In our ongoing lessons on story development, I give you part 3 of “Wanted, A Superhero to Save the World.”
At this point I have established many of the elements of a story’s beginning that I provided in earlier posts. Now we get to some action, which is an essential element of stories for this age category.
The only aspect of story beginnings that I have not reached yet is whether or not Eddie, our protagonist, achieves his initial goal, which is to protect his mother, his sister, and the people of Nirvana.
As a superhero in the mold of Damocles, he sees himself as a helper. He can’t protect everyone alone. He relies on Damocles as the city’s great hero while he does what he can in his own little corner.
Now Eddie’s assumptions about his role are challenged, perhaps to the breaking point. Will his goal be achieved? Keep reading. 🙂
If you have any questions or comments, please post them.
How Can a Kid Save a Superhero?
I couldn’t believe it. The greatest hero in the world was here in my neighborhood. But if the robbery was just a diversion, he shouldn’t be here. He needed to be at the scene of the bigger crime where Mephisto would be. I could take care of whatever his minions were up to here. But if Damocles were to walk into my force field, it would zap him, and the crooks might get away.
An alarm wailed. Gunfire rang out somewhere inside the bank. Damocles shot a swing line that whipped around a flagpole protruding from the bank’s overhang in front of the stairway.
With the grace of a falcon, he swooped down, released the line, and landed at the bottom of the stairs. Amazing! He didn’t even have to run out his momentum.
Dressed in army camo pants and a black form-fitting jersey emblazoned with a reddish D, all held in place by a loaded gadgets belt, he looked even more powerful than he did on TV.
I stepped forward to warn him about the energy field, but he cocked his head and stared at the money bag, then the wires. I should have guessed he would notice the buzzing noise. With his hypersensitive ears, he could pick up the flap of butterfly wings.
He swiped his foot through the money bag. I turned off the hologram, making it disappear. When he looked my way, I crouched in the darkest part of the shadow. Could he see me with his super vision?
Damocles leaned over and turned off the two coils. I straightened and slid the hologram projector into my belt. Damocles could handle this. No way was I going to play the kid-hero wannabe who interferes with the real hero. Still, I could watch and get a video recording.
Sirens blared in the distance, but the police would be too late once again, if they showed up at all. Damocles reigned as the hero of Nirvana, and no one trusted the cops anyway.
I leaned closer to get a look at his belt. Yes, the famed Mastix hung in a translucent sheath, just like in the Internet videos. I shivered. Seeing it in person was a dream come true. But to witness the weapon in action? That would be as cool as having dinner with Albert Einstein.
Damocles pulled Mastix from its sheath and whipped it forward. Seven shining ropes lashed out and popped. They sounded like rifle shots. Sparks sprayed from the knotted ends and sizzled on the steps, adding to a sizzle that the seven thongs made as they dangled from the handle and pulsed with energy.
I had to smile. What a sight! But I couldn’t shake the idea that this robbery was a distraction or maybe … a trap?
But who could trap Damocles? The legends told of an invisible shield device that he wore. The shield hid the fact that he wasn’t truly invulnerable like some comic-book heroes. Yet, no one, not even Mephisto, had been able to kill him.
Another shot rang out. Damocles whipped Mastix up. A bullet slapped one of the thongs and stuck there. More bullets zinged in. With lightning-fast moves, Damocles caught them all in the thongs and slung them to the stairs. They thudded on the concrete, now useless chunks of lead.
“Throw out your weapons,” Damocles called as he climbed the stairs. “Surrender or feel the sting of Mastix!”
A handgun flew through the doorway and clattered down the steps, then another. A man inside called, “We’re coming.”
In my mind, I shouted, “That was too easy, Damocles! Watch out for a trap!” But I should have known he would be suspicious. He began glancing all around, Mastix gripped tightly. He then stared at the thongs. They were dark, as if the bullets had somehow drained their power. Might they have been made of a material other than lead, a metal that could absorb energy?
A thick net dropped from above and fell over Damocles. Sparks flew across his body. He rolled down the steps, making the net wrap tightly around him. As he writhed on the sidewalk, electricity arced across his face and shot from his ears and mouth.
Two men bolted out of the bank and down the stairs. One stopped at the net, aimed a gun at Damocles, and pulled the trigger, but only a hollow pop sounded. A shimmering white pellet shot from the barrel and thumped into Damocles’s neck. He grimaced but stayed quiet.
The men jumped into a nearby sports car. Just as the engine revved, I detached my paintball gun and fired at it three times. One ball missed, but the other two splashed against a rear fender—one red, one blue. Then the car squealed away.
I slid the gun back to the belt, ran to Damocles, and touched the net. I snapped my hand back. Ouch! What a jolt!
“Get away, k … kid.” Damocles groaned and twitched. “You might get hurt.”
“But you’ll die!” I whipped the laser pen from my belt, turned it on, and touched it to the edge of the net. Instantly, the pen began absorbing the electricity and shooting a beam out the other side. As soon as the net’s fibers dimmed, Damocles exhaled and lay motionless, Mastix still in his grip.
I drew my shirt sleeves over my hands, grabbed the net, and walked backwards. Damocles rolled as the net pulled away. Although the weight of his muscular body made the going hard, I had done enough leg squats to finish the job.
Seconds later, the net jerked free. After tossing it aside, I knelt next to Damocles and grasped his wrist. A pulse! But it was fast and erratic.
Categories: Story Development