The Gunfighter's Point of View
She heard a dull chunking sound and five paper targets flipped up. Her left hand snapped to her natural point of aim, the weight of the small pistol in her hand a comforting, solid presence. It was but an extension of her arm, an extension of her eyes, an extension of her very will.
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! Five .22 LR rounds went downrange, striking each target in rapid succession. The range was absolutely silent. She could feel the eyes of other patrons on her. Debra was different, special. This lane was just for her.
Debra Allen was training for the 2008 Summer Olympics. Her event was the 25 Meter Rapid Fire Pistol. Not precise enough for the single-shot events, but her speed and reaction time were solid. Putting the rounds exactly where she meant to was no problem at all.
"Let's see how you did," her coach said. Debra felt good about those shots. The pistol controlled well. Everything snapped in just like they practiced. She adjusted her glasses and cursed her poor eyesight, not for the first time.
This is all a nerd like me can do, she thought ruefully. Short of stature and slight of build, Debra would never make the football team. No, she was nothing like Julie Cohen.
Every day she practiced this sport, a sport most people had never even heard of, hoping it would impress her crush. Debra Allen had a type, you see: mollygirls, to be precise. Seriously, what's wrong with liking a little bit of muscle on a boy? Boys who liked girl things were cute and lively, weren't they? If only Richard knew she existed...but she was no Julie, not even close.
"Close," her coach said kindly. "Your accuracy is improving. We've got three years till the Olympics. You're America's best chance for a gold medal, everyone says so."
Debra sneered, angry at herself, angry at the world. Would Richard care if she won a gold medal? The boy was a paradox. All advanced classes, but he only hung out with the jocks. It was so unfair. Why did Julie take the one boy on planet Earth who was smart and muscular? He was too good for a gridiron brain like her. Debra was much more suited for him, obviously.
Her coach put a comforting hand on her shoulder, oblivious to what she was really thinking about. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. Your fundamentals are solid, and your score is already world-class. We've just got to refine you a bit. By Beijing, you really will be the best in the world."
The older woman walked off to get another set of paper targets. Those were the last five.
"I know what you want," a voice said softly, but Debra could hear every word as if there was a direct line to her brain. It wasn't like a sound, more like a thought. She twisted so fast she almost tripped over her own feet. The shooting stance she'd drilled over and over, standing in it for hours at a time, didn't like sudden disruptions or shifts of weight.
What she saw shocked Debra too much to laugh. Was she hallucinating? Was the Devil about to tell her to shoot up the school? Surely she wasn't so stressed that she was having a psychotic break.
"I'm quite real, I assure you," the devil woman said. She had pointed ears. Pointed ears! Those ears had little red earrings, hamburger charms hanging off a little red-gold chain. And a cape!
"What do you want from me?" Debra demanded.
"Quid pro quo," the demon said. Her hair was red, but no kind of natural red, red like hellfire. "I can give you an eye, an eye with sight beyond sight. There would be no target you couldn't hit."
Where was her coach? This was really too ridiculous. But when Debra looked around, she noticed the other patrons at the gun range weren't moving. One had her mouth frozen open, just standing there like a living statue. Suddenly afraid, she backed away, hitting the barrier to the firing line and almost tumbling over it.
"Who are you?" The question was more like begging.
The red woman towered over her, radiating power and menace. Debra wished her gun were loaded, but some instinct said the mundane bullets would be ineffective against a creature who could stop time.
"Not the right question to ask," the devil, maybe the Devil, said, sounding amused. "The right question would be: 'What's the price?'"
"My soul?" Debra gasped. This was real. Too real. The animal in her screamed danger.
Satan chuckled. "Nothing so dramatic. There is an enemy I would have you reckon with." She showed Debra a picture of Future Hero.
At once, Debra understood. "You're Stinger! Are you their leader?"
The devil woman preened, as if she found the suggestion flattering. "Do you really think so? Well, maybe someday. Your success in this matter would really help, but you don't have to decide now." She handed Debra a card.
Debra looked down and studied it, just an address in downtown Plano. When she looked up, Satan was gone, and time had started again.
***
"The SAT is in two weeks, sis," Rich whispered.
Becca groaned. "Don't remind me." They'd been studying for the past month. Cracking 1500+ was a serious goal for both of them. Since the test format had recently changed, it seemed possible. They didn't care much about the writing section. Rich knew it would be removed in a few years anyway.
Reka, Mrs. Fekete at school, had finished her lecture in AP physics and allowed the students to use their remaining time as they wished. Both Rich and Becca were ahead, Rich because he'd taken this class before, and Becca because of her private lessons with Reka. Speaking of which: "Have you two worked out the problems with the little, uh, gizmo you gave me?"
They had to speak in code in public. Becca worked as an assistant in Reka's lab and had played a major role in assembling Future Blaster. The weapon, while adequate, had an overheating problem during prolonged engagements.
"It's something to do with the power source," his twin whispered back. "The energy isn't supposed to be at maximum all the time. Emotive force, for lack of a better word, likes to modulate. Isn't there something you can do to vary the intensity?"
"There's nothing on there, no switch, no selective fire, no dial. How am I supposed to do that?" Rich asked in bewilderment.
"I don't know, it's supposed to key off your suit. Have you ever, like, powered up when you wear it?"
That brought Richard up short. Unless...
There was that one time fighting with Azure when he really pushed himself. The blue-haired girl was so strong and fast, Future Hero had to dig deep just to keep up. Yeah, actually. Thinking back, Rich channelled his emotions into the armor, giving himself a boost. Could the opposite work? Mute his emotions so Future Blaster didn't overheat? It was worth testing.
"You two talking about a science project?" a girl asked.
Where did she come from? Rich looked up, and a feeling he couldn't quite place washed over him. There was something familiar about her, even a little interesting.
"Something like that," Rich answered. "Richard Rice, and this is my sister Rebecca," he introduced himself. It was only polite. They'd been so busy, he hadn't had time to learn the names of all of his classmates.
The girl smiled brilliantly, and Rich's heart fluttered. What the fuck?
"Debra Allen." She shook his hand.
Oh no. Jesus Christ. No. It couldn't be! It was impossible! Richard met his ex-wife in college! What was she doing here?
The more he looked, the more obvious it was: brown hair, glasses, petite, kind of nerdy. She never matched with a meathead like him. And why wasn't she genderbent? What the hell, Zordon? Was somebody messing with him deliberately? Somebody who knew?
With sudden shame, he realized he was attracted to her. No! I love Julie! This is an entirely new life. There was no history here. They'd never even met.
"We're just talking about the SAT, end of September test date," Rich deflected, trying to keep his tone polite and distant.
"That's great!" Debra said brightly. Oh, how he missed that smile. Feelings he long thought dead and buried forced their way to the surface. For ten years of his life, this woman, or a version of her, had been his everything. "You know, I think it's really admirable how you take your studies seriously. Even your sister is in all AP classes, despite being on the football team. That's really impressive."
"Uh, thanks, I guess," Becca said awkwardly.
"You know, I play a sport too. I'm a competitive shooter. They even say I have a shot at going to the Olympics! If you're free, you could come to my next competition and check it out."
If this girl had gotten to him before Julie, he might've jumped at the chance, but no. New life, new Richard. "I'll consider it," he said noncomitally, being unable to outright reject her. "It might be cool seeing a local person go to the Olympics."
Debra studied him intently in a way that felt uncomfortably familiar. Rich could never bullshit her. Those eyes saw everything. "Just think about it," she said, as if she could sense his reluctance. "Anyway, I've got to go. It was nice talking to you, Richard."
"You too," he said back. God, what a mess.
***
The Gunfighter's Point of View
I'll do it! Debra didn't care anymore. She saw Richard's face, how his muscles twitched, how his eyes shifted. He was interested. Approaching like that had been a Hail Mary move, but so satisfying!
That weekend, she drove to the address on the devil card. She knocked on the door. No answer.
"Hello?" Debra called out, feeling her courage wane with every second of silence.
Just when she was about to give up, the door opened for her. "Right this way, Miss Allen," Satan said, wearing that same ridiculous outfit with the hamburgers embroidered on the suit.
"So, you said something about fixing my eyes?" she asked as they walked through some sort of high-tech command center. It looked like Stinger's version of NORAD, with computers and screens and people monitoring all sorts of stations.
"Eye. Singular," the woman, if she was a woman, clarified. "You'll only need the one. The left is your shooting eye, correct?"
"Yeah, I'm left-handed," Debra confirmed.
"Excellent." Devil lady handed her something that looked like a blaster from Star Wars. "A token. Your eye will match it."
Debra hefted it experimentally. She'd read that Stinger had next-gen weapons tech, so she wasn't surprised they had some sort of energy weapon. "Can I test it out?"
She didn't answer, just wordlessly led them to an indoor shooting gallery. At Satan's signal, five life-size statues of Future Hero popped up in front of her. Debra's instincts told her what to do.
GACHIN! GACHIN! GACHIN! GACHIN! GACHIN!
Her pistol vomited sickly green fire, the kick surprising her. In short order, the targets were reduced to cinders.
"Damn! This is some heavy artillery!" Debra said in appreciation.
"The operating room is ready whenever you are, Miss Allen."
She hesitated. Operating room. Were they going to do surgery just like that? "Now?"
"If you're ready." Satan reached into her cape and pulled out a picture. Richard! "The boy of your dreams, Miss Allen. All that stands between you and him is Future Hero." She said the name with such hatred, like it tasted awful. "Eliminate him, and all your dreams will come true. Isn't it time the nerdy girl got the boy, not the football player?" She chuckled. Her words were smooth as syrup, easing Debra's misgivings.
Yeah. Why not? With a blaster pistol and a magic eye, not even Julie Cohen could stand in her way. "Let's do it!"
***
Stinger was still testing him. Rich had taken to patrolling on Future Chopper whenever he had an hour or two free. With the speed of the motorcycle, he could easily be across the city in mere minutes. Every once in a while, he'd run into a group of Stinger soldiers and get into a gunfight.
Modulating power with his emotional state was hit or miss. Meeting Debra again had Rich feeling all over the place.
Future Chopper had a keen sense for corrupt energy, and carried him in the direction of that old warehouse where he fought Azure. Once there, he ran into the last person he wanted to run into just then.
"Hello, Mr. Hero," Debra said.
THOSE STINGER SONS OF BITCHES! THEY GOT TO HER! THEY KNEW!
The teenage version of his ex-wife had a glowing red eye with concentric spirals instead of pupils and a metal plate attached to the side of her head. At her side, she carried a pistol, not too dissimilar from his own Future Blaster, bleeding corrupt energy that he could sense from ten feet away.
"You don't have to do this, Debra. I can help you! Whatever they did, I can undo it!"
The girl shook her head sadly. "Sorry, boy. You're just in the way. Once you're gone, there'll be nothing standing between me and Richard. Now draw!"
She reached for her gun, and Future Hero did the same on impulse.
GACHIN!
BURCHAW!
The green laser bolt struck him in the chest and kicked like a mule, sending Rich tumbling head over heels across the street, leaving a skidmark in the road. His shot had been at her feet. She didn't budge from her perfectly balanced shooting stance despite the ground literally blowing up under her.
GACHIN!
She fired again, this time, Future Chopper swerved into the path of the laser bolt. The poor bike yelped like a kicked puppy. There was an angry red dent in the chassis that smoked and looked half-melted.
BURCHAW!
GACHIN!
Rich blind-fired and started running, looking for cover. Her shot landed right between his shoulder blades, taking Future Hero off his feet yet again. The shots from the Stinger soldiers stung like needles. That little pistol in her hands hit like a sledgehammer. He knew he couldn't take many of those. With no other options, he ran.
GACHIN! GACHIN! Green bolts struck around him, blasting big holes in downtown Plano's architecture. He knew he had to shoot her, but he just couldn't!
Breathe, Richard, breathe! If he could control his emotions, he could set the blaster to stun. "Come on, Future Blaster, work with me here!"
He turned to fire a suppressing shot and was shocked to see Debra had chased him all the way to a quarry.
GACHIN!
BURCHAW!
His purple shot struck her green laser in the air, triggering an explosion that knocked them both off their feet.
"Just die already!" Debra yelled as she scrambled to stand. "Who are you to stand in the way of true love?"
True love? Seriously? Rich went cold, his emotions bleeding out of him rapidly, leaving him empty. White hot anger rapidly filled the void. "True love! You left me! You broke my heart!" he screamed in rage.
BURCHAW!
GACHIN!
They exchanged fire one last time. Debra's shot nailed him in the left breast, right where the heart should be, appropriate. When he fell, he realized the Endram Armor had lost cohesion and dispelled, leaving him in his civilian form. He lay there, waiting for a coup de grace that never came.
After a minute, Rich got up and approached Debra's body.
"Still breathing," he realized. She was alive, but half her face was burned. His shot must've struck her right in that red eye Stinger gave her. The red eye and metal plate were all gone, leaving only charred and blackened flesh behind.
"What have I done?" He leaned down and cupped her cheek, still beautiful, despite everything. He noticed his ring was glowing. He knew.
Rich let go.
All the emotions. All the pain. All the regrets. He poured it into the ring and ran his hand over Debra's face. The pure energy seeped in, driving out the corrupt, purging the places where Stinger marked her. Burned skin sloughed off, replaced by rapidly regrowing tissue, pink and raw. Even her eye came back.
When it was done, Rich sank to his knees, breathing hard. Feeling suddenly lighter, Rich said goodbye to Debra one last time in his heart. Not this Debra, a mostly innocent teenager, but his Debra. She was gone. That life was gone. He could only go forward.
Rich needed Julie. He needed to be held. He needed someone to tell him he was good enough.
He couldn't risk seating two on Future Chopper, not in Debra's current state. With a wave of his hand, he called the truck. Future Roller knew the way to the quarry.
While he waited, a new worry set in. Stinger knew how to hit him where it hurt. Something had changed, something big. This was psychological warfare, pure and simple. But how could they possibly know? He thought and thought, but found no answers on the drive back to Plano city limits.