Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 2.3: Amy vs. Hate

Amy spent the afternoon volunteering at an inner-city elementary school. Just as she flew off, waving goodbye to the kids, her cell phone went off again.

"This is U.S. Amy," she said, flying to a stop and hovering in midair.

"Amy," came the voice of a nervous police sergeant, "it's the Hater."

"I'll be right there," she said. He gave her his location, and she flew there as fast as she could. She expected the Hater to attack places like City Hall or Fenway Park, but Bascombe Street had nothing but little shops and hole-in-the-wall restaurants. It was out of the way, catering only to its surrounding neighborhood.

As she flew in closer, Amy saw the Hater in all his testosterone glory. A result of military genetic engineering, the Hater stood nine feet tall and was covered with compact muscle, except for his left arm below the elbow, which had been replaced with a mini-cannon containing various weapon types.

"This is a place of lies," he screamed to a crowd of onlookers, kept at a distance by a scattering of police already at the scene.

Amy lightly flew to the ground and landed right in front of the Hater. He hadn't changed since the last time Amy confronted him. He was completely bald and dressed in leftover combat fatigues no doubt stolen from some military supply store and adjusted for this huge build. His eyes were hidden, as usual, behind wannabe Terminator sunglasses.

"Those shades don't make you look cool, you know," Amy said.

"You!" he yelled. "Here to spread more of your lies and filth?"

Amy held up her hands. "What are you upset about this time?"

"This! Another glorious altar to this country's sins."

He pointed at a tiny shop embedded in a large building. A sign over the door read "U.S. Flags," and inside the windows were flags and various cheap trinkets.

"A flag store?" Amy said. "They're not hurting anyone."

"This country is a fraud, and they're contributing to its fraudulence."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Is this really the time and place to get into a debate about politics? Because it's a highly complicated..."

The Hater pointed his arm-cannon at her and fired. He had equipped the cannon as a sonic weapon. As the first few waves of sound hit her, she stood her ground, the pavement under her feet cracking as she pressed her feet downward. From behind her, she could barely hear the pedestrians scatter and run away.

Another sound wave hit, knocking Amy off her feet. Her back hit a metal surface, which bent to meet her. It was one of the police cars.

"Sorry, guys," she said as she got onto her feet. Addressing the cops on the other side of the car, she said, "I'm going to need to borrow this."

"That's OK, Amy," a cop said. "Do what you gotta."

Amy nodded, grateful that the Boston taxpayers had approved a U.S. Amy contingency fund for the police department at a referendum vote a year earlier.

Amy dug her fingers into the police car's frame. With an exhale, she spun around and threw it at the Hater. He quickly converted his weapon to its laser drill capacity and sliced through the car. Its two smoldering halves landed on either side of him.

While he took a second to appreciate this destruction, Amy flew at him. Her fist smacked him across his cheekbone, sending those stupid shades spinning right off his face.

Amy wanted to make a funny quip about that, but he was too fast for her, swinging his right fist around and punching her in return. It wasn't a hard enough punch to hurt her, but it was enough to swat her out of the air and onto the ground.