Amy spent the afternoon volunteering at an inner-city elementary school. Just as she flew off, waving goodbye to the kids, her cell phone went off again.
"This is U.S. Amy," she said, flying to a stop and hovering in midair.
"Amy," came the voice of a nervous police sergeant, "it's the Hater."
"I'll be right there," she said. He gave her his location, and she flew there as fast as she could. She expected the Hater to attack places like City Hall or Fenway Park, but Bascombe Street had nothing but little shops and hole-in-the-wall restaurants. It was out of the way, catering only to its surrounding neighborhood.
As she flew in closer, Amy saw the Hater in all his testosterone glory. A result of military genetic engineering, the Hater stood nine feet tall and was covered with compact muscle, except for his left arm below the elbow, which had been replaced with a mini-cannon containing various weapon types.
"This is a place of lies," he screamed to a crowd of onlookers, kept at a distance by a scattering of police already at the scene.
Amy lightly flew to the ground and landed right in front of the Hater. He hadn't changed since the last time Amy confronted him. He was completely bald and dressed in leftover combat fatigues no doubt stolen from some military supply store and adjusted for this huge build. His eyes were hidden, as usual, behind wannabe Terminator sunglasses.
"Those shades don't make you look cool, you know," Amy said.
"You!" he yelled. "Here to spread more of your lies and filth?"
Amy held up her hands. "What are you upset about this time?"
"This! Another glorious altar to this country's sins."
He pointed at a tiny shop embedded in a large building. A sign over the door read "U.S. Flags," and inside the windows were flags and various cheap trinkets.
"A flag store?" Amy said. "They're not hurting anyone."
"This country is a fraud, and they're contributing to its fraudulence."
Amy rolled her eyes. "Is this really the time and place to get into a debate about politics? Because it's a highly complicated..."
The Hater pointed his arm-cannon at her and fired. He had equipped the cannon as a sonic weapon. As the first few waves of sound hit her, she stood her ground, the pavement under her feet cracking as she pressed her feet downward. From behind her, she could barely hear the pedestrians scatter and run away.
Another sound wave hit, knocking Amy off her feet. Her back hit a metal surface, which bent to meet her. It was one of the police cars.
"Sorry, guys," she said as she got onto her feet. Addressing the cops on the other side of the car, she said, "I'm going to need to borrow this."
"That's OK, Amy," a cop said. "Do what you gotta."
Amy nodded, grateful that the Boston taxpayers had approved a U.S. Amy contingency fund for the police department at a referendum vote a year earlier.
Amy dug her fingers into the police car's frame. With an exhale, she spun around and threw it at the Hater. He quickly converted his weapon to its laser drill capacity and sliced through the car. Its two smoldering halves landed on either side of him.
While he took a second to appreciate this destruction, Amy flew at him. Her fist smacked him across his cheekbone, sending those stupid shades spinning right off his face.
Amy wanted to make a funny quip about that, but he was too fast for her, swinging his right fist around and punching her in return. It wasn't a hard enough punch to hurt her, but it was enough to swat her out of the air and onto the ground.
Barely registering the impact against the pavement, Amy kicked her right leg forward, hoping to knock down the Hater as well. He anticipated this move, though, and stepped away from her before she kicked.
Apparently having gotten his message across, the Hater pointed his arm-cannon at the flag store. Amy could feel heat coming from it.
In that second, Amy was in the air again. She grabbed the Hater's weapon and pointed it upward as a steam of fire burst out of it, burning itself out in the sky above both of them.
"No!" he yelled, swinging his arm around. She held onto him this time, and flew upward, carrying him with her.
"Everything you believe is a hoax, and you know it," he said as Amy carried him farther and farther up.
Amy had heard enough. From above, to the northeast of the city, she spotted a large stretch of wetland outside of Gloucester – a wide open area where she could properly beat the crap out of him without endangering others.
She flew straight downward, throwing him against the muddy ground and then landing. To one side of her was the lake, with ritzy houses in the distance on its far side. To the other side of her was marshland, an overgrown and undevelopable mess of weeds and moss.
The Hater jumped up, dirty water splashing around him. "Death to America," he said, firing his cannon's laser right at Amy. The beam struck her in her chest.
Amy felt the concentrated light burn past her costume and hit her skin. She felt her skin separate around the burn, allowing the laser to propel through, pushing aside the layer of muscle underneath.
The beam then hit her breastplate, pressing against it like a drill. Her heightened hearing picked up the sound of bone cracking and splintering as the beam to cut its way through.
A second later, the beam seared through her ribcage and the laser pressed directly against her heart. She let out a gasp, able to feel the heat of it inside her.
Her heart pumped once, expelling blood from it to the rest of her body. In that single beat, it filled up again, and this one flex of her heart was powerful enough to push against the laser.
The beam zipped backwards, propelled by that singular heartbeat, right into the Hater's arm-cannon, which exploded in a mess of mechanical parts, muscle, bone, and dissipating energy.
Seeing the smoking, smoldering remains of what was once his arm, the Hater fell to his knees and screamed a surprisingly high-pitched scream.
Amy felt the self-sealing microfibers of her uniform already repairing themselves. There was no bloodstain, which meant her body was already healing. Unfortunately, the pain didn't go away as quickly.
Amy flew right at the Hater, swinging her fists, one after another after another, until he finally collapsed.
She kept an eye on his battered body for a minute, until she was sure he wasn't faking his exhaustion. The Hater stirred for a moment but was in no condition to continue the fight.
"Hate..." he said. "Hate... hate... hate..."
Amy folded her arms. "I've heard your sales pitch already. And you scream like a little girl."
"The Temple will rise."
"What?"
The Hater's eyes rolled upward. It sounded like someone else's voice coming out of his mouth. "The Temple will rise and cleanse the Earth for the sins of humanity. The Temple will end all sin, and the Earth will be made perfect. All praise to the Temple."
He passed out.
Amy heard helicopters. She saw a police chopper heading her way, trailed by a second one, which she assumed was a TV news chopper.
She flew into the air, smiling and waving at both copters – especially at the news cameras – even though she didn't feel like smiling.
* * * *
That night at her apartment, Amy peeled out of her uniform and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She had a large black mark over her breastplate. She touched it gently, still feeling a hint of pain. She knew it would be healed by morning.
She took a quick shower, wrapped her hair in a towel, and put on her favorite flannel pajamas. She made a modest pasta salad for dinner and relaxed with a glass of white wine while listening to some music. She didn't bother watching herself on the news.
Before getting into bed, Amy swiped a piece of paper from her printer and wrote exactly four words and one question mark on it. She placed it next to her radio alarm clock.
The note read, "What is the Temple?"
# # # #
END OF CHAPTER 2
# # # #
Next: School of the future.