Dyna Meets M15+4 H4X0R!!!11oneone

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    Dyna Meets M15+4 H4X0R!!!11oneone

    Part 1:  Jackpot!

    Brian tossed the cash into the plastic BlipMart bag as fast as his shaking fingers would let him.

    "I said I wanted it ALL!" roared the thug, raising his Colt .45 auto to Brian's eye level.

    "That IS all of it!" insisted the poor, trembling clerk.

    "Bull!" And the robber clubbed him across the brow with the gun and vaulted across the counter feet first, sending beef jerky and snack cakes flying. Driven to the floor face first, Brian felt a foot pin his torso down on the tile, while the punk's hand grabbed his hair and wrenched his head up to see the ajar safe under the cleaned-out register. "What do you call that?!!"

    Brian whimpered. Why'd he have to get robbed just when he was making the mid-shift drop? He then heard the pistol cock and lock.

    "Guess I don't need you for nuthin' now," the goon said.

    Brian was near tears. "Dear God! PLEASE HELP ME!"

    He felt the barrel press against the back of his skull. "God helps them that help themselves, bee-a–"

    "Well, He's not gonna help you!" trumpeted a woman's powerful voice through the store.

    The thug looked up. Right next to the beer fridge stood a very tall, very muscular, very buxom, very beautiful strawberry blonde in a white sleeveless, pantless one-piece leotard and what looked like a wrestler's championship belt. She put her hands on her hips, showing off her canteloupe-sized biceps.

    "Now drop the gun and get off him!" she barked. "These premises are protected by Dyna Security Service!"

    Keeping his foot on the hapless cashier's back, he stood all the way upright. "Dyna?" he muttered. "Mo' like just Die!" And he leveled the gun.

    Blam! The slug slammed left of her cleavage. It just flattened at the tip, looking like Dyna'd dropped a mushroom on her chest. She sighed, which made it bounce off and clatter to the floor next to her silver winged flat shoes. "You obviously don't watch the news much, do you?"

    Alarmed, the robber aimed for her face. Blam! Blam! The bullets stopped right on her left cheek and upper lip. She just walked forward slowly. Blam! Blam! Blam! The next shots slammed into her forehead, between her eyes, and into the New Vista University ballcap rack, that last one thanks to the trembling thug's worsening aim.

    Still walking slowly, she just brushed the bullets off her face with her hand. They hadn't even reddened her skin. "Stop it before you hit an innocent with a ricochet," she warned.

    She'd said the wrong thing. The punk then reached down, hoisted Brian up, wrapped his arm with the cash bag around the clerk's neck, and pressed the gun up into his jaw. "YOU stop!" he shouted. "Or I cap Mr. Apu here!"

    She stopped and held up her hands.

    "That's more like it," said the gunman. "Now we're gonna go for a walk. If you come any closer, I drop his hat size to zero."

    "Uh, Brian?" Dyna said.

    The terrified clerk blinked. "Wha?"

    "I think your name tag dropped on the floor."

    Brian looked down. The robber didn't. Perfect. In a flash, she smoothly grabbed a canister of pepper from a shelf, pointed the top at the criminal's face, and squeezed. Whoosh! The pepper rushed right into the punk's eyes and his hostage's hair.

    "AAAGH!" Letting go of his captive, he blindly shot at Dyna's washboard abs, with the same results. She simply glided on her toes at him, raised a hand to his bridge, and flicked her finger right between his eyes. With a whip-crack, the crook flipped back, dropped the gun, flew about 10 feet, and slammed into the door jamb. Sliding down, he lay flat, out cold.

    Brian staggered up to a kneeling position, staring at his defeated assailant. Then he slowly turned and looked up at his huge heroine. The finger which whapped his assailant clear into next week then gently felt where he'd been clubbed.

    "Aw, what a bad bruise," she said like a soothing mother. "No blood or anything, thank Athena, bu–"

    "Oh, thank YOU!" Brian exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.  Then he realized kneeling didn't put him him in the most dignified stance for hugs, and he quickly sprang upright to shake her now-soft hand with both of his.  His face's white skin quickly flushed red with embarrassment.

    Dyna smiled understandingly, patted his shoulder, and finished,  "But we'd better put some ice on that after you call the police."

    And he dialed 911, gave the full details, and they kept watch on the punk as they waited for the cops and the store manager to show. She even gave a five-dollar bill to cover for the pepper she'd used for her spray. At first Brian wouldn't hear of it, but finally he'd agreed when she was eyeing the coffee and decided to let her have two free cups after she'd signed on the "Cop Cup" sheet. Just as the sirens sounded, though, she said, "Bye bye, gotta fly." And she toted the hot drinks out the door, and flew off east toward the bright morning sun.

    "Hey, Scott!" Deena said, toting the hot drinks in the travel mugs from her car.

    "What?" Scott Pratt said, staring at Deena Charles cockeyed. "No doughnuts?"

    "Slipped my mind," Deena said with a smiling shrug.

    Snickering, he sipped his black cup of joe while she sipped her French vanilla. "So what are you doing here?"

    "Internet friend of mine's coming here to NVU, and wanted to check out the campus," she said cheerily. "Named Pierre."

    "Is he from France or Quebec?"

    "Neither.  It's his web nickname:  PierreSouthDaCoder."

    "Arrgh.  That's bad."

    "Anyway, his… or her… real name's Terry.  Mega-smart.  I'm supposed to meet the pundit here on the quad to give the fifty cent tour. And what's on your agenda today?"

    "Quite a laundry list," he said. "Seeing  the Mass Comm department about our summer internship program, covering a piece where Sparta Industry's showing off a new laser tank especially for the ROTC here, and talk them into joining their security team, big football game against Lingston Tech… and now covering an attempted Blipmart robbery, thanks to Dyna.  No rest for the wicked."

    "Just pick up the footage on the security cams," Deena said, grinning at his teasing.  "How about I get you some doughnuts for the road now, pumpkin?"

    "It's OK, let me buy," he offered. "Just let me get to an ATM."

    And right across the street he saw a cash dispenser, and it was with his bank, too. No service fees. And just two doors down, there was a Krispy Kreme with the Hot Doughnuts Now! sign on. Today must've been his lucky day.

    But just after Deena and Scott walked over, popped in his card, and pecked in his PIN, the readout screen got jumbled. Then it said:

    "C0N9R4+U14+|0N5, Mr. Pratt!!!11
    j00 ju5+ #|+ +#4 J4C|


    LOL! I sooooo hate this t33n4ge-g33k language! Anyway, I enjoy a good super-heroine story (plus, this Dyna sounds hot!). Please continue.

    David C. Matthews

    (plus, this Dyna sounds hot!)

    Ah, you’ve never seen Dyna the Damsel Dynamo? Then go here!

    (Yes, I know it’s an ugly home page; I’m still working on it!)


    [quote="alex"](plus, this Dyna sounds hot!)

    Ah, you’ve never seen Dyna the Damsel Dynamo? Then go here!

    (Yes, I know it’s an ugly home page; I’m still working on it!)[/quote]

    Damn! Wow! She IS hot!!! And you Sir, are a Pro. Great work!


    Your heroines are sublime. By the way, what are satin Steele’s powers?

    David C. Matthews

    Your heroines are sublime. By the way, what are satin Steele’s powers?

    Satin doesn’t really have "powers" as such… I posit her as being naturally (genetically) gifted for structure, muscle development, and strength, but not superhumanly so. And since I’ve changed the direction of her series from "heroic adventure" to "sports/drama", she really doesn’t have need of super powers.


    Interesting. I noticed that your heroines resemble each other. This isn’t equivalent to saying that they look alike, but they don’t seem very diverse. This isn’t a criticism, because they are all hot, but rather an observation.


    Not a bad start… what happens for an encore?

    David C. Matthews

    Interesting. I noticed that your heroines resemble each other. This isn’t equivalent to saying that they look alike, but they don’t seem very diverse. This isn’t a criticism, because they are all hot, but rather an observation.

    Well, I got a thing for tan muscular blondes 😆

    Seriously, that is something I need to work on in the future. (It’s one of the reasons I gave Dyna red hair.) If you’re interested in seeing a DCM character that isn’t just another blonde, look at Muscle Girl. <-that’s a link. She’s a circus strongwoman who is known only by her stage name "Muscle Girl" or "MG" for short; nobody knows her real name… including herself! So naturally, part of the overriding series arc is her quest to find her true identity and heritage. I deliberately gave MG a multi-ethnic look that’s hard to pin down to one race or ethnicity.

    mistress? 😉 )


    Part 2:  Lingo

    "Hmph!  Hnnrgh!  Wrrmgh!"

    Bob struggled as he pushed the weight machine's bar up and down.  He'd finally gotten it up to 50 pounds, according to the device's LED readout, but it wasn't enough.  He still hated having boobs bigger than some of the girls here.  At least his huge gut most of the attention off it.  He mentally yelled at himself to keep going!  Harder!  Push!  Move it, you big fat tub of goo!

    He was his own worst critic.  And drill instructor.

    "And this just in," said the news/talk radio broadcast on his radio/mp3 player's headphones, "a Kansas City gym is witness to a very bizzare death.  Bodybuilder Walt Madden, 33, was found dead on the floor of Steelback's Fitness Center's weight room.  Witnesses reported that Madden, formerly 232 pounds of muscle, was reduced to a virtually mummified skeleton, with little more than skin, bones, and hair remaining.  Also remaining on his body was a one U.S. dollar bill with a green skeleton replacing George Washington's profile.  Police have not ruled out a homicide, though there have been no signs of a break in."  

    That got Bob's attention.  KC wasn't that far from New Vista.  He idly wondered whether whoever did this took away the fat, too…

    "Hey, Blob.  Move."

    He ignored it.  His name was Bob.  "Hey.  Body by Cake."  He felt a backhand rap his flabby upper left arm.  "I said move."

    Closing his eyes, he kept pumping the iron.  Then it stopped.  He couldn't push it further.  And not because his arms were too tired.  The bar was stuck.  He opened his eyes.

    Roy stood over him, holding the bar down.

    "What's the matter, wimp?" he said.  "You can't handle 50 pounds, you don't belong here.  Move."

    "Stop it," Bob grunted.

    "Stop it," Roy mocked.

    "I waited 30 minutes for my turn, and I'm a student like everyone else!" Bob huffed.  "Go bug someone or do something else!"

    "Football team has priority," said Roy.  "Beat it."

    "HEY!"  Bob shouted.  "Spotter, please!"  Then Roy suddenly let go.  "AAGH!"  Bob threw something out of joint when his arms rocketed up.  Staring, he'd seen that the weight plates had been disconnected from the pulley system.  His shoulders ached like crazy.

    "You butthead!" he shouted.  "You did that on purpose!"

    "Did what?"

    "I probably dislocated something, thanks to you!"

    "So what?  You're the one who kept pushing," Roy said simply and pointed to the door.  "Anyway, you can't exercise now.  Now walk it off, go home and play your little computer shooter or something."

    "No fracking way!  I'll–"

    "You'll leave," Roy interrupted.  "Door.  That way."

    Bob seethed and didn't budge.  "You move me."

    "Fine."  And Roy grabbed him with one hand by the collar, hoisted him up, and pulled him to the door.  But when he turned the handle with his free hand, it wouldn't open.  

    Cheryl, the gym attendant, rushed up.  "What's the trouble?"

    "This door won't op–"

    "This jockstrap head injured me!"

    And the shouting match raged between the two until Cheryl blew her sports whistle.

    "Simmer down!" she said.  Then she heard more doors lock shut.  Other exercisers then tried working the doors.  She tried putting in her key, but no results.  

    Then the three heard a "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"  Roy's buddy Mitch was running at an impossibly fast rate on the treadmill.  He was slamming the emergency stop button with his palm, but it kept going.  "Somebody stop this thing!" he yelled.

    "Hey," called Cheryl, "why don't you just step on the sides where there's no–"

    "Yaaagh!"  Mitch got catapulted into the free weights.

    Cheryl sighed.  "… tread."

    Roy then wiped his brow and said, "Is it just me, or did it just get hotter in here all of a sudden?"

    Bob looked around.  "Yeah, it does feel warmer."  He checked a thermostat.  The temperature read 86 degrees Fahrenheit, and was slowly inching up.

    Then he saw something on the check-in desk's computer monitor:  It was a simple message in big letters,  numbers, and symbols:  

    C|_|M 0|| f331 +#@ 8|_|R||

    "I'll call for help," Cheryl said.  But when she picked up the desk phone, she got no dial tone.  She tapped the hook over and over.  "Nothing.  It's dead!"

    "What's going on here?!" Roy demanded, alarm tainting his voice.

    Bob glanced around.  Tempted as he was to slip away and find his own way out, he decided to pull out his cell phone and hit 911.

    As patrolman Adam Welsh and bank manager Hiram "Hi" Fieze gathered up the bills while Scott checked the footage he caught on videotape, Deena and reporter Tom Thorndyke squinted at the message on the ATM's screen.

    Scott scratched his head.  "Think it's some kind of code?"

    Deena's forehead wrinkled in worry.  "What if it's a virus?!"

    Scott groaned.  "I'd better call my bank and credit bureau. I hope I'm not gonna end up a victim of identity theft."

    Tom shook his head.  "Well, we've got the ROTC/Sparta piece to cover.  The cops have the ATMs covered now.  We'll figure out the message later, if it's that.  It's probably just a snafu in the system."

    "It's leetspeak," said someone behind them.  

    They spun around.  It was a 13 year old boy in jeans and a black t-shirt with "It's Only Ones And Zeroes" in bright green letters.

    "Leet-what?" asked Scott.

    "Leetspeak.  As in, 'fear my 'leet hacking skills'?"

    "Hey, who asked you, kid?" Tom huffed.

    "Wait, wait, wait," said Deena.  "Can you tell me what that means?"

    "Sure.  It says, 'Congratulations, Mr. Pratt!  You just the jackpot!'" He pointed to the screen.  See?  That four is supposed to be an A, the fives are Ss, and the plus marks are Ts.  They all look like letters if you squint at them right."

    "Badly spelled," muttered Tom.

    "It's supposed to be urban rapper style or something like that," the teen said simply.  "Same with the overdone exclamation points, and the 1s."

    Deena said, "A 'typo,' with 'one' spelled out to show it's a deliberate 'mistake'?"  

    Ones and Zeroes nodded.  "It's probably some hacker with more spare time than brains on how to spend it."

    "That's well, and good, and all," Tom said condescendingly, "but we've other stories to cover."

    Just then, Officer Welsh's radio squawked.  "Break one-nine.  Emergency call from NVU Athletic Center.  Fourteen individuals locked in weight room with no available exit.  HVAC system reportedly out of control, overheating premises.  Ambu-Van and fire unit en route; nearest unit please respond for backup."

    Welsh grabbed his portable radio.  But before he could respond, another officer answered, "Dispatch, this is unit U-7, am on my way from Westview Avenue."  

    But then a third voice came after that.  "Dispatch, dispatch!  This is NVUFD Unit 2!  Med-Vac unit NVU2 is completely stalled at the corner of Oak and Bradley!  Driver on handheld radio just said it just shut off and will not cut on again."

    Welsh looked to the bank manager.  "Sorry, emergency.  I think you'd better keep a good count, and call our offices later when this is over." then sounded on it.  "Welsh, Unit U4 here.  Am on way to assist stopped medvac unit."

    "Roger that," sounded Dspatch.  "All units, please send nearest vehicle to assist with athleti–"  

    And then the radio stopped.

    Hackles fully up, Welsh started into the radio, "Welsh to dispatch, do you copy?"  Nothing.  "Dispatch, do you read?"  Still nothing.  He then jumped into his vehicle, and put in the key.  It started up.

    Then a dark green arc of energy bolted from the sky, entered his vehicle, then bounced right back.  The patrol car died.  "What the?!" stammered Welsh.  He turned the key repeatedly.  It wouldn't even do a dead battery click.

    Then the car's onboad computer lit up:  "j00r +4X |>0114z @ //0R|< — M15+4 H4X0R"

    "What the rut's going on here?!" Tom demanded.

    "Another hack attack," groaned Welsh.  

    Ones and Zeroes peeked in.  "Your Tax Dollars At Work — Mister Haxor."

    "Will you get lost, kid?" Tom groused.  "Go play your Pokemon or something."

    The kid looked up.  "I got a name, Mr. Thorndyke," he said.  "It's Pierre."

    Tom blinked.  "Pierre?"

    "Yeah.  Pierre South, da Coder."

    "You watch 'No Secrets,' son?"

    "My grand-dad does.  Mostly to grouch at the show."

    While Tom put his hands his hips in a huff, Deena blinked.  Pierre?  THAT was Pierre?

    She shook her head.  She could check that one later.  "I think I'll try to see if I can get help," she said, running off.  

    Tom grunted, waving her off dismissively.  Scott nodded, too.

    Rounding a corner into an alley, Deena ducked behind a dumpster.  Then feeling her waist with her fingers, she felt it rise to the surface like a label would on a just-moused-over computer icon onscreen:  the Belt of Athena.   And just like a mouse button, she clicked the round buckle in the middle.  

    Her world glowed softly and brightly.  That warm feeling started in the pit of her stomach and flooded through her limbs up to the top of her like-underwater flowing hair.  Then her arms, calves, thighs, and bust ballooned out, and her trunk thickened like a maple tree's.  And another set of street clothes ripped and bit the dust (though she wonedered why it didn't simply morph into her heroine outfit since she'd be wearing it again after she'd saved the day and changed back.) She thought the whole thing would have been old hat by now.  But no, she relished the feeling of getting taller.  Bigger. Stronger. Mightier. Better.

    The glow masked all in her vision, then once it faded so she could see, there she was.  Dyna the Damsel Dynamo was back!

    "Time for me to hit the gym," she said.  And she leapt into the air, and flew off.

    Merl, the maintenance guy walked down to the basement.  "So you still can't get out?" he said in his cell phone.

    "Yeah," said a bleary, overheating Bob by the computer.  He sipped the water Cheryl got him.  "I've been trying to override things for the staff, but no dice.  It won't let me in."

    "I'm down by the boiler now," said Merl over the hissing, gurgling pipes and machinery.  "I'll see if I can try to shut off the works here."  He read the gauges.  Then he gulped.

    "That didn't sound good," said Bob.  "What's up?"

    "Uhhhh…" went Merl nervously.


    "The readings say here the water pressure's ALREADY in the red zones!   It's getting dangerous!  If it gets much higher, the whole boiler is gonna explode!"

    "Explode?!" went Bob.

    "EXPLODE?!" went the gym rats.

    "Don't panic!" said Merl.  "I'll go to the master breakers and kill the power!  We won't be able to open the doors, but at least things'll cool down!"  

    Whirr-click! The door to the breakers locked.

    "Oh no," went Bob.  "Was that–"

    "I'll go topside and see if we can disconnect the line there!  You call the electric company just in case and see if you can get them to shut us dow–"  

    Then the phone connection dropped.

    "Merl?" went Bob.  "Hello?  HELLO?!"

    He hit redial, only to see his cell phone readout say, "Service Temporarily Unavailable."  

    Merl, in the basement, rushed to the door leading upstairs, only to have it automatically shut and lock in his face.

    He stared around the basement.  "Eep."

    ((To Be Continued))

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