Big Superhero Action Read Online Free PDF

with the gun then stopped and carefully aimed at the drop of sweat rolling down the center of Ditlow’s forehead.
    The gun fired deep-blue crowd control cells set to paralysis. They locked Ditlow in a rictus that dropped him. He tried to get back up, dropped twitching. The twitching stilled until he looked like a snapshot of Sonny Ditlow. He would be unable to operate a muscle for two hours. The police would have to carry him like an oversized wall poster, slide him into the rear seat of the squad car.
    Dwight turned to the Blue Boss, said, “That was about fuc—”
    He was shot with a purple shot from a palm shooter. That one would knock him out for one hour.
    The Mustang peeled streets for ten miles, skidded to a halt in front of Dom’s Italian restaurant, an OSD front. The Blue Boss exo-formed at the curb, walked in.
    Tony Bennett was singing. The Blue Boss strode through the dining room to the table where Man Mafia sat like a one-man Lord’s Supper, sipping red wine. Man Mafia was a formidable monster of black exoframe. His face screen shuffled thirty different black & white mug shots to create a mash-up of organized criminality. The exoframe made him a walking cemetery carrying the cremains of the heads of the New York five families in a translucent layer. That was the myth at least. His superpower was rapid self-cloning. This one was Man Mafia 3.
    The Blue Boss greeted him. “The one-man mafia.”
    Mafia 3 responded with an emotionally numb delivery. “The one-man police force.”
    “This place reminds me of a great movie.”
    “This is a replica of the restaurant in
The Godfather
where Michael Corleone took out Solozzo and McCluskey.”
    “Okay. I see it now.”
    “The OSD is stylistically indulgent.”
    “Modern toilets?”
    “Yes.”
    “A little inauthentic, isn’t it?”
    “It’s not a museum. The dining room is enough.”
    “And the exterior.”
    “Right. Exact replica.”
    The Blue Boss: “A clone inside a clone.”
    “You figured it out.”
    “It took a few but I did.”
    “Good work.”
    “Ask me why I’m here.”
    “You are here for what reason?”
    “I found Sonny Ditlow.”
    “Who is Sonny Ditlow?”
    “One of your customers.”
    “I forgot his name. Sonny Ditlow. Okay, you found Sonny Ditlow.”
    “You can come with me now or wait for the SWAT team.”
    “I’ll take the SWAT team.”
    “You have the option of making your statement to me. This is your Super Bowl commercial. As always this is going out to every news outlet and law enforcement agency in the country.”
    Mafia 3 said, “Why not?”
    The Blue Boss switched on the chest-mounted body-cam. Mafia 3 appeared in a medium close-up. He took a sip of red wine. With two fingers he gestured for a tighter close-up of his face. His emotionally numb monotone delivery extending into a drone, he made his statement.
    “This is business. You know how much psycho energy there is out there in America? Do you know how much there is out there waiting to be tapped into? It’s a growth industry. Do you know how many people want to be serial killers today? Want to be a serial killer but don’t have the time or the talent? Come to the Customizers. The Customizers create an impressive series of kills for you to claim the credit for. All you have to do is go through with the suicide–we even provide the cyanide—and your statement is made. The Customizers will make your statement. You can customize your targets. The Customizers will leave you with a three-name name of eternal infamy. We are branding homicide. The Customizers are the future of murder.”
    The Blue Boss switched off his chest, said, “That was a long one. You had a lot to say.”
    “I can say more if you want. Man Mafia needs no deniability.”
    “Since there are twelve more of you.”
    “How close is the SWAT team?”
    The Blue Boss said, “You won’t be needing this tonight.” He picked up the wine bottle, tossed it into the air behind him. It landed with a