The Gunfighter's Point of View
When Debra woke up, she was shocked to see how blurry the world was. Thinking her glasses were dirty, she took them off and reached for the cleaning cloth in her pocket.
What the...
Everything was so clear! It was like her eyesight had been completely regenerated, but that couldn't be. The last thing she remembered was going to a meeting about surgery, but shouldn't she remember getting LASIK? Without really recalling how, she ended up back in her own bedroom. Something happened. Something definitely happened.
Like every other day, the first thing she did upon arriving home was to turn on her computer. While it booted up, Debra went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her skin was, well, perfect. No acne. No scars. No blemishes of any kind. What could've happened to make her look like this? With no answers or explanations forthcoming, she went back to her room and sat down.
"Oh, an email from my coach," she said. Apparently, the local paper was going to write an article about her before the regional shooting competitions next week. They were sending somebody to take her picture and everything. Pretty cool.
She sent a reply saying she'd be ready and went to Myspace to browse. Debra didn't dare to add Richard as a friend, but his profile was still publicly visible. That boy was way too innocent and naive. Sometimes she liked to look at his pictures and fantasize. She was a teenage girl, sue her! Only, this time, there was something empty about it. A dull ache in her heart said Richard was lost to her forever. Debra didn't know how or why, but she knew. They just weren't meant to be, not in this life. The realization was both hurtful and a relief.
I'm doing this for myself, she thought, not to impress some boy. It didn't matter where these new eyes came from. Nothing was holding Debra back now. Her destiny was Beijing and the gold medal.
A few days later, the journalist met Debra and her coach at the range. "I'm Stacy Watkins!" the woman introduced herself. She didn't look like much, to be frank. She wore a backwards baseball cap and an unbuttoned green shirt over a white tee. Something about the camera she was carrying made Debra's left eye twitch, like it remembered something her mind had forgotten.
"How about you shoot a bit for us? Let me see the teenage girl with the old west quick draw!" the photographer suggested. There was a hungry look in her eyes.
"Sure, just let me set up the pop-up targets," her coach agreed easily. They made eye contact that said, make an impression. Debra intended to. She removed her glasses.
"Oh, you don't shoot with your glasses on?" Stacy asked. "If you want my advice, keep them off. You're much more handsome without them."
Handsome? Her? Please. "I'll take that advice in the spirit it was given," Debra replied, sinking into her shooting stance and holding her pistol at the ready.
The familiar chunking sound of the targets popping up triggered a Pavlovian response. The pistol in her left hand snapped up, and her eye started tracking targets. So easy to see!
GAK! GAK! GAK! GAK! GAK!
Five shots, dead on, Debra knew it in her bones.
The journalist had her camera out, and a green flash almost blinded Debra when she looked into the lens. Hope you got my good side.
Uneasily, she observed the journalist whispering with another woman, maybe the reporter who would actually write the article? There was that twitch in her left eye again. Debra just knew she'd seen her before. The lady had hellfire-red hair and little bumps on the sides of her head that suggested horns, like a literal devil. Probably nothing, just a trick of the light, had to be.
Debra blinked. Were there two people or just one? She could've sworn she'd only seen the journalist with the baseball cap and the camera. Now there were two of them, definitely two. There was something familiar about the red woman, but what?
Debra didn't have a lot of friends. She was a nerd who spent most of her free time training for a non-school sport. There was just no opportunity. She only talked to her parents and her coach.
Eh, I'm just nervous and imagining things.
But that gap in her memory never went away. The more she thought about it, the more it bothered her.
"Debbie girl, that was a lifetime best, both for accuracy and time!" her coach gushed when she came back from inspecting the targets. "Did you see that?" she asked the journalist. "I want it on the record. Young Miss Allen has massively improved. Beijing here we come!"
There were definitely two women. The photographer with the green-glowing camera said, "I look forward to capturing it all!" There was something in her tone that Debra didn't like, an entitlement, even greed. What could she possibly be getting out of taking pictures of Debra? Wasn't it just a job?
The red woman never said anything at all. She just smiled, whispered in the ear of the journalist/photographer/whatever she was, and left without ceremony.
Too weird!
Debra practiced some more after the journalist left, but found herself having trouble repeating her previous performance. Her eyesight was so clear now. Why couldn't she do it again? Was it just a fluke? In fact, the more she practiced, the worse she got.
"Don't let it get you down, kid. I know you can do better. You're clutch. You'll perform when it matters. Just keep practicing. Consistency is key. Everyone has off days."
Debra snorted. So cliche. But the more rounds she put downrange, the more she worried. It was like her shooting skill had deserted her. She glanced back towards the exit where the red woman disappeared. Her left eye twitched again, and Debra felt a headache coming on.
***
"I think I'm going to title your profile 'The New American Family'," the journalist from the Dallas Morning News, Stacy something, said, adjusting the group to fit into her shot. The bright lights of the photo studio made Rich blink uneasily.
Everyone was here, mostly. Julie and her mom, Esther, were the stars of the show. They had to be. Esther Cohen would be Plano's next mayor if the polls could be believed, and her daughter Julie was on track to lead the local high school PLUH Pirates to an undefeated season and the state championship, to say nothing of the fact that she was a highly recruited quarterback with a likely future in college football, if not the NFL.
"Let me bend down a bit so our heads are closer together, honey," Esther said, adjusting Rich's father, Oscar Ramirez-Rice, with surprising tenderness. Her long fingers rested on the petite Mexican man's narrow shoulders. Esther, like her daughter, was a tall, statuesque, amazon of a woman. Rich's dad was more than a foot shorter. Poor guy.
Becca and Julie were wearing the party dresses they wore to homecoming, the most formal attire they owned, apparently. As for Rich, a polo shirt was good enough, not too tight, which would be slutty.
His sister was fidgeting and looking uncomfortable. Julie was hugging Rich from the back in a "prom pose", her hands resting on his stomach. It felt really good, actually. "You want to get Burger King after this?" she whispered in his ear. He could feel the smile without needing to see it. "You're always cooking for me, baby. Let me buy you whatever you want."
Rich rested a hand on hers. "Sounds good," he agreed. Burger King was definitely not mid. He'd been extra clingy with his girlfriend lately. Seeing Debra again had him craving connection. Every touch, every soft word was a reminder that he belonged here now, with her.
Cousin Yesenia had been invited too, but she begged off, something to do with "robotics club". Geez, what did Auntie have that girl doing? It was like she never had any free time.
The Rice and Cohen households made for a fine, photogenic display of a multicultural blended family. Julie's mom probably really liked the optics.
"Okay, everyone, smile for me! On one, two-"
CLICK!
The camera flashed green. Strange. Rich had never heard of a green camera flash before. Some kind of digital model that fell out of use after the proliferation of the smartphone? That was his best guess.
"Looks great," the photographer said happily, almost too happily. "Why, I think I've captured everything."
"Make sure you mention the Rice twins are half-Mexican in your article," Esther told him shamelessly. As a politician, she needed a wide demographic appeal.
"Dear, I'm sure people can tell. Richard and Rebecca may be big-boned, but they have my nose and my lips. It's super obvious they're my children," Dad said.
"You're right, of course, honey," Esther said smoothly. "Did you need anything more from us, Stacy?"
The photographer shook her head, putting away the camera that still glowed faintly green. "I've got it all, Ms. Cohen. Will it be Mrs. soon?" she prodded.
Dad's dark skin could still show a blush, apparently.
"No comment," Esther replied quickly, but there was something in the way she said it. Were Dad and her that serious? Well, they were both over forty, about to be empty nesters. Why wait?
Becca looked uncomfortable, and Rich could guess why. Mom's memory loomed over them all. Had enough time passed for Dad to move on? Rich was about to go to her when Julie spoke up.
"So, how about Burger King?" she suggested.
"What about your nutrition plan?" Esther asked like it was an interrogation. There was never any warmth between them that Rich noticed. Everything Esther said to Julie was about goals: football, college, and so forth.
"Come on, Mom!" Julie pleaded. "I'm putting up record numbers! Every head coach in the SEC has come to our house! I'm doing great. Besides, Rich wants a whopper."
The whole family looked at him. Yes, in this situation, Rich was the princess of the family. Everybody would rush to give him whatever he wanted.
***
"Ah, Burger King is not mid at all!" Julie sighed happily, munching on her burger. They were sitting down at a table, actually eating their food inside the restaurant. When was the last time he did that in his last life?
"We wanted to talk to you kids about something," Dad said suddenly.
The three of them, Rich, Becca, and Julie, all looked up from their food.
"It's a big change, and won't happen all at once," Esther said diplomatically, like they were about to drop a bomb on them. Holy shit, were they about to get married? Rich looked at his father's finger, but didn't see an engagement ring, which didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe he wasn't wearing it right now.
"Esther and I were discussing moving in together," Dad said.
"You can't be serious!" Becca said hotly. "You've been dating how long?"
Esther's jaw tightened. "Long enough. I'm serious about your father, Rebecca. We have a very large, almost empty house, more than enough room for all of us."
"And why is that?" Becca said dangerously.
Esther's purple eyes, so similar to Julie's, flashed in anger for a moment, but she mastered it. "That's-"
"Stop!" Rich interjected. He put a hand on Becca's shoulder. When she looked at him, he shook his head. His twin's loyalty to their mother's memory was admirable, but Burger King was no place for a crash out. Julie didn't look terribly pleased either, but she remained silent.
"I would be a distraction for Julie right now," Rich said reasonably. If anything made Esther listen, it would be that. "Living under one roof is perhaps too hasty. Maybe after football season is over?" he suggested.
Esther sat back in her chair. "That might be an idea. You all could move in over Christmas."
"Mom, we're Jewish," Julie pointed out.
She waved a hand dismissively. "Santa Christmas, not Jesus Christmas," Esther replied without hesitation. Damn, it was at times like this that Rich remembered she was a hotshot lawyer.
Rich's proposal for delay had somewhat defused Becca's anger, but he could tell she still wasn't happy. Julie gave his hand a supportive squeeze under the table. Her fingers were greasy, but he couldn't care less.
***
Julie's room was as large as you might expect from the only child of a rich family. She had a plasma TV (remember those?) and every console, every game, with a bookshelf that had more DVDs than books. Half the wall was taken up by a trophy case with awards dating back as long as ten years ago. They lay together on her bed, with their clothes still on, with the door open, at Rich's insistence. He rested his head on her chest and enjoyed the sensation of her gentle breathing as it rose and fell.
"So," Julie said.
Rich craned his neck upward. "So what?"
The big girl sighed. "So what do you think of it? Your dad, my mom, merging families. Will it make it weird for you?"
He shifted his weight slightly to properly look up at her. Those intense purple eyes, usually so confident, strained with unease. "Not at all. We both knew they were dating, but we were together first. Besides, it'll be good practice. We'll be living together in college."
His girlfriend chuckled. "You're right. It won't be that big of a change for us. But what about Becca?"
Becca, right. "It hasn't been that long since our mom died. You know, Stinger and everything."
Julie stiffened. They'd never talked about Stinger, not once. It just hadn't come up. There might be bad memories there. Had Julie lost someone, too? Rich decided not to pry.
"Will she be okay?" Julie asked hesitantly.
"I'll talk to her," Rich promised. "Becca listens to me. She knows how to be reasonable."
Julie worried at her bottom lip, and she looked out the window. "You know, we've got a top-of-the-line home gym here. Becca and I could train together. It's not just me who could play in college."
"You really think so?"
Julie nodded firmly. "I know so. Becca has the size and the speed. She's D1 material easily."
"That might be a good idea. If she had something to focus on, she wouldn't have time to be upset," Rich supposed.
"Speaking of college, I think I know where I'm going. The University of Texas just made me an offer. I'd walk right into a starting position, freshman year. They're in a rebuilding phase and want to construct their whole offense around me. How does Austin sound, baby?"
Rich smiled giddily. "Hook 'em!"
***
Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Rich still had that waiter job at Chili's, and tonight he was working from five until closing. He applied some light makeup in the smallest of the Cohen residence's four bathrooms and left for the restaurant later that afternoon.
"Hello, and welcome to Chili's!" he greeted a group of elderly women brightly. Old people were either the best customers or the very, very worst. He guided the party of four to their table. One of the women was wearing a Navy hat. It read "USS Los Angeles SSN-688".
"Oh my, were you on a Los Angeles class?" Rich asked. He usually opened with some small talk and this would be as good a hook as any.
"The Los Angeles, actually," the old woman said smugly. "I'm retired now. What would a boy like you know about submarines?"
Ugh, boomer vets. How they could sound like arrogant know-it-alls so effortlessly, he had no idea. Rich plastered a fake smile on his face. "Well, I, uh," he trailed off. Reverse world, Rich, gotta remember reverse world. "My Mom was on a Seawolf. She was a nuclear mechanic. I've heard all kinds of stories."
"Nuke, huh?" The woman actually seemed interested. The ice broken, Rich was mentally preparing to retell tales from his first life, repackaged, when a squad of Stinger mooks stormed in, brandishing laser rifles.
"Hands where I can see them, people!" the sergeant said threateningly. "We're gonna go table to table, and I want everyone to empty their pockets and their wallets when I get to you!"
Oh, you're dead, pal, Rich thought darkly. Interrupting him at work was unforgivable! He threw his hands up like everyone else, pointed his ring at the sky, and muttered the rhyme under his breath:
"From a future dark
To a post not set,
Stinger hasn't won just yet,
With Pureheart Power, a noble mission,
Come forth! Future Hero! Henshin!"
...and nothing happened. What the heck? "Henshin! Henshin!" It was no use. Rich said the last "henshin" a little too loud, drawing the attention of one of the Stinger soldiers.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? What's your name, hot stuff?"
"Hey, leave him alone!" one of the boomer vets said chivalrously, and received a rifle butt to the jaw for his trouble. The old woman went limp and sank into the booth. She was so still. Blood started trickling out of her open mouth, staining her teeth and shirt collar.
Righteous anger filled Rich, but the ring just wouldn't listen! He was about to really start panicking when the leader walked over. She looked Rich up and down and instantly paled.
"Get the fuck away from him, rookie! Do you want Nyte to kill us all?" she whispered harshly, but Rich caught every word. What in the world did Nyte want with him? So strange.
The Stinger soldiers robbed every customer in the restaurant, but gave Rich a wide berth. When they left, the cops were called, and he spent the rest of his evening being interviewed by the police. He was looking forward to those tips!
***
As early as he dared, he went over to Reka's house the next day. It being Sunday morning, Brad and the children were sleeping in, but his technical advisor instantly responded to his frantic email.
"Let me see it, Richard." He handed over his ring, and Reka put it through a series of tests, hooking it up to various instruments, bombarding it with waves, and so on. Rich understood none of it.
"It's...inert, Richard," Reka said, sounding confused. "Your ring is not really a power source. It's more like a conduit, a focus. Pureheart Power from your emotional state passes through it and constructs the Endram Armor. Strictly speaking, it shouldn't be able to 'run out' of energy. Frankly, I'm puzzled. Did anything strange happen yesterday?"
Rich wracked his brain for something, anything that could explain him losing his powers, but he came up short. Unless...
"Do you know anything about green cameras, Reka?"
She tilted her head quizzically. "Green? Like a camera painted green?"
"No, uh, like a green camera flash. Is it some sort of digital technology, like a green screen?"
Reka stood up immediately. "Definitely not! But the negative polarity of the emotive force, that is, corrupt energy, usually appears green to human eyes. Richard, you need to tell me everything you remember about this camera!" she said urgently.
So he did. They went over the family portrait, the photographer, and the odd camera. What a strange morning that was.
"That woman was a Stinger agent, Richard. I'm sure of it. Whatever she did nullified your ring. Given time, I could probably figure out a way to fix it, but you don't have time! We've got to get that camera!"
Of course, that was easier said than done. It was Sunday. The offices of the Dallas Morning News weren't even open. Then inspiration struck. Rich emailed the photographer, one Stacy Watkins, whose profile was completely available online, promising a tip on a hot story, but she had to meet him in a quarry just outside of town.
***
"Surprise, motherfucker!" Rich had been lying in wait behind a large rock. When the journalist showed up, he popped up and started advancing on her. She didn't look particularly strong. Taking her camera should be easy.
"Hey, you're that big boy from yesterday!" she said in recognition. "You're pretty cute, got a really unique look. Have you ever considered modeling?"
From the sleezy look on her face, Rich could guess what kind of modeling she had in mind. "I don't think so, Ms. Watkins. You've taken something from me, something very important. Just give me that camera, and I'll let you go."
The photographer backed away in alarm. "But...but...Hamburger Satan promised! With this, I can steal any talent, humble the prideful. All of these stuck-up bitches I have to take pictures of suddenly aren't so special after all! For once in my life, I'll be the story! You can't have my magic camera!"
Rich sighed. So she was choosing the hard way...
He sank into his karate stance and prepared to fight.
CLICK!
A green flash blinded him, and suddenly he lost his balance. That perfect stance that he'd spent months practicing suddenly felt awkward and unnatural.
"I'll take that! See? My camera can even take away whatever kung-fu bullshit you were about to try!"
Damn, she was right. It was like he'd forgotten every lesson in martial arts he'd ever had. Still, the photographer was skinny, and Rich had brute strength on his side. He tried to tackle her and wrestle the camera out of her grasp.
"OOMPH!" After a bit of a struggle, the skinny woman shoved him off, taking him off his feet. Reverse worlds were so unfair! Even this weak-looking woman was physically stronger than him!
"Back off, boy! I don't care how much of a mollygirl you are; a grown woman is still stronger! In fact..." she licked her lips. "You know, it's just us here in the quarry, all alone. How about we have a little fun?"
How could things have gone this badly? Rich scrambled backward, hands frantically searching for a rock or something else he could use as a weapon, but found only dust. Dust! That was it. He swallowed, knowing what he had to do.
"Do you really think I'm attractive?" he purred seductively, arching his back and letting his shirt ride up a bit, showing a peek of midriff. Closer. Just a little closer.
The photographer's eyes were glazed with lust. As she approached, Rich noticed she was carelessly holding her camera with just one hand. Closer...now!
"POCKET SAND!" he cried, throwing a handful of dust in her eye and grabbing the camera while she was distracted. The woman coughed and rubbed her eyes while Rich sprinted away, heading for his truck, parked nearby.
Not fast enough! She chased him and got close enough to grab his shirt. Women ran faster, too! So unfair!
"Give me that you little-"
They struggled in a tug of war over the camera before she tugged too hard, ripping it out of his grasp and sending it flying. It landed with a CREAK!
Sickly green energy flew in all directions, and the camera seemed to scream as if it were dying. Two streams of green energy hit Rich. He could do karate again. He could be Future Hero again!
He raised his ring:
"From a future dark
To a post not set,
Stinger hasn't won just yet,
With Pureheart Power, a noble mission,
Come forth! Future Hero! Henshin!"
It worked! It worked! Bright purple energy wrapped him in a cocoon of hope and left the Endram Armor behind! Future Hero was back.
After the "flashbang" effect wore off, the journalist started backing away in fear. "What...what do you want with me?"
"I want you to tell me everything you know about this...Hamburger Satan," Rich demanded.