We Could Be Heroes
Page 1
We Could Be Heroes
-(Book One)-
By Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2019 by Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2019 Boycott Books
Edited by Andi Marlowe www.andromedaediting.com
writer.harmoncooper@gmail.com
Join the Harmon Cooper Facebook group here!
Newsletter here: https://geni.us/HCReaders
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The We Could Be Heroes series is dedicated to my alpha readers, James and Scott, and my beta readers, Bobby, Dave, Holly and Kay.
-Harmon
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Centralian Power Classifications
Prologue: Nosy
Chapter One: Flashback!
Chapter Two: Zoe Goa Ramone aka Tiger Lily
Chapter Three: Not Quite a Conjugal Visit
Chapter Four: Birds of a Feather
Chapter Five: Unholy Matrimony
Chapter Six: The Stat Keeper
Chapter Seven: Heroes Anonymous
Chapter Eight: Someone Save Zoe!
Chapter Nine: The Breast Deterrent
Chapter Ten: Three-Way Death
Chapter Eleven: Turbine
Chapter Twelve: Ozella is Dead, I Think.
Chapter Thirteen: Future Digs
Chapter Fourteen: Explosive Persimmons
Chapter Fifteen: The Telepath on the Trolley, and Helena’s Knuckle Sandwiches
Chapter Sixteen: Community Service
Chapter Seventeen: Tea and Stats
Chapter Eighteen: Ready to Pounce
Chapter Nineteen: A Walk in the Park, A Sniff of the Vial
Chapter Twenty: Mia and the Beast
Chapter Twenty-Two: Getting the Drop
Chapter Twenty-Three: Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda
Chapter Twenty-Four: When in Doubt, Team Up
Chapter Twenty-Five: Sam’s Olfactory Epithelium is Above Average Size
Chapter Twenty-Six: Early Morning Brawl
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Thrift Stores and Free Falling
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Doctor’s Visit
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fatal Demonstration
Chapter Thirty: The Smoke Clears and It Ain’t Pretty
Chapter Thirty-One: Pantsed
Chapter Thirty-Two: Take Your Ghost to Work Day
Chapter Thirty-Three: Break a Leg
Chapter Thirty-Four: Bedroom Scene
Chapter Thirty-Five: To Exemplar or Not to Exemplar
Chapter Thirty-Six: Young Blood
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Paralyzed
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Suiting Up and Suiting Down
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Birds and Bees
Chapter Forty: A Cure for A Cure
Chapter Forty-One: Ozella and Zoe
Chapter Forty-Two: Figuring Shit Out
Chapter Forty-Three: Let the Assault Begin!
Chapter Forty-Four: Healing Great
Chapter Forty-Five: Just a Few Questions
Chapter Forty-Six: The Tiger and the Schoolgirl
Chapter Forty-Seven: Rock Attack!
Chapter Forty-Eight: Time Out
Chapter Forty-Nine: Ex Communicate
Chapter Fifty: Heart to Bound Heart
Chapter Fifty-One: Taking Stock and Stocking Up
Chapter Fifty-Two: Hurry Up and Wait
Chapter Fifty-Three: I Don’t Think They’re Human
Chapter Fifty-Four: Vampiric Ninjas?
Chapter Fifty-Five: Shadow Lurkers and Old Foes
Chapter Fifty-Six: Dead
Epilogue: Vigilante Justice
Back of the Book Content
Centralian Power Classifications
Prologue: Nosy
“You are a badass, you are a badass…”
Nope, the verbal affirmation didn’t help Sam Meeko feel any tougher, not with the damn Centralian fuzz on his ass, exemplars that seriously should have caught up with him by now.
But the crowd at the night market was thick, and besides, Sam didn’t do anything.
Well, not really.
He wasn’t technically trying to do anything, it was just a sex doll! Why did the authorities care so much about what had happened with a goddamn sex doll?
It was definitely some type of discrimination based on the fact he was half-powered.
Definitely, Sam thought as his nostrils flared, no discernable smell returning.
He turned to the part of the market that sold cheap furniture from the Northern Alliance, zipping past a family of non-exemplars fawning over a leather ottoman.
Exemplar vs non-exemplar?
Sam was the latter, meaning he wasn’t quite superpowered, but he did have the predisposition for a superpower, his being a keen sense of smell.
A stupid power to be sure, but it had proven handy several times, especially with women.
And yes, women smelled great, but Sam could sometimes sense things about their moods or feelings with just his sniffer, an ability that had also gotten him out of a few strange situations (potential bar hookups that could have gone way wrong had Sam not sensed that shit was iffy).
If only Sam’s nosy power had an actual use, if only his power was strong enough to classify him as an exemplar. Until then, he would remain a second-class denizen, a second-class asshole being chased by Centralian cops who were now…
“Shit!” Sam hissed as he saw one of the peace officers—how the hell did they get that name!?—rise into the air over the crowd, spot him, and come racing down.
Sam dove out of the way of the flying exemplar just in time, taking a woman with him in his mad scramble to get out of the market.
Not quite stoked to have some dude knock her over, the innocent bystanderess started punching at Sam as he tried to push off her, as the Centralian fuzz closed in, just as Sam Meeko came to the realization that he was royally screwed.
“I’ve got a bomb!” Sam shouted, his hand in his pocket. “Shit…no, I don’t. Sorry!” he cried out, his heart twisting in his chest as people started to clear out, shrieking, panic, public disorder, Sam now public enemy number one with the worst shitpower ever.
A super sensitive nose? Who was Sam kidding, he was a goddamn non-exemplar.
His hands over his head to protect from projectiles—you bet your ass they were coming!—Sam continued to stumble-charge through the crowd, just trying to get clear, to catch his head, to find a place where it was safe for him to scream, “I am not a criminal!”
But we all know Sam was a criminal.
Dark-haired Sam with his honey-colored eyes and his five o’clock shadow had broken the law. Criminals break laws, and Sam had impersonated a superpowered individual, an ‘exemplar’ as they were known in Centralia, which was against the law. Aside from that, a group of school children saw him in the act.
But it was consensual…
Of course it was.
Sam had a damn problem, he knew, his sex doll (which he’d named Dolly) had known it, his parents knew it, and now…
A bolt of lightning cut him down, leaving Sam’s legs twitching, his body flopping against the ground for a moment.
He was beyond screwed, and that was before the strongman landed before him, cracks in the pavement rippling toward Sam’s face.
“This him?” the big policeman said as he lifted Sam with a single hand, holding him high in the air, Sam’s arms and legs dangling at his side in defeat.
“That’s him,” said a clean-shaven copper with a crew cut and a chin scar. This was the flying man, the strongman was holding Sam, which meant there was one more…
> The lightning wielder also stepped forward, a curvaceous woman with enough breastery to go around. Sparks of electricity fizzled around her, and with a twisted smile on her bitchy face, she instructed the strongman to toss Sam into the air.
“You got it,” the strongman said, underarm pitching him up a few feet above the police officer’s head.
As Sam fell from the air, his arms flailing, the woman cut him down with a bolt of electricity that nearly killed his twisted ass.
Sam’s body went rigid as he slammed into the pavement, cracking his nose in the process, a spark of pain shooting through his body.
And that was the moment in which Sam would, just a minute or so from now, realize that everything had changed.
A rush of fragrance came to Sam’s sniffer, the scents instantly overwhelming him.
Sam knew that the female police officer with the lightning power was cheating on her husband; the strongman was secretly in love with the flying guy even though the flying dude was straight; the flying exemplar was regretting the fact that he’d flown through the crowd, knowing that he would have to fill out an incident report once he got back to the station.
Tears streamed down Sam’s face as his nostrils flared open, as his world became crystal clear, frighteningly transparent.
The smells, the glorious smells!
“You’re under arrest for impersonating an exemplar,” the female officer told him, electricity crackling all around her.
“You’re a cheater!” Sam blurted out, a trail of blood trickling from his nose as he continued to inhale deeply. “Cheater!”
“What?” the buxom exemplar asked.
Sam’s nostrils were two black holes as he sniffed, inhaling her essence, suddenly understanding everything about her. “For the last six months, you have been banging your immediate supervisor. And it’s some nasty shit you two are into. Lots of butt sex, your choice, not his, but he likes to make you happy.”
“What!?” she cried.
“What the hell is he talking about?” the strongman asked, his fists tensing.
“It’s okay, Mr. Strong Officer. You just need to tell him how you feel,” Sam said, spitting blood onto the ground. He sucked in another breath of air through his nostrils, everything coming to him at once. “It’s better to be honest.”
“You shut your mouth,” the strongman said, his eyes filling with fury and a small amount of fear.
“Please, I’m just telling you what I’m sensing,” Sam said, his eyes clenched shut, his nostrils wide open as he swayed back and forth.
“That’s enough out of you.” The flying exemplar brought Sam’s hands behind his back, and as he did, Sam bent his neck back and took a big whiff of the flying man.
“Ah! You’re the weakest of them all, huh? And you’re ashamed of it, but that’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with just having the ability to fly. And yeah, you worry too much about the paperwork, which affects your job performance,” Sam said, his eyes still shut, his lips covered in blood. “Too much paperwork makes you look sloppy, but you already knew that.”
A fist connected with his stomach, and Sam opened his eyes to see that the woman had slugged him in the gut.
“I don’t like being hit, but you do,” he told her, sucking in big gulps of air through his nose, sensing everything around him, feeling enlightened. “It’s okay, though, everyone has their thing.”
Sam offered the Centralian police officers a bloody, shit-eating grin.
It was more than just fragrances he was smelling, his nostrils told him everything, from the history of the people standing before him to their immediate futures, everything clear to him with his eyes closed, a storybook of arcane imagery displayed before him.
“I think he’s crazy,” the strongman finally said, his cheeks turning red.
“Just tell him how you feel about him!” Sam told the muscled police officer. He jerked his head back to the flying exemplar who was holding onto his cuffs. “And the smells, someone please pinch my nose shut. It’s too much. Everyone’s secrets, everything!”
“Shut your mouth!” the strongman cried.
The last thing Sam Meeko recalled before he passed out was trying to reach forward with his senses. It was almost as if they were a set of invisible hands, his mind rewinding all his life experiences to the last time he felt a similar sensation at the front of his face.
His childhood.
Chapter One: Flashback!
(Like twenty years ago.)
Like twenty years ago Sam Meeko was playing with some friends. All of them non-exemplars, at least at the time. One would actually grow up to be an exemplar, but he just worked for an administrative department, using his Type IV Class E skills to process documents.
No biggie.
Anyway, like twenty years ago, Sam and his buddies were playing in a field in Northern Centralia. If you go there now, the field is currently a small subdivision, in the shadows of a few towering condos, a few miles from the Meeko Family Vineyard. Some convenience stores around too. It looked better then, when there was more nature around, streams, lots of cool rocks too.
And it was on one of these cool wet rocks that Sam slipped, falling on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
But that’s not how Sam earned his deviated septum.
His nasal issues started when his friend reached his hand down to help him. Sam’s nose collided with his friend’s forehead as he stood, a pain shooting through his body and ensuring his nose would never be the same.
Sam’s sense of smell had been fucky ever since.
That is, until he got struck by a bolt of lightning by the cheating female police officer and cracked his nose against the pavement, fixing an undiagnosed problem he had suffered from since childhood.
And to think, all this time Sam could have been classified as an exemplar…
Chapter Two: Zoe Goa Ramone aka Tiger Lily
(A chapter about someone who isn’t Sam Meeko, but trust me, it’s related.)
Zoe Goa Ramone had perky breasts and a near perfect ass sculpted from daily squats and a metric shitton of training. Like Sam, she had jet black hair, and unlike Sam, she had large black eyes, dimples, and a mischievous look about her, something only accented by her spunky nature.
She also had a problem.
Zoe Goa Ramone thought she was a Type II Class C, which was Centralia’s (dumb) way of classifying someone with a monster-morphing ability.
Except Zoe didn’t have the power to morph into shit.
She did have somewhat of a telekinetic hold over men, exemplar and non-exemplar alike, but being beautiful curvy in all the right places (aside from her ass) and clever enough to use this to one’s advantage wasn’t a superpower.
This didn’t stop Zoe Goa Ramone from pretending she was something she wasn’t, which was why she wore a pair of tiger print tights, a black top and a tiger ears headband made from real fur, definitely not a toy.
Zoe didn’t play with toys unless they were used for sexual pleasure, and even then, she felt her ‘could-be monster morphing power’ would be stronger if she abstained from any sexual acts, so that was what she’d done for the last year.
Hard too. She was in her prime, beautiful, and there were plenty of guys who would line up to be with her.
Which was why it was strange to Zoe that she couldn’t stop thinking about her ex, Sam.
Even as she stalked through the alleys leading to the red-light district on the outskirts of Centralia, even with the fact it had been a year, she still wasn’t over that lovable loser.
“Stop!”
The woman’s scream met Zoe’s ears (real ears, not tiger ears), and she turned in the direction of the plea.
Dammit, she might not be qualified to be a real exemplar, but she was a beast morpher in her heart, and she was here to do what real exemplars were too pussy to attempt.
Not your typical crime fighter, Zoe Goa Ramone had to get clever with her “power,” which was a nice way to say she’d purcha
sed a pair of metallic cat gloves with retractable claws.
They worked well enough, were definitely sharp, and in a dark alley, shit, she even looked like a damn exemplar the way she was stalking, her center of gravity low to the ground, her ass up (and inviting to anyone standing behind her).
She came upon a woman being assaulted by two men, big guys too, a pair of thugs, both in dark jackets and masks, one already going through the woman’s purse while the other held her back.
Zoe moved in for the kill, leaping into the air and bringing her sharp claws into the first man’s back. He spun around, screaming at his partner to get Zoe as she tried to disappear into the shadows.
Only there were no shadows, well, not many shadows, so she wasn’t able to do the super sweet “strike and bail” technique that rogue-like supers with kitty skills were fond of utilizing.
But Zoe was no pushover either, and as the second guy swung at her, she ducked his fist, and brought her claws across his face, blood arcing into the air.
“Ha!” she shouted, cursing herself immediately for not making a hissing sound as she had practiced.
Dammit, Zoe had rehearsed this countless times in front of the mirror in her living room; she wasn’t supposed to make a single syllable laughing sound, she was supposed to make a hissing/angry sound.
And her faux pas totally threw her off balance, which was unfortunate for her because the guy engaging her managed to connect his fist with her shoulder, the impact shuddering across her back as she tried to scamper away.
“Run!” she shouted to the woman with her stupid designer bag. The lady wasn’t smart enough to actually get away. She simply stood there, watching the tiger-eared non-exemplar try her best to get her hero on.
“Yeah,” the first man told the woman as he wiped blood from the back of his neck. “Run, we’ll catch up. For now, it looks like we’re going to get us a little pussy.”
Zoe stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you being serious right now?” she asked the man, who exchanged glances with his partner.
“Yes?”
“I’m a tiger, not a pussycat, and trust me, the last thing you two assholes are going to get inside is this vagina,” she told them, giving them a bit of a crotch chop.