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Episode 25 Heroes Are Built Not Saved, or Real Men Do Not Use Go To
Episode 25Heroes Are Built Not Saved, or Real Men Do Not Use Go ToSherwood Forrest pulled up to the Robin Hood. Inside, he demanded the phone. The barman already on the office phone pointed to a tattered payphone in a far corner, next to the jukebox. The bar was gloomy to a fault, the area around the phone seemed, comparatively, a beacon of light. Something soupy, something ‑ country, played from the juke. It was only mid‑afternoon, early for the carriage crowd.Dutifully, Gig swept the floor, humming along with the juke. He stopped his back and forth dance ceased momentarily as he stopped and stared as Sherwood hurried across the brief expanse of the dance floor. Then, he began again."Hello, 911?" He sputtered into the phone."That's what I said," a dispatcher muttered back. "What is your emergency, sir?""There's a big fight at the Dream Americane Arcade on upper 5th Street, a big fight. If you guys got any super heroes there, you better . . . send them out!"There was a pause, Sherwood waited, he stared into the receiver in disgust. The phone smelled like stale beer. 'Budweiser', he thought, 'this phone smells like a 'Bud'. This one's . . . '"That's on 5th Street, right?" The dispatcher came back. Sherwood still sniffing at the receiver. "The arcade?""The Dream Americane!" Sherwood replied tardily. "On upper 5th!""Right," the dispatcher came back, without missing a beat, I know the place.""Right!""Do you care to leave your name, sir?""No,” said Sherwood, "No, I - would not."“Not required, sir. We'll get someone over there.""Thanks," Sherwood muttered into the phone and hung up, His quarter clattered into the coin box out of reach. "What is this, a reservation for dinner ‑ leave my name?" He turned and walked back into the daytime gloom of the bar. "I need a beer,” he called to the barman, "a ‑ Bud, gimme a Bud." The beer was set up on the bar before he reached it. He settled carefully on a rickety bar stool, it squeaked as he made himself comfortable, "Thanks," he muttered into the beer.""Gig continued to sweep. He softly hummed a melody as he did, one of the many he knew,'Ain't no supahero', the words went, 'Ain't no masked avengah,' Sherwood and the barman paid no attention. Back to Gig and the rest of the bar, Sherwood took his beer and the barman went back to washing glasses looking down, contemplating perhaps the mysteries of life in this small part of the galaxy.'Where's the thunda?Where's the lightning?You make me nervosaI ain't no masked avenga.I ain't no danger ranga.Where's the achion?I'm ‑ just supah sonic - deep in love ‑ with you.Bettah get me today, I might not be so real tomorrah.'He whispered his song, a sort of sotto voce, quietly, sweetly, as the broom whisked across the dance floor rhythmically making way, in a steady one‑two, one‑tow, one-two.""“This just in - ten minutes ago, Maura The Mourner blasted her way out of Memorial,” Shipley glanced up from the report !"Thanks, Sarge. That guy who called in the arcade fight on 5th is going to be disappointed, I guess. Think we could out‑source this one?""I could put in a quick call to Sharesh in New Deli - see who's around." The sergeant mused stroking his chin, "There ‑ might be enough left in this month's budget for that. I'll run it by the Captain.” “Good idea!"A moment later. "Hello, 'New Deli Deli ‑ Super Heroes Are Us' ‑ and pizzas. We deliver', Sharesh nearly giggled out loud at his own joke."How may I help you?"Sharesh listened for a moment after his rapid fire spiel ended. Then, "Ah, Shareesh, you're having too much fun," the sergeant returned!"Ah, Sergeant Shipley ‑ good to hear your voice. So ‑ Super heroes or pizza?""Superhero, if you've got one." "Oh, yes, Sergeant! I have one, a 'super' on special this week, at a 'super rate' ‑ and, in your neighborhood! Would you like pizza with that ‑ special offer, ‘one superhero, one pizza ‑ two toppings of your choice ‑ this week only’?""Yes? OK. You will not be disappointed! Yes, I have the address," he scribbled the address on a piece of paper quickly. "And your credit card, please ‑ ?"Sharesh listened again, "Good," he said at last, “pepperoni and mushrooms - excellent choice!”Moments later, the office phone rang at the Robin Hood. "Robin Hood, Sherwood Forrest speaking . . .""Heeey, Sherwood! It's Sharesh ‑ I got a job for you, babe!" “”Maura rounded the corner of the hospital in long strides,finding easy access to cover in the big first level loading dock.Between matching dumpsters, Maura The Mourner backed from the hospital loading dock. Directing a hail of automatic weapons fire at the dock elevator, she stepped from the cover of the dumpsters carefully toward the street. Still busy with rush hour traffic, it was an excellent choice for escape. The police would not fire if innocent commuters were in the way. Maura believed there were no innocent commuters. The police did.A black limousine that seemed long as a city block pulled up and stopped, blocking the entrance to the dock, engine running. Albert at the wheel. The sun roof slid back. From the opening emerged the Grey Mantis himself, M‑60 in hand.Leopard Lady slipped from behind a dumpster, standing tall, instantly delivering a 'haymaker' to Maura's jaw. Maura fell ‑ and got up ‑ weapons in hand. Oblivion slipped into her consciousness as Leopard Lady piled on fresh punishment. The world darkened. The cement pad beckoned and her feet went from beneath her. The path to the street faded. Had it been anyone except Maura The Mourner, it would have been over. Her Mac-10's skittered across the graded cement.M‑60 fire sent Leopard Lady diving for cover. The limo slipped forward a few inches giving The Mantis a better firing angle. She knelt behind one of the dumpsters. Waiting for a break in The Manis' onslaught to launch another attack, Leopard Lady crouched lower.“”Only seconds before, down the elevator and running flat out through the Emergency Department, Maura scattered the Security guards, gaining the door."Wasn't that Maura The Mourner?" She gushed, straining at the upright rails of the gurney. Next to her in another gurney, another old woman struggled to sit up. "And - isn't that Leopard Lady?" She pointed. Leopard Lady, indeed followed, struggling with binding tights. "Not like the ladies of my day," she 'harrumphed'!"Or mine," gasped her neighbor! "Where's my medication?" Snapped the first. "You can't get anything around here. Nurse ‑ ! Geez, can you ever get medication when you need it?"“”The Mantis seemed to draw on an endless supply of ammunition. She was pinned down as Maura scooped up her twin Mac's and made for the limo, hospital johnny fluttering behind. At the limo she turned, firing into the docking bay on her own. As her clips emptied, She slipped easily backwards into the safety of the big car, the door closing after her. The Mantis swept the dock with a withering cover fire. In sync, Albert let out the break and they were away. The Mantis turned his attention to the street behind him firing at a police cruiser unfortunate enough to have just turned the corner. The M-60 spoke for him, the cruiser slammed into the curbing already full of smoke. The Mantis settled back into the limo. As he did, Maura grabbed him pressing her lips passionately to his.Glory and Bicker lay floors above, outside the room that had held Maura. A discarded pair of hand cuffs lay in the floor between them, key still in the lock. Mantis had found it easy enough to render the two officers unconscious and release Maura from custody. Bicker was painfully leaning up on one elbow looking at Glory who similarly clasped her aching head in both hands gathering strength, then, to find her feet.Leopard Lady had been on her feet, unknown and ignored, just another patient to the POD soldier who had released Maura, leaving her guards unconscious. She’d caught him by the scruff of the neck, driving him heavily to the floor. In an instant, he was out."" They streamed from the front door of the Dream Americane, though some went through the back into the alley. There was shouting, a lot of it. No one knew which way was the best for a quick escape, it seemed. They went, they left, front and back as they could a quick as they could.Hector, Version 2.0 held mid floor of the Arcade deep in smoke, shattered plastic and glass shards to the ankles, covered in the remains of electronic dreams.Demigod, pried himself from beneath the wreckage of the 'Phantom 309' pinball table. Others were scattered behind him and as well, under him. The lights went out. Pinball tables flickered and garish images of their legendary namesakes faded into the unreluctant darkness. The lights went out, then came on again, flickering. The wrecked arcade suddenly resembled a reluctant moonscape.Hector rumbled in the flickering lights. He was better than the old Hector, by one version, it seemed. Demigod hung to the side regarding Hector and looking for a way out. He'd not wanted to make a battle of it. He wished avoidance at any cost. It was not to be so.Hector rushed him. There was little space and no time. He was hit and he went down again with a crash. Another pinball table splintered, shattering wood, plastic flippers and glass. Chrome balls rolled across the floor, undirected, aimless, deprived of their purpose.Demigod leaned over as he got to his feet, grabbing a loose leg from the table he swung it ‘round. Hector took the full impact as if it was a bouquet of daisies. Then Demigod found that he no longer had it in his hands. He dived away. If he didn't have it, surely Hector did.It whooshed through the air beside his head. Missed! That would have hurt!A crowd of gawkers gathered at the big front windows looking in. One mode of entertainment gone, this replacement would do nicely. Young, old, the short and the tall, favoring one fighter or the other, reality deprived or not, cheered. Just who were the fighters or what either stood for didn't seem to matter.Satisfied with this quasi reality, its contenders and the ruined arcade, images assembled from random electronic memories - would do!Quick bets were laid among the regulars, odds given, favoring Hector, though one or two favored Demigod for reasons unknown. Someone volunteered to hold the cash. Someone marked the bets and bettors on a scrap of dirty looking paper. The cheering went on, a little more intently, now that money was involved.Demigod gathered himself from the wreckage of a vintage 'Madame LaRue' that had been a much prized vintage object of the Dream Americane.The fight went on reaching greater proportions. Demigod had risen to give as good as he got. Had Hector be able to register surprise, he would have. As it was his face, implacable at any moment, remained always as it was.To Hector v2.0, it meant nothing in the long run. There would be the winner and a loser, in the end. One or the other of them. His mission was to win, there would be nothing else, no joy, no exultation in the defeat of an opponent. Win or lose, he would be reduced to electrons and saved safe in a file of electrons governed by other electrons lacking a consciousness, until deleted ‑ then more nothing, obsolete, unknown, unremembered as an 'app'.""A smaller, more select, crowd hovered around the computer at Demigod Corp that controlled Hector v2.0 . They, too, cheered, clapped each other on the back and smiled smiles of congratulation, winner's smiles. One had to admit Hector looked good.""Just moments later, in full super hero regalia, Sherwood Forrest emerged from his battered car, parked discretely away far enough to prevent even the sharp eyed from connecting its bruised and aged exterior to this hero. The fight, was just taking the epic proportions. Cape flowing out behind, he moved into the crowd that had gathered. He was saving steadily for something more super."Wow," he sputtered, "didja see that one ‑ some punch, huh? Knock you out today ‑ wake you up next week for another!" He spoke to no one in particular as Demigod unceremoniously crashed to the ground at his super shod feet.""Hector v2.0 came in a battering storm of electrons crossing the floor covered in the shattered, smokey remains of the arcade. A plastic and glass mix carpeted 5th Street. Smoke from burned and the burning arcade choked awed onlookers.Finding his feet, Demigod readied himself to continue. Hector's remote managers thrust him forward again, this time to make a finish.Rearmed from a menu of possibles, Hector launched a missile at Demigod. Dodging as he rushed toward Hector, Demigod prepared broad, virtual fist of strength available only in video combat. Behind him, the missile turned a car parked some distance away to rubble. Onlookers ducked.The fist caught him at the last moment. Turned in his tracks, Hector crashed to the pavement.His far away handlers gasped in chorus. Shouting chaotic new instructions to a lone controller sitting at Hector’s console at Demigod Corporation.Demigod closed for 'the kill'. Rolling away Hector avoided a second and more fatal blow.Demigod was learning fast. 'Crush your enemy. Hear the lamentation of his women. Drive a Ford'! 'No.' He shook his head clearing the phrase. That wasn't quite it! In that instant, Hector v2.0 came again. He crammed his hand nearly to the elbow into Hector's face - hard. As if just behind it, the electrons forming that arm burst from the controller’s monitor at Demigod Corp. The controller, grabbed up, was drawn into the screen where he spent a last few moments of any reality. Hector reeled."Ah ‑ I've seen this before," Sherwood Forrest spoke to himself. He smiled mischievously. Hector v2.0 was still attached to home a thin of electrons stretched telltale behind him.Cape flowing magnificently Sherwood made his way into the rubble that was the 'Dream Americane'. He walked directly toward the dangling fuse box at the back of the store through noxious smoke. Opening the grey metal door he reached inside located the red handled lever and pulled firmly down with all of his strength.Hector v2.0 faded, flickered, becoming wraith‑like, at once there and at once not. Then, he disappeared altogether, no more. The gang around the console at Demigod Corporation let out a concerted, deep sigh of disappointment.Demigod swung a fist through his fading enemy and found no contact.Sherwood Forrest strode by him raising a casual two fingers to his right temple, then lowering his salute, a gesture between knights of common cause, knights of another era.As Demigod watched, Sherwood Forrest passed smiling glibly beneath the cowl that hid most of his face and saluted, index and middle fingers together placed to the side of his head. The amazed Demigod, stunned, returned the gesture blankly. It was ‑ over.END EPISODE 25c2012 F Gordon KennedySee More