In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition Read Online Free

cracked her whip. “Wrong place. Wrong time.”
    Edgy voice. Dramatic delivery. I smiled. Daddy’s girl, definitely .
    Her whip whistled and cracked again, scattering Twisters like gaudy autumn leaves. I triggered two tasers. Missed with one. Hit solid with the other. The Twister danced like water on a hot griddle, then collapsed. The guy I’d missed leveled a blunderbuss at me. Vixen’s whip hit the muzzle, but not before he pulled the trigger.
    I heard the shot a half-second before I felt it. It hit me on the left side, whipping me around like scrap paper in a tornado. My back slammed against a teller’s cage. I flopped to the floor. My left side, from shoulder to hip, ached like I’d been sideswiped by a freight train. No blood. No holes in the coveralls. Near as I could tell I hadn’t been hit with anything, but my body wasn’t buying that.
    The Twister snapped open the blunderbuss, feeding another shell into it. He flipped the weapon closed, then leveled it at me, ready to shoot from the hip. I stared into the gun’s black maw.
    And froze.
    Then the window behind him shattered. Cracks ran up through tinted glass. A curtain of shards rained down and poured like sand up to his ankles. He turned, looking for a target. The chaos outside denied him a clear shot.
    The thing that had broken the window spun to a stop against my right thigh. A silver cylinder as long as my forearm, it had been lathed out of a single piece of metal. One end had been textured for gripping. It filled my hand perfectly, as if it had been made for me.
    Which it had.
    I glanced at the butt-cap. A capital “C” edged it. A metal “K” had been soldered in place over it.
    Outside a dozen Twisters–all looking a bit older and bulkier than their counterparts in the lobby–squared off against two heroes. One, a well-muscled Asian kid dressed in a blue Ninja outfit, flowed through them, laying about with a sword that crackled with electricity.
    Beyond him another young man fought. He wore a sleeveless brown uniform with a tan breast and equipment belt. His cowl covered him from upper lip to hairline, revealing thick brown hair. The same C and K logo appeared in the middle of his chest, on his belt buckle, and the cuffs of his brown gloves. He slid another cylinder from a sheath on his left thigh and hurled it. It caromed off a Twister’s chest. The man jerked and went down.
    My Twister brought his gun back around. “Ha! Kid Coyote missed. I won’t.”
    Kid Coyote? I raised the baton. “Match you...”
    He smiled. “Give it your best shot, old man.”
    Hubris . Okay, so at least one thing hadn’t changed completely in twenty years.
    I backhanded the rod at him. The throw went wide and low. He started laughing. He watched as the cylinder skipped off the floor, turning to follow its flight. The rod bounced off a pillar and came up. Fast. His eyes widened.
    He tried to duck. Too late. It caught him in the chin, snapping his head back. He hit the ground before his gun did.
    I reloaded the tasers, but it was no longer a target-rich environment. A half-dozen Twisters lay scattered about, unconscious or moaning like they wished they were. Two had footprints on their faces. Vixen’d shot a couple more with her pistol. No blood. Anesthetic bullets of some sort, I had to figure. One guy looked like he’d be whipped into a wall, and another hung from the teller’s cage like a scarecrow. The last two cowered while her whip cracked above them, allowing Baker to grab a blunderbuss and play hero.
    The battle outside was dying, too. A huge figure in power armor as brilliantly colored as the Twisters’ togs, crashed into the street. The impact cracked more windows. Twistron, I assumed. Some other hero–green-skinned, yellow hair, with a yellow and blue uniform featuring a swordfish logo—floated down and delivered a punch that put Twistron out for the count.
    Hostages started cheering and congratulating themselves. They produced their uTiliPods and