Springtime for Richard

Spring has arrived at long last!

I had qualms about beginning this post with that statement. Many of my fellow bloggers have already addressed the matter and I knew that by putting it in I risked seeming unoriginal and tiresome.

I quickly reassured myself, though, with the thought that this season is so beautiful and welcomed that no number of blog entries devoted to it could ever become tiresome.

And so here we are. It’s roughly 58 degrees Fahrenheit in fair South Hadley as I sit in front of my now cleansed computer and type this. It’s 58 degrees and 7:15 at night.

And what a night it is! Cool and crisp, but with traces of Spring’s comforting warmth. No austere chill of bitter Winter is left in the air. And the smell!

Odd, isn’t it, that the smells of the seasons are universally appreciated, and yet they are in reality so elusive and indescribable.

The smell in the air now is soft and sweet and fresh. It is recognizable. Bold, new, and yet familiar. It smells like nothing and like everything all at once. It smells of moisture returned to the air; of earth thawed and warming; of trees and bark; of leaves yet to grow and flowers yet to bloom. It is a smell of promise. Of anticipation. It is the fragrance of Spring and it is on the air tonight.

Wild and strong and free it makes me feel. Clear and true and safe.

The smell and the cool touch of the air make me want to sing and laugh and kiss every one I see.

Everything seems so much more . . . tangible tonight. I feel as though I can hear the trees, can touch and hold the night breezes.

I feel a deep, rushing, swelling love for everyone.

Spring is here.

Colour is not, though.

I know in time the colours of the leaves and the grass and the flowers and the sky will become so vibrant that one more drinks them in than see them. We will absorb the colors through our very pores and let them shine out through our eyes.

But, for now, grey still holds sway. Grey of the roads and the bark of the trees. Yellow of the grass. Brown of the exposed earth.

Four and a half months ago I sat at this very same computer professing dislike for those very same colours. Not so anymore.

Back then, on November 15th, I saw the colours with the knowledge that they were here to stay. They heralded the cold onset of Winter. Of snow and ice and chill winds. Short, bitter days and long dark nights.

Now the colours, drab though they may yet be, hold only signs of hope.
They, like the smell, are of promise.

The promise of Spring.



Goddamn it’s good to be back blogging!

After a long hiatus I return, with a squeaky clean PC and a mind full of thoughts and wishes and dreams yet to share.

I marked my return with the epic Episode IV: The Fate of the World, which received less attention than I was hoping for, but more, I suppose, than my awkward prose deserved. I am working on Episodes IV.V and V now. These will explain how I came to loose my golden curls, and, more importantly why, and how the heroes who fought to gain Ninja Pirate Inc and stop the nefarious Umbrella Corporation will react to some physical changes and an alien invasion. Episode VI will cover my trip to Florida to see Caitlin and tell how my computer was finally purged of the virus which had taken hold of it. Then a break from poorly written fiction will be in order for me, and I will blog the truth, the whole, truth, and nothing but the truth . . . and of course, my opinions.

Also soon to come are posts My Perfect Man and My Perfect House. Plus, entertainment posts covering the HCHS talent show (tomorrow) the play (next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday), the CD’s of two of my closest pals, films I have seen, music I have heard, books I have read, and my thoughts on comic book movies.

And I owe you an update regarding my present scholastic situation.

But for now, only this will I publish.

Current Mood: Invigorated, well-rested, calm.
Current Music: matchbox 20, their first and best album Yourself or Someone Like You

Episode IV: The Fate of the World

Part 1

Reconnaissance
Enter the Players
Dial D for Dan
The Convoy Departs

Okay, okay. I suppose you’ve all been wondering what exactly happened neigh on four months ago that has kept me from completing a relevant, enjoyable-to-read post of any significant length. I will further suppose that you will not accept some flimsy tale of mild computer problems and laziness. I suppose that you will settle for nothing less than the completely true, white-knuckle action spectacular tale of how I wound up like I am today: computerless, hairless, and aching both physically and emotionally. In that case, listen up, readers, for I will now a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end, like the quills upon the fretful porpentine, as the poet says.


Let’s see . . .. Where to begin . . .. I guess it all started back in the early days of the Thanksgiving vacation. Sam and I were traveling home from the mall after some Christmas shopping. It was about nine o’ clock at night and . . ..

The late autumn moon hung low and ominous over the canals of Holyoke as the two Sugrue brothers drove along the back roads of the old factory district. Weak halogen streetlights dimly revealed the crumbling brick facades of some of the city’s oldest buildings. Richard, the elder brother, slowed their maroon Oldsmobile to a sluggish 55 miles per hour.
“Sam,” he whispered urgently, “Does anything about that building seem strange to you?” Richard pointed to a particularly large and imposing architectural monstrosity across the canal.
“Well, it could be the oddly thriving vines covering the face of the structure, despite the cold. Maybe it’s the new locks on the bridge gate, despite the fact that the building itself looks abandoned. Or it could be the swarms of guards surrounding the perimeter. Lastly, it might just be the giant red and white Umbrella Corporation logo on the gates, the roof, the vehicles, and the guards themselves, you stupid fucking chink.”
“Jeezum Crowe! You might be onto something there, amigo.” Richard muttered thoughtfully, bringing the car to a stop 50 feet down the street from the gates.
“If that is the Umbrella Corporation, I don’t like them being that close. It spells trouble.”
“So you’re stopping across the canal from their stronghold because you’re worried about them being close? Shouldn’t we be getting as far away as possible?”
“Listen, monkey fuck,” Richard said vehemently, “these bastards have tried to kill me on no less than three separate occasions. They’ve also tried to kill my friends. Normally that would be enough for me to want revenge, but on top of that they threaten the fabric of global society with their never-ending nonsensical and oft-times flammable machinations. They are constantly attempting to raise the dead, corrupt the youth of the world, and they create monstrous abominations which maim and kill all in their path.”
“So?”
“Well, granted I admire them for all of those reasons, but keep in mind that they are mostly staffed by pretentious Euro-trash in Armani suits and they test their products on animals.”
“Those villains!”
“So I figure, if they’re always planning, why not do some eavesdropping and see what they’re up to. That way we’ll be ready the next time they strike. And, as an added incentive we might be able to pull some pre-emptive ass kicking.”
“Hmm . . . alright, let’s do it!” Sam assented with gusto.
The two boys quietly stepped out of the car and crept quickly over to the towering chain-link fence separating them from the steep drop to the murky canal below. Hiding from the yellowed glow of the streetlights, they moved stealthily down the road until they stood before the imposing wrought-iron gates that closed off the bridge. Rich shuddered. The gates were large and formidable and emanated antiquity. Rusted and covered with thick, clinging ivy, they filled him with a substantial amount of dread.
“And how are we supposed to get in, fuck squat?” Sam inquired.
Rich soundlessly knelt in front of the locked gates and took a small leather case from his pocket. He slipped out three metal instruments: lock picks.
“This’ll just be a second.” Rich said. “Wait. You don’t happen to have a key, do you?”
“No.”
“Just checking.”
Richard expertly manipulated the skinny tools inside the heavy padlock on the gates. After a few minutes of twisting and poking, Rich was reward by a loud click, and the doors swung open a few inches.
“Well done,” Sam said. “How’d you learn how to do that?”
“I dated a hot cat burglar.”
“I think you mean you bought a lock-picking set out of a cheap army surplus catalog and it came with an instructional pamphlet.”
“Maybe so . . .. Well, let’s get down to the reconnaissance, amigo. And proceed with caution.”
They slipped through the gates and crept through the shadows across the bridge to old factory building, careful to avoid the security staff prowling purposefully about.

Richard was surprised to see that the normally flamboyant and exotic Umbrella Corporation was employing human guards. Especially dangerous-looking human guards. Moreover, the various workers bustling about the complex seemed uncharacteristically efficient. Something was going on in the Umbrella Corporation. Something big.
The factory was much larger than it had appeared from the road. It was part of an expansive complex that contained several adjacent buildings all nearly the size of the main structure. The immensity of the operation struck Richard as decidedly sinister. It did not bode well. He decided to tell Sam this, but found that his brother had sneaked off to steal obscure pieces of equipment. Figuring his brother could take care of himself, Richard headed for the main building. He crept around to the side, avoiding the shadow of the formidable front doors. He found an iron ladder attached to the building near the back. Richard climbed four stories to the roof without hesitation, and, using muscles built up from years of roofing, made his way to one of the larger skylights. Wiping some soot and grime from a pane of glass, he peered through at the scene below.

He was looking down at a large, darkened room. Taking prominence in the center of the room was a massive black meeting table. There were ten people on each side of it, and one person at each end. The figures along the sides were dressed impeccably in dark suits. Their features were indistinct, their faces shrouded in darkness, but Richard could tell that there was an even distribution of men and women. The ends of the table were slightly illuminated, and he could make out the two figures at each. At one end was a large, solidly built man in a coal black suit. His dark, rugged race was creased in a frown. His dark eyes were peering steadily across the table to the far end. His thick, dark hands lay motionless on the ebony surface in front of him. He was, in short, a dark character. The one part of his person that was not dark was his tie. It was a most remarkable tie, white with vibrant red and yellow geometric patterns. The remarkable thing was that the shapes were in constant movement, shifting across the fabric in hypnotic swirls. Richard then realized why this dark character was visible when everyone else in the room (save the figure at the other end of the table) was hidden in shadow. The tie gave off its own light.
Richard then turned his attention to the figure at the other end of the table and his jaw dropped. Surrounded by a circle of light that shone down from above stood a creature that had haunted his dreams for months. Towering above the two guards on either side of him, his mechanical limbs gleaming in the light, was Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500.
“Holy fuck!” exclamed a voice.
Richard looked up quickly.
Sam had returned from his larcenous endeavors and made his way to the roof. He was now looking through the same skylight as his brother.
“That’s the Captain, isn’t it, Rich?” asked Sam in numb disbelief.
“It is. And that dark character at the other end of the table is Mr. Hazzard, if I’m not mistaken. He was in my Sociology book. He’s a corporate lawyer, employed by the Umbrella Corporation it seems. I wonder what’s going on.”
The brothers stopped speaking and turned their attention back to the window the below.

“Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500,” spoke Mr. Hazzard in a rumbling basso which all black people have *cough Underworld cough* “You have been summoned before us, the Umbrella Corporation board of directors, because you have failed to execute your duties on three separate occasions. Your ineffective management skills have cost UC millions and set back our plans for several years. Moreover, you have not made any significant gains through your subsidiary company, Ninja Pirate Incorporated. As that enterprise is owned by the Umbrella Corporation, we expect profits on our investments. You have proven an ineffective leader, a failure, and a financial liability.”
“In short, you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
These words were not spoken by anyone physically in attendance at the meeting. A mammoth screen behind Hazzard suddenly lit up and a face appeared on it, dominating the entire room. The face was that of a man, Richard could tell that much by the goatee. But its features were fine and effeminate, giving it an androgynous appearance. The man was old, but healthy looking. A pair of pince nez glasses, which were perched upon his aquiline nose, hid his eyes. The lenses of these were an octagonal pattern made up of red and white stained glass triangles. They were the logo of the Umbrella Corporation. He was clad in a blood red suit, with a black shirt and white ascot. His hair was silver and short-cropped. Richard had no idea who he was.
“Captain, you cost more than you’re worth.”
“Yarr,” interjected the Captain, “Zince ven has the ‘Brella Corperation been about efficiency?”
“I’ll admit that the past corporate strategy has been lacking in direction and logic, but for various reasons we have undertaken to establish new policies and become a more effective entity.” He paused here for effect. “Your failure to eliminate the threat posed by those meddlesome students has not impressed me to any extent. I have run out of patience.”
“An’ another thing, vy does we have ter keel zose poor students? They were creary fighting in self defense.”
“You didn’t seem to mind being appointed this task before.”
“I were only forrowing orders.”
“Your kindness has no place here. You, Captain, are officially demoted. Henceforth you and your division will be under the supervision of a personally picked high enforcer.
"Gentlemen,” he said, turning his attention to the council, “allow me to introduce the newest member of the Umbrella Corporation team, vice president Silas Blake.”
A pair of automated sliding doors hissed open, filling the darkened hall with white light, and a figure stepped forth. It was a boy of no more than 19, Richard guessed. Of average height and build, he seemed remarkably unassuming. Blake made his way into the room and stood next to the Captain. The doors he entered through slid closed and another beam of light, like that surrounding the Captain, shone down done upon him, so Richard could make him out clearly. He had tussled brown hair and boyish good looks. He peered confidently, a little smugly even, at the assembled council, through mysterious turquoise eyes.
“Glad to be here, Doc,” he said as he gave the giant omnipresent head on the screen a jaunty salute.

On the roof, Sam laughed.
“He’s just a kid!”
Richard stared entranced.
“He’s gorgeous.”
“They think a kid is gonna be better than the Captain- a nine-foot-tall robot pirate Nazi- at killing us?”
“I think I’m in love.”

Back in the council room, the giant head was speaking.
“Silas will be taking over your duties, Captain, beginning with the extermination of those meddlesome kids, including the management of Ninja Pirate Inc, and following into our newest plan, the destruction of the town commons of South Hadley!”

On the roof, Sam and Richard stifled screams of abject horror.

“The town commons have long been a Mecca for teenagers of the surrounding area. With the restaurants, theatres, and the accursed Thirsty Mind, they have provided sanctuary and place of repose for those otherwise most susceptible to our influence. They must be destroyed. Once they are gone the teenagers of Western Massachusetts will become even more weak-willed and compliant. They will turn to the first helping hand they see. That hand will be ours. We will infect these noxious teenagers with several viruses hidden in our line of junk foods. They will transfer these diseases among themselves and eventually pass them on to their families. Just when the world is on the brink of a worldwide epidemic, a miraculous cure will be developed . . . by none other than the magnanimous Umbrella Corporation. We will become heroes to a panic-stricken world, and we will make obscene amounts of money.”
He paused here for emphasis.
“But that is not the end of this glorious scheme. The medicine we give out will have powerful addictive properties. Mind-altering properties. People will not be able to live without our specialized drugs. The world will be under our control!”
The assembled council dissolved into a chorus of irate objection and confusion.
“There’s nothing flammable!”
“---no undead!”
“Hot ass-kicking babes noticeably absent from---”
“---total disregard for company policy---”
“This is my will!” the giant head shouted. “This shall be done!”
A fearful hush fell over the room.
“You all have your orders. Do not fail me.”
The screen turned black.

On the roof the two brothers looked at each other. No words were said. They knew what they had to do. Silently they made there way back to the car and disappeared into the night.

As the Millennium Falcon sped over the bridge toward South Hadley and temporary safety, Richard spoke urgently to Sam.
“Sam, this is bad. This is very, very bad.”
“What you mean? The Captain is taking orders from a kid and their plot’s more boring than usual. If anything, we’re safer now than ever.”
“No. Something isn’t right. Their scheme isn’t the usual wacky and erratic evil plan they’re known for, but it’s also not inherently flawed or flammable. I think it has a chance of succeeding. And Silas strikes me as decidedly dangerous.”
“You think he’s hot.”
“True, but dangerous as well. We need to call everyone in on this. We need some help.”

The car increased in speed toward the center of South Hadley.

Back at the old factory, Silas sat in a swivel chair with his designer Italian shoes propped on a desk. In front of him was a massive Umbrella Corporation super computer which was, for the time being, inactive. He was reading a book on behavioral psychology with a contented expression on his handsome face. A guard entered through a side door and stood at attention behind him.
“Report.”
“Sir, we spotted two trespassers on the roof earlier this evening. Do you wish us to pursue them?”
“No, Sergeant. No need. You and your men take the night off. I already know about the intruders. I took the liberty of planting a tracking device on their vehicle before meeting the council.”
“Sir?”
“It was two of the teens I’m supposed to kill. Both rather solidly built. One with long black hair, the other with an afro. The one with the afro was intriguing. I don’t think I’ll kill him right off. I think I’ll have some fun with that one first. Bring me the file on the targets.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, and a Slice.”
Silas leaned farther back and returned to his reading.

The Millennium Falcon tore into the Commons parking lot. Richard and Sam didn’t even bother to park the car, but instead leaped out onto the pavement.
“Auto-park engage,” Richard spoke into a microphone on his glove.
The car sped up and crashed into a fence.
“Rich, I think your auto park is broken.”
“How? That’s the way I would have parked.”
Without another word they ran into the Thirsty Mind.

Bursting through the doors, Richard shouted breathlessly, “I need . . . use phone . . . call friends to fight evil megalomaniacal hottie and pirate robot . . .” He stopped short of his odd plea as he took in the sight before him.
Seemingly his entire class from school had gathered at the Thirsty Mind for a night of revelry.
Richard spotted his one true partner in mayhem across the crowded café. He rushed forward, straining against the mass of student bodies that packed the room.
Tara Maroney popped up out of nowhere in front of him, blocking his way.
“Hey, Rich. Your hair is big. What are you up to?”
“Good to see you, Tara, no time to talk,” Rich said, violently pushing her to the side, sending her toppling over several tables, coffee spraying into the air.
Finally he reached the person he sought, the one person who would understand.
“Tony . . .” he could say no more at the moment, for he was too excited and out of breath.
“Sweet Georgia Fuck, Ricardo, what is it?” Tony asked urgently, supporting his friend and leading him to a chair.
“The . . . Umbrella Corporation . . . something wrong . . . plans to destroy The Commons . . . must . . . stop . . . theh . . . heh . . . hem.”
“Okay, buddy, I think you’re really draggin’ this breathless thing out here. Just tell me plain an’ true.”
Richard straightened up and quickly composed himself.
“Sam and I uncovered a plot by the Umbrella Corporation, now stationed at the old abandoned Lashler Paper Factory, to destroy the South Hadley Commons and eventually take over the world through a man-made virus and a series of addictive cures.”
Tony was speechless for a moment. He clutched his brow in a feverish manner.
“What the hell are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know, Tones, I just don’t know.”
“I can tell you one thing you fellas need to do.”
Tony and Richard whirled around to see a figure shrouded in aromatic smoke sitting across the café.
“I’m just gonna throw this out there, you can take it, run with it, or you can throw it right back. I think we need to strike first. We can’t wait for them to hit the Commons. We gotta bring the fight to them.”
“Good point, Steve.” Rich said as he and Tony walked over to the smirking figure. “I didn’t even know you were here.”
“They let you smoke like that inside?” Tony asked, covering his mouth with his hand and coughing slightly.
“What they don’t know can’t--- ”
“Steve, put that cigarette out.”
“Son of a bitch! Amy, as a fellow smoker, you of all people should understand.”
“Oh, sorry Steve. I feel for ya, man, I really do,” Amy purred, gracefully reaching out and taking Steve’s trademark clove cigarette from between his fingers. She took a puff of it herself before dropping it into an abandoned coffee mug. “But rules are rules.” She paused to look at us. “What’s up with you guys? You look like hell.”
The three boys looked at each other, then at Amy. Rich spoke first.
“Amy, the Umbrella Corporation is back with a vengeance. Sam and I spied on them tonight and uncovered a plot.”
“A dastardly plot,” corrected Tony.
“We uncovered a dastardly plot to destroy the Commons of South Hadley.”
“Well we need to stop them, then, don’t we?” Amy said without hesitation.
“So far we’re in agreement about that much,” Rich explained impatiently, “but that leaves us with a tricky problem: How? The place is well defended and swarming with dangerous-looking guards.”
“So was my school, Rich, and you and Amy still blasted though there like two gay guys on E. Which I have done and dealt, by the way.”
It seemed Andrew LeTellier had been listening in on their conversation.
“You four are each one idiot if you think you’re goin’ after the ‘Brella without me.” Andrew said.
“Goddamnit, this is getting tedious. Everyone’s volunteering, but not bringing anything new to the plan . . .. Or lack there of,” said Rich.
“Dudes, I know how that can be. The group consciousness just gets sucked down into the gaping black maw of apathetic complacency. It’s like that at those killer Amherst hash parties.”
“Fuck.” Rich muttered tersely. He frowned as a lanky figure in a wool sweater and scarf approached.
Tony watched anxiously as Richard and the new arrival, their friend Pawel, greeted each other. Richard tensed up, but maintained the niceties.
“Okay,” spoke Rich authoritatively, “If we’re all going to be in on this, let’s tell everybody. And furthermoreover, let’s plan.”
Richard left the group and walked purposely over to the counter. With a leap he was on top of it.
“Attention customers of the Thirsty Mind café and used book shoppe!” He roared over the annoying Bob Seger tunes in the background. “I apologize for the look of pain on my face, but I was working out last night and I pulled a groin muscle. Which is a shame, ‘cause I’ve been trying to give that up.” He waited for the laughs to subside. “In all seriousness, folks, the look of pain on my face is genuine. I look this way because I am privy to some terrible news”
At this point a man in the audience stood up, shouted, “Oasis broke up?” and ran out the door screaming.
Richard paused, watching the crazed fan in stunned silence, then snapped out his reverie and returned to the subject at hand.
“These very Commons are threatened by a terrible, evil force. I need you all to join me and fight against that force, for the good of South Hadley, the United States, and even the world. Who among you will fight alongside me?”
Half of the audience stood up and crowded together by a table in the corner, the other half remained absorbed in their cell phones, laptops, and pseudo-intellectual banter.
“Well, that’s not too bad. We’ll run with it.” Richard said to himself with a smile, and walked over to the group.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a big fight ahead of us. Our odds aren’t anything to cheer about, but they’re even worse if we don’t have a plan. So let’s look at what we’ve got.”
He swiped his arm across the top of the table they had gathered around, spilling mugs, plates, and papers to the floor. He then began grabbing objects around him to make a rough map of the area they intended to attack.
“Okay! Our destination is the Lashler Paper Mill in the old factory district of Holyoke. The factory and outlying buildings are here, as represented by the plate and cups. The canal,” he said, pouring a stream of coffee along the table, “runs along here. This is the road,” he indicated a strip of newspaper, “and these are the train tracks,” he pointed to a series of forks. “They run behind the factory, and into it.”
He paused to let them take it all in.
“There is a bridge crossing the canal, but it will be heavily guarded.”
“Who here knows how to plan battle tactics?” asked Brendan Smith.
No one answered.
Rich spoke up. “I know someone who does.”

Dan McLaughlin rolled groggily over in bed, reached past the sleeping female form on his right and grabbed his cell phone off of an end table.
“McLaughlin,” he muttered into the receiver.
“Dan, this is Rich. Sorry to wake you but we need your help.”
“Rich, is there no way this can wait? I plan on being busy tomorrow morning. I need my rest,” Dan said, looking at the other female form sleeping to his left. This one, like the one on his right, was capable of making it into the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue, but, like the one on Dan’s right, spent her time studying to get her doctorate at an Ivy League school.
“The Umbrella Corporation is back and they plan to destroy the Commons and kill us all. We need you to plan an attack for us.”
“The Umbrella Corporation? What do I care? I have no beef with them, it’s not my fight.”
“What about the Commons?”
“So a bunch of hippies are out of a coffee shop and the town loses a restaurant here and a theatre there. So what?”
“Goddamnit, Dan, stop being so difficult! I know a man of honor such as yourself can’t leave innocent people to a horrible death. I know that in your heart you want to help.”
Dan looked longingly left and right at the shapely exposed shoulders and shimmering hair, then sighed.
“Alright, I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thanks Dan.”
"Don’t mention it,” said Dan bitterly. He got up, put on some clothes, and reached for a jacket. The door to his room opened and a third swimsuit model grad student walked in clad only in lacy panties and carrying a can of Rediwhip and a feather duster.
“Dan, baby, are you leaving?” she asked dejectedly.
“’Fraid so, gorgeous,” said Dan as he walked past her on his way to the door. He stopped to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “But I’m sure you, Kim, and Melissa will keep each other busy while I’m gone.”
“Baby, where are you going?”
“Where am I going? I’m going to save the world!” And with that he ran out of the room.

The assembled soldiers all glanced up from their assorted mutterings as Dan entered the Thirsty Mind. Richard stepped forward and clasped his friend’s hand heartily.
“Dan, I’m so glad you’re here. We’re lost without you.”
“Well, let’s get right down to it, shall we? Care to tell me the specifics of the case?”
Richard led him to the map he had made on the conference table. He pointed out the various structures surrounding the Umbrella Corporation’s base, and explained the circumstances to Dan.
“This is the canal,” Richard pointed to the coffee spill.
“Are there tunnels beneath it?” Dan asked immediately.
“I believe so. There are passages which lead into the basement levels of the main buildings.”
“And these forks here,” Dan went on, “railroad tracks?”
“Yes.”
Dan was silent for a time, he merely stared at the three dimensional representation of the place he and his friends were going to attack.
Richard watched him keenly.
“You’ve got a plan, don’t you?” he asked.
Dan looked up, smiling.
“I might.”
Five minutes later Dan had outlined a daring plan which, though requiring great skill and courage, seemed to the collected heroes to be well within the range of plausibility. There was one last matter to discuss: the time.
“Dan,” Richard asked, “when do you think we should initiate your master strategy?”
“Well, it’s too late tonight. We should get some rest, and regroup here tomorrow in the afternoon. Let’s say 4.”
“Is that alright with anyone?” Tony asked the assembled.
The answer was a unanimous affirmative.
And so, the heroes departed one by one into the night.

Silas Blake extinguished his tenth cigarette in a crystal ashtray and peered at the documents before him. For the past hour and a half he had pored over the files of the teenagers he had been ordered to eliminate, and the fatigue of his night’s work showed. He was wearing a loose-fitting Oxford silk shirt which he had unbuttoned nearly all the way, exposing his narrow, smooth chest. His brown hair was tussled and circles were forming under his eyes, giving him a haunted, James Dean-like appearance. He had been fascinated by the subjects of the documents, specifically the one whom he had seen eavesdropping. According to the file, the target’s name was Lt. Ricardo Sanchez Sugrue III, Esq.
Silas blinked curiously at the file photo: the subject flexing his biceps, clad in only Speedo that left little up to the imagination. He glanced over Richard’s bio page.
“A bisexual multi-fetishist,” Blake read. “Highly advanced intellect in literature, history, and theology. Interests: writing, film, and . . . weight-lifting.” Blake paused to glance at the bulging muscles in the photo. He sighed.
“Tell me you’re single.”
Turning the page, he grinned. “Status: single.”
“Jeezum Crowe, that’s fantastic. I need to do something special for this one,” Silas mused.
Silas was creative and clever; it didn’t take long for inspiration to strike. He flipped through the file until he hit upon Richard’s home and e-mail address. He quickly typed the information into the super computer in front of him. Next, he produced adhesive electrode patches from a drawer and put one onto each temple. He took the wires trailing from them and plugged them into the computer.
“Oh, Ricardo, wait till you get a load of this . . .”
Blake happily went about his work.

The sun peered indifferently down at the frozen earth through a thick, grey layer of clouds, sodden, dirty cotton balls blocking the heavens from horizon to horizon. In the parking lot behind the Commons the heroes gradually began to assemble.
Showing a startling break from tradition, Richard was first on the scene, with Sam, dressed smartly in combat fatigues and an army helmet inexplicably bedecked in fake branches and camouflage netting, and Caitlin, who was wearing University of Michigan football uniform and padding, along with her pearly white pooka shell necklace. They were soon joined by Tony, in his rough and tumble red Jeep, with Jake Motroni, and Steve, in the Konefal family van.
The six friends stood outside their vehicles, waiting, with grim looks on their faces, for the rest of the troops. Tony was wearing his reliable Mandalorian battle armor. Dented and scratched from years of combat and adventure, it still looked formidable enough to deflect laser blasts. For the moment, Tony had his helmet off and his long, black hair was fluttering in the wind.
Steve had opted to wear a simple white T-shirt, jeans, and his old black leather jacket. Richard wore golden battle armor to match his eyes and flowing curls. They made an odd and impressive sight standing in a line in the middle of the parking lot.
Next to arrive were Andrew and Justin, in the Letelliers’ golden Saturn coup, with Dan McLaughlin, who was wearing his Air Force BTU’s. Then there was Brendan Smith with Meg Lynch in tow in Brendan’s red station wagon. Arriving sixth and seventh were Evelyn Powell and the Lapointes, and then Mike Pytka and Jason Frank, in Jason’s car. Sarah Sawka was with them. Pat Dandrea, Sarah Cantler, Steph Lepine, and Adam Goddu, and Mike Martin showed up in Pat’s golden van. Will Murray tore into the parking lot in his purple bomber, with Pawel, Jenn Murray, and Tara Maroney also in the car. Then came EJ, in his Saturn speedster, with Dave as trusty co-pilot, and Becky, grim and determined in the back. Finally, last to arrive was a weary-looking Amy McMenamin. Clad in her shape-fitting purple combat suit, she trudged slowly toward the group from the road.
Richard and Steve ran forward, immediately concerned.
“Amy, what happened?” asked Rich.
“Nothing happened. I walked here from home.”
“You know, you could have called me for a ride?”
“Or, better yet,” said Steve, “called me for a ride.”
“Ah, thanks guys. But I’m fine. Is everything ready for departure?”
“Well, as soon as Tony completes role-call and we decide how the carpool situation will work.”
“This sounds more like a 4th grade field trip than an invasion,” Steve commented.
Richard turned to him angrily, “If you’re going to be negative maybe you’d like to try organizing a movement of this magnitude.”
But Steve had already wandered off, in flirtatious conversation with Amy.
Richard shrugged and signaled Tony.
“All ready, chief?” he asked of the Italian ninja in the Boba Fett armor.
“Now that Amy’s here, yes. Although, there is one last item on the pre-invasion check list.”
Richard knew what he was getting at.
“Everyone gather ‘round.” Richard called to the 27 heroes brave enough to join him this day. “It’s time for prayer.”
The friends gathered in a tight circle.
Richard began.
“In the name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Lord Almighty in Heaven, be with us this day. We gather here now in friendship and with courage about to fight for a just cause. Guard us, and help us, o Lord, to achieve our noble goal. Also,” here he winked at Tony, “please forgive us for any grievous violence, theft, property destruction, and incest we commit today.”
“Incest?” asked Dan.
“Just covering all our bases. And, Dear God, give us the strength and the wisdom to follow your will. Bless us all. Amen.”
On cue, 24 of the assemble threw their fists into the air and shouted, “Yay God!”
On the outskirts of the circle, Amy, Dave, and Jake looked at each other quizzically.
“Must be a Holyoke Catholic thing,” ventured Amy.
Richard took a deep breath of the cold, moist, late-autumn air.
“Now let’s head out!”
And the noble convoy began to form.

In the lead was Richard, the only driver who knew the way. In his car were Sam, the diligent co-pilot, riding shotgun, and Caitlin, pretty and somber, in the back seat. Next in the convoy was Steve’s van, carrying Steve and Amy, and, much to Steve’s chagrin, Evelyn Powell and the Lapointes, both Marissa and Ashley. Third came Pat Dandrea, with the assorted underclassmen, Adam, Steph, Jenn, and Sarahs Cantler and Sawka, as well as Jason Frank, and Mikes Martin and Pytka. Will’s admirable old cruiser took fourth place, and contained Pawel, Tara, Brendan, and Meg, and, piloting the solid vessel with a keen eye and a smile, Will Murray himself. Fifth was Andrew’s Saturn, veteran of the Maine expedition, with Andrew, Justin, EJ, Dave, and Dan inside. Bringing up the rear was Tony’s rumbling Jeep. Its only passengers were the crazy ninja himself, who was adeptly steering, shifting, and eating a bowel of alfredo all at once, and Jake, the only person crazy enough to ride with Tony.
So the heroes ventured out on that fateful day, a stream of assorted cars, heading south on route 116, toward Holyoke and destiny.

Meanwhile, back at the Umbrella Corporation’s local headquarters, Silas keenly watched a computer screen showing the convoy’s progress.
“Just as expected. The fools are coming right to me.”
A guard marched smartly into the room and saluted. Blake paid no attention as he continued to watch the screen while dressing in his customized battle armor.
“Sir. The enemy are on their way. Do you wish us to prepare the complex for battle?”
Silas looked up, snapping a barbed titanium gauntlet onto his wrist.
“No, sergeant. There is too much fragile equipment here. I don’t want those ruffians upsetting any of our special projects. Instead, get three units together and meet me outside. Bring a few deathbots and rouse that mechanical oaf Cap’n Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500. I want him to be there for the enemy’s inevitable defeat. I want him to see what he’d been doing wrong all those times. Make sure your men are ready and well armed. Let’s kick this pig.” He finished, cocking a shotgun.

Part 2

Silas' Trap
"Where the Hell Are We?"
The Epic Battle


The Millennium Falcon, in all its shining maroon glory, sped along the same canal road it had the night before. Richard stayed sharp at the wheel as always, perhaps even especially sharp today, only hitting four pedestrians. He spoke into a CB radio on the dashboard.
“Breaker, breaker. This is Han Frolo. We are approaching destination point. Over.”
Bringing up the rear in his crimson Jeep, Tony responded.
“Roger, Han Frolo. This is Red Rambler. You lead the way; I’ll follow in zombie ass-kicking pursuit. Over.”
“Woo wee, you sunbitchpileamonkeyspunk. That is good to hear!”
“I reckon it should be ya ol’ goatfuckinloadaturtleshit!”
The witty banter might have continued had Steve not come on the line.
“Hey, uh, guys, would you mind not doing that anymore? It’s scarin’ the laydays. ‘Kay? However, if you wanted to join me in a chorus of Afternoon Delight, that’s another matter.”
“You serious?” Richard asked.
“That’s a 10-4 good buddy,” Steve responded.
And in unison Tony, Richard, and Steve began to sing.
“Gonna grab my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight. My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right, so why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?”
The convoy surged along relentlessly, led by the song of determination and fury.
“Wheeeeeeehhhhnn the lovin’s always sweeter than the light of day. Aaaaannnd the night is gonna be there anyway!”
Tony and Steve began to harmonize.
“Rubbin’ sticks an’ stones together watchin’ sparks ignite----”
They would have gone on in such a manner had Rich not interrupted.
“Belay the shanty, lads. There be trouble off the port and starboard bows!”
Tony and Steve glanced urgently left and right. Speeding toward the convoy were a dozen Umbrella Corporation black SUV’s, six on each side. They had sneaked up unnoticed and were now heading with terrible intent, straight at the line of cars.
Richard was quick to take action, activating shields and ion cannons. He fired at the first SUV, sending it spinning away, powerless. The second vehicle fired its own cannons, taking out all of Richard’s offense weaponry. It then fired an energy grappling hook, and reeled the Falcon slowly in. Another SUV tried to tackle Tony’s Jeep, but the feisty Italian swerved into it, slicing the vehicle open with his plow blade and the SUV wheeled away. Steve rammed another, pushing it off a conveniently placed ramp-like pile of roadwork supplies and into the canal. Richard tried to drive to combat another oncoming SUV, but he was too late. The sleek black vehicles tore into the line of cars, scattering them to all directions. When all seemed lost to chaos, the Umbrella trucks began to push the separated cars to some preordained destination. They fired more electrical conduit bonds at the vehicles, trapping them, making them easy to control. The SUV’s were in amongst the heroes’ rides like wolves in a herd of sheep. They meticulously drove them away from the UC headquarters and back into the redbrick blocks of factories and warehouses that populated this district.
Richard tried desperately to swerve away, to speed ahead, to escape, but the enemy vehicles were too fast. They pushed and smashed relentlessly, forcing the Falcon and all the other cars down side streets and around corners with ruthless efficiency.
Richard caught sight of an alleyway to his right and decided to take a chance.
“Everyone, alley on the right, follow me!”
One by one the cars broke the Umbrella Corporation’s electrical restraints and swerved down the alley after Richard and the Falcon.
In the lead UC SUV, Silas smiled.
“Just as I thought, they’ve fallen right into our trap."
As the Falcon tore down the alleyway, Richard allowed himself a smile as well. The convoy was free; they had made their escape. Just a few minutes to regroup and they’d be on their way back to the UC headquarters.The smile faded from his face, to be replaced by a look of despair and frustration as he saw what lay in wait for them outside the alley.
Twelve more SUV’s spanned the road, six on a side, creating an unbreakable gauntlet the heroes had to drive through. Cannons on the SUV’s were at full power and aimed right at them.
“Oh fuck!” Richard yelled as his car sped out of the alley and between the rows of enemy cannons.
The guns fired mercilessly upon the convoy, sending the heroes’ rides rocking back and forth erratically and badly jarring the passengers within. Just as the Falcon’s shields were beginning to weaken, Richard blasted the car past the end of the gauntlet and into the alleyway on the other side of the road.
He sighed and looked at Sam, sitting in the seat next to him.
“Well we’re outta that frying pan----”
Richard stopped when he turned his attention back to the scene in front of him and saw where they had ended up.
The convoy had been driven into a vast courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the brick walls of the adjacent warehouses and factories. The courtyard itself, probably twenty acres, was crammed with towering heaps of scrap metal, rusted and bent, twisted and shredded. Amongst the piles were mammoth pieces of heavy machinery; giant mechanical dinosaurs, their chipped and rusted yellow hides standing stark against the leaden sky. There were excavators, magnets, and cranes, bulldozers and backhoes. To Richard’s left were massive abandoned concrete blocks, arranged in a mad pattern like a post-modern Stonehenge. Elsewhere, between the mountains of scrap metal, heavy machinery, and concrete blocks were rusting oil drums, discarded tools, and automotive parts. To Richard’s right was a huge conveyor belt on which cubes of compacted metal were sent into a factory behind them to be processed.
In the center of the yard was the most imposing structure of all. A terrifying industrial monster framed against the heaps of scrap metal. The compactor. Its infinitely powerful jaws were still for the moment, open and held toward the sky as if awaiting rain to quench its thirst. Around the perimeter of the metal compactor was a steel platform, with a railing of pipe. The compactor was surrounded by a small herd of forklifts.
Richard got out of the Falcon and looked around. The place seemed deserted. The eerie stillness of the hulking metallic beasts around him sent a shiver down his spine.
Behind him Tony was stepping out of his scratched and dented Jeep. He stared in silent anger at the damage that had been dealt to his beloved ride before turning to Rich.
“Where the hell are we?”
“I know,” Richard said absently, looking around. “For some reason the Umbrella Corporation has herded us into the Sullivan Steel scrap yard.”
Brendan spoke up, gingerly touching a cut on his forehead.
“So you expect me to believe that this corporation closed off a whole street with mysterious black SUV’s and pushed ten cars into a steel mill- that they had arranged to be abandoned- without anybody noticing?”
“Umbrella has closed off whole cities with walls 50 feet tall. This is a walk in the park for them.” Tony explained.
“Well,” said Caitlin, voicing the concern they had all felt, “now that they have us here, what do they intend to do?”
As soon as she had said this, heavy steel gates closed behind the heroes, trapping them in the industrial wasteland. Then, before anyone could react, two doors opened, one on either side of the compound. A battalion of Umbrella guards filed out of each doorway. They were all dressed in black concussion-resistant armor and carrying laser rifles. Gleaming, red-eyed battle masks hid their faces. Each battalion was followed by two hulking deathbots, which opened and closed their pincer arms menacingly. Out of the door to Richard’s right tramped Captain Adolph Lenin Huzuki-bot 3500. Richard noticed a sadness in the Captain’s human eye, and his bulky shoulders were slumped.
“Well, this isn’t looking good,” remarked Andrew, gazing around in fear. “Anyone got any ideas?”
“How’s this for an idea: You all die!” Silas Blake shouted, flying out of the door to Richard’s left, a jet pack on his back. He fired a blast from his laser rifle. It struck Steph Lepine in the shoulder, sending her to the ground with a cry of anguish.
Adam Goddu whipped out twin .45 caliber pistols and fired at Silas. Many of his shots would have done damage, but the maniac had surrounded himself with a force field generated from a red glowing belt buckle. Steve meanwhile had stepped over to Steph’s side and was gently administering to her injuries.
“Get away from her!” Adam cried, tearing his attention away from Silas, who had contented himself with floating in the air and watching the drama unfold below, a smug smile on his beautiful face.
“Whoa, amigo,” Steve said, trying to mollify the enraged Goddu. “I’m trying to help. Nurse in training, you know.”
Tony stepped forward. He put a hand on Adam’s solid shoulder.
“She’ll be alright with Steve. We can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves. We’ve got a battle to win! Help Richard unload the guns from the Falcon, I’ll handle Silas! Don’t worry, he’ll pay for hurting Steph.”
Tony tightened his grip on Adam’s shoulder for emphasis before buckling on his own jet pack, unsheathing his katana, and taking to the sky after Blake.
Silas drew his own blade, a beautifully replicated 10th Century Saxon broad sword. He took a fighting stance in the air, awaiting Tony. The Italian ninja caught Blake off guard, though, so fast was his attack, and sent the villain reeling with a flying shoulder butt. Silas crashed into the arm of a crane, shattering his force field belt. He shook his head to clear his senses, and flew back to meet Tony.

Richard, watching from below, had never seen his friend battle so ferociously. Enraged at the cowardly the attack on one he cared so much for, Tony fought with a boundless fury that could not be stopped. Still, Blake managed to counter every one of Tony’s attacks. It seemed to Rich as though Silas knew the attack before it came. Richard tore his attention from the battle above and focused on the crisis at hand.

The enemy soldiers had not yet begun to fire. Indeed, they seemed to waiting for a signal. Silas had his hands full fighting Tony, and the Captain made no attempt to step in as leader. Nonetheless, Richard had to see that his friends were properly armed and ready. He darted forward and opened the rear cargo hold of the Falcon. Clearing aside and old tire and some cans and bottles, he reached the cache laser rifles that came standard with the Oldsmobile Regency 98.
“Attention! There’re these,” Richard said, indicating the rifles in the trunk, “and a plethora of other weapons hidden inside the Falcon. Take your pick, but make it snappy. There’s no telling when those Umbrella goons’ll start their attack. Oh, and make sure it’s one weapon per person, we’ve got quite a crowd today.”

Tony and Silas were fighting an amazing battle in the air above. The clang of steel upon steel echoed around the vast courtyard. Tony was an expert swordsman, but Silas matched him parry for parry, thrust for thrust. Silas blocked one of Tony’s attacks, knocked his sword aside, and punched him in the mouth. Tony tasted blood. He swung high and Silas positioned his blade to deflect his enemy’s. Tony took advantage of the opening and delivered a solid kick to Blake’s exposed stomach, sending the villain flying backward.
Silas triggered his thrusters and blasted forward, blade held steadily in front of him. Tony obliged him and charged forward as well. They swung mightily, the clash sending angry hornets buzzing down the lengths of their swords to their gloved hands. They tore past each other, spun ‘round, and charged again in a futuristic interpretation of medieval jousting. They continued for many passes, but Silas eventually gained the upper hand. He flew forward for another clash, but dodged downward at the last minute, leaving Tony to strike out at vacant air. Below his enemy, Silas swung swiftly with his sword. The blade, sharpened by lasers to the millionth of an inch, sliced though Tony’s Mandalorian battle armor like a razor blade through paper. A deep gash opened on the ninja’s leg and began to bleed profusely.
Tony clenched his teeth against the pain and turned to face Blake.
“That one looked like it hurt, Tony,” Blake jeered. “Had about enough.”
“I live for this,” Tony said, reaching down and exploring the laceration with his fingers. He brought his bloodstained hand up and licked his fingertips.
“Mmmm . . . mother’s milk.”
He charged.
Silas, taken aback at this deranged display of savagery, was once again caught off guard. Tony brought his katana whistling downward in a broad chop and left a deep scratch in Silas’ breastplate. Silas staggered backward through the air, barely blocking Tony’s renewed attacks. He finally ran out of room to back-peddle in, bumping against the arm of another crane. He deflected one, two, three of Tony’s swipes and thrust his sword at Tony’s abdomen. The Italian dodged to the left, but too slowly. The villain’s blade grazed his side. Seemingly defeated, Tony took one last awkward swing. Silas easily dodged it and was about to laugh at the pathetic attempt when he realized Tony hadn’t been aiming for him. The arm of the crane behind him slowly slid in half; Tony’s slice had cut it clearly and silently. Just before the weight of the girders and cables crushed him, Silas took a desperate swing. His sword didn’t quite hit Tony- it was off by millimeters- but it did succeed in severing the strap which was holding Tony’s jet pack on. Silas was pushed to the earth and, with a cry of dismay, Tony followed him, leaving his jet pack floating in the air.
Tony hit the earth with a squelch; recent rain had made the ground soft. He was hurt, but it could have been worse. He limped over to a cluster of oil drums and slid to a sitting position with his back to one, favoring his left leg.
Silas managed to slow his descent using his thrusters. Just before impact he slid from under the oppressive weight of the rusted steel and landed a few feet away. The arm of the crane crashed heavily into the muddy ground, screeching and clanging in agony. Silas got up. He tenderly rubbed an aching shoulder. A few scrapes and bruises, he thought, but otherwise none the worse for wear. His jet pack was another story. It had sustained grievous damage in the fall and was far from being in working order. He unstrapped it and let it fall to the ground. Once he had gotten his bearings straight he realized what was out of place with the scene: There was no battle. The UC troops had yet to attack.
He sprinted over to the formation and berated them.
“Idiots! Why have you not begun the slaughter? What were you waiting for, invitations on flowered stationary?”
A lieutenant stepped forward and saluted.
“Sir. We were awaiting orders, sir.”
“Huzuki-twit didn’t give you any?”
“No, sir.”
Silas picked up a pipe and walked over to the Captain, who was standing very still, a sad, far-off look in his eyes. Wordlessly, Silas swung the pipe upward, striking the Captain on his heavy, bearded jaw. The robo-pirate-ninja stumbled backward and glared at Silas. He advanced upon the fiend, a menacing gleam in his red, robotic eye.
Silas stood his ground.
“What are you going to do? Hit me?” he taunted. “I’m your new boss, remember? Touch me and I liquidate NP Inc and have you sent here for scrap metal, you oaf! Never sit idly by in a battle situation again!”
Silas turned to the assembled troops.
“You want orders? Here they are: Attack! Destroy! Leave no one alive!”
The soldiers opened fire on the car blockade and began to advance.

While the small army were selecting their choice tools from Richard’s arsenal, Richard himself ducked into the Falcon and activated her shields. He manipulated the switches and knobs until he had spread the energy barrier over every car in the formation, and turned it up to its full power.
He emerged from the vehicle and drew a pistol from a belt holster.
“All right everyone, we need to split up.”
“Zoinks!” Andrew gulped. “Like, I hate it when he says that.”
Richard went on. “Dan, care to handle the particulars?”
The Cadet was in his element, and directed the troops with vigor.
“All underclassmen! You’re too young for battle. Stay here and guard Steph and the vehicles.” He ignored the groans of protest.
“Next, current high school seniors. Pat, Jason, Mike, Mike, Sarah, Dave. You are to sneak around the mountains of scrap metal- only after the enemy is distracted- and make your way to the rear of the army, attacking them from behind.”
The seniors nodded dutifully and readied their weapons.
“Lastly, this year’s college freshmen.”
“And sophomores,” added Amy.
“And sophomores,” said Dan.
“I’m always left out,” Justin LeTellier lamented.
“And juniors,” Dan added thoughtfully.
“All right!” yelled Justin grinning.
“College freshmen, sophomores, and juniors. We will attack the enemy head-on. This may seem fool-hearty, but we have some decided advantages. First, in front of the Umbrella brigades is a good deal of open ground. They must cross this and they have no cover. We, on the other hand, have a good deal of cover. Second, we have reinforcements here and coming around the back. Third, we’ve got heart, damnit! Now let’s get out there and fight.”
A raucous cheer went up from the heroes behind the wall of cars.
“And remember,” Richard said as he moved toward he fray with the other college-age students, “do not kill anyone. These are human beings we’re fighting, so set your laser rifles to stun. Now, be careful out there. Those villains are playing for keeps.”
As if on cue, a barrage of laser bolts collided into the shield wall, and several of the assembled adventurers jumped.
Dan leapt forward, brandishing his rifle.
“My group, follow me! When we’re gone, seniors head to the right and wrap around, attack from behind. Underclassmen, stay here and cover us. Guard Steph. Guard the cars. If anything goes wrong, get the hell out of here. Now, my group, chaaaarge!”
Dan scrambled over the hood of the Falcon and dove, under heavy laser fire, behind a large concrete block. His troops followed him, doing the same. The heroic college brigade were all positioned behind the massive cement pillars. Chips of stone flew off from the adventurers’ cover as the Umbrella troops increased their fire. The sharp bits of concrete caused minor damage as the grazed past the huddled students. One such shard sliced across Dan’s cheek. His hand went immediately up to the new wound and came back bloody. This served only to rile the young cadet, and, with a bellow of rage, he burst out from his secure spot and opened fire on the closely clustered Umbrella Corporation soldiers. Two well-aimed laser blasts knocked a goon unconscious. Another numbed the arm of the soldier close to him. Dan made it to another concrete shield and rested.
Inspired by his courage, Dan’s troops poured out in a wave, firing devastatingly into the lines of soldiers. Seven more went down. However, so numerous were the UC troops that hardly had those seven soldiers hit the ground than another seven stepped into formation in their place. Still, the villains’ progress was halted and the heroes had made it to the next line of concrete blocks.
Dan knew that only superior tactics would see his friends through. He called back to the clustered heroes over the roar of battle.
“On my signal, move to the third line of cover and form three rows. Right now, find one soldier and aim for him as you move out.” He paused, selected his target, and then said, “Now!”
The heroes once again leapt from their cover, firing into the enemy ranks. This time, however, their attack was more focused, and a score of Umbrella soldiers were taken out. Quickly and efficiently, they formed three rows.
Before the enemy had a chance to recover, Dan was already commanding his unit.
“First row, up and fire.”
The first line of students rose and let loose a volley at the UC army.
“First row down. Second row, up and fire!”
Another powerful blast hit the enemy.
“Second row down. Third row, up and fire!”
Dan continued like this, thinning the enemy ranks considerably. He knew it wasn’t a permanent solution; there were none in battle. He just hoped Silas didn’t think of any deciding strategy before he did.

Andrew, feeling cramped behind the concrete blocks, took off to the side and, dodging behind scrap metal and automotive parts, opened fire sporadically into the enemy.

Silas saw that his army was in disarray and acted quickly. He ordered his troops to cluster behind the imposing deathbots. The powerful robotic menaces generated their own force field, which would protect the huddled soldiers. Moreover, the deathbots were difficult, near impossible, to halt. They acted as cover and moved forward relentlessly, their heavy, spiked treads crushing the scrap metal beneath. Dan was lost for a way out as the deathbots slowly rolled closer. His troops were pinned down and had little hope for reprieve from the cannons of the approaching tank-like robots.
Suddenly, the high school seniors of delta squadron came rushing from behind the Umbrella army and opened fire on the soldiers who, though protected in the front, were dangerously exposed in the rear.
Dave, who had opted to find his own weapon in the mess of the Falcon’s interior, had created some volatile Molotov cocktails from empty beer bottles, rags, and flammable roofing chemicals he found in Rich’s ride. These he threw to devastating effect. Though they were in flame-retardant suits, the flashes of light from the bursts of flame blinded the UC troops. And, where the flame was the most consuming, the oxygen was drained from the air around them, which resulted in several of the soldiers passing out.
Silas saw that once again, Dan had bested him. He knew that his advantage of numbers would soon be eliminated if his troops were forced to fight at such long range. He sent orders through the headsets of the soldiers.
“Attention!” he yelled. “Break off from long distance shoot outs. Make this a close range fight. Hand to hand, if it comes to it. Use the weight of your numbers to break them. Attack!”
So, with the deathbots remaining in position, the UC soldiers gripped their rifles like clubs and charged at concrete pylons behind which the heroes lay. Some of the army did an about face and engaged delta squadron in close quarters combat.
The deathbots, unwilling for the moment to fire upon their own soldiers, took any shots they could, but those were usually limited and ineffective. However, every so often a deathbot would surge forward and attack one of the heroes with its heavy pincer arms.
And so, the battle dissolved into primitive chaos, with both sides attacking furiously.

Meanwhile, Andrew LeTellier was racing around the outskirts of the battle, firing into the fray whenever he saw a decent shot. His natural clumsiness had seemingly vanished, and he had not slipped up yet. (Save for the one time he hit his own team member with a misjudged blast of his laser rifle.)
Mike Pytka had been gallantly fencing with a laser rapier, leaping from concrete block to oil drum and deflecting attacks left and right in the swashbuckling tradition of Errol Flynn when suddenly a blast from a laser rifle struck him in the back of the head. With a faint cry, the blonde hero crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Back on the fringes of the battle, Andrew pulled nervously at his collar upon seeing what he had done. However, nothing could keep the lanky crusader down for long, and he continued his laser-blasting laps around the perimeter of the massed armies. Andrew gracefully leapt over obstructions, dodged under vehicles, rolled across the ground, both marksman and acrobat. He caught sight of Evelyn Powell across the fray. She was struggling to fend off two Umbrella soldiers, swinging her laser rifle bravely, but slowly being overpowered. Andrew put on an extra burst of speed to reach her in time, but suddenly, his foot caught on something and he went tumbling to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs. Andrew shook the stars from his vision and looked up. Silas Blake was standing above him, foot still extended after having tripped the hero. Silas glanced from Andrew to Evelyn.
“Sorry. Did I trip you on your way to save your pretty friend?”
“You heartless jerk, she’s outnumbered!”
"Oh, I can see that. You’d better get to her quick. You might be able to save her”
Andrew got up.
“Unless, of course, I get to her first.”
Andrew’s eyes widened in shock, but then he smiled.
“Are you saying you want to race?”
“Exactly.”
Andrew stared down at the shorter Blake.
“Well, then I’ll be happy to accept your challenge.”
Silas and Andrew locked eyes for less than a second and then both took off like lightning.
Andrew, the lanky track star, was surprised to see Silas matching him stride for stride.
The bastard’s fast, Andrew thought to himself as they tore over the uneven terrain.
The battle they were racing around ranged over a massive area of land. Feet pounded doggedly into the turf as they sought to circumnavigate the sprawling fray. Hearts pounding, sweat beading on their foreheads, the two competitors raced. Both boys leapt over the scrap metal and auto parts, dodged around forklifts and concrete blocks.
In a startling display of athleticism, Andrew ran up the side of one such concrete block, his body horizontal for several seconds, and leapt in front of Silas, forcing the villain into second place. The race continued, Andrew having gained several feet. The opponents never once let their pace lag, but instead kept it continually increasing. They ran flat out across the rugged, metal-strewn ground.
Andrew was in the lead, but the race was taking its toll. His lungs began to burn; his legs ache. His combat armor was soaked with sweat. Silas was taxed to the limit as well. He had never raced anyone so fast before.
Suddenly, Silas put on an astonishing burst of speed and blasted past Andrew. The tall hero could only watch helplessly as Silas reached Evelyn first. Without slowing down he extended his arm away from his body and ran straight at the valiant girl, who had dispatched one Umbrella Corp soldier and was focusing on the other. Evelyn turned just in time to see Silas collide into her. She was struck by the extended arm, a devastating clothesline attack, and, legs flipping violently into the air, she crashed to the ground. Andrew, seeing this, used up his last reserve of speed and flung himself into the air, both feet first. His two-legged drop kick hit Silas in the chest with all the force of a speeding car, and the fiend was hurled backward onto the muddy ground. Andrew, unable to get his legs back underneath him, also hit the ground. He was up first, however, and quickly dashed over to Evelyn, who was still lying on her back amid the chaos of the battle. He helped her to her feet, and, supporting her gently, guided her over to a concrete block on the edge of the fray. He helped her into a sitting position, gave her a laser rifle, and left her in the relative safety of the cement pillar. He then turned his attention to Silas. Anger flickered in Andrew’s eyes as he strode toward the fiend, still lying motionless on the ground. His fists clenched and unclenched. Fully intent on avenging his friend, Andrew was too absorbed in his fury to notice Silas stir. As soon as Andrew was close enough, Blake spun himself on the ground like a break-dancer, scissoring out his legs and hitting the back of Andrew’s knees. Andrew collapsed to the ground beside Silas, who quickly scrambled over and began to pummel the downed hero mercilessly. Andrew’s hand feverishly searched the ground for something to use as a weapon. His fingers closed upon a discarded slab of wood. Gripping it tightly, he brought the beam swinging through the air. It struck Silas in the side of the head, and the villain was once again down. Andrew wiped at a stream of blood pouring out of his aching nose and picked himself up. He staggered to Silas, bent over, grabbed the fiend by the collar, and heaved him to his feet. Furiously he slammed Silas into a forklift. He brought his face close to the villain's and spoke in a dangerous whisper.
“You’ll regret hurting my friends. I’ll send you to hell, you son of a bitch.”
Silas looked at him through dim, half-closed eyes and smiled. “See you there, Stretch.”
His eyes suddenly opened wide and alert as he stabbed at Andrew’s vulnerable stomach with a knife he had been concealing. Andrew’s face contorted in pain and a stream of red liquid dripped out from his combat armor. Silas maliciously twisted the blade, and was rewarded by a crunching tearing sound, undoubtedly Andrew’s innards and ribs being ripped and broken. Andrew released his grip on the villain’s collar and tumbled to the ground. Silas, leaving the knife protruding from Andrew’s stomach, dashed away to cause more mayhem.

The tide of battle had turned in favor of the Umbrella Corporation troops, and Dan was at a loss for what to do. His fatigues were torn and soiled. Blood dripped from countless wounds on his young frame. He wiped a heavy hand across his worried brow and gazed at the melee before him.
Everywhere he looked, his troops were fighting admirably.
Justin LeTellier had grouped together with bandmates Will Murray and Brendan Smith. The three of them were pinned behind a small pile of scrap metal by an approaching deathbot. Both of the machine’s laser canons were firing relentlessly at the young friends. Justin managed a glance at their mechanic enemy. He saw how hopeless the situation was. He turned to his comrades.
“Damnit all!” he shouted. “Our friends are falling out there! We need to help them!”
He kicked a nearby oil drum in frustration. Instead of tipping over as he had expected it to do, the barrel remained still and his ankle was given a jolt.
“Oww! This frickin’ oil drum is still full!”
This caught Will’s attention. While Brendan was busy firing he turned to Justin.
“It’s full? That gives me an idea.”

Brendan and Justin grappled and struggled to tip the drum over and roll in into position. Closing in steadily was the menacing deathbot. With a surge of combined power, Brendan and Justin sent the barrel rolling toward the deathbot. Still focused on exterminating the three small threats behind the rocks, the machine paid little attention to the oil drum, even as it rolled to a stop between the robot’s left and right treads. Justin and Brendan then ran from the cover of the concrete block, firing erratically at the deathbot. The machine’s attention was diverted, and its cannons followed the two heroes as they dodged for more cover. Will, taking advantage of the distraction, stood up and aimed right for the oil barrel underneath the clanking monstrosity targeting his two friends. The laser from his weapon ignited the flammable contents in the barrel, and, in a gust of fire, the deathbot was blown to pieces.
The explosion was bigger than Will had counted on, and he was thrown backward as the blast of burning air rushed from the center of the conflagration. The huge ball of flame flew into the air an intense orange, before curling downward in a choking cloud of black. Justin and Brendan made their way to their dizzy friend and helped him to stand. Will’s face was coated with ash, and his hair was singed. He rubbed soot from his glasses and peered at the destruction around him.
“Wow,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Justin, “you sure played that drum well!” He grinned and gave a thumbs-up to his friends. “Get it, oil drum? Will plays the drums?”
Brendan pushed his friend’s raised thumb back down. “Easy there, killer. Just settle down and play your git fiddle.”
No sooner had he spoken than a dozen Umbrella goons charged through the smoke and rubble, laser rifles firing. The friends grew instantly serious, grabbed their weapons, and ran to meet the oncoming foe.

Dan looked away from that small victory to see how his other friends were doing.
EJ was blundering around the battle, seemingly oblivious to all around him. He was swinging a tire iron taken from the Falcon and reciting Haikus. Pawel and Marissa, fighting through the fray, wound up next to him.
“Hey, EJ,” Marissa called, wielding a gun which shot quick-hardening, super-strong foam, “do you wanna come and join us. Three is good number. It’ll be just like our old AP study groups.”
“I cannot, dear friends,” answered EJ, beaning a passing soldier with his tire iron, “I am in search of my comrade, Lord Dominic.”
“You mean Dave?” Pawel asked between slashes of his scimitar.
“Exactly.”
“Come with us, we’ll help you solve that enigmatic dilemma.” Pawel ventured, struggling with a particularly large enemy soldier.
EJ cracked the soldier over the head, knocking him unconscious, and Pawel breathed freely for a moment.
“Thanks, dude. Now, off to find Dave!”
And the three compatriots tore off into the center of the battle, swinging, shooting, and clubbing.

Dan looked to his right to see Sarah Sawka and Jason Frank. They were taking turns, Jason firing shots from his laser rifle, and Sarah hurling small concussion grenades into masses of the enemy troops.
Nearby that pair were Pat Dandrea and Caitlin, fighting back-to-back. Pat was grappling with two UC goons while Caitlin was using a blowgun to fire special darts into the fray. Each dart was a toothpick liberally soaked in a fast-acting tranquilizer.
Richard fought his way through to Cait and Pat, and the three formed a triangle of fury, battering through the enemy ranks. Richard looked over at Caitlin.
“Lookin’ good, Cait. I heard you were a skilled blower.”
Pat giggled.
Caitlin stopped firing and glared at her curly-haired comrade.
“Get lost, Rich, before I take two of these toothpicks and blind you with them.”
“Yeah, Rich,” Pat joked along, “You’re cramping our style.”
Richard shrugged.
“I can take a hint.”
He strode off into the battle, firing his laser rifle with accuracy and skill.
Caitlin looked to Pat for an answer.
“I didn’t expect him to actually leave.”
Pat knocked an enemy soldier out and said, “Maybe he has a very literal mind.”
Caitlin nodded, smiled, and launched another dart. It stuck an enemy solider, who slumped and collapsed to the ground. But not before firing one last shot in his delirium. The laser blast struck the soldier next to him in the arm.
Caitlin grinned in satisfaction.

Dan fired several shots at a passing deathbot before turning his attention to another group of his friends.

Ashley Lapointe and Meg Lynch were firing into the enemy ranks with fierce determination.
“I kinda like the kickback from this rifle,” said Ashley, a randy smile on her face. “Especially when I shoot from the hip.”
Meg downed another UC trooper and glanced at her friend with an exasperated grin.
“Just don’t let your boyfriend know about your new interest."
A soldier had sneaked up on the two girls from behind and was about to fire when Jake Motroni swooped in and laid the villain out. He swung his laser rapier though the air and gave Ashley and Meg a rascally wink.
“You should watch your asses, ladies,” Jake said. “Everyone else here is.” And with that he leapt off again, looking for more damsels in distress.
Ashley feigned offense and turned to Meg.
“That was uncalled for!”
Meg smiled and fired her weapon.
“You liked hearing it.”
The two girls chatted and chided away, still shooting their laser rifles.

Near those three was Mike Martin, swinging his thin limbs like a dervish, tripping and striking soldiers left and right.

Dan looked behind him to check on the underclassmen. He gasped. They were all missing. Where the hell did those kids go?
Suddenly, a yell sounded behind him.
Sam, Adam, Becky, Jenn Murray, and Sarah Cantler came running over the top of a scrap hill, each swinging pipes. Sarah knocked out a soldier, caught a glimpse of Pat on the far side of the field, and charged towards him. Jenn and Becky formed a small unit and tore into the middle of the fray, swinging energy batons. Sam and Adam slowly waded through the carnage, swinging madly and singing show tunes.
Dan shouted angrily at them.
“You were supposed to stay behind the shield! It’s dangerous out here! And what about Steph?”
No sooner had these words left his mouth than a deathbot charged out of nowhere, swung a heavy pincer arm and knocked Dan’s weapon from his grip. With the other pincer arm it lifted him off the ground and threw him into a concrete block.
Dan looked dazedly up at the towering engine of destruction rumbling toward him. Its laser cannons began to charge. He was too weak to fight back, too weak, even, to move. He knew his time had come. He closed his eyes.
Instead of hearing the buzzing zap of the laser guns firing, he heard another rumbling, heavier than that of the deathbot, and then a terrible rending crash. He eyes snapped open. A massive bulldozer had plowed in from the side and collided with the deathbot about to fire at him. The heavy blade of the construction machine smashed into the deathbot and pushed it, clawing and screeching, into a huge mountain of scrap metal. The force of the mammoth machine had all but cut the deathbot in half, and the impact with the scrap heap broke the robot to pieces. The deep, diesel rumble of the bulldozer quieted. Dan was shocked to see Steph Lepine, her arm in a sling, hop down from the vehicle and come trotting over to him. She helped him to stand.
“We can tell it’s dangerous, Dan. And as for me, I’m fine. ‘Stay behind the shield under guard’ my eye! I’m better off out here!”
Dan smiled.“Well I guess you’ve proven me wrong. Let’s go get ‘em.” He picked up his rifle, handed her a laser pistol which he had in a waist holster, and together they joined the battle.

Elsewhere, Steve was fighting valiantly. He clashed with several Umbrella Corp soldiers, tripping one, knocking one out cold with his laser rifle. Then, though the madness of battle, he caught sight of the archfiend Silas Blake. Steve fought his way through the mass of Umbrella Corporation soldiers, finally reaching his foe. He aimed his laser rifle at Silas’s chest. Silas held his laser rifle at shoulder level, targeting Steve’s head. The opponents stood staring at each other, breathing heavily.
“Well, Steve, what a surprise,” said Silas, smiling. “I’m glad you came.”
Steve smiled right back. “You know me, I wouldn’t miss a party.”
Silas chuckled. “It seems we’ve got a stand-off on our hands.” He paused. “What’s say we make this more interesting? How about a game of catch?”
Silas slowly lowered his rifle. He produced a box of matches from a pouch on his combat belt. Steve lowered his rifle as well.
Silas drew a match from the box.
“You ready?”
Steve nodded. “I was born so.”
Silas quickly lit the match. It flared brightly for an instant and then settled into a slow burn. In a flash he threw the match at Steve, who deftly caught it and blew it out. Silas nodded appreciatively. Now it was Steve’s turn. He drew out his own box of matches, and, to raise the stakes, a bottle of lighter fluid. He doused the box of matches with the butane, struck one match, and lit the whole box. Steve flew the flaming box straight at Silas’ head. Silas dodged out of the way, spun around, and caught the box. Instantly he flung the fiery ball back at Steve. Steve swatted the box back at Silas and a volley developed, from Steve to Silas, Silas to Steve. Inevitably, one slipped up. Steve sent the flaming bundle flying through the air faster than the fiend could counter. The fiery box of matches struck Silas in the chest, bounced off, and fell to the ground. Silas brushed ashes off of his black body armor and angrily stamped on the box of matches, extinguishing it. He glared at Steve.
“Careful there, amigo,” Steve quipped, “You play with matches, you might get burned.”
“You think you’re skilled?” Silas asked him. “Let’s take the game up another notch.”
He bent down and poured lighter fluid liberally over two sharp pieces of metal. He pulled out a Zippo lighter and with a clink-flick, ignited them both. Silas picked them up, one in each hand, and sent the shards of flaming metal whirling at Steve.
Steve dodged one and caught the other. He flung the piece of metal at Silas like a Frisbee and smiled in satisfaction. His smile was premature, however, for Silas was ready. He also caught the metal shard and threw it back at Steve with devastating accuracy. Steve dodged out of the missile’s path, but was too slow. The shard grazed his arm. Steve fell to the ground clutching the wound. Silas strode over to him.
“What’s the matter, Steve? Get burned?”
Steve managed a tight smile.
“The game isn’t over, Silas.”
“Excellent!”
Silas returned to his place for the continuation of the match.
Steve stopped nursing his arm, picked up a pipe, doused one end in butane, and lit it. He flipped it into the air, the flames creating a heavy whirring sound. Closing his eyes, Steve reached out and caught the unlit end of the pipe. Quick as a wink he sent it spinning at Silas. Silas reached out to catch the pipe, but misjudged and caught the flaming end. His gloves were flame retardant, but the heat still reached his tensed fingers. Silas gasped in pain and dropped the pipe. He doubled over, clutching at his wrist.
Steve ran toward his foe and leaped into the air, colliding with Silas and sending them both rolling to the earth.
The two combatants struggled on the ground, trading punches. Steve managed to position himself on top of Silas. He brushed one of Blake’s punches away and struck him squarely in the jaw. Silas’ face went slack. His eyes rolled up. He collapsed, unconscious. Steve staggered to his feet and dusted himself off.
“Game set and match.” Steve said as he turned away.
Silas’ eyes snapped open. He grabbed the bottle of butane and pulled out his lighter.
“Hey!”
His call got Steve’s attention and as he turned, Silas sprayed his chest with a blast of lighter fluid. Before Steve even had time to react, Silas flicked open his lighter and lit the stream of butane. The front of Steve’s shirt went up in a whoosh of flame. He immediately dropped to the ground and rolled on his chest, extinguishing the fire before it had done any serious damage. Silas got up and strode over to where Steve was lying motionless on the ground. Steve slowly lifted himself off the ground as if doing a push up. Silas grinned as he delivered a vicious kick to Steve’s face, sending him toppling backward and knocking him out.
Silas drew a knife from a sheath on his combat belt. He squatted down near Steve’s unconscious form. Silas smiled wickedly and was about to finish Steve off when a blast from a laser rifle whizzed past his head. He dropped the knife and whirled around.
Amy charged over the muddy terrain towards the two boys, firing her weapon with reckless abandon. Silas decided not to tempt his luck. He darted around a heap of scrap metal and ran.
Amy made it to Steve, dropped her laser rifle, and knelt beside him, cradling his head in her arms. Steve blinked tiredly up at her.
“Thanks a lot, Ames. It was getting dangerous.”
“Did he hurt you, Steve?”
“Well, there was some healthy give and take on both sides, but yeah he burned me pretty well at the end there.”
He gazed down at his red, blistered chest.
Amy stood up, grabbed her laser rifle and started off after Silas.
Steve held up a hand.
“Wait, Amy, what are you doing?”
“First Tony, then Andrew, now you. Who knows who he’ll hurt next? You three got lucky. Maybe the next person he attacks won’t make it out alive. He’s got to be stopped!”
“Amy, no! You don’t understand,” breathed Steve, “He’s too dangerous.”
But his words had fallen on deaf ears. Amy had turned her back and was trotting away after the fiend Silas Blake.

Tony gritted his teeth in pain as he tied his belt around his leg above the wound inflicted by Silas. He was still sitting behind a cluster of oil drums on the edge of the melee. He grabbed his sword and tried to stand-up. The pain in his leg was too great, and he collapsed to the ground again. He was cursing his weakness when a sound behind him made him turn around.
A deathbot and ten UC soldiers had found his hiding place. They stood looking down at him through their glowing red eyes. The soldiers raised their weapons and prepared to fire when a crash behind them made them turn violently.
Two gleaming black Mercedes had crashed through the heavy gates of the scrap yard. The luxury cars came to a halt near the other line of vehicles and their doors opened.
Tony, watching from across the battle, couldn’t believe his eyes. Eight men emerged from the cars, some dressed in silvery Armani jackets and pants, others in obnoxious tracksuits. All carried aluminum baseball bats. One man stood out from all the others. He had slick, black hair and wore a black suit which seemed tailor-fit to his powerful frame. His dark eyes glinted dangerously as he scanned the scene in front of him.
It was Tony’s father.
His eyes came to rest on his son, bleeding and surrounded across the fray, and with an emphatic gesture, he and the other Italian gentlemen marched toward the boy.
The leader of the small band of soldiers stepped forward to meet Mr. Celi.
“Hey, pops, what are you and these other Scorcese rejects doing here?”
Mr. Celi kept his calm.“We’re here to help my son and his friends, whom you seem intent on doing harm to.”
“Oh yeah?” asked the soldier. “Well these little punks are getting what they deserve. They----”
He got no farther. Mr. Celi had laid him out flat with a swing from his Louisville Slugger. At that signal, the other wise guys began in earnest, bringing their own type of retribution to the UC goons, and even striking bravely out at the deathbot.
Mr. Celi helped Tony up and hugged him tightly.
“Dad,” Tony asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t that mutt in the face mask just ask me the same thing?”
“Seriously, Dad.”
“ABC Storage is just 2 minutes from here. I heard about what was goin’ on from a friend of a friend and decided to come and help you guys out.”
“Thanks, we need it.” Tony gripped his sword. His father saw this and frowned.
“Tony, a nice Italian boy like you, messin’ around with those things. It isn’t right.” He called to one of his men. “Joe, gimme that extra bat.”
The Mafioso in question, a hulking beast in a red tracksuit, handed the weapon to Mr. Celi.
“Here, Tones, use this.”
Tony took the sword in one hand and the bat in the other, smiled, and with a departing “Thanks,” limped into the fray.

Amy followed the fleeing Silas far across the compound, to the door of a large machinery room near the trash compactor. Silas took one look back at the towering beauty pursuing him, a rifle in her hand and rage in her eyes, and dashed through the large door into the clanking darkness. Amy reached the door, stopped, and peered inside. She could make out nothing. Steeling herself up, she gripped the rifle tightly and stepped inside.
Suddenly several dim bulbs burst into life. Amy blinked dazedly as her eyes became adjusted to the dull, yellow light. She looked around. The room was filled with massive pieces of machinery, whirring and clanking obnoxiously. It seemed to be a power plant, generating energy for the surrounding factories. Just as the noise was becoming maddening, it began to cease. Gradually the noise vanished entirely. Amy glanced to her right. Blake was seated on some sort of generator, his hand slowly slipping off a switch. He had cut the power to the machinery.
“Glad you showed up. You caught my eye on the battlefield today and I so desired to meet up with you . . .” he slid off the generator and moved across the floor to her, “face to face.”
The barrel of Amy’s laser rifle was now jabbing into Silas’ taught stomach, yet he moved closer still.
“What are you doing here, smart girl like you?”
Amy was momentarily mesmerized by Blake’s sea green eyes, but snapped herself out of it.
“I’m here to fight Umbrella.”
Silas began to wander around the engine room. Amy, almost involuntarily, let her gaze wander over his lithe, shapely frame. She nodded in approval, caught herself, and gripped her laser rifle more tightly.
“I know that much, Amy,” Silas said. “But why are you really here?”
“Well, I first encountered Umbrella with Rich, going to get Andrew.”
“I see.”
“Then they went after me when I was with Rich and Andrew at a sex shop.”
“That was a fun one.”
“Today I’m here to help Rich.”
Silas turned to look at her.
“So, basically you’re here today, as you were every other time, because of the needs of someone else.”
Amy lowered her rifle.
“No, it’s not like that.”
“You don’t want to be here. You strike me as more of the fun-loving type. That leads to the inevitable question: What do you do for fun?”
Her eyes locked with his and a shiver went down the length of her spine.
Silas stepped forward. He licked his full, pink lips.
“You don’t want this; you have no part in it. Forget the battle outside. Forget the people scrambling over and around each other for two needless causes. Just focus on you and me. What do you say?”
Amy’s lip quivered. The laser rifle dropped from her grasp. Silas, no less than three inches from her supple breasts, smiled. He spoke, his voice deep and gravelly.
“Wanna have some fun?”

Rich was fighting several enemy soldiers when he caught sight of Steve. Dispatching two with powerful swings of his fists, Richard tore the rifle out of the hands of the remaining third and, turning the weapon’s dial to stun, shot the goon in the stomach, knocking him out. He ran to Steve and pulled him to his feet.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s a bit of a long and interesting story,” Steve began.
“I’ll take the abbreviated version, if you please.”
“Well, Silas lit me on fire and would have sliced me up had Amy not showed up and scared him off. She then took of after him. Kind of a rash move, if you ask me.”
Richard let go of Steve, who promptly collapsed again. He rubbed his brow worriedly.
“This is not good, Steve.” Rich said. “She’s gonna get hurt.”
“That’s what I told her. I said, ‘Wait, Amy, he’s too dangerous.’ But would she listen? No! Well, makes sense I suppose. Women are only a third as smart as men.”
“Steve!”
“What? It’s science.”
“No, I need to go after Amy. I need to save her. You need to go get Tony and Andrew and find us. I have a feeling I’ll need back up.”
And with that, Richard took off.
Steve raised a feeble hand.
“No, Rich, not by yourself! He’s too dangerous!”
But Richard was already long gone.
“Damn,” said Steve dejectedly. “I’m really not good at that.”

Tony was battering and slashing a deathbot alongside Pawel, EJ, and Marissa. The heroes fought with courage and intensity, but to little avail. The robotic beast was invulnerable to their attacks.
Steve ran up and tapped Tony on the shoulder.
“What is it, Steve?” Tony asked, dodging a blow from one of the deathbots heavy arms. “I’m a bit busy.”
“Rich needs our help. He’s fighting Silas to save Amy.”
Tony stopped fighting. “Rich? Trouble? Amy? Needs saving? Silas?” He practically spat the last word. It was plain to see he was dying for a rematch.
“Let’s go!”

Tony and Steve came upon Andrew’s sprawled form. They rushed forward, dismay on their faces. Andrew lay on his back, the knife from Silas still sticking upward out of his stomach. He wasn’t moving.
“Damnit! No!” Steve yelled.
“This can’t be!” Tony cried.
Both boys knelt near Andrew, both on the verge of tears.
Steve shook his lanky friend.“Wake up, you bastard! Don’t let it end like this!” He began to cry.
Tony sat in stony silence to the side.
Suddenly, Andrew sat up.
Both Steve and Tony screamed and leaped into each other’s arms.
Andrew examined his wound. He pulled the knife out of his stomach without flinching and threw it aside. He then rolled up his orange spandex combat suit.
“Aww, man,” he cried, pulling out several crumbled items from inside the shirt.
“That jerk punctured my Capri Sun and broke it spilled all over my Combos! Then he twisted the freakin’ blade and broke all those delicious little pretzels to pieces! Damnit! It’s all just a paste now. Well, no choice but to eat it.”
Andrew sat gobbling up the juice-soaked pretzel mush with a look of delight on his face.
Tony and Steve found speech.
“You jerk!” Tony shouted.
“We thought you were dead!”
“Yeah, where do you get off hidin’ food under your combat suit!?”
Andrew glanced up at them.
“Jeez, you chicken fries need to get a grip.”
Steve and Tony roughly hauled Andrew to his feet. Only concern for Richard and Amy kept them from beating him severely. They dragged their lanky friend, who was still eating the pretzel mush, toward Amy and Richard’s last known location, explaining the mission on the way.