by Baron Sord
—: o o o :—
—: AFTERWORD :—
Mythbusting Superheroes
or
Die Hard’s
Bare Feet & Broken Glass
You know that scene in Terminator when Reese appears in 1984 and runs through that department store looking for clothes? Remember how he grabs the second trench coat from the rack (not the first, which is presumably a small), and when he grabs a pair of shoes from a bin, he holds the sole of one against his bare foot to make sure the shoe will fit?
I always thought that was awesome.
The other action movie scene tattooed on my brain is the one from Die Hard when a shoeless John McClane (Bruce Willis) is forced to run barefoot over broken glass while being shot at inside Nakatomi Tower.
Like any action movie hero, McClane doesn’t get shot, but whoa, do his feet end up bleeding bad. If only he hadn’t taken off his shoes to make fists with his toes! You know that guy on the plane who told McClane to do it was secretly working for Hans Gruber. But I digress.
It isn’t about the shoes.
It’s about the limits of reality.
Reality keeps things interesting. It’s always full of surprises.
Enter Mythbusters.
If you’ve watched that show, you know they love to pick apart action movie cliches to see if they would work in real life.
For example, someone leaves a baby lying on a Merry-Go-Round in a public playground. Can an expert marksman trying to save the baby from being shot by a second hidden hitman make the Merry-Go-Round spin by shooting the handlebars with a handgun? No, not even with a solid slug shotgun shooting at a small metal plate welded to the Merry-Go-Round’s handlebars. Obviously, the metal plate allows more force from the slug to transfer.
If you’ve seen that episode of Mythbusters, you know the plate barely helps.
Although the solid slug did move the Merry-Go-Round, it only did so when the axle was thoroughly lubricated, and it certainly didn’t make it spin wildly. In short, the 9mm pistol Smith the drifter (played by Clive Owen) used in the movie Shoot ’Em Up would never have worked.
The hitman would’ve killed that baby dead.
(There’s a dead baby joke in there somewhere. I’ll let you look for it.)
Or, can MacGyver contain an explosion in a postal truck by filling it with wet cement before the timer blows the dynamite? He can try, but it won’t work. Not even close. Mythbusters blew that mail truck to kingdom come and the wet cement with it. Admittedly, the wet cement is an awesome solve for a TV show. I certainly don’t hold it against MacGyver or the show writers because I didn’t think of it.
The Mac gets an A for effort.
What do Reese, McClane, Smith (Clive Owen’s drifter character), MacGyver, and let’s not forget Sarah Connor, have in common?
They’re clever.
We all know brawn goes a long way. Ask Arnold Schwarzenegger.
But brains always defeats brawn. Ask a wooly mammoth.
Who doesn’t love a clever hero or heroine?
Don’t get me wrong. Brawn is awesome. More generally, I’m talking about physical prowess. We all love watching action movie heroes and heroines do the athletically impossible. That’s half the reason we watch action movies.
Freaking ninjas, man!
But athleticism won’t solve every problem.
When you have to change tactics, brains pick up the slack.
That’s where Hero Force United comes in. Throughout this series, Doug will be faced with countless real-world challenges he can’t brawn his way out of. Oh, he’ll brawn his way out of plenty, but he will rely on his brains just as often to work around the limits of physics. Like I said, the real world — and Hero Force United — are full of surprises.
And of course, babes. Lady Liberty being number one amongst many others on the babe front to come.
Therein lies the beating heart of this series.
Brains, brawn, and babes.
As Doug Moore learns to level up his new super powers on the nail-biting thrill ride of his new superhero life, the challenges he faces will get progressively harder, and the action scenes will get bigger, more spectacular, and more dangerous with each and every book in the series.
Remember: Doug Moore may now be one tough customer, but he is not invulnerable.
Nobody said having super powers would be easy.
Just ask:
Shartman!
The Man of Many Sharts
Wanna read Doug Moore’s Shartman comic strip, and find out when Hero Force United 2 : Wanted Man releases? Then sign up for my newsletter and you’ll get both. You can find it here:
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Last but not least, if you liked Hero Force United,
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THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!
Baron
—: Book 2 : Wanted Man :—
—: Chapter 1:—
I stood in the dark master bedroom of an unknown suburban home, warily eyeing the deadly tableaux.
The Hispanic dad lay beaten on the bed. He hadn’t made a sound since having had his head bashed in by one of the two home invaders still in the house.
For all I knew, the dad was dead.
The mom was huddled on the floor in the corner, having been thrown there by Revolver.
Revolver was the home invader who had beaten the dad with the butt of his revolver. Revolver lay unconscious on the floor beside the bed near where I stood.
Moments ago, I had knocked Revolver out and taken his gun, which I held in hand.
Daniel, the teenage son, cowered beside his mom. The baseball bat he had used to attack me — Daniel had thought I was a third home invader — lay on the floor near the foot of his parents’ bed.
The other home invader, who I was calling Automatic, held the teenage daughter Maria in a savage one-armed chokehold. With his free hand, he was pressing his automatic pistol against the side of her head. They stood in the doorway.
There was a slight possibility that other gunmen lurked here in the house, but I didn’t know one way or the other. Presumably, they would’ve shown themselves by now, but you never knew.
Automatic growled at me, “Drop the gun or I kill the kid.”
Eyes wild and fearful, Maria cried, “Please do what he says, mister! I don’t want to die! Please!”
Needless to say, my new super powers did not provide a simple solution to this situation.
The dad groaned on the bed. Good news. He wasn’t dead.
I had to be very careful with my next move. The wrong one might get somebody killed.
“Drop the fucking gun!” Automatic shouted.
I set the revolver down on the master bedroom floor.
“What the fuck you do to him?” Automatic demanded. He meant his unconscious friend Revolver.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to aggravate Automatic by saying the wrong thing. The hammer of his automatic was cocked, and he was white-knuckling the grip. Just a few more ounces of pressure and the gun might fire and kill Maria.
“Kick the gun over here,” Automatic said to me. “Slowly.”
I did.
The revolver skidded across the hardwood.
Automatic put his foot on it, but he didn’t release Maria.
The mom said tearfully, “Take anything you want, just don’t hurt my daughter.”
“I’ll do anything I fucking want, cunt,” Automatic growled. He shook Maria in his arms and she yelped and broke into fresh sobs.
“You don’t need to hurt us,” the mom pleaded in lightly accented English. “We have money.”
“Who says I came for money?” He snarled and licked Maria’s cheek.
Maria blurted, “PLEASE! LEAVE US ALONE!”
“Let her go!” the mom wailed. “I’ll give you anything! PLEASE! Just don’t hurt my baby!”
It pained me that I was hearing this exact exchange for the second time tonight. Less than an hour ago, while back
home laying in bed, I had heard these words in my head in the form of a future-predictive mental distress call.
Automatic was sweating profusely. Things hadn’t gone according to plan for him or his accomplice. With Revolver conked out, it was just Automatic against everyone else. He looked around nervously. “You know what? Fuck your money. I don’t want it. I just want your daughter.” He thought, She’ll be my ticket outta here.
Having the ability to read people’s minds gave me a substantial tactical advantage, but it didn’t solve my problem. I couldn’t stand here and let him take Maria. As calmly as possible, I said, “Hey, guy. Take the money. That’s what you came for, right?”
“Fuck you! You don’t know me! Maybe I just wanna kill all you fucking fucks!” Automatic gouged his gun against Maria’s temple.
She screamed.
“So back the fuck off!”
I eased back.
“STOP IT!” the mom pleaded. “DON’T SHOOT MY BABY!”
I didn’t know what to do.
An image of Ice Statue flashed in my mind. He was the thug I had frozen in that alley in downtown San Diego while coming to the rescue of Pudgy Batman. Could I freeze Automatic like I had Ice Statue?
My first thought was no, because I had been holding Ice Statue by the ankle. Automatic stood several feet away. I couldn’t grab him without risking Maria’s life.
Second, I had learned only a few short hours ago that my powers weren’t effective at extracting heat from atmospheric air. Earlier, I had lain in bed holding up my hand while attempting to pull heat from the air in the room to no avail. That said, it suddenly occurred to me now that I hadn’t been trying to pull heat from a person or an object across the air gap. I had focused solely on the air. But air conducted heat perfectly well. Anyone who has ever stepped out of an air-conditioned building into a hot summer wind knows how good gases are at conducting heat. Maybe the issue wasn’t the air itself.
Maybe it was the target I chose to select.
Perhaps most importantly, when I had attempted to collect heat from the air earlier, I had been tired, having used my brand new super powers multiple times since getting them this afternoon — approximately 12 hours ago, give or take. Nobody performed at full capacity when they were exhausted. Since then, I had slept briefly.
Perhaps a little rest was all I needed.
Perhaps now, I could extract heat from Automatic at a distance.
I had to try.
For several precious seconds, I concentrated on channeling his heat energy across the air gap to me.
Automatic didn’t seem to notice. He said to everyone, “I’m gonna back the fuck outta here.”
Damn it. Once again, when it came to my powers, air proved to be a painfully slow medium for heat transfer. If only I had more time. But I didn’t. What was I going to do?
Automatic gave Maria a good yank and she yelped. He grunted in her ear, “Don’t you give me no fucking trouble.”
She whimpered in response.
Automatic growled loudly, “If any of you motherfuckers moves, the girl dies!”
“Uuuugggh,” the dad moaned in the bed. He tried to roll over.
“Don’t you fucking move, Dad! Or your daughter dies!”
Dad relaxed.
Automatic took a step backward into the hallway. “And you!” He was looking at me. “Put your fucking hands up!”
I did.
He took another step, slowly fading into the shadows.
There was nothing I could do. Inside, I was twisting into knots. Who knew what Automatic would do to Maria once he had her alone? The thought sickened me.
Frustration punched me in the guts. I had screwed things up. I had come here with the intention of saving this family from these two home invaders, but I had botched it up big time and made things worse. What did I expect? I didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing. There was a reason cops and soldiers went through extensive training before they went on active duty.
Automatic suddenly stopped in the shadows, his eyes wide.
“Easy, easy, easy. I’m holding a Glock G19 to your head.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
My best friend and roommate Arnold Beaks.
Arnold was supposed to be waiting outside in his Prius where it was safe. Worse, his Glock wasn’t loaded. Before coming in here, I had made him give me the magazine and the round he had kept in the chamber. Both were in my pockets.
Arnold continued speaking, his voice soothing and calm, “The trigger pull on this thing is 5.5 pounds. I’ve got about 5 on it now. If you move suddenly, it’s gonna go off in the back of your head. But if you let the girl go, you can walk out of here. We won’t follow you. No harm, no foul.”
I cringed. If Automatic called Arnold’s bulletless bluff, we were back to square one.
“I’M GONNA KILL HER, MAN!” Automatic shouted, panicking and breathing hard, his eyes going wild.
“You don’t want to die, do you?” Arnold chuckled, acting like Automatic was an old pal. “You’ve got so much to live for, man. She isn’t worth it. Think of all the pussy you’ll miss out on if you die right now. If you let her go, I’ll let you go. All the pussy in the world is just waiting for you, dog. Easy pussy. Right out the back door. It’s yours if you let the girl go. Easy pussy, man. Easy pussy.”
Automatic was thinking it through. He muttered softly, “Easy pussy.”
Calmly, Arnold said, “That’s right, dog. Trust me. You want to live to fight another day. Live for the pussy. The girl isn’t worth it. Let her go and we’ll let you go.”
“Who the fuck are you, dude? You a cop?”
“No. I’m nobody, man,” Arnold said. “You’re nobody. Let her go and just go.”
Automatic swallowed hard. “Yeah, okay. Whaddo I do?”
“Okay,” Arnold said, “let the girl go easy. Nice and slow. Just let her go to her mom. Can you do that, sweetheart? When this nice man lets you go, just walk to your mom, okay?”
“Uh huh,” Maria whined and nodded.
Reluctantly, Automatic relaxed his hand around Maria’s throat and dropped his arm.
Maria trotted over to her mother and fell down in front of her and Daniel. Mom wrapped her arms around Maria and kissed the top of her head protectively.
“Relax, dog,” Arnold said insistently but calmly to Automatic. “Just relax. I’m not gonna do anything. Just back up past me and go out the way you came in. Stay calm and you’re free to go.”
I thought, Arnold, you can’t let him go.
Didn’t seem like he heard my thoughts. The jury was still out on whether or not I could send them telepathically to other people.
Did it matter if Arnold had heard me? It did. I didn’t want Automatic getting away. Not after what he’d done. He needed to go to jail. But he needed to get out of this house first so he wasn’t a danger to the family.
Arnold said, “Back up with me, okay, dog? That’s it. Take another step. Everything is gonna be fine. Just a couple more steps. A couple more. That’s it. Okay, it’s all you man. The back door is wide open. Just go outside and go home, okay?”
“Yeah, man. Yeah.”
I heard footsteps squeak on the tiled floor as the guy ran back through the house.
I didn’t wait.
I bolted past Arnold and turned down the hallway. Ran past the family photos on the wall, through the dining room-living room-kitchen combo in the back of the house, and out the slider door to the backyard, which was flat concrete and contained a few bicycles, a big metal BBQ, and random lawn furniture. A wood fence surrounded everything.
Automatic was scurrying over the fence when I saw him.
Guy was quick.
I jumped across the entire backyard in a single arcing leap. When I came down, I landed on Automatic, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him off the fence. He crumpled beneath me and we hit the ground hard. Still holding him by the shoulders, I turned and hurled him onto the concrete. He landed fa
ce-down and his pistol clattered away. It slid under a metal-and-canvas chaise lounger.
I dropped on top of him and slammed my forearm into the back of his neck. I was so pissed at him for what he had done, I either wanted to choke the life out of him or freeze him into an ice statue. As long as he was dead.
Ice Statue.
I had killed him only a few hours ago.
I couldn’t kill someone else.
I wasn’t the law and I wasn’t a vigilante.
One death on my hands was one too many.
So I wrapped my arms around Automatic’s neck and put him in a rear naked choke. One advantage of my involvement with the people who belonged to Realm of Andor (the LARPing combat club that met in Balboa Park) was that I had met plenty of guys who did real martial arts. Over the years, they had showed me a few things.
The rear naked choke was one of them.
It was awkward to apply with Automatic lying on the ground, but I did my best. I hadn’t ever put anybody to sleep with a choke, only practiced the positioning with my Andor buddies. I wasn’t sure when it was okay to let go, but I did know it was a dangerous move that could kill someone if you held it too long. With my super strength, that could be seconds or less.
Automatic started kicking, trying to break the hold. At least I knew I wasn’t killing him. With my strength, he was never going to get loose.
“You got him?” Arnold asked quietly as he walked out of the house.
I gasped, “Shit, you scared me.”
Arnold wore black from head to toe, a black knit cap, and had two stripes of black shoe polish under his eyes like an NFL player. With the moonlight glinting off his eyeglasses, the black stripes were useless as a disguise.
I said, “What do we do with this guy? We should tie him up or something.”
Automatic was still struggling in my arms. Not as forcefully as before, but he hadn’t given up, which meant I wasn’t killing him.
Arnold smiled, “No worries. I got zip-ties.” He held some up. The heavy duty kind the police used for riots when they ran out of handcuffs.