Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 17.1: From Left to Right

The three men did not have names. They awoke simultaneously, seated left to right in the center of the third row of the Classicum Theater. In this state, they were merely Left Man, Center Man, and Right Man.

The three, still dressed in their red robes signifying them as agents of the Temple, exchanged nervous glances. They tried to stand up, found themselves held to their seat by some unknown, unseen force.

There was no one else inside the theater. The lights dimmed except for spotlights on the red curtain, casting the theater in a dark red glow. After a few seconds, the curtain parted, and a spotlight illuminated a familiar figure, wearing bronzed armor, a curtain cape matching the one in the theater, and a frowning metal mask.

"This is my theater, and I am its Proscenium. Tonight's performance will be the performance of your lives."

He transformed into a thick purple cloud, which slowly floated forward, over the empty orchestra pit, and then over the first three rows, until it surrounded the three men. All they could inhaled, they drew the smoke into themselves.

Left Man felt drowsy, as his mind got hazier and hazier. He started to remember...

* * * *

It's a few years earlier. Left Man, his name still forgotten, piloted an Apache helicopter over the lush green trees of Columbia.

"Drug dealers, all of them," said the copilot, a U.S. soldier. "We ought to burn them all down to the ground."

"Don't take it personal," Left Man said. "Just focus on the job."

"My little sister overdosed on coke," the soldier said. "They traced the whole network right to here. We're blowing these monsters out of the sky."

"Switch it off," Left Man said. "Just do the job."

"I can't switch off and neither can you," the soldier said. "We're the good guys. The drug lords are the bad guys. It's as easy as that."

"There is no good or bad," Left Man said. "There's only the job."

He pulls back on the controls and the Apache chopper responds smoothly, almost as if it can read his mind. Left Man takes a second to check that the other two Apaches at his right and left were at about the same level as his. Then, he sees the target. A gleaming white mansion, bigger than the White House, sits atop a hill in the center of the jungle – one of the biggest cocaine suppliers in the world.

Left Man let the Apache's targeting computer do its thing, centering on the mansion. He could sense his copilots eyes on the computer as well.

Left Man was about to pull the trigger when the helicopter floor rocked with impact and heat. The chopper rocked to the side, and Left Man felt himself pulled downward at a 45-degree angle. As he struggled with the controls to right the chopper.

"They've got ground-to-air missiles hidden down there!" Left Man shouted at his copilot. "You're supposed to be looking for that!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the copilot said, frantically fiddling with his instruments with his instruments.

Left Man watched his copilot for a second, and then reached under his arm and withdrew his government-issue pistol.

"What are you doing?" the copilot said.

Left Man didn't answer, and instead fired three shots. The first was perfectly placed against the center hinge of the passenger side door, sending it flying away from the chopper, leaving a gaping windswept hole in its place.

"What the hell are you doing?" the copilot shouted against the rush of air now inside the helicopter's cabin.

The second bullet went right between the copilot's eyes, killing him instantly. The third shot was against the man's seatbelt clasp across his chest. The bullet not only split apart the seatbelts, but embedded itself into the man's chest. No longer held in place, the copilot fell out of his chair and out of the chopper, his legs and arms flailing about.

Left Man turned his attention to the chopper, which was now spinning out of control. He righted the vehicle, only to faintly hear whistling sounds in the air around him.

With a few quick button presses, he overrode the computer and fired all the helicopter's missiles randomly into the air. Once that was done, the enemy's ground to air missiles struck the underside of the copter. Left Man pulled the ejection button tab on his seat, which shot him sideways from the copter rather than upward, as an emergency measure.

Left Man allowed himself one quick look to his side, so he could see the copter burst apart in a massive fireball, but not nearly as bad as it might have been if the copter's missiles had all still been on board.

Left Man pulled the ripcord on the side of his chair, and he concentrated as he slowly floated down to the jungle floor, focusing on what he would do upon landing.

As expected, the seat's parachute got caught on some treetops, Left Man released himself from the chair and dropped to the ground without injury. He sprinted in the direction of the location of the missile that shot him down, not following any compass or GPS but acting only on instinct.

Left Man ran quietly, keeping his footsteps light. He heard and felt a loud hot crash to one side of him, which he knew was his Apache smashing aboard against the ground.

It was right around sunset, and the sky around Left Man grew dim. Still, he pressed forward drawing his pistol and keeping it ready.

After another few minutes of running silently running through the foreign Columbian jungle, Left Man spotted his enemy, a squat man covered with greens designed to blend in with the ground cover. The man had a slightly less well-concealed air-to-ground missile perched on his shoulders. He wore body armor under his greens, but the Left Man spotted the exact weakness in the armor.

Left Man fired, seeing the bullet enter his enemy's neck, with blood spurting all over the jungle leaves in front of the man.

Left Man took a second to appreciate his kill, which ended up being his undoing. The enemy had already decided to fire the missile strapped to his back.

While smoke and yellow flame shot out of the missile, just as its owner collapsed, dead, onto the jungle floor.

Left Man realized what he had done, spun around, and done for cover.

He wasn't fast enough. He felt raw heat burning away skin all over his body. He could feel the fire on his tongue, his eyes, and up and down his skin.

Then the sound of the explosion hits him, sending him flying with heat and force.

This is the end, he remembers thinking.

# # # # 

Next: Newly reconstructed.