

  “Wishing won’t cut it. And it’s too dangerous. The fire will burn you alive.”

  We turned into an industrial park.

  This close to the flames, they seemed to be getting bigger and bigger, but that could simply be due to our proximity.

  Up ahead, an Oceanside Police Department cruiser was parked sideways in the middle of the road blocking the way, its reds and blues flashing. The officer standing beside it waved me off with his flashlight.

  “Try another way,” Arnold said.

  I made a U-turn and tried another road. Passed an auto body shop, two different surfboard businesses, a boat accessory business, and a place that made blowers for high performance engines. That was San Diego for you.

  After snaking around the industrial park for several minutes, I finally found another street that led toward the fire, but it too was blocked by another OPD cruiser.

  “We’re not getting in,” I grumbled and banged the steering wheel.

  Arnold said, “We should park and go in on foot.”

  “You should park and I should go in on foot.” I turned a corner so the OPD cruiser was out of sight and stopped the car.

  “Doug, don’t be stupid. You need me to watch your back.”

  “In a fire? No, I need you to not get burned to a crisp. Now do me a favor and stay here. You can’t shoot a fire out.”

  “But I can still help. Somehow.”

  “Please, Arnold. It’s a fire, not a shooting. Just stay here, okay?”

  “Fine. But ESP me if anything goes wrong.”

  “Telepathy. I’ll send a telepathic thought.”

  “Whatever, Dr. Tel-ass-pathy,” he smirked.

  I ignored him and got out of the car.

  He said, “Don’t forget your mask.”

  “What?”

  “Put your ninja mask on! See, you need me, Doug!”

  “No, Arn.” I shook my head and trotted into the shadows before pulling my mask over my head.

  Since it was dark, it was easy to sneak past anyone standing guard by running between buildings. To further hide my presence, I hopped onto the nearest roof. From there, I leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Flew right over the head of one cop who had no idea I was soaring by. When I got close to the blaze, I stopped on a nearby roof to survey the situation.

  The big burning industrial building was shaped like a square U lying on its back.

  Half of the U was on fire and tall flames had burned through the roof and were climbing skyward. A sign on the front corner of the building read Worldwide Packing Supplies. That likely meant cardboard boxes. Stacks and stacks of them inside. Perfect for burning. With that kind of fuel, this fire could go for a long while if it wanted.

  The inward facing walls of the U featured numerous rolling metal doors, all of which were closed. Fingers of fire pried their way out around the door frames.

  Several firetrucks were parked in the center of the U. The firefighters in their turnout gear and helmets were busy hosing down the roof. Their hoses led to the high-pressure pumps on the trucks, which in turn had hoses running out across the water-slick parking lot to two nearby fire hydrants.

  The water spray was keeping things cool, but it wasn’t extinguishing much, if anything. The blaze was too big. The firefighters were containing things, nothing more.

  That didn’t mean everyone inside the building had gotten safely outside. Considering it was a warehouse and it was after work hours, everyone had likely gotten out safely, but there was always a chance there was someone unaccounted for trapped inside.

  I listened closely for emotional distress emanating from the blaze. If anyone was still alive, I should be able to hear their mental anguish in my mind.

  Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind, followed by something thudding loudly behind me on the roof.

  I jumped in surprise, shooting high in the air before landing on the roof of the burning box warehouse with a bang. I rolled clumsily forward and stopped in a crouch near the inner edge of the roof’s square U, looking down on the firefighters working the fire.

  If one of them turned and looked up, they would see me for sure. At least I had my ninja mask on, and thankfully, they hadn’t heard my loud landing over the noise of the diesel engines running the truck pumps, or the roar of the flames, or the spraying hoselines, or the chatter of their radios.

  I crept back slowly from the edge until I was out of their sight line. Then I turned around.

  Lady Liberty stood on the far roof where I’d just been. She was in her tight red-white-and-blue costume, sans cape, but wearing her blue masquerade mask. Despite the 50 foot distance and the darkness, she looked incredible. The sexiest super heroine you could imagine. Step aside Wonder Woman, Lady Liberty is the new beauty in town.

  No matter how many gorgeous women I had seen over the years (99% of them online, 1% in person), there was always a small subset I considered more beautiful than all the rest. Call it
my type.

  Lady Liberty was it.

  Every time I saw her face-to-face, whether from 5 feet away or 50, I forgot everything save her.

  I had to wonder, when she had gained her super-powers, had her looks improved like mine had? It was hard to say because she’d started out beautiful. How noticeable was the transition from being a perfect 10 to a perfect 11?

  Or a perfect 12 or 20 or 100, or whatever Lady Liberty had become?

  Or, had her looks remained constant, and instead, she had gained some sort of charm power? Because I always felt mesmerized when I was around her. She made me want to stare at her and never stop.

  Maybe that was just me, because I’d felt that way before the green eclipse had given us our super-powers.

  More importantly, I never thought I’d see her again. What the hell was she doing here? Was she the thing that had thudded onto the roof behind me a second ago?

  I jumped back to her roof, landing maybe 20 feet away.

  She instantly lowered into a fighting crouch.

  “Relax,” I muttered. “It’s me.”

  “I don’t know you.” She backed up cautiously, still ready to fight. It had been almost 6 weeks since we’d met. Maybe she had forgotten the sound of my voice? Or forgotten me entirely? More like our “moment” the day we’d met in the Crash Comics booth had never been mutual like I’d hoped.

  I grumbled, “It’s me, Elles.”

  She grimaced, “Who?”

  I sighed, “It’s Doug? From Comic Con? Doug Moore?”

  “You don’t sound like Doug,” she said defensively.

  My voice had deepened substantially since getting my powers. I said, “It’s me. Remember we saved all those people outside after the green eclipse? You drove me home afterward because my clothes burned off? I wore your cape like a kilt?”

  She relaxed and stood tall, cocking her hip and planting her fist on it. She said, “I don’t remember you being this tall. Or this buff. How do I know for sure you’re Doug?”

  Annoyed, I pulled up my mask.

  “Or this handsome,” she grinned while walking slowly closer. When she was a few feet away, she stopped and inspected my face. “You’ve changed.”

  “You haven’t,” I said sarcastically and pulled my mask back down. I meant her attitude but I also meant that intoxicating and sexual scent of hers. It washed over me like a drug. Made it hard for me to think straight. Made the rest of me as hard and straight as a steel sword. Had I opened my mouth at that moment and attempted to speak, I would’ve done nothing but grunt.