How, What, Where?

Stopwatch of the author said: 0.38 seconds. The adequate time required to demolish everything in a 32 metre radius. Within these few seconds, Harrison had managed to detangle himself from the wreckage of the vehicle. And a special thanks to a shard of glass that he accidentally sat on which led him to go 'insaneous'! He bumped his head on the roof and bounced back on the seats. Luckily, he had slanted his body a bit, towards the car door and… boxed through the glass and landed onto the tar on all fours.

The GSFER was wrapping itself around the Audi A3 when Harrison was a long distance away from the destruction range, away from all the fatal terrors and into the hands of… the cops?

"Hold it right there, Mr Garison! We want no more funny business hanging around these parts!" a hostile-looking officer barked into his megaphone, with one arm clinging to the helicopter with his slender, muscular body leaning outwards. His golden blonde hair billowed in the fresh altitude breeze. He looked like one of those 1940s black-and-white movie stars. "Do you know who we are? We are a bunch of —"

"Cowards!" Harrison grinned. He loved interrupting.

"SILENCE!" the movie cop spat into the megaphone mouthpiece, but it damaged the circuitry. "Ho great! What have you… I mean, what have I… oh, forget it!" He slapped his head, trying to recover from his mental breakdown.

Just right at that moment, the 5:FT burst into ignition of the koronium core inside. The 18-wheeler gained an altitude of 82 cm, and wiped out the low-flying Blackhawk in a narrow, vertical arc.

Luckily, the movie cop was on the 'other' chopper. He grasped the side door but lost grip on the megaphone, which went SPLAT the moment it hit the ground.

The turbulence was awesome, especially when you were mid-air. It could've been applied in spas and massage shops at a 50% discount.

It didn't even take a single minute for the cops to understand who had set the bomb off in the first place.

"G-get him!" the movie cop began launching rockets with his 'Titan Killer' rocket launcher.

Harrison rushed along the highway, dodging all the blasts from the cop's Titan Killer, before getting back to his senses. He turned to the left, grabbed a niche and dug his limbs deep into the walls. He scraped some moss with his finger nails before climbing another niche and then over the edge, and 'Aaaaaaaaaah' then SPLASH into the waters of the Hudson.

***

How do you think it feels to become a world-class fugitive? Do you feel it? You don't? No problem, read on!

Introducing…

…Demonstar (The Monster / Demon Star), the newest and the fullest. This badass buddy has knocked them off!

He used to work as a laborer in South America, when he found a hidden stash of Aztec treasure worth $34 million. He migrated to North America, but the cops were so jealous of his wealth, they didn't let him live in peace ("Sorry, sir, we are jealous of you and we can't let you have any peace")

Whenever a policeman found his Arabian Toyota Supra, lying on the pure American lands, they would huddle around the car like bees scrambling for spots around a beautiful blood orchid and they would file away as many cases as they could.

The cops fed on bribes to keep their stubby mouths shut. Demonstar usually rode on freeway bikes to avoid all this 'stuff'.

His name might sound like he was some kind of gangster, but no! His usual outfit was a black Harris Tweed, RayBan, black Stetson cowboy hat and almost the same outfit as Cooper Black.

Oh, yeah! Now you've finally guessed it! Demonstar's real name was Daemon Black, who was the elder sibling of our dear pal, Cooper.

One day he returned back to New York and found a body floating among the rubbish at Ottoron's Waterworx. The pumping station was blocked due to that 'body'. Demonstar had arrived to check it out. A mechanical crane fished it out before him, straight from the Hudson.

He shook the body awake. It sputtered.

"Glhoo… glhoo…" his lungs were filled with water. Demonstar gave him an abdominal thrust and it all gushed out with specks of blood. Luckily, the body was alive.

"There ya go, that should do it!" Demonstar seated him upon a wooden chair overlooking the pump. "Now, sir, your identity, please." He had those sorrowful, understanding grey eyes that made you feel safe and sound, and spill all the beans out.

Slowly, the man introduced himself, his duty, and how he fell into the waters, etc. But he didn't include any details about his team members or the mission he was on. He just gave him a brief description of the truck driver, the cops, the bomb, the explosion, and the fall.

Demonstar believed him. His belief was strongly reinforced by each word's analysis. Demonstar had plenty of experience questioning perps.

He led him to his bike, and started off into the main city.

***

By the time Harrison and Demonstar had arrived near the 'Lucky Charms' motel, it was dusk. 7 pm. Cars and pedestrians filled the streets. Everyone was about their own business, on the busy Thursday night.

The motel was open, but the doors were blocked by wooden planks, pinned on from the inside. Someone must have robbed it!

Harrison laid a flying kick to a ground floor window and barged in. Demonstar leaned on his bike, waiting for someone to open the garage for him.

The lights were turned on for some strange reason. He was inside the office room. His mind couldn't decipher what the intruders wanted him to know about. On the desk lay an array of letters, files, books and a fly swatter. There were shelves on every wall, tottering with piles and rows of books. Even the door to the lobby was a detached shelf. Light illuminated from a bronze chandelier, hanging from the conical ceiling.

He tried the shelf door; didn't budge. It was locked as well. If all the doors were locked like this, then there was only one way that he could get them all 'unlocked'.

From his pocket, Harrison produced a car alarm remote. It was made of black carbon fibre with two bright red buttons, shaped as a 'X' and an 'O'. He pressed one button and all the doors clicked open at once, leaving behind an eerie clanking echo of bashing a wooden bat with a dustbin lid.

The rusty lobby was full of flickering fluorescent tubes enlightening the path to the stairs.

Harrison took a gulp from a hidden imaginary wine bottle.

The lobby was bare except for a brown tattered sofa, pushed up against a wall adjacent to the LED flatscreen TV. The lights were flickering on and off, constantly. The air reeked of fatty soda and crisp pizza slices that had been lying rotten for about two weeks.

The lobby walls were made of bricks coated with a thin layer of iron to make the room seem 'metallic'. This design was created by the previous caretaker of the motel, a serious cranny old man who loved to spit his mucus onto newcomers. Luckily, the old fool was dead. Poor fellow died of a fatal heart attack when he saw a GSFER for the first (and last) time.

The raw wooden floorboards creaked with every step Harrison took. His vision was blurred by the curtain of darkness ahead at the staircase. He checked his pockets, feeling around for any sign of guns. No luck.

"Hey Blackie, is that you?"

Harrison never felt so dreadful ever in his life. Even by hearing the words spoken out, he could feel eyes watching him. According to instinct, his eyes spun round to meet the other pair of eyes – belonging to Daemon Black outside, knocking on the grey-tinted glass windows.

Garison let out a sigh of relief. He was expecting someone like Dorritor Kho crouching under the window sill with a sniper rifle in his hands.

The stairs were solid concrete, but they reverberated like hollow structures. Harrison had been living upstairs all his life but tonight, it was a different matter. When was the last time he visited his bedroom? And then he remembered Amy Catt.

He nearly tripped over the edge of a stair block as he forced the dark oak doubledoors of his apartment open. He couldn't control his speed and ended up dashing across the dining hall and through the hardwood door of his bedroom dormitory.

"Eeeek!" Amy, half-dressed, slapped him hard across his face.

Harrison was thrown onto the floor as the door was shut off immediately.

"Damn that crazy woman!" he rubbed his left cheek where a bright red stinging handprint was visible.