Sample Sunday: Shero

One of my favorites books that I penned it due out in early July. So I thought it was time to start building up the suspense, the drama, the sexy, the three-inch-heel’d-liciousness that is Shero!

NOTE: This is pre-release, pre-edit.

Chapter 4

It was another day in the life of our transgendered Super Hero. Shero was actually excited about getting ready and making into the the office. If anything, slipping on the sexy KAD (Kick Ass Dress – remember this.) would cleanse him of the hideous vision of the man-suit-nightmare.

Shero reported to HQ a tad on the early side so he could check out Fiends handiwork with his shoes. Shoes, of course, were one of the real four food groups.

Fiend’s office was a flurry of activity. Shero wasn’t sure what was happening but the Psy-witch was scrambling around as if it were buy anything get anything free at Van Maur.

“What’s the dish babe?” Shero tried to catch Fiend as she passed by him carrying a handful of communicators.

“Can’t talk now sexy. Your shoes are over on my desk. I think you’ll like what I did.” Was all Fiend could manage to get out before she peeled off and out of the room.

Shero was left standing alone. He had no idea what was going on. Surely it wasn’t an operation. Had an operation been planned Shero would have been informed and sent out. Curious, he pulled his communicator out of his purse to make sure it was on. It was.


Shero stepped out of the office and was almost run down by Morpher (who was mid-change going from his hobbit-like self to his overly-handsome public personae. He didn’t even bother to toss off an excuse me. That was way out of character. If anything Morpher was a gentleman and, happily, treated Shero like a lady.

Something was definitely up. And the best way to find out what was up was to hear from the horses mouth – the horse, of course, was none other than Collision.

Super-heels in hand, Shero made his way to Collisions’ office, which was alive with action. With Collision was Sinister, Devan Morgan, Tool, Sensei, and a newbie named Destiny – all the big guns. This instantly struck Shero as funky because he would normally attend a meeting of such magnitude (regardless of the issue at hand).

As soon as Shero stepped through the door all eyes turned and stared. An awkward silence blanketed the room. Shero stood rigid, staring at the group.

“We have everything under control Chris.” Collision finally broke the silence.

And he broke it with the name Chris. The name sent a cold chill across Shero’s bare arms. Chris. Something was not couture about the scene.

“What’s going on? Why am I not involved here?” Shero shoved aside tiptoeing around the issue.

“As I said, we have everything under control.” Collision’ voice was cold and pointed as if saying Get your freaky ass out of my office.

Shero decided that the wind needed a dose of caution. “If this is a tactical meeting I have to be included because I am always one of the first heroes sent out.”

Collision stood but didn’t move from his position behind his desk. “We are sending out Destiny. She needs the field experience.” Collision paused, his eyes growing small. “And you are to report to the training hall where Sensei will take you through some much-needed combat sims. That is all.” With that Collision sat down.

Shero didn’t budge. Combat sims? Shero shed the sims training bra years ago.

Collision looked up from the table one more time. “I said that is all Shero.”

There were so many words that wanted to jettison themselves out of Shero’s mouth. Each one of these words would more than likely land Shero in some sort of contempt of some sort or other. But oh those words taste good and so badly did they want to splatter the walls of Collision’s office.

Instead Shero took the lady-like road, turned on his three-inch heels, and made his way to the training hall as ordered. Shero was a lot of things; insubordinate was not one of them.

The training hall was empty. Of course it was empty, everyone else was readying themselves for a juicy combat mission. But not Shero. No! Shero was busy getting ready to practice his moves on three-dimensional hologram technology while being graded by the millennium equivalent of Mr. Miagi.

Shero shook his head at the thought. He knew it was anger speaking. He loved Sensei. Sensei had been his instructor since he was brought into the Society of Super Heroes

“And you were angry then as well.” Sensei’s ancient bamboo-gargled voice echoed through the chamber.

Damn his abilities. Sensei, outside of being an ace instructor, could read minds which made him SSHs best fighter. Imagine knowing exactly what your opponent was going to do before he did it. No one had ever defeated Sensei.

Shero turned to see Sensei wearing a chionsang dress.

“Fairy Godmother look at you!” Shero’s voice rose and octave or three. “You’re in drag. Why the dress Sensei?” A grin slid across Shero’s face. “Have you finally come out of the closet?”

“No Bishoujo. I am only to take you as far in your training as I can. And to do that, I must understand the boundaries you fight within. You dance in a dress, I dance in a dress.” Sensei’s voice had the usual reassuring tone. It said I believe you and therefore you must believe in you.

Shero looked down at Sensei’s bare feet and then at his own high-heeled feet. When he looked back at Sensei, Sensei was shaking his head.

“I do have my limits.” Sensei smiled.

Sensei barked out a few commands which caused the environment of the room to shift. Once stark, polished silver walls were now the alley-ways and buildings of a busy inner-city block. The two men were standing in the center of an intersection. Cars were buzzing by blowing horns at the two be-dressed men.

Sensei held up his hand, on the palm of which rested a marble. The marble was clear with pink swirls throughout…fitting. “Your first test is to steal this marble from me. However, you must do so without touching me.” With that, Sensei bowed, waited for Shero’s bow, and took off down the virtual street.

Sensei was fast. Very fast.

Shero had to figure out the best method for completing the task. He couldn’t touch him, but he could temporarily paralyze him with his fingernails. It was his unique super powers.

He discovered this ability before he was inducted into the rank and file of SSH. His parents had been killed by two common thugs who had broken into their house one evening when Shero (then only known as Chris Sullivan) was out with friend. He returned to the house to see the thugs squealing off in their obnoxiously loud piece of junk car – fumes billowing from the exhaust.

The front door was standing wide open but there was no sound coming from within. Hesitantly Chris entered to find the main room overturned. Chris’ voice trembled as he called for his parents. The silence continued. Chris wound his way into the bedroom to find his mom and dad sprawled on the bed a hole in each forehead.

Without thinking Chris took off running down the street in the direction the car left. He had no idea why he was running but his feet wouldn’t stop. How could he ever catch a speeding red-neck powered car?

Yet he ran. He ran far longer than he should be able to run. His legs pumping down the pavement. His head jerking from side to side, hoping to spot the car on some isolated side street.

Instinct brought him to the city park. It was a common hang-out at night. Teens made out. Shirts and skins played basketball on the cracked-cement court. Bored boys vandalized the park signs. But tonight something different would happen. As Chris’ feet brought him to the hang-out he saw the same car parked on street for all to see. The getaway machine sat empty, it’s owners probably inside the park dividing whatever pittance they managed to steel from Chris’ far-from-affluent parents.

The thought brought an even hotter rage boiling to the surface. Chris leaped the five foot high stone gate without using a single hand. That feat alone could have brought SSH into the picture. But what was to come made Chris Sullivan something special.

He spotted the punks sitting together on a park bench. They had a small grocery sack between them, they were examining its contents. Chris knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that sitting before him were the culprits.

Chris’ temper flared. Rage and hatred bubbled from his core. He didn’t care the consequences, he wanted these two down and he wanted to be the one to bring them down.

He ran hard at the park bench. He had no idea what he would do. He had no weapons. He had no idea if the killers had their weapons (the ones that killed his only family) with them.

When he was twenty or so yards from the bench he stopped. As he stopped his voiced, ragged from the crying he had no idea he had been doing, shot out from his throat.

“You killed my parents!” As he spoke he shot an accusatory finger in the direction of the punks.

What happened next would change his life.