Mob-Girl 8
By Dru



Pilot Officer Martin Bowen had been breifed, along with everyone else, that a
terrorist organsation 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 Mayors
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 manouvre through his night-vision goggles, a
missle fired from the bar window still far below.

"Incoming!"

"I see it," Bowen told his navigator, performing a fast manouvre to change
course.

The missle 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 prayor 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 laundramat. 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 instuments. 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
skycrapers 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 leiutenant 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 laserbeams 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 starkers?"

"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 agonized 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.