Written by Dru1076 :: [Tuesday, 14 June 2005 08:27] Last updated by :: [Sunday, 19 June 2016 11:07]
Emily was amazed how big the Atlantic Ocean really was. It seemed to take forever to reach the coastline, but she still got to Africa much faster than any aircraft could have managed. She would have gotten there sooner if she wasn't worried about shredding another outfit.
Mapping this new and interesting land gave her quite a thrill. There were many differences between this place and her home. Checking out the mountains and jungle, Emily picked out many creatures she'd seen on National Geographic documentaries, and some things she'd never heard of. Opening up her senses, she went low and slow and embraced the jungle scents and sounds. She felt deeply connected with her environment, yet infinitely removed from it at the same time.
Emily became aware of several men carrying big guns through the undergrowth several miles to the south near the edge of the desert. Their elaborate camouflage was unable to hide them from Emily's eyes. The idea of being hit by the large projectiles their big weapons must fire piqued her interest, and Emily descended gracefully to land nearby. Checking them to see who they were Emily came to the conclusion that they were most likely poachers. They had no uniforms as such, just unmarked camo gear with native grasses stuffed wherever it would stay.
They spoke quietly in a language Emily had no understanding of. In all there were five of them, two Caucasians and the rest native Africans.
With a naughty smile, Emily stepped out from behind a tree and into their line of sight. Their reaction was instantaneous. Guns were raised and shouting began in earnest. But no matter how loud they were, Emily just couldn't understand them. She shrugged her shoulders to indicate a lack of comprehension.
When the shock of her arrival wore off, the guns lowered and the men gaped at her. Emily was getting used to this reaction now. But she didn't want them to just ogle her body, so she took action to get their guns up again.
Her hand sank into the bark of the tree beside her until it hit the hardwood beneath. There was a low creaking sound, which grew loud and urgent as Emily continued to reach her arm out. The high foliage shook and lurched away from her, and the trunk of the healthy tree came crashing down to the jungle floor, snapped by her incredible strength. Emily turned her head to enjoy the impact, watching the huge branches snap off as they drove deep into the topsoil.
The poachers stepped back fearfully, their guns raised as Emily had desired. But they were still holding fire, unsure of their situation. Emily became a blur of motion, reforming in front of one of them.
"Are you guys gonna use those things?" she asked, indicating the gun. Looking the man in the eye, Emily realised his gaze was fixed on her cleavage. His gun barrel started to drop, but Emily took it carefully between her thumb and forefinger, raising back up to her breast. Her free hand rested on his forearm, and she gave him a little squeeze. The intense pain that accompanied the breaking of his bones finally got him to fire.
As expected, these bullets were heavier and faster than those fired by the small uzis she'd encountered in Metropolis. She felt them more, but the sensation was nothing approaching pain. Each lump of lead disintegrated into shrapnel on her inviting flesh, the first drawing a gasp from her full lips, and the pieces flew off in all directions. The man fired twelve shots from his rapid-fire rifle before realising that most of the bullets were bouncing straight back into his stomach. He collapsed, so Emily closed the barrel with a pinch and dropped the gun on his writhing body.
The rest of the poaching party wasted no time. After seeing what this breathtaking beauty had done to their friend, the danger they were in was clear to them. Letting out a battle cry to increase Emily's excitement, the four men trained their guns on her and let loose.
Emily found the experience to be everything she had hoped for. Carefully catching in her hand any bullets that threatened her scarce clothing, she sped up her senses to enjoy every individual impact. The battle cry waned and the men threw down their emptied guns and turned on their heels.
Not really interested in chasing them, Emily laughed at the fleeing hunters and launched into the sky. Spending the rest of the afternoon at it, she mapped the African continent and marked numerous places, such as the pyramids in Egypt, for future visits. Realising that time was up, Emily turned back toward the Atlantic and headed for home.
By the time Emily Lahey met up again with her dad, Clark Kent was feeling sore from his own long journey. At least this time around he didn't have to hitch-hike. Perry had deposited a healthy budget into Clark's expense account, allowing the painfully human reporter to charter a helicopter for the final leg of the journey. He had already been in the air for eight hours that day, and needed to rest. "Are you sure you have all you need?" the pilot demanded loudly over the intercom as he rotated the chopper over the landing site.
"The hut is well stocked. Thanks for the ride … see you this time tomorrow."
"I can't put her down on this snow. It's too deep."
"Good luck, Mr. Kent. See you tomorrow."
Twenty minutes later Clark was trudging through the Fortress of Solitude. Reaching the crystal chamber, he carefully selected a crystal and inserted into the console. A moment later his mother's image stood before him.
"Kal-El, my son. We had hoped you would never need this message. If you do, this means we failed in our duty to Earth. Your powers in the hands of a human will drive that person insane … corrupt their mind. As I'm sure you understand, this places every human life jeopardy.
There is hope, yet the device we used on General Zod has no effect beyond the walls of this fortress. It could be used to reverse the process, but this would involve much risk. This human is now also vulnerable to Kryptonite radiation, but we cannot know how effective Kryptonite would be against them as a weapon. There is another way.
"You are not the only survivor of Krypton, Kal-El. There are other children of our world, like the General, who were not with us when our doom befell us. Your best chance is contact one of them. Those who may be within reach have been placed in the communication system. Call one of them, and fight fire with fire … as you Earthmen say."
Fat Jimmy was a man who earned his name. Life at the bar suited him fine, especially now that he had doubled his income in the last year. The fall of the Breaker Lahey empire had freed him to become his own boss.
Since the bar had always been in Jimmy's name since the day Breaker had bought it, there was no question of who owned the place. Only Breaker's private law enforcement had kept all the profits from reaching Fat Jimmy's bank account in Spain.
The place was different tonight. Jimmy had asked for help from Lahey's Chinese rivals, and there were many more Asian faces than usual. Not that Jimmy was racist, it just made him uncomfortable. He still had vivid memories of the hard-won battles against the triads not so deep in the past as it seemed. So much had changed
"Don't worry, Jimmy. Whatever private army he's got working for him now won't do their work in a public place like this."
"What the fuck are you talking about? He took out an apartment building in broad daylight. Just pour me a drink … keep your brain-dead theories to yourself, asshole."
The jukebox was playing loud and the place was packed more than usual thanks to the special guests. All the money going over the bar should have made Jimmy happy, but it wasn't enough to distract him from his concerns. Now that Carlos was out, he would be asking for a lot money … the protection money Jimmy had kept on collecting, but not passed on. He'd also want a whole years worth of rent.
Gulping down his Jack Daniels, Jimmy couldn't avoid the truth. Money wasn't the real concern right now … he was a dead man if Breaker came, and he knew it. He had broken all of the unwritten laws, and knew Carlos would never trust him again. He was wondering if he should try worming his way out of it, even when he knew there was no way he could.
One of his biggest bouncers leaned up on the bar next to his boss. "Jimmy, you better get out back," he told him in a low voice. "Breaker's limo was just seen moving through the Projects. If he's coming here he'll show up any minute."
Jimmy got up and gestured at the barman. "Give me a bottle." The bouncer and the boss walked up to the door leading to the cool room and Jimmy entered his six digit code.
In his office out back Jimmy had set up a wall of monitors across from his Italian marble desk. He had always been a paranoid man, and felt the need to have eyes everywhere.
"Get back out there," he told his large escort, and sat behind his keyboard. Tapping a few keys he activated the screen configuration for the multitude of cameras set up outside the bar monitoring the streets and alleys for five blocks in every direction. He even had one set up on a highrise that overlooked the area from on high. He waited for any sign of Breaker's long dark wheels.
He only had time to pour a J.D. and pick out a cigar before his eyes picked out the unmistakable black Lincoln. Jimmy hit the button on his desk that linked him to his security chief.
"William? Are you listening?"
"I'm right outside the main entrance, Mr. Franklin."
"Good. I can see Carlos on my screen, coming at you from the north in his limo. There's no escort … make sure that car doesn't get within two blocks of this place."
"I'm on it."
Customising his twenty-two colour monitors to concentrate on Breaker's approach, Jimmy watched the scene as three cars were loaded up with armed thugs to intercept the approaching enemy.
Fat Jimmy Franklin leaned back and grinned as he watched the three cars enter the same street Carlos rode up. Jimmy was wondering why Carlos would be stupid enough to bring only one car. Where was the mercenary squad? Sure, the Daily Planet had run a story this morning about his daughter that would explain one car death squad … but every other respected rag in Metropolis was talking about attack helicopters and hired soldiers. Much more acceptable explanations for the level of destruction seen that day.
Jimmy put the street scene on the main monitor. He could see the rear windows of all three hit-squad taxis wind down at once and guns appear from them followed by torsos as the men leaned right out.
Something happened then that froze Jimmy in his seat. There was a bright flash of red light, and two distinct beams blasted into the rear of the lead car. It exploded in hot ball of flame and veered into an empty bookshop still burning. The car directly behind had been close, and the driver tried to avoid impact only to plough into a speeding motorbike. As Jimmy gulped and went limp there was another flash, just as brilliant as the first and equally destructive. The car that had managed to get through the initial attack lifted into the air in a ball of flame and came down awkwardly to roll several times until rudely stopped by a telegraph pole.
Jimmy punched his intercom again.
"Bill! That bastard took out our cars! Get another squad going, and sober up the boys!"
Bill didn't reply this time. He was too busy giving orders. Four more cars were sent and then Bill could seen on the screen permanently labelled "The Bar", running about rousting his little army out to the street.
The four cars only had to turn two streets down before they could see the black limo cruising smoothly their way. Jimmy reset the main screen to watch, and felt a chill when he saw a young woman standing on the road. A very healthy young woman with nothing on but a bikini and a sheer sarong.
"That looks like …" Jimmy stopped himself. He knew who it was. It was Mob-Girl. The Daily Planet had been right once again, despite the National Enquirer style of this mornings story.
Though he should have left immediately, Fat Jimmy found himself unable to tear his eyes from the screen as the four cars came tearing toward the lone woman. Though the image was clear and sharp, the overweight gangster had trouble believing what it showed him. Emily Lahey, his old boss's daughter, puckered her lips and leaned forward, placing her hands smoothly on her hips. A jet-stream formed a foot from her face, pointing sharply at her mouth. First one, then two, then all four cars lifted into the air and did back-flips as the surrounding vehicles and people joined them. Rather than fall back down, they flew up into the air and out of the shot.
While he tried to comprehend what he had just seen, Fat Jimmy received more unnerving evidence of Clark Kent's Mob-Girl theory. The girl rose smoothly from the tar and stretched her arms out wide to drag behind her as she zoomed like a missile out off the screens scope, leaving a fifteen foot twister of dust where her feet had been.
"I'm out of here …"
But before he could move he saw another mesmerising event take place. Mob-Girl landed in the street outside the bar, her hands crossed over her hips as she appeared to be speaking to the drunk mob.
Then guns flashed, and Mob-Girl's hands became a blur. After a moment Jimmy realised she was blocking bullets with her open palm. She seemed to get better at controlling the ricochets, and the gunmen started dropping one after the other until they got the idea to stop firing. Dropping their weapons the terrified men started to scatter. Jimmy could see it was Bill who pulled things back together a bit. He yelled something and the bigger guys went forward with crowbars and chains.
"Idiots," he cursed, not seeing himself as a fool though he remained to watch what happened next.
The weapons flashed into life, but Mob-Girl just stood there with her arms folded and a cheeky grin on her face. Blows rained down upon her as her attackers circled around, but Jimmy could see that they weren't even making her flinch. Then two men went rocketing away, followed closely by several others as Mob-Girl cleared the area around her.
Bringing her legs to the task she started decapitating and quartering the armed thugs until the smart ones ran away screaming and no-one remained. Most of those in the bar had seen all this, and were making a hasty exit themselves.
Mob-Girl was clearly laughing as she turned to look toward the pub. Jimmy felt goosebumps as every hair on his body suddenly jumped into life as something seemed to pass right through him. The sensation intensified uncomfortably until it suddenly ceased. At the same instant it stopped, Mob-Girl turned to look at her fathers limo as it pulled up.
Fat Jimmy jumped up and ran awkwardly from his office. He didn't see Mob-Girl snap her head back, then vanish from the screen in a blur.
He heard a crash as he approached the rear exit, and was knocked off his feet by a violent gust of wind. He heard a soft footstep, then another. Looking up he got a chill as he stared at the powerful creature Emily Lahey had become. He weighed two-twenty, and then some, but this ultra-fit bombshell was clearly undaunted by that. She reached down and hoisted him smoothly into the air by a handful of clothing. He looked down her magnetic cleavage and blinked in disbelief as blood rushed to his favourite appendage.
"Where are you going? My father wants to talk with you."
Terrified by the casual ease she moved him with, Fat Jimmy Franklin was carried like soiled nappy out into the silent bar. Everyone was watching Jimmy, a man feared and respected, dangle from the slim arm of a girl wearing clothes that men would call generous and women skimpy.
"You people better leave," Emily suggested, igniting a few of their shoes with her eyes. Jimmy shook in her hand as she laughed at the swiftly emptied bar.
Putting Jimmy on a couch Emily wandered around removing stragglers. One by one they soared over the tables and through the front windows. Most rolled on impact, but some came down very awkwardly on the tar. Some of those didn't get back up again.
Through the broken windows Jimmy saw The Breaker get out of the limo, followed by Kirkland and Rudall. Surveying the mess on the street, Carlos grinned and walked into the bar.
"Carlos! I've been trying to …"
"Shut up Fat-man. I'm talking first."
With Mob-Girl drinking bottle after bottle at the bar, Carlos sat down with Fat Jimmy and pulled a cigar from his pocket.
"You and me go way back, Franklin. I Have to say I was a little disappointed to hear you were one of the first to betray me."
"Mr. Lahey …"
"No Jimmy, let me finish." Carlos leaned back. "New furniture. Comfortable stuff too..not from around hear. European furniture Jimmy? Not really suitable for a bar. I hope this isn't what you betrayed me for. This place looks awful.
"Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked."
Carlos reached for his gun, amazed to see that Fat Jimmy Franklin already had his own in hand. There was a flash of colour, and the surprised Breaker was saved by his daughter.
Emily held out her open hand to show Jimmy his bullet, and dropped it into his lap making squirm around to drop the hot metal to the floor. The next sound Jimmy heard after that was crunching bone and protesting metal, then he let out a womanly scream as he realised she had merged his hand with the small gun it held.
"That was very impolite, Jimmy," she told him sternly, wandering back to the bar to continue her free-run of drinks.
"A nice try, Jimmy. But you can see, my new bodyguard is quick on the take. Let's see how your people work out."
No-one materialised to stop the slugs that zoomed at Fat Jimmy … no hand reached out to catch the hot lead that Carlos released his way. Carlos rose and emptied his gun. Then reloaded and emptied that clip too.
"Hey boss," Kirkland called out. "I can hear choppers."
Emily put down her sixth bottle of vodka and focused her ears. She could hear them too, and her gaze explored the sky through the offices above the bar.
"It's the army, I think," she told everyone as she quickly found the source of the noise. Three Blackhawks were flying across the the city, descending toward Fat Jimmy's. Looking through the sturdy airframes, she saw that they were loaded up with heavily armed infantry. Emily licked her lips when she saw an assortment of hand grenades and even several bazookas in their arsenal.
Blinking her focus to the room around her, she looked at her father. "This won't take a minute," she promised, her feet leaving the ground as she spoke. Her sentence finished, she left the bar through an unbroken window and arced up toward the incoming 'threat'.
Pilot Officer Martin Bowen had been briefed, along with everyone else, that a terrorist organisation under the control the crime-lord Carlos Lahey was at work in Metropolis. The terrorists were fast and professional, and had an attack chopper at their disposal. The whole base was put on alert, and when the call finally came Martin was on standby.
Martin Bowen was ready for anything and everything … except what he found.
While things had apparently stopped after the suburban massacre, the mayor's office had contacted the military to put them on alert. When reports of more exploding cars came in, the waiting detachment was deployed immediately.
"I have a visual on the saloon," Bowen reported, lowering the collective and pulling the nose up a fraction. "We're going in, guys."
As Martin plotted his landing manoeuvre through his night-vision goggles, a missile fired from the bar window still far below.
"I see it," Bowen told his navigator, performing a fast manoeuvre to change course.
The missile flashed past them, going faster than anything the pilots had seen before. The turbulence as the wake blasted the helicopters out of trim was worse than any wind sheer, sending the big choppers into uncontrollable spins.
Martin uttered a brief prayer and wrestled with the controls.
Coming back after her fly-by, Mob-Girl covered her laugh and watched the first Blackhawk twist itself into the roof of a laundromat. She had taken out all three choppers just by flying past them, but there was no fun in that.
Flying at the closest one she grabbed the tail as it spun past, only to tear it off and send the chopper into more extreme spins. She performed a Bruce-Lee roundhouse, and planted her foot into the big troop transport. Her reward was in instant explosion as the machine tore apart and chunks flew in all direction.
Getting under the next one Emily looked up at its spinning belly as it fell toward her. She figured out a way to save the helicopter, and decided to give it a try. She started to spin on the spot, matching the choppers speed as it rotated insanely. Emily held up a hand, and sank her fingers into a wheel strut.
Bowen knew the whole crew and his cargo of troops were doomed. There was no way he could recover, even if he was a better pilot than most of the men he had trained with.
So when the spin began to slow, he marvelled. When it stopped he cried for joy and checked his instruments. Trying to level up the attitude indicator, he found the controls unresponsive. Then he realised the climb-rate needle was resting on zero.
"What's going on, Martin?" the navigator asked, looked around in fear. "Why aren't we moving?"
It filled Emily with a sense of power only touched on to hold the massive Blackhawk motionless in air. The effort of the rotors was cancelled by the strength of three fingers, and Emily knew she could do it just easily with one.
Mob-Girl hadn't saved the chopper from destruction, only delayed it for a while. She wanted to have a bit fun with the hardcore unit of soldiers inside. But before she could explore her prize as deeply as she wanted to, Mob-Girl had a duty to get her father home safely.
Looking around she spotted the tall spire of a nearby highrise, and thought it a good place to keep her playthings for an hour or two.
Bowen was startled by the sudden movement of the chopper toward the towering skyscrapers of downtown Metropolis. Every man grunted as they reached a speed faster than helicopters were normally capable. They came to a stop as quickly as as they had accelerated, then there was rending sound as a metal spike pieced the belly of the chopper and slid through the engine bay. The motor cut out, robbed of electricity, and the instruments went dead.
As Bowen turned his head round to look at the invading steel, he saw something move outside.
"What the fuck is going on?" someone demanded from the rear, one of the bigger grunts.
"We've been attacked by something," Bowen told him, still looking out the window for further flashes of movement.
"Is everyone okay? I wanna role-call" the lieutenant inquired urgently, checking around for signs of blood. Everyone was still a dazed from intense spinning, and while a few were rubbing sore rims the lieutenant could see no sign of blood. One after other they called their name and told him they were okay.
"Walsh?" Bowen asked, checking his navigator. "What's your summary of the situation?"
Checking out his windows the shaken co-pilot saw the roof of the building they were perched on was still nearly a hundred feet below them. From there it was at least twenty fights of stairs to the ground floor. "Looks like we're fubar, Sir."
Leaving them to stew a while, Emily sped back toward Fat Jimmy's and flew gently through the window to land on the stained carpet.
"Are you ready to go home?" she asked, hopefully.
"Did you have to kill so many of them?" Kirkland demanded. "This some low-profile we're keeping."
"But Marcus," Carlos injected conversationally, "We're not in a low-profile business anymore."
Rudall, who had migrated around behind the bar in Emily's absence, poured himself another gin. "You are a wanted man, Carlos. You're first day on the lamb should be spent getting on a plane, not getting the attention of the army."
"I appreciate where you're coming from, Rudall, but …"
"Hey," Emily interrupted. "Why don't you guys talk about this in the car?"
Carlos looked over at his daughter. "What's the rush? You took care of them didn't you?"
"Yea. Those guys in the choppers are dead. But there is an army base near here."
Shrugging his shoulders, he walked out to the car with Rudall and Kirkland in tow. Grabbing two handfuls of air, Emily blasted into the sky. Checking on the perilously perched chopper with her super-vision, she saw that they were talking on their portable radios, obviously with their home base. Emily blasted the radios with laser beams from her eyes. She didn't want anyone rescuing them while she escorted her slow father home.
Things were getting boring when the limo reached the Metro-Tunnel, which bypassed the central business district and came out on the east side. Through building and fifty feet of bedrock, Emily could still see the limo as though it were out on the street.
Obviously the police still thought Carlos Lahey's secret weapon was an attack chopper of some kind, because they made their move under the cover of the tunnel.
Two vans that had been travelling ahead of the limo for the last four blocks pulled their handbrakes and slid sideways to block the entire tunnel. Another two vans several cars behind opened up and emptied SWAT teams into the street.
Cursing herself for not noticing them sooner, Mob-Girl went into action. The only problem was that when she crashed through the bonnet of a taxi on President Avenue and passed the bitumen into the bed of granite the city was built on, her clothes did not fare nearly so well as her skin.
Standing naked next to the limo as dust and small rocks continued to rain around her feet, Mob-Girl stared down the enemy and took in the situation. The vans blocking the road in front an behind had her father surrounded. Realising that this situation presented an excellent opportunity for entertainment, Emily also knew that while she played with the guys in front of the limo, the guys behind it would surely be busy turning the Lincoln containing her father into metallic swiss-cheese.
Pucking her lips, she generated an instant hurricane, except for rain and clouds. The vans began to slide as the SWAT members found themselves hoisted into the air by Mob-Girl's sweet scented breath. Soon the vans were tumbling down the length of the tunnel like paper bags in a strong breeze. As pieces fell away from the impacts with the road, they were swept along until Emily relented. Closing her lips, she turned to see what the other boys in blue were up to.
They had formed a line with the hastily emptied vehicles of bystanders as cover.
"In the name of law, throw down your weapons and get your hands in the air!"
Emily shook her head at the guy with the megaphone. "I'm not carrying any weapons, fool. Can't you see I'm starker?"
"Surrender immediately!" the cop insisted. Though he tried to sound commanding, his experienced 'I-am-the-law' tone wavered enough for Mob-Girl to realise the poor SWAT-guy was terrified.
"I think you better re-consider the situation here," Emily told him smoothly. "There are only, what, twenty of you?" She started pacing toward them.
"Raise your hands and step away!"
"Do you really think I'm going to do what you say?"
Since she continued her sensual walking, the trained lawmen lined her up and delivered a burst of bullets. Then they ducked, as most of them bounced back in their direction after slamming into her silky steel skin.
Enjoying the way the steel buckled like paper under her fingers, Mob-Girl put a hand on the bonnets of the first two cars behind the limo. She shoved them forward along the bitumen, and was delighted as the parked vehicles slammed into and over the cars behind to impact a van each. Only three members of the squad managed to avoid serious injury or death, and all three rushed her as she gloated over the destruction.
Nightsticks rained uselessly on all parts of her body, and Mob-Girl found their efforts stimulating, but had other things to do. With lightning speed she got two fingers under her opponents chin, and flicked him up into the roof. He hit so hard that he didn't fall back down right away. The others ran, but there was no escape.
Rather than chase them, Emily bent down to select a couple of small rocks that had landed near her feet. Throwing one carefully, she was surprised to hear a loud boom as her hand broke the sound barrier behind her ear, and the stone she released obliterated the fleeing man … flack-vest and all.
Fortunately, the windows of Breaker Lehay's limo were both bullet and sound-proof. While the windows of the other cars shattered in wake of the sonic-boom, and the eardrums of the commuters backed up to the mouth of the tunnel burst, Carlos and the other occupants of the long black Lincoln were protected.
The last remaining member of the SWAT team darted in behind the recess of a service door for cover. But when he stuck his head out for a peek moments later, blood dripping from his agonised ears, Mob-Girl picked him off with the other super-sonic projectile.
The limo had already weaved through the ruins of the two vans, and was nearly out of the tunnel when Emily overtook it and burst upward into the cool night air. Checking out every vehicle in her line sight, parked or otherwise, for suspicious occupants.
It didn't take long to spot all the unmarked cars that had replaced the fleet of the Metropolitan Police. But only two of them came within two blocks of her father. Deeming that close enough Mob-Girl swooped down at two-hundred miles an hour to blast through each one as she saw it.
As soon as the Lincoln disappeared into the garage, and the gate was closed, Emily turned back and sought the building where the fully-laden Black-Hawk awaited her.
Everyone was on urgent orders on not move a muscle. The commotion caused by the sudden laser assault on the radio equipment had slid the chopper further down the spire. They were still swaying when Bowen thought he saw movement outside again … a blur of human skin … almost an hour later.
"What was that?"
The airframe lurched, then the occupants experienced the sensation of riding an express elevator as the blackhawk slid rapidly up the spire, finally becoming free of it. Everyone grunted as they found themselves accelerating away from the city, the street-lights below streaking past.
Bowen lost his bearings as the chopper flew faster than it ever could under its own power for the second time that night, and the city lights gave way below them to become virgin forest. His night vision equipment displayed only blurs and splotches as the landscape flashed by.
Emily held the chopper by the wheel strut and left the city with it. Zooming to the forest she selected a rocky clearing and slowed gently to a hover above. Looking up through the steel she smiled at the terrified men inside and their facial expressions. Landing on a grassy patch she held the chopper straight out at arms length. Bending her knees she put it down and floated up and away from it as it settled into the soft ground.
Once they realised they had landed, the men inside the chopper opened the door and jumped out. Examining their surroundings, the elite troops searched everywhere for their enemy.
"All-clear, sir," someone reported. Soon all the troops were gathered near the wrecked chopper with eyes looking in all directions.
"What the hell could do that?" another soldier demanded.
Picking this moment, Mob-Girl descended into their line of sight. Even in the pale moonlight her exquisite curves made irresistible eye-magnets.
"Not what," she informed them, "But who. And the answer is me."
The soldiers were clearly dumbfounded by the naked woman floating in the air above them. None of them had read the Daily Planet, so no-one had any idea what was going on.
"Sarge … I think they spiked our dinner again."
Smiling broadly, Emily let the sweating men check her out as she drew nearer and touched her feet to the grass. Flashlights were focused on her, but even as the powerful torches shone in her eyes Mob-Girl could still see the sweat beading on their foreheads.
Emily just stood there a moment, tilting her head to the side and licking her lips while they circled around her.
"Put your hands on your head and drop to your knees!" someone finally ordered.
"You guys have no idea what you're up against," she told the speaker, walking right up to him with mind-spinning speed. Before he knew what was going on, she had her hand behind the small of his back, and he could feel her pert breasts against him. Her free hand brushed the hair from his eyes as she gave him a quick one-armed hug that mashed his internal organs.
It thrilled her to feel his bulging form succumb between her arm and her own slim body, and she turned to another and grabbed his chin as her first victim fell silent to the ground. Snapping the next man's jaw quite unintentionally, she lifted him up as he kicked at her to no avail.
"You guys are in trouble," she told him. "If I were you I'd be leaving." As she said the final word, Emily moved her hand a few inches and released him. The soldier flew across the clearing and crumbled dramatically into a tree.
One of them made a move, ripping out his long knife and darting in from behind. He jammed the blade full-force into her back, and watched the tip snap off. His arm jarred painfully, but he didn't feel his discomfort very long. She span around so fast he was thrown off his feet by the moving air, and a moment later he was a smouldering pile of ash.
Seeing her disintegrate one of their number with beams originating from her eyes, the army unit broke up under barked commands from the lieutenant.
Realising who was in charge, Mob-Girl appeared suddenly in front of the running lieutenant, who collided with her and landed in a heap. Putting her toes on his head she popped his skull.
"This is great!" she declared, her hands finding her hips as the inevitable gunfire finally began. The troops spread out in the clearing, most of them finding cover behind boulders or trees and taking up fire on their strange enemy.
Emily sighed in contentment and revelled in the lead shower, the bullets shattering on her flesh like drops of water. Speeding up her senses, she watched the thick wall of small-arms fire drift lazily her way. Selecting a few bullets at random, she flicked them with her finger at the men who were trying so desperately to kill her. Even while the other bullets continued to drift sluggishly, the ones that were hit by her finger zoomed fast at their targets and tore holes right through their chests.
"Hank! Charlie!" someone called out, "We need some of your magic."
Wondering what 'magic' they hoped to defeat her with, Emily looked at them in pale light and read dog-tags until she had found both Hank and Charlie. She would have found them faster if had she known to look for the two guys with bazookas. But she still had them both marked long before they had readied themselves to fire.
"Die, bitch!" Hank cried, releasing the rocket at the super-terrorist.
Emily tensed herself, and let the rocket fly into her gut. She then discovered how magnificent it felt to have a high-powered explosive device detonate against her skin. A fireball erupted around her and consumed the grass and shrubs at her feet. The darkness became daylight for a moment, but before that moment ended another rocket flashed through the clearing.
Turning her head Emily realised Charlie had missed. But rather than let the projectile pass by, Emily stepped sideways and intercepted it with her left breast. She was rewarded with an even more pleasurable sensation than the first had given her.
Taking stock of the situation, the remaining troops ran deeper into the forest. Emily was impressed by how smart they were, but she had no intention of letting them get away. She soared over to a pile of boulders and hoisted one the size of a bar-fridge into the air. It felt like a big piece of hollow polystyrene. Choosing a target at random, she launched the large stone. It came crashing down accurately on the moving soldier, killing him instantly.
Three more joined him in quick succession, then Mob-Girl took once more to air, and flew about picking them off with a variety of techniques. Some she blasted through trees with her destructive lungs, some she reduced to ashes. Most she just pushed with her hand, whether they hit trees or boulders the effect was the same.
Surveying her victory over the band of soldiers, Emily realised she hadn't even worked up sweat. Yet she had taken them all out bare-handed in under three minutes.
"No-one can stop me!" she declared triumphantly, rubbing her hands over herself and recalling how enjoyable the bazooka rounds had been.
Then her sharp ears, the sharpest on the planet, detected hushed breathing. Turning her gaze to the chopper wreck, she found two men quivering inside the useless aircraft. One of them watching her through the corner of the open door with strange goggles strapped to his face.
Realising that the overwhelming attacker was looking him in the eye, Bowen felt a shiver of fear and barely maintained control of his suddenly loose bowels.
At the freakish speed she been operating at, the unfolding events had been hard to follow. But Bowen had gotten the jist of it all just fine. This naked woman, who possessed an aura of health and vitality that almost glowed, had taken down every soldier in the unit. The strength she displayed made him feel very small. The fact the she could fly made the career pilot green with envy … that green tinge paled by the fear she inspired in him.
The navigator moved first. Realising they had not escaped the attention the powerful woman he darted outside and ran for the tree line. Bowen looked out after him, calling him back. But it was too late. The woman entered the scope of Bowen's vision from above, and he could see her hand reach down and grasp Walsh's vest. Bowen climbed out of the chopper and watched her disappear almost straight up into the sky with Walsh dangling from her arm. Without hesitation Bowen took his opportunity, and ran.
"Do you like flying?" Mob-Girl asked, taking her latest victim skyward through a cloud. His screams excited her as she took him into the high reaches of the atmosphere.
"Please! I'm just a navigator!!"
Smiling at him, Emily could see his face go blue even in the dim light, and as she continued to rise the effects of the decreasing pressure became more apparent. She felt as vibrantly comfortable as ever while he sagged and stopped moving. He passed out, then something strange happened.
She had been watching him so carefully that Mob-Girl hadn't noticed she was leaving Earth's atmosphere. Not until icicles formed on Walsh's already frozen face did she realise the extreme altitude she'd reached. Just as Emily was taking this development in, the corpse she carried into space with her swelled and exploded in the vacuum.
"I can fly in space!" she marvelled, turning her powerful eyes toward the dazzling depths of the Milky-Way. Deciding to explore this new frontier later, Mob-Girl descended back toward the forest she had launched from moments before. It took a moment to locate the clearing again, but when she did it took only a glance for her to find the last surviving soldier had fled.
But he couldn't possibly escape the unearthly powerful woman who pursued him. Emily circled the area, and found him running through the forest toward the distant lights of town. Coming down to glide fifty feet over his head, Mob-Girl watched him a moment. He was running with all his energy, adrenalin surging through his muscles. Emily flew along, relaxed and comfortable on a cushion of air.
Running a hand down the smooth curvaceous form of her radiantly feminine body, Emily thought about all the damage she had done today and felt her arousal rise. She'd always wanted to make an impact on the world, but never dreamed that when she did it would be so easy. Vivid memories washed over her of the unfortunate men who had stood in her path that day, and how little they had tested her abilities. Never again would she know fear. Never again would her world be the same.
Going ahead of her target, Emily twisted in the air and landed in front of him.
Bowen thought he was almost out of the danger area, but was still going full steam when he saw the woman he ran from appear from the darkness and land lightly on the track before him.
"Going somewhere, lover boy?" she asked, her hands rising to her hips.
Turning so fast he tripped, Bowen darted off in another direction. He knew it wouldn't help but in his current mental state he just didn't know what else to do. This young lady was unlike anything Bowen had encountered before. The only person who could fly unaided the way this woman did was Superman. Superman was also the only person who could move with such blinding speed, or shoot lasers from his eyes and blow gales with his lungs. If things were as they seemed, Bowen knew with cold certainty there was no way he could fight this unidentified flying woman and win.
"Look at you," a low voice, uncomfortably close to ear, mumbled in amusement.
Still running Bowen turned his head to see the woman flying leisurely beside him, and he took in the face of his invincible enemy from close up. He was so drawn in by the unexpectedly smooth youth and beauty of her features that he ran straight into a tree.
Mob-Girl put her feet down next to the fallen man and shook her head.
Looking through his clothes Emily was delighted at what she found. Not only was this guy as fit as an elite athlete, he was hung like a rock-star. She felt a warmth inside as her arousal went up a notch.
He came around to look up at her with horrified eyes, his night-vision goggles having been knocked off in the fall.
Bowen was enthralled as he drank in the perfect body standing over him. The fact that he couldn't see her clearly in the darkness of night only served to increase her allure. Then his nostrils caught a whiff of something very pleasing to his senses.
The woman was getting aroused, and the scent of her wafted his way to send his head reeling. A hunger erupted within him, and Bowen's years of training went out the window.
Leaping to his feet he groped her body, his nerve endings rejoicing in contact with her flesh. Her skin felt more soft and smooth than any woman had proven to be before. Comparing her texture to a normal woman's was like leather and vinyl … no contest. yet as he massaged her breasts and narrow waist he found it hard to make an impression on the diamond hardness of her muscles. Trying to pull himself bodily against her, he only managed to move himself. But the end result was the same so he hardly noticed. He put his tongue to her full lips, but found himself unable to part them.
Emily just stood there and let him have his way with her. She could see he was putting everything her had into his efforts to feel her irresistible flesh. The feathery strokes of his rough hands still pleased her, though her own fingers still felt much more earnest in their gentle administrations. His vague rapid groping.
Embracing her and drawing himself firmly against her body, the man tried to kiss her. Unable to get past her lips he started licking her, moaning with pleasure and clearly enjoying the taste.
Putting a hand on his ass Emily pulled his erection into her lower stomach. The cheek in her hand squished like a giant overripe plum, and his never-stiffer cock bent on her firm lower-abs.
The last time Emily had made love the experience had been very different. Before she had always been dominated in bed, because she liked her men big and tough. But now the tables had been turned. Realising this guy wasn't going to give her the rodeo ride she liked to receive, Emily decided to continue and see if he could do anything at all for her.
Feeling feint tugs on her arms, Emily noticed he was trying to get her down on the ground. Letting out a little giggle in his beetroot face, she fell backward and used her resistance of gravity to make her fall slow and gentle.
Opening her legs she licked her lips and waited for him to begin. She could feel him tapping on her, but he was having no more luck with this than he'd had trying to French-kiss her.
Reaching down she penetrated herself with her fingers, savouring the moment. Prying her gate open for him, she clamped a hand carefully on his easily bruised rear and forced him inside.
Relaxing herself and taking her fingers away, Emily started playing with her hair as he thrust eagerly away. Even after his long sprint through the undergrowth he still a lot of energy left. Every now and then he got stuck, so Emily had to keep a finger or two down there to keep the traffic flowing.
He was good, and if she wasn't super Emily might have enjoyed his work a lot more. But she was way out of his league, and he exploded with a long animal cry long before she neared her peak. He remained semi-hard, and his eyes were still insane with lust, but without the full force of his erection the man was no longer able to shaft her.
Not nearly satisfied, Mob-Girl wiped his saliva off her face with so much pressure it vaporised from her skin.
"You like using your tongue, don't you?" she asked him, holding his face by the chin so he looked her in the eye. "Then you should love this." Emily pushed his head down past her navel.
Bowen had never experienced anything like this before. This super-woman was tighter than a noose. Once she helped him achieve penetration Bowen was gifted with the greatest pleasure he had ever felt. The smell of her, the taste of her sweat, the frank look of lust on her face, they all combined with his difficult thrusting to make his ejaculation longer and more intense than any he had ever experienced in his over-active love-life.
When his eyes rolled back to their normal position, he was sent reeling by her beauty once again. He had seen more glamorous faces, but the blatant perfection of every square inch of her body more than compensated for that.
Martin was just realising how sore his receding penis was when she sent sparks of agony flying through his jaw. She said something, moving him effortlessly up to look him in the eye, but he didn't catch it. Still holding him by the chin she dragged him downward.
Having relieved himself, Martin was beginning to regain control. His arousal was still there, like a drug-high, but he could think again.
Realising what was going on, Bowen tried to jerk himself out of her grip, but there was no way he could. A moment later he was wondering why he had resisted. When he was presented with her clean bush and the lubricated gateway to heaven, he did something he had never done before. He performed oral sex.
The woman started to moan, and she moved about beneath him and massaged herself thoroughly. Then her moan grew, the tone coursing through him to give Bowen back his full erection. He was about to use it when she reached her high peak and her cry of satisfaction brought him over the top. Her orgasm went on longer than he thought it would, and he felt the inside of her thighs clamping on his ears as she lost herself in pleasure. Bowen cried out in agony as he felt his head being squeezed like a pimple, her legs closing as if he wasn't even there. Then Pilot Officer Martin Bowen didn't just go silent, he went dead.
Opening her eyes slowly as she felt her heart-rate drop and her body come back from the tallest highs of passion, Emily looked down and realised the man who had helped her achieve her release had been crushed between her thighs. Floating up to her feet, she let him slide to the ground and examined the gore that remained between her legs.
As she accelerated up into the night sky Emily considered going into space and exploring the solar system. But there was still so much she hadn't done here on Earth, so she decided to let it wait. She'd never been that interested in space anyway.
Arcing through the sky so fast that the dirt and blood on her skin vaporised, Emily headed out over the countryside for a lengthy joy flight.