by Martin Maenza
In a secret base of operations, a tall, well-built black man stood before a monitor screen. He wore a red bandanna about his head, with part of it serving as a mask, along with camouflage pants, a black tank top, and green gloves and boots. A bandoleer of shells crossed his wide chest from his left shoulder down to his right side.
On the screen, a shadowy figure of a man spoke to him. “The implants are in place,” the man said. “They will allow you to draw upon weapons in a great arsenal in order to accomplish your objectives.”
“Yeah?” said the black man. “How so?”
“Merely gesture with your hands and concentrate,” the man on the monitor instructed.
The black man did as he was told, putting out his right hand as if he were holding the grip of a gun. There was a shimmering in the air around his hand, and then he was actually holding a gun — a bazooka, in fact. “Oh, yeah!” the man smiled. “If we had the ability to do this back in ‘Nam, the Cong never would’ve gotten the jump on us! Charlie would’ve taken out their sorry yellow asses but good!”
“Concentrate on the task at hand!” the man on the monitor barked. “You are familiar with your targets?” The image on the screen changed, replacing the talking man with a picture of seven costumed figures — Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, and the Martian Manhunter — the original members of the Justice League of America.
“Oh, yeah, I know ’em!” the black man said. “Don’t you worry about a thing! I’ll take them out but good, starting the most offensive one of the bunch.” He eyed the picture, focusing on the Man of Steel.
“I do not care how you do it,” the man on the monitor said as his shadowy image returned. “Just take care of them!”
The black man raised the weapon. “You’ve got my word! It’s time for Bloodsport to go huntin’!”