nodded.
Moe turned back to me, his emotions returning in an instant and his eyes welling with tears.
“Man, I don’t believe this shit.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t count me out,” I said.
He took me in, hugging me hard, and held me as he wept in shame. Hendley shifted, and Moe let me go, shaking his head, saying, “I don’t believe this shit.”
Hendley sidestepped and motioned to the ramp. I looked over at the two heroes and something about Obliterate came back to me, something that was gnawing at the back of my head from the instant I saw him.
He was a reformed villain.
I walked in his direction, forcing him to sidestep out of my way as I headed to the C-17 Globemaster’s ramp.
“He looks weak,” Warspite said.
As I walked up the ramp, the dozen armored guards flanked me until I entered the main cargo bay. The sides of the bay were lined with seats; big enough to handle the large armored men, and in a pattern surrounding a restraining harness that was bolted to the middle of the deck.
“You’re kidding,” I said, but I wasn’t as surprised as I sounded.
“Turn around, bud,” Hendley said, standing behind me.
The last of his men were aboard, as were the two heroes meant to keep me in line and one of the Globemaster’s crew raised the back ramp, yelling to the pilot through his mike when they were ready for takeoff.
I tried to catch a last glimpse of Moe but he had torn off with the Jeep, the cloud of dirt he had churned up trailing backwards with the jet wash.
“Your boyfriend’s gone,” Hendley said, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Now give me your arms.”
I must’ve looked confused, staring at the manacles as he pulled them out again.
“Listen, it’s nothing personal, but everyone that comes on my ship gets cuffed,” Hendley said. “I didn’t do it in front of your buddy back there because of the obvious racial undertones to the thing and I don’t like being insensitive, if you know what I mean.”
My arms rose almost on their own, as if my spirit was defeated and my body was complying without my will to work against it. I looked over at the two heroes and saw Warspite smiling as Commander Hendley locked the power suppressors on my wrists.
“Good man,” he said.
I’ve had them on before – several times, in fact – and no amount of experience can prepare you for the nausea-inducing ability of those bracers. I felt my legs fail and I slipped toward the ground, only to fall into the arms of four armored guards who were ready for the effect. They were strong guys, amplified by the powered armor, and they easily slid me back to the chair designed to hold me. The room spun and the floor slid away from me as the plane seemed to move, the engines roaring to life and the plane shooting forward.
“Rest of you get secured,” I heard Hendley shout with a voice so powerful a Marine Drill instructor’s knees would have buckled. “Four of you hurry,” he said to the men strapping me in to the metal contraption that had more in common with an electric chair than anything else.
When I was strapped in, someone turned it on and the effect of the manacles afflicted me by a power of ten. I fought the urge to vomit as the takeoff rockets of the C-17 fired off, helping it clear the tiny runway and the nose of the plane rose. An instant later, the fat back of the Globemaster lifted off the ground, and we soared into the sky, leaving Mali, and my friends, behind.
* * * *
Those power-suppressing manacles were nothing of the sort, meaning, they don’t reduce or control powers, nor do they don’t manipulate the natural energies that make you super. They work through a technology similar to an electromagnetic pulse, a charge that is usually associated with a nuclear bomb, called transcranial magnetic stimulation. In essence, the manacles emit a special kind of magnetic energy that
Moe turned back to me, his emotions returning in an instant and his eyes welling with tears.
“Man, I don’t believe this shit.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t count me out,” I said.
He took me in, hugging me hard, and held me as he wept in shame. Hendley shifted, and Moe let me go, shaking his head, saying, “I don’t believe this shit.”
Hendley sidestepped and motioned to the ramp. I looked over at the two heroes and something about Obliterate came back to me, something that was gnawing at the back of my head from the instant I saw him.
He was a reformed villain.
I walked in his direction, forcing him to sidestep out of my way as I headed to the C-17 Globemaster’s ramp.
“He looks weak,” Warspite said.
As I walked up the ramp, the dozen armored guards flanked me until I entered the main cargo bay. The sides of the bay were lined with seats; big enough to handle the large armored men, and in a pattern surrounding a restraining harness that was bolted to the middle of the deck.
“You’re kidding,” I said, but I wasn’t as surprised as I sounded.
“Turn around, bud,” Hendley said, standing behind me.
The last of his men were aboard, as were the two heroes meant to keep me in line and one of the Globemaster’s crew raised the back ramp, yelling to the pilot through his mike when they were ready for takeoff.
I tried to catch a last glimpse of Moe but he had torn off with the Jeep, the cloud of dirt he had churned up trailing backwards with the jet wash.
“Your boyfriend’s gone,” Hendley said, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Now give me your arms.”
I must’ve looked confused, staring at the manacles as he pulled them out again.
“Listen, it’s nothing personal, but everyone that comes on my ship gets cuffed,” Hendley said. “I didn’t do it in front of your buddy back there because of the obvious racial undertones to the thing and I don’t like being insensitive, if you know what I mean.”
My arms rose almost on their own, as if my spirit was defeated and my body was complying without my will to work against it. I looked over at the two heroes and saw Warspite smiling as Commander Hendley locked the power suppressors on my wrists.
“Good man,” he said.
I’ve had them on before – several times, in fact – and no amount of experience can prepare you for the nausea-inducing ability of those bracers. I felt my legs fail and I slipped toward the ground, only to fall into the arms of four armored guards who were ready for the effect. They were strong guys, amplified by the powered armor, and they easily slid me back to the chair designed to hold me. The room spun and the floor slid away from me as the plane seemed to move, the engines roaring to life and the plane shooting forward.
“Rest of you get secured,” I heard Hendley shout with a voice so powerful a Marine Drill instructor’s knees would have buckled. “Four of you hurry,” he said to the men strapping me in to the metal contraption that had more in common with an electric chair than anything else.
When I was strapped in, someone turned it on and the effect of the manacles afflicted me by a power of ten. I fought the urge to vomit as the takeoff rockets of the C-17 fired off, helping it clear the tiny runway and the nose of the plane rose. An instant later, the fat back of the Globemaster lifted off the ground, and we soared into the sky, leaving Mali, and my friends, behind.
* * * *
Those power-suppressing manacles were nothing of the sort, meaning, they don’t reduce or control powers, nor do they don’t manipulate the natural energies that make you super. They work through a technology similar to an electromagnetic pulse, a charge that is usually associated with a nuclear bomb, called transcranial magnetic stimulation. In essence, the manacles emit a special kind of magnetic energy that
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