I've been struggling with a scene where I need to depict a metahuman character reaching super speed. I used Man of Steel, the Justice League, and even Sonic Adventure 2 for reference material on how to write such a scene. I'm looking for advise on the dose of realism I tried to include--the damage to the environment, the character, etc. Any thoughts are appreciated ^_^
Situation: on spaceport runway at dawn, after the main character gave chase in a transcontinental pursuit aboard a dropship to catch up to a mafia underboss, who is now moments within reach.
The underboss' personal guard in the hangar wheeled out of cover to stop the mercenaries, near invisible to the unaided eye with their suits' optical camouflage, all but silent to the ordinary ear, but like the missiles and many foes before, they were all trespassers in her domain.
Upon invoking a single combative thought, Unit 03 saw in her own eyes a thin red line trace from her combat knife to terminate at four spots of in the hangar. Her right hand had already automatically thumbed the hip mounted holster's ejector button, the blade twirling out before her.
When Unit 03 side armed the blade, it shot out into the distance with a supersonic crack.
The brutal gutting knife took number one on the right by the visor, eviscerating the skull in a cold lightning-flash. Before the decapitated corpse even hit the ground she opened fire exactly six meters to his right, two meters to the rear; his partner lit up in the gunfire, his optical camouflage sputtering and failing.
The heavy assault rifle sung through her flesh, rattled her bones like a jackhammer, but with brute force she muscled recoil strong enough to break bones without a combat armor's micro-exoskeleton framework into submission, and with inhuman accuracy adjusted her aim down range while in mid-stride.
Claire moved to her right, now accustomed to the bulkier and heavier JAW-1120 Armorclad suit. All three opened fire, and number two ignited beneath a hail of depleted uranium rounds--spun out into a sickening lurch, collapsing into the floor as meat and tubes twitching upon the smoldering splintered remains of a skeleton.
When number three and four returned fire, Murdoch and Claire took the front as a charging column, shielding Unit 03 from the gunfire while she reloaded behind them, then leaned out from her mobile cover and returned fire on the enemy position.
Number three staggered from each powerful round, stunned by each impact, finally collapsing to a knee just as number four caught his arm and dragged him from the line of fire, grunting with the effort—then reached out and hit the emergency close button to slam the hangar shut.
The massive loading ramp retracted, eight seconds out.
Unit 03 turned out from behind the mercenaries, dragged a powerful breath into her lungs, and with all her strength sprinted for the transport. What surged into her legs didn't feel like an adrenaline rush so much as an explosion of energy, sickeningly heavy, viscous—igniting every muscle to action.
She accelerated past 160kph in three seconds flat; her boots impacted the road with such force that nearby marking lights on the runway quavered in their fixtures. The wind battered against her, so loud, so deafening that her vision narrowed to a cone.
A twisting plume of shredded tarmac and concrete slabs erupted in her trail. Every thunderous impact shot out cracks across the landing strip. With every passing second she received a month's worth of healing as her body knit back together, but also a month's worth of agony, but she soldiered through the pain.
For Velasquez Company, for Miranda, for Mark, she had to make it—so she ran even faster, pushing beyond her own mental limits. The loading ramp was now half a door's width from closing. Pain slashed through her thighs and calves; her own muscles were tearing themselves apart, but she had to make it.
Unit 03 leapt to slow down—and with a sharp twist spun in midair to place her back towards the starship, and like a pole-vaulter catapulted backwards into the space that remained between the loading ramp and the hull, inhuman strength and speed compelled into action by a very human will.
Unit 03 cleared the sliver of a gap at nearly 340kph, back lightly arched as she rotated. She flew upside down into the starship, her cracked boots sparking the ceiling. Even here, still rotating and moments from dashing against the bulkhead, her keen eyes marked number three hauling number four below.
The instant her feet met the bulkhead, both boots became a splintered dust cloud. The momentum held her there, while Therrite shards sliced into the soles of her feet and finally turned to powder against bone with carbon-nanofiber strength.
Below her, behind the personal guard, hiding amidst the stolen food processors, massive Ukiyo-e prints, spare JAW-180 armor hard cases and various cargo was the man she was looking for, the man she believed had killed her people, taken away her life, and as final insult killed the only man who ever made her feel human.
As her sliced feet hammered into the ceiling and she sprung for him, Unit 03 held him in her gaze.
She chose to believe that in this split-second, the Orekhovskaya underboss, an insect who knew not what he unleashed, had a moment of clarity to behold in awed terror the dark-red eyes of the fell creature he brought upon the universe. As she reached out below to seize him, she let all her personas finally have their resolution.