From eaburns at annotations.com Mon Aug 8 06:31:15 2016 From: eaburns at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2016 09:31:15 -0400 Subject: SG: The League #7 (1 of 3) Message-ID: June 23, 2000 Awesome Amalgamated Towers Hartford, Connecticut The Chairman's Office was somewhere between a laboratory, a planning center, an executive suite and a crash pad. Technically, the top three floors of Awesome Amalgamated Tower One 'belonged' to the Chairman, with all the secretarial support and the like on the lowermost one. The top floor was actually where most of the service and support gear were, and of course there was the rooftop landing facilities right over it, which even in this late day sometimes hosted the various ships of the Awesome Force. As a result, the Chairman's Office was, in all practical senses, one floor down from the top. And that was where the Chairman himself sat, looking out two Awesomite Pseudoglass windows where they came to a join in the corner, seeing Hartford and its environs. After the War, with all the reconstruction efforts going on worldwide, Hartford had become a major industrial center, with Awesome Airships cargo craft bringing vital supplies and equipment wherever it was needed. The Chairman was not given to surprises. And indeed, when there was a knock on the terrace door, from the outside, where no one should have been able to land without being detected, he in fact wasn't surprised. He just set his drink down and walked over to open the door. "Hello Mike," Andy said, warmly. "Hey, Andy. Lookin' awesome as always." Mike Green wore a greatly updated Xolchipalian Defense Forces uniform -- though red and silver, as all the uniforms were, this one had a tailored coat, and was as much designed to impress as to defend its wearer against attack or the rigors of space. His Tihorn -- a crowbar shaped multi-purpose tool and weapon that defined the Xolchipalian Defense Forces -- was holstered at his side. And his face was bare. The 'Masked Bruce' was masked no longer. "Why thank you, 'Leftenant Commander.' I hadn't realized you jumped promotional grades with your new command." Andy Goodwin might have left off day to day superheroing, but his white lab coat, pens at the ready in the pocket, his immaculate dress shirt and blue tie, matching slacks and designer glasses still screamed 'awesome.' But then, there was little Andy could do about that. He simply was awesome, and had long before come to terms with that. "Yeah, well, no one said they were bright." He grinned. "Spare a drink? It's your last chance." "I suspect I could do that." Andy smiled a bit, walking over to the bar. "Sherry?" "Make it a rum and coke." "There were no Monty Python routines about rum and coke." "Yeah, but they taste good." Andy smiled a bit, and began mixing. "So when do you, Jane and Dianna leave?" "Tomorrow morning, bright and early. Which is all symbolic and junk, but it just happens that tomorrow the Xolchipalian clock syncs up with Terran Eastern Daylight Time. Call it a coincidence." "Dan would say there's no such thing." "Dan says a lot of stuff." Mike accepted his drink, saluting Andy. Andy had a gimlet of his own, and returned the salute. They drank. "Whoa -- you wouldn't think you could have quality shifts with rum and cokes," Mike said, "but this drink right here? This drink is awesome." "I do try." Andy half-smiled. "Before we go too far, I have an official complaint to pass along." "Oh yeah?" "Indeed. Linda had to take an airship to Glasgow to attend her convention. She wants whatever official pulled the Xolchaportation Network out strung up by his sweetbreads." Mike laughed. "Remind me not to take an elevator ride alone with her." Andy chuckled. "So it's your fault?" Mike laughed again, more lightly. "Sort of. Not really." He looked out the pseudoglass. "Man, it's amazing what you've done here. I keep flashing back to my Freshman year at U-Ha. None of this stuff was there, back then." "That's the nature of progress, Mike." "I know. And that's the point." He looked back at the Awesome scientist, former classmate and friend. "The Xolchipalians gave the Adjusted League all kinds of xenotech on extended loan, ostensibly to help us fight crime and preserve the peace. But... the real reason was me." Andy nodded. "You're an Un-KAL Mil-TEE," he said. "A bringer of chaos through comedy." "Yup. They wanted to watch me closely while keeping me away from the really good stuff back on Xolchipalia. Not that it worked -- I mean, I did destroy the universe." "You put it back." "Elizabeth, Dianna and the Kid put it back. Jane and I just made it possible." He kept looking out the windows, down onto the production fields. Airships drifted to and fro below them. Activity was everywhere. "With the Adjusted League folding its tent and my heading into space, there was no longer a justifiable reason for the Exdefs to leave the Xolchatech where people could access down here. If we wanted to keep it, we'd have had to petition to be made a Xolchipalian Protectorate. That would spell the end of human progress and development. We'd become a resort world, using technologies other planets invented to export our resources. That's too high a price for rapid transit to Europe." "I'm aware," Andy said, softly. "Further... they've always been nervous about us." "The Xolchipalians?" "The Xolchipalians, the Ottasamattawidu, the Kreeps, the Magestrix. All of them." Andy half-smiled. "No race has spawned the breadth of paranormality that humanity has. If any one of the major galactic powers were to dominate the planet--" "The others would freak. Trust me, I know," Mike said, finishing his drink. "The Ottsamattawidu supported Earth before. The Xolchipalians did too. And lots of galactic powers have coveted it. Ultimately, if Earth's going to maintain its integrity--" "Then we have to reach out into space, not have space come down and smother us," Andy finished. "I know." "Is that what you're going to do?" "Sadly, not any time soon." Andy set his half-full drink on his desk, and walked to the other side of the office. He gestured down to the loading docks. "You see those airships? Full to bursting with medical supplies, building materials, food, infrastructural equipment... it's been over two years since V-AIF Day, but we're still rebuilding from the war, here and all over the world. The resources of Awesome Amalgamated -- and so many other corporations of integrity and conscience -- must be devoted to those efforts and solving the attendant problems they represent, before they can once again turn to the stars." "It's important work." "You could help with it, you know." Andy half-smiled, turning back to his old friend. "There's a place for you at Awesome Amalgamated. There has been for years." Mike grinned. "If you'd said that six months ago, I'd have probably said yes. But..." he chuckled. "I want to see it all, Andy. For years I've been a cosmically powered cop on the beat. Now I want to explore. To see that universe without an emergency prompting my heading. And it's not just me. With Jane's evolution heating up, we need to extend beyond our world's capacity to research what she's becoming." "And Dianna?" "Dianna's continuing to adapt to the Oanthat. Conservatively, that process will take a century or two. As Jane looks inward, Dianna looks outward. And they both want to see the galaxy, and I want to give them the room to become what they're becoming...." "Without it ending up in the Daily Planted again?" "Something like that." Mike shrugged. "On the other hand, I was voted Luckiest Son of a Bitch Ever by the readers of Superbabes last week." "I'd have to contest those results, honestly speaking." Andy shook his head again. "It's strange, Mike. Here we are, on the dawn of a new millennium, and everything seems to be changing. The old hero groups are disbanding. The old heroes are getting jobs and raising families. The wheel turns, and the cycle passes, and I sometimes wonder if we can change with the times." Mike arched an eyebrow. "Andy Awesome wondering if he can adapt to a brave new world? Now there's something I never expected to hear." "Awesome or not, I'm just a man. And sooner or later, someone smarter than I ever was will show up and turn the world upside down in ways I could never have predicted." "Maybe. But we have a few years left before those whippersnappers displace us." "Maybe we do. Maybe we do." September 19, 2007 Awesome Amalgamated Towers Hartford, Connecticut "Excuse me, sir -- are you listening to me?" Andrew Goodwin blinked. "Sorry," he said. "I got caught in a memory." Reed frowned. "...yeeeeees. I'm sure. If we can move back to the here and now?" "Certainly, Matthew. Certainly." Reed pointed to the projections on his laptop. "We're looking at a severe shortfall on revenue inside of eight months. The Pentacle Seven processors are eating our lunch -- I have it on good authority that the PC consortium's going to jump to their architecture by Christmas. The 'Awesomenet' media service is taking on water thanks to Amazon and Wal-Mart jumping into the DRM free realm. When the iPhone went with AT&T instead of Annet-based services, that was a major public relations hit, and as strong as our own touchscreen offerings are, they're not getting the marketplace penetration to compete." "Annet enabled service spots are up thirty-three percent since the start of the year," Becki Law cut in on the other side of the conference table. "We're positioned to own laptop wireless broadband inside of--" "Oh thank Elvis we can own laptop broadband," Reed snapped. "I'm sure that 2006 is going to be really excited to hear that." "Don't argue convergence technology with me," Law shot back. "Business and education spaces still--" "Are you two following this Theodora Tesla?" Andy interrupted. The two vice-presidents paused. They weren't used to having their freeform argument undercut. "Excuse me?" Law asked. "Theodora Tesla," Andy said again. "The one out of Manchester, New Hampshire -- just inside the Exclusionary Zone? The one who's put together--" "Have you looked at what she's putting out," Law said. "She honestly thinks she can market these toys as serious contenders." "It's stunningly retrograde thinking on her part," Reed said. "Unitaskers. Superfluous networking. And frankly, her designs are suspect at best. She sent us a proposal in response to an RFP? It looked like an eight year old designed it with tinkertoys, then tried to render it on a blueprint after the fact." "And she's -- what? Sixteen? Seventeen maybe? No one's going to take her seriously outside of a few media gladhanders. The dot com bust taught them the folly of following vunderkin." Andy arched his eyebrow at that. Law paused, then flushed. But she didn't offer an apology. "Honestly, boss," Reed cut in smoothly. "Worry about Rogers Industries. Worry about DefenseCo. Worry about Apple and AT&T. Our share price is getting soft -- we don't need to go jumping at shadows." Andy nodded. "All right. I want to see a marketing plan for an Annet-enabled convergence device. Let's not compete with the iPhone again. Let's try to grab a completely different niche." The two nodded and packed up. They muttered to each other on the way out of the Chairman's Office. Andy watched them shut the door. He walked back to his desk, where his coffee was being kept warm by his induction mug. He took a sip, tapping on his computer's keyboard. A confidential report on the still highly classified Tesla Technologies Matterportation Coil came up. Andy had read it several times already, but he glanced over the specifications again. The specifications, and the handwritten 'Theodora Nikolai Tesla' written across the bottom. "Awesome," he murmured. "Simply awesome." THE LEAGUE Episode #7 Exploitations by Eric Burns-White You can't take three from two, two is less than three so you look at the four in the tens place November 5th, 2007 On the Banks of the Charles River, Cambridge It was fair to say that the woman called 'Reflects' and the man called 'Capacitor' didn't care for one another. It was commonly assumed the pair hated each other, but to be honest that wasn't accurate. For Reflects, hatred was a far more intense thing. She hated Random Encounters, who both turned her into a living statue that was cut off from all physical sensation for *years* and then used her to her betray her best friends. She hated the surviving members of the Unimaginable League Amoral and Awe-Inspiring Force -- though they were very few and very far between -- over their genocidal war that slaughtered millions upon millions of innocents world-wide. She hated Heidi and Spencer Pratt, because she was in no way brain damaged. She didn't hate Capacitor -- the erstwhile Kid Electron -- no matter how reprehensible she found his manner or work ethic. She was annoyed by him. She often wanted to punch him into a sack of broken meat. But she didn't hate him. And she could certainly work with him. Besides, he had some uses. Capacitor, on the other hand, didn't hate Reflects because he couldn't bring himself to hate anyone with breasts that magnificent, especially when her costume was willing to display them in such a nice way. But then, Capacitor was at heart a simple soul. "Scullers incoming!" he shouted, electricity lining his gloved hands. "Yeah, I'm not blind," Reflects snapped, pushing forward, using one foot to push along the grass while the other was braced -- she'd made her left foot's mirror force nigh-frictionless, so she slid over the grass as easily as inline-skates on smooth pavement. "I'll draw, you close?" "Works for me, hotness." "Good Lord, try to focus." Capacitor watched the heroine skate forward, building speed. Most notably, he watched the interplay of her silver skin and her shiny black suit along her posterior. "Not a problem," he said with a grin. Their opposition were the Scullers -- one of the many gangs and syndicates that had cropped up since the Lickmi invasion. With the various gigantic walls cutting Boston into smal neighborhoods, the ongoing emergency, the Exclusionary Zone being declared by the Federal Government preventing licensed paranormal organizations from 'interfering with local, state and federal responses' to said ongoing emergency and the culture of fear that had taken root as a result, surprisingly well armed and organized gangs of criminals were operating openly in the streets, seeking to carve out their own agendas in the wake of chaos and despair. Even by those standards, the Scullers were unusual. Based out of the Charles River area, their territory ranged anywhere from Mass Ave and Northeastern University through Boston University, across the bridges into Cambridge -- MIT, Harvard, and beyond. The gang was made up of young university students, inducted into a not-so-secret society that made them stronger, more durable -- and gave them the ability to rule the streets by night even as they went to classes by day. Why they focused on Crew of all things, dressing in polo shirts and shorts, carrying around oars and rowing shells and the like, absolutely mystified Capacitor. If this had been 1920 -- maybe that would have made sense, but even powerhouse Crew schools like Boston University barely even noticed their rowing teams. It didn't matter. Reflects slammed into the four closest to her, using her built up speed to add to their momentum. Her mirror force didn't just protect her -- it literally 'reflected' the forces applied to it, according to how she used it, so the four went flying like bowling pins, dropping their oars. A female Sculler -- looking hot in her short shorts and white polo shirt, in Capacitor's not-so-innocent opinion -- turned with her bullhorn, focusing a blast of pure sound at the heroine. The sonic blast curved and reflected off Reflects's back, causing almost a distortion effect as it dispersed off into multiple directions. Capacitor reached a hand towards the chick -- feeling the patterns of electromagnetism as they flowed through the air, through the power lines overhead, through the cell phone and battery in her front pocket, and up into the bullhorn itself. Powerful battery, computer controls, generators and amplifiers -- for a half-second, Capacitor indulged in an appreciation of the electromagnetic signature. It was a thing only he could see, and that was a shame. Then, of course, he caused all the electricity to arc outward and down into the ground, giving the Sculler a nasty shock as she dropped the bullhorn -- now melting and on fire -- and jumped back. She whirled, pulling a boatknife out. Capacitor smiled as she faced him. He felt the electrical lines mapping along the woman's 'upper architecture,' curving slightly. "Nice underwire bra," he said. "It suits you." "What are you talking about, you--" Capacitor watched her jerk as he put a high voltage, low amperage charge through said bra's underwires, turning the undergarment into a short term taser. "Sorry babe," he said with a grin as she fell. "Can't dodge your underwear." "You cad!" one of the Sculler men shouted, running for Capacitor. He was carrying a cricket bat -- Capacitor didn't get that affectation at *all* -- curved behind him ready to bash Capacitor's head in. Capacitor liked to use the electronics of his enemies against them -- that way, he didn't have to use much of his own reserve charge. Still, sometimes there wasn't much choice. He blasted the man before he got within ten feet, letting him drop and quiver. "Sorry, dude," he said with a grin, turning to face the rest. Reflects had them in hand. "Come on, big man," she was saying, ducking and punching out at one. The blow knocked him twenty feet -- Reflects didn't have super strength, but in punching she could maximize her 'reflective' power outward, meaning that the crook's own body pushing back against her fist then reflected forward to increase that impact, which in turn cause more reaction back in a feedback loop that just built up until something gave way. Capacitor had seen the reflective heroine shatter steel with one of those punches, and the more durable an opponent was, the more powerful the resulting strike became. Scullers were generally denser than unenhanced humans, so she was pretty effective. Behind her, another Sculler with a cricket bat bounced it harmlessly off Reflects's back, hitting himself in the face with the rebound. A third tried sweeping her legs with an oar, only to have it bounce out of his hands entirely. A fourth slashed with his own boat knife, cursing as he skittered to one side. With time, she'd clearly beat them. But by then the police would be there and that could be trouble. So Capacitor focused on the power lines and transformer overhead. With a snap, electricity sheeted down onto the group -- again with almost all its amperage drained, so that the massive voltage was still a stunning blast, not a killing one -- and grounded through them. He didn't bother to avoid Reflects, since her powers meant the electricity would have no effect on her, and almost enjoyed watching the electrical energies bounce off her and arc into the Scullers for a second hit. And then they were down. Reflects turned to glare. "That took you long enough," she snapped. "Oh, I'm sorry," Capacitor snapped back. "I thought the invulnerable girl could handle a few punks with oars. I was busy on my own you know!" "Yeah, taking a nice long time to fight the only girl with them! What, did her C-cup distract you?" "D-cup," he said absently. "Oh God -- you did the bra-taser thing with her, didn't you?" "Hey -- if I can stun some chick with a knife from fifteen feet away--" "And cop an electrokinetic feel at the same time!" "Multitasking is still on-task! Besides, I couldn't help but notice you went straight into the middle of those burly, sweaty men!" "I went to the largest group! So they wouldn't beat the crap out of you, I would add! God, you're such an asshole--" "Hey! Language! We're role models, remember?" "Oh, that's just great coming from you--" Their L-Phones pinged. "I'm sorry to break up such an intellectually stimulating debate," Ops said, "but there's another group of Scullers on the Cambridge side, and they just attacked a group of unaffiliated students for their money. If you two think you can shut up long enough--" Reflects pulled her L-Phone out. "No problem. Tell Ordinal we're good to go." She slapped the button and put the phone away. "Assuming you don't have somewhere better to be?" she snapped at Capacitor. Capacitor grinned, turning to one of the bystanders. Nearby, he could see a couple of cops running towards them. "She's crazy about me, can't you tell?" "I... don't think I should get involved," he said. "Well, maybe she's just crazy. You know, cult-membership will do that to you." "The Catholic Church is not a cult!" Reflects screamed, just before she imploded into Cherenkov radition as Ordinal teleported her away. "I love doing that," Capacitor said, grinning. "Give the nice cops a stateme--" and then he was gone as well. [Part One ends here, as all parts end somewhere. This was its time, and Batman stayed with it until its end.] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From eaburns at annotations.com Mon Aug 8 06:34:50 2016 From: eaburns at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2016 09:34:50 -0400 Subject: SG: The League #7 (2/3) Message-ID: [Part Two never did anything to you. It starts here anyhow.] August 19, 1997 In the mists of dreams Cordelia swallowed hard as she made her way through the ineffable dreamscapes. Her understanding of the world of dreams -- and her ability to walk through them as one of the rare Dreamers -- was still pretty new, since the day she was brought with hundreds of other Dreamers to the castle of the Realm Nocturne. There, she had learned she had a Queen, and there she had learned that there was a task that needed doing. It had been only a few months, but Cordelia had seen and heard many things since then -- she couldn't remember any of it when she woke up in the so called real world, so that the Unimaginable League Amoral's precognative wouldn't foresee any changes and react to them, but when Cordelia fell asleep at night, she remembered it all... Still, being a link in the subconscious intelligence chain Dreamweaver had forged was exciting, but none of it compared to her assignment that night. She followed the tenuous silver thread to her assigned target, seeing his dreamscape like a hazy silver bubble. She rested her hand on said bubble, and felt herself melt into it-- Cordelia's breath caught as she found herself on a bombed out field, with what looked like millions of corpses stacked all around her. Hacked apart, blown apart, burnt, shot -- it was a charnal house of death all around her, and it took her a moment to keep from throwing up. She could feel the owner of the dreamscape ahead. Shivering, she forced herself to step around -- or sometimes through -- the death and dismemberment, until she reached a small, flat area. There she saw a blond man -- beautiful like a statue, shirtless and standing like a predator, holding an old style silver rapier. His pants were black, his skin and hands were stained with blood, even though the sword was clean. He turned, looking at her with hard grey eyes. "You're not Dreamweaver," he said softly. "N-no," Cordelia said. "I'm... my name's Cordelia. I'm a Dreamer. D-Dreamweaver couldn't -- there was--" The man snorted, turning away. "How old are you, girl?" "Sixteen." "They send children to see me, now?" "Dreamweaver's not that much older than I am." "Dreamweaver is a queen, and a wife, and a mother. She has walked through Hell and she has aspired to Heaven. Dreamweaver has faced death and embraced life. Dreamweaver is not a child, child." Cordelia shivered. "I'm no kid," she said. "Aren't you?" "Are you kidding? My mother disappeared within the first week of the war. There's armed troops in my city, and a ton of the kids I've known since forever are dead now. And we're all pretending like everything's back to normal now that American Authority's there but it's not. My father just drinks and watches television, our teachers keep getting replaced and we have to just act like its normal -- what makes you think there's a kid left in America?" The man's back muscles tensed as she spoke, and Cordelia shivered again. Maybe -- maybe that had been too much. But she just couldn't help it. There had been so much death and destruction since the war had begun-- "You have a point, and you have courage, Cordelia. My name is Anthony. You're here to get my report and give me orders?" "I... don't have orders for you, s-sir--" "Anthony." "I don't have orders for you, I mean... Anthony. Yeah. But if you can tell me anything...." Anthony looked at the sword in his hand. "You have courage you don't yet realize, Cordelia. I was wrong to dismiss you. I'm sorry for that." He looked at her, his gaze intense. Cordelia shivered again but didn't look away. "I have news, yes. The most important news yet." "What is it?" "The Unimaginable League Amoral, acting on Oracle's advice as always, has decided that America is mostly secure, and only token forces are needed to hold the countryside for now. Therefore, they are going to be pulling the bulk of their American troops and forces out of the United States and Mexico, delivering them to the European and Pan-Asian fronts to reinforce our final push against the Awe-Inspiring Force. By the last week of August, the military forces on the North American continent will be less than thirty percent of what they currently are." Cordelia's eyes grew wide. "And... and no one's arguing against it?" "Richard Less, the Director of American Authority, is passionately arguing against this plan. He is cynical of Oracle's abilities, and wishes to proceed as if they did not exist." Anthony snorted. "The bitch of it is, he's right. Not that I remember that when I'm awake, thanks to the Reverie." The Reverie was a part of the Realm Nocturne's war effort. It was a monumental dream construct -- also incorporating magic of some sort -- that ensured that the Dreamers who interacted with the deep cover operatives and the operatives themselves remembered their true allegiences while asleep, but forgot them while awake. At least, until the day the triggers went off, and everyone remembered their real jobs at last. "Can... do you have details?" Anthony nodded, kneeling slowly -- gracefully -- at the edge of the bare circle and reaching for one of the corpses. He pulled a slightly bloody scroll out of the corpse's hand. "Give this to your superiors," he said to Cordelia, holding the scroll out to her. "It will explain everything." Cordelia swallowed, and accepted the scroll. "Do you understand what you're doing, Cordelia?" Anthony said softly. "You're going to give your allies the necessary information that will lead to your nation's freedom." Cordelia looked at Anthony, then looked at the scroll in her hand. "I have to go," she whispered. "Godspeed," he answered. And she went. She delivered the scroll to her superiors. She gave her report. They got excited, of course, and someone ran to tell one of the Lords. There was shouting then, and more than one dreamer (or dream -- it was hard to tell them apart sometimes) hugged Cordelia. Cordelia herself was almost screaming with joy, as her tension and fear left her and the enormity of what she'd just done sank in-- There was a shrill beeping, and Cordelia Wright sat bolt upright in her bed, sweat clinging to her tee shirt. Her mind was awhirl with half-remembered images, blood and death, half-naked men and knights jumping and dancing-- "Cordelia!" her father shouted from downstairs. "Turn that damn alarm off." Cordelia shook her head, the dreams fading. "Yeah," she said, slapping the button. She pushed out of bed. She had to shower and get to school. The American Authority's militia didn't like truancy at all. November 5th, 2007 The Rogers Institute for Paranormal Studies Cordelia stretched, feeling the tight layers of the 'Polyegis' fabric stretch, adjust and conform to her body. Like all of Lochaber's equipment it was a reddish-purple color with yellow highlights. Said highlights extended down from the shoulders into a series of gradiant lines tapering into points, which all together made the uniform look like it had a golden shield insignia, but each individual bar formed a dagger.. The defensive systems and flexible armoring were designed to accentuate her natural physique and appearance. The practical effect made her look more hardbodied than normal- as well as slightly busty and hippy. The sacrifices one made to fight the good fight. She smirked a bit, turning and looking at her profile. The suit included a clinging half-mask, but let her brown bob-cut hair flow free. "I thought we weren't a superhero group," she said. Her voice was contralto -- she'd been told it was her best attribute, though honestly she had quite a few good attributes. "Why do we need masks? Why hide our identities?" "Branding," the requisitions officer answered. "We don't want people to think of you as individuals, We want them to see the uniform. Lochaber is their protector, not Cordelia Wright." "Great," Todd Ellerbee -- call sign 'Snapdragon' and an old classmate of Cordelia's -- said behind her. "The last thing we want is recognition for our accomplishments," "You were told the deal when you signed up." the officer said. "You're not super heroes." "What about her?" Cordelia asked, nodding towards Susan Liddell, Susan -- call sign Carillon --was their commander and trainer. She wasn't wearing one of the Polyegis uniforms, and was still in the training sweats they all wore before. They'd been told her uniform would be 'distinct,' whatever that meant. "She's public relations," the officer said. "She's going to be the face of Lochaber." 'So our faces need to be hidden, huh?" Snapdragon snorted. "I guess we just need better public relations savvy if we want to make the papers." A hand dropped on Snapdragon's shoulder, making him jump. "If you're here to make the papers instead of making a difference, you're here for the wrong reasons, Todd." Doctor Elizabeth Tirkoff -- once both Cordelia and Todd's teacher and now the spearhead behind Lochaber -- sounded amused. She had always been good at that. Still, there was a slight edge to her voice -- clearly, she didn't want to be pushed on this. "Uh, right," Snapdragon said. "That's... uh... that's fine with me, ma'am." "Good." she smiled. "You two look good in those." "That's good," Snapdragon said, "because they sure don't leave anything to the imagination." He posed in front of the mirror, the suit making him look more muscular than he ever had before. "Of course they do," Cordelia said, chuckling softly. "These suits are all about imagination." "How do you mean?" Doctor Tirkoff asked. "They don't conceal us -- they idealize us. We become purple and gold visions -- hot guys and hot chicks looking hot and fighting crime." She ran her hand down her stomach. "Even if they never know who we are individually, as a group we're going to inspire everything from hope to erotic fan-fiction. No matter how much crime we fight, our impact will be all the greater. We are becoming the very stuff of imagination." "Huh," Snapdragon said. "And here I thought we were just wearing padded suits." "The padding gives room for the Polyegis fabric's defensive systems," Doctor Tirkoff said. "But Cordelia's right, Todd. You're going to be iconic." "Hey, it's 'Snapdragon,' remember, Doctor T?" Snapdragon grinned. "Hey -- Cordelia, they got a codename for you yet?" "Call sign," the requisitions officer snapped. "You don't have codenames, you have call signs." "Whatever. What's it going to be, Deal?" Cordelia looked at herself in the mirror once more, smiling softly at what she saw. "Reverie," she murmured. "Call me Reverie." * * * * * * Parvenu sipped from his cup of tea. When he was younger -- both during his time alive and his first few years as a ghost -- he had only liked his tea iced with almost more sugar than water. With the passage of time he had mellowed, and a reasonable (if frustrating) amount of time as a student of magic under Professor Burns had given him some appreciation of the hot, unsweetened variety. Besides, there was something... well, wizardly about a mage drinking tea. Of course, that didn't stop his wife from making fun of him over it, but then their's was a marriage where gentle mockery wasn't only permitted but encouraged. It worked for them. He wished she were with him now, but since they had been sounding out the man they called the Hawaiian -- actually former spy and noted American traitor and ex-dictator Richard Less -- it would have been a bad idea to send her along. Less could still potentially exert the control over Hazard that had turned her into the sociopathic second Radian during the Genocidal Wars. Though Parvenu had reasons to trust the Hawaiian now, it was still an unacceptable risk. So, Parvenu had taken Incandescence with him, and Hazard had gone out on patrol instead. A patrol she was still on, while Parvenu and Incandescence had returned to the League's bunker hidden under the Rogers Foundation's building. Incandescence herself was sitting apart, at the end of the somewhat ratty conference table the League used for meetings. Less had needled her almost to the point of her killing the ex-spy, and she hadn't gotten over being upset just yet. Ops pushed back from her monitoring station. She possessed a superhuman intellect that had let her build both the equipment and its attendant sensor arrays, deploying them throughout the city while keeping them hidden from those who would arrest or destroy the League. "Right," she said. "Things are more or less secure for the moment. What did the Hawaiian have to say?" "Precious little," Incandescence snapped from the other side of the table. "Par for the course," Ops said. "So what did you learn?" "The key is financial," Parvenu said. "It's not simply that all these different gangs are dominating Boston. Someone has to be supplying them. Costumes, weapons, custom gear...." "And the range of supplies is huge," Incandescence said. "It's one thing to give an Ensemble soldier a machinegun that's also a functioning oboe. It's an entirely different thing to provide the special macramé supplies for the Trudis, support the enhancement process for the Scullers, find and provide the magical gear for the Scions of the Phoot--" "A huge range of goods and services using unusual supplies fabricated in unusual ways. Someone has to be arranging all of it. Someone has to be fabricating it for the gangs who don't do it themselves. Someone--" "Do we know for sure aren't multiple suppliers?" Ops asked, steepling her fingers. Behind her, ten year old Kirby Rogers stepped up, setting a diet coke where Ops could reach it. He then set a fresh pot of tea close to Parvenu and a new presspot of decaf coffee for Incandescence. Ops had been teaching him how to be an intern for a superhero organization. For the most part, that meant beverage preparation. "Yeah," Parvenu said, pouring some of the fresh tea. "He confirmed a single supplier. He implied--" "--collusion by some sort of legitimate authority in getting those supplies brought into what's supposed to be a closed city," Ops finished for him. "Yeah, they'd need that to make all this work." "So if we can figure out who's supplying the gangs and track them all down...." Incandescence started to say-- "There's a lot of ways we can do that," Ops cut in again. "That kind of operation is going to leave a paper trail. It might be disguised as something else, but it will exist." "Then we can use that to find the supplier," Incandescence said. "And that means we can find out just who's letting them flood the streets with chaos and using the resulting fear to exert control--" "That's not what you do," Kirby piped up. "You've got to shut them down!" "What?" Parvenu turned to the boy. "I know it seems like we have to focus on the street issue, but as long as we do that, we're really treating symptoms of the problem instead of--" "I know that," Kirby said, in that tone of voice young boys had -- the one that said 'you're really an idiot, aren't you?' "That's not why we need to shut down the suppliers!" "Then... why?" Incandescence asked. "Because the whole setup needs the gangs to work in the first place. Take out the supplier and the gangs will suddenly be cut off. Whoever's using the supplier as their middleman will have to replace those supplies and keep the gangs in gear or Boston'll start making up ground fast. The last thing they want is real headway against the gangs, right? So, by making them take direct action to keep the gangs supplied, that'll mean they're flushed out of hiding and then they can be caught. And we can get real evidence then, and that means the good cops will shut them down, and then we win!" Kirby looked around. "Right? Incandescence and Parvenu looked at each other." "How the Hell did you come up with that plan?" Parvenu asked. Kirby shrugged. "I'm the son of Trashman and Healer." "And you're right," Ops said. "If we successfully knock out the supplier, we can force a real resolution of the entire problem." "Giving us a shot to save the city before Doctor T. and Lochaber can try to take us down," Incandescence said, grinning for the first time since she'd met the Hawaiian. "What's our next step?" * * * * * * Reflects dove forward, making her knees and shins frictionless as she slid towards the next pack of Scullers. This was the fifth they'd fought tonight -- it was fraterinity rush, which meant the Scullers had both been recruiting and was trying those new recruits out. She slammed into the middle of them, letting both her impact and theirs feedback on her mirror force and throw them every which way. She wasn't entirely sure how it was she could cut out all the friction between her and the ground but not be the one to bounce off of them. It seemed impossible. But then, as she got older and learned more control and techniques over her powers, more and more of her life seemed impossible. There was a crackle all around her as she reflected off electricity -- it was being pulled out of a nearby streetlamp -- Capacitor 'living off the land.' Of course, he was off to the side bragging -- he was even half-posing for a cute bystander. Some nineteen year old B.U. student more impressed by bulging muscles than scared of psychotic preppies. It was infuriating to see Kid-E treat all this like a game or a ploy to pick up chicks, and it was more infuriating to see him succeed at it. There was a sudden cry and the sound of wood cracking. Reflects pushed up onto her feet and turned -- one of the Scullers had attacked her from behind, only to have his oar bounced back into his stupid face. He was down and bleeding from his nose. She hadn't even noticed it. Seeing a second with his boat knife out Reflects turned and jabbed, letting the feedback punch double the Sculler over and drop him to the ground. A side-kick into a female Sculler's midsection made her drop her cricket bat and drop to the ground as well. A fourth Sculler swung a heavy boat-chain at Reflects, trying to wrap it around her waist -- only the mirror force bounced the chain as it hit, snapping recoil back up its length into the Sculler's hands and making him jump back, swearing with the pain. Reflects dropped down, sweeping her leg in an arc along the ground halfway between a martial arts leg sweep and a breakdancing move, maximizing the reflective force in that leg. The five Scullers still close to her -- up or down -- hit the field and had its feedback strike hard, knocking two already down across twenty feet of ground, bouncing like a ground-ball to right center. The other three had their legs not only knocked out from under them but downright propelled, causing them to spin in the air almost three times before they crashed into the ground. Reflects slapped her hands on the ground -- maximizing her friction unconsciously, so that she braced perfectly -- and pushed herself back onto her feet. And blinked. Capacitor was surrounded -- and not by the Scullers. In fact, she'd never seen this group before. They wore orange and yellow gang colors, with bandanas around their heads practically straight out of "The Warriors." On their back there were various icons of a sexy burning woman, all in red fire, in various poses with various levels of explicitness to them. Fire that also clung -- in life, not stitching -- to the hands of the gangers. "You offend Her memory!" the first shouted, throwing a punch that was nowhere near Capacitor, but culminated in a ball of fire that streaked out and exploded on his side. "You disgrace Her name!" the second -- a girl -- said as she clapped her hands together, forming a flaming sword which she swung at Capacitor. It seared into his back -- uniform holding, but from his scream it had to be painful. "Hellfire's revenge shall come to you!" a third -- a woman wearing a blood red mask shaped like a doll's face and a yellow and red bodysuit with the orange vest that was part of their gang colors. Reflects realized she'd seen that mask before, from the time Carrie -- back before she ascended to Heaven -- had licensed it for charity during Halloween. Reflects's lip curled with rage as she leapt forward, letting her momentum build as she pushed off the ground on her left foot, her right fully skating frictionlessly now. "You. Are. Not. Invoking HELLFIRE'S NAME!" she screamed, smashing into the circle and knocking two of the six out of her way -- the one on the left skittering thirty feet before he landed, the one on the right being flung back, his boot smacking Capacitor on the side of the head while the hero tried to stand, and then the criminal's body slamming into the ganger on the other side." "Speak not the name of the Unholy Fire! The Hellfions will make you pay for your blasphemy!" the chick-in-red shouted back, sheets of flame coming from her hands and engulfing Reflects. It did her no harm of course -- her field protected her. Really, it just caused the fire to sheet off of her and to the sides, endangering the chick's own gang members. "You think that's going to stop me, you--" There was a scream next to Reflects. She glanced over -- if one of the villains were being badly hurt, she'd have to step it up, whether it was-- "Oops," Reflects said, as Capacitor wrapped his arms around his head and desperately rolled, trying to put the flames out. "All shall burn!" the Hellfion leader shouted again, a halo of fire surrounding her now as she jumped forward, forming a ring of flame around Reflects powerful enough to melt the macadam of the street into molten tar. "You who ape and desecrate the appearance of the Unholy One's Shining Ally -- you shall be the first to feel Our wrath!" Reflects tore her gaze away from Capacitor -- he was rolling, that was the best thing he could do to put out the fire, and Reflects couldn't help him with her defenses maxed out. She couldn't even touch him without slipping off. With a growl of primal rage she threw herself out of the fire circle, the flames encircling her as they pushed away from her, making her look for a moment like liquid gold and silver before her fist connected with the Hellfirean Leader's jaw. As a rule, Reflects didn't punch people in the jaw, or even slap their faces. It was too easy to misjudge the feedback pulse of her field -- too easy to break an enemy's neck, shatter the bones of his skull, or knock the victim's head a good forty yards from its body. Later, Reflects would claim she had known the Hellfirean was more durable than normal. But, truth be told it was just lucky that her impact was just enough to snap the woman's head back, exposing her chest and stomach to a followup punch that did knock her back ten feet. The woman gurgled a bit, lifted her hand to make a point, and then crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Reflect looked at her for a moment, looked around and saw there were no other Hellfireans or Scullers to be seen, and then ran to where Capacitor was lying, smoke still hissing off his suit. "Are you all right?" she asked, dropping to her knee next to him, increasing her friction so she stayed in place as she traced a burn mark on his face with an unarmored finger. "I... have been... way better..." he answered, looking up at her. "Thought you were going to keep them off me." "I thought you knew better than to attack an unknown gang without me." "Hey, they sucker punched me -- and fried electrical lines to cut me off of external power. Maybe if you paid a little more attention--" "So it's my fault some punk group can take you down without breathing hard? Oh, I feel so guilty now, you selfish son of a--" "Calm down," Ops said crisply through their L-Phones. "We're bringing you in. Capacitor, Ordinal will be dropping you into the med-bay. Reflects, come to the briefing room. I want to know about this 'unknown gang' you were fighting." "Gotcha," she said, glaring back at the gangers -- the police was arriving now, and taking statements. She noticed they were carefully avoiding looking at her or her injured teammate. "It's a bit crowded anyway." The telegate opened beneath the pair, and they fell through. With a burst of Cherenkov radiation, they were gone. [It was 'round about that time that the ole Part Two boys realized they was in a heap'a trouble!] -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: From eaburns at annotations.com Mon Aug 8 06:38:04 2016 From: eaburns at annotations.com (Eric Burns) Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2016 09:38:04 -0400 Subject: SG: The League #7 (3rd of the 3) Message-ID: [Part Three. It pairs well with chicken, but then everything pairs well with chicken. There's no reason to keep bringing it up.] "The Hellfions?" Incandescence asked. She sounded amused. "Not Hellfiore, or Hellfired, or Hellfireans? Man, I sort of wish I still had a publicist on staff, Shiny." "Hey Sparky," Reflects answered, "I offered to give you the money back. You could hired all the publicists you want, then." "I don't think so," Incandescence said. "Whatever metaphysical loophole that lets you remember my old civilian life and benefit from a fortune I never historically amassed in the first place might get unlooped if we do that." "Are you saying you bribed the space/time continuum, Sparky?" Hazard asked. She and Iceweaver had gotten in at the same time as Reflects and Capacitor. Capacitor himself was being checked out by Ops in the medbay. "Someone had to, Boomer," Incandescence answered. "What are you people talking about," Kirby asked, clearly hopelessly confused. "Well," Parvenu said, always willing to try and fill in a few expository details. "When Incandescence was on Earth before, she had a different identity where she made a lot of money as a child actress, which was invested well. When she ascended to Heaven after we figured out she was dead, her will went into effect and Reflects inherited most of it. But when the bureaucratic mixup that let her return to Earth from Heaven went through, it essentially seperated Incandescence -- or Matchstick or Hellfire -- from the civilian identity she'd had before, and that civilian instead went on to star in more movies, never having been a superhero. As a result, only Reflects -- for unknown reasons -- can remember the civilian side of Incandescence's past, and as a side-effect of that she continues to enjoy the inheritance she received from--" "No, I got that," Kirby said, slightly annoyed. "Oh. Then what?" "Those three. 'Sparky.' 'Shiny.' 'Boomer.' What the heck?" "Oh." Parvenu shrugged. "I can't help you with that. "It's simple," Hazard said, standing back up. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Incandescence. "She's Sparky." Incandescence slid out of her chair, shifting to point at Reflects. "She's Shiny!" Reflects had preemptively stood already, making her own gesture back to Hazard an elaborate, showy one. "She's Boomer! And! We are--" The three shouted in unison, executing an elaborate move with their arms that was somewhere between competative cheerleading, something the Power Rangers would come up with when drunk, and the semaphore signals one would desperately flag towards a distant boy scout camp. "Chicks! With! Attitude!" The three held pose for a long moment. "O...kay," Parvenu said slowly. "So... the Hellfions. They're a new gang, then?" "Yeah," Reflects said. "And they're fixated on Sparky from before she made the leap. Their fire powers seem to be the real deal. No idea if they really are hellish in nature instead of some other kind of pyrokinesis." "Joy," Hazard said. "I wonder if this is some kind of public relations strike against us." Kirby frowned. "Nah," he said. "No more than the Trudis do anything more than piss Trudy Galloway off. "It seems like the same-old same-old for Boston gangs. Someone charismatic came up with a Thing, and talked a bunch of other people into it. I'd put seven to two they're being supplied by the same middlemen we think the rest of the gangs use." "You are really beginning to freak me out, Kirby," Parvenu said. "I know you're Trashman's son, but--" "Trashman and Healer's son," Kirby interrupted. "That's like being 'Trashman's son' but way better and with extra brainpower." "Which I thought went to your stealth abilities," Incandescence said. Kirby shrugged. "Ask Ops. She's the superintelligent one." "So... if the Hellfions *are* using the same suppliers... how can we turn that to our advantage?" Reflects had steepled her fingers in thought. "Who says we can?" Hazard asked. "I'm just glad there's finally another enemy I can probably cut loose against, at least a little." The four looked at Kirby. "What?" Kirby asked. "Do you need more coffee?" "So-if-the-Hellfions-are-using-the-same-suppliers-how-can-we-turn-that- to-our-advantage?" Reflects repeated in a slight monotone. "Oh -- you're asking me? I'm an intern, remember?" "Sorry -- you'd just had some good insights. I just thought--" "I'm not saying I don't have an answer." Parvenu turned to look at Kirby. "You do?" "Sure. Right now the Hellfions are new -- that means they're still getting used to how they do things, and almost everyone's a recruit instead of a vet. Which means they're probably way sloppier than the other gangs when going, say, to a secret base to meet with their suppliers. That means they're easier to follow, easier to infiltrate--" "That would still take a lot of groundwork," Ops said, walking in. Capacitor and Ordinal followed him, Capacitor bandaged. "And easier to infiltrate or not, none of the active team are really experts in that kind of infiltration or investigation." "I'm not terrible at it," Parvenu said. "You're our battlefield healer. We need that too much." "Speaking of which," Capacitor said. "If you can spare a couple to un-par-broil me..." "I can take the mission," Kirby said. "When I stealth, no one can find me, and I'm great at investigations." "No." Ops didn't leave room for debate. "But--" Kirby started, clearly not getting the 'no room for debate' part. "Sorry, kid," Hazard said with a grin. "That whole 'nine year old' thing trips you up again." "This sucks," Kirby grumbled. "Be that as it may," Ops said, "how do we take the opportunity this lead represents given our current team and our current mission. Like we said the last time this came up -- we can't risk the lives of civilians even if it means--" "We have to cut this off at the source," Parvenu said. "Preferably *before* Lochaber arrests us." "We can *totally* take Lochaber," Hazard said. "Don't even worry." "You and your Murphy invocations," Incandescence said, grinning. "I'll take care of it," Ordinal said, softly. There was a pause in the room. "You?" Hazard asked. "What -- are you going to get Rip in?" Incandescence turned away. Silently, Reflects put a hand on the fiery girl's shoulder. "Rip's in the midwest doing important things," Ordinal said. "Don't worry. I know someone who can handle this." "You do?" Capacitor asked. "Yes." Ordinal looked at Ops. "But he won't do it for free." Ops frowned. "We don't exactly have petty cash, Ordinal." "I'll pay for it," Reflects said -- she being the best off of the team, financially. "How much are we talking?" "Twenty five dollars a day, plus expenses." There was another pause. "And... this guy doesn't *suck?*" Capacitor asked. "At those prices?" Ordinal smiled, almost nostalgically. "You haven't seen the expenses yet." * * * * * * Alice Mercury -- the surname was legal and everything -- made sure the oven's temperature was just right before sliding the carefully assembled Lasagna in. Off to the side she had bread dough proofing, and she needed to get started on sides. She considered wine. Lil would probably like it. Susan-- Alice had no idea if Susan drank wine or not. She'd have said 'no' a month ago, but apparently she didn't know her little sister nearly as well as she'd thought. She didn't know she'd taken up criminal hunting outside of the Exclusionary Zone, for one thing. She didn't know she'd been increasing her abilities and her control over them. She didn't know that when Alice wasn't looking, her sister -- formerly thought to be developmentally disabled -- had turned into the kind of master strategist and paranormal warrior that made her perfect to lead this new 'Lochaber' initiative. An initiative that had been created explicitly to clean up Boston's crime problem and unofficially to bring down the League. Which very unofficially was made up of Alice and Susan's friends. One of the League members had been instrumental in resolving Susan's problems, even. Alice and Elizabeth rarely argued. There was a world of difference between 'rarely' and 'never.' "You look like you're cooking enough food for an army," Buddy said. Buddy was a talking cricket from another altiverse that spent rather a lot of time in Alice's hair. He was also one of her best friends. "I thought this was just family tonight." "Kirby'll probably eat half this all by himself. And Susan's always had an interesting relationship with food." Alice took a moment to stir a couple of things and begin melting butter in a stainless steel skillet. There was a door request -- which actually was an elevator request, since Alice, Elizabeth and Kirby lived on an entire floor of the tower. "Hey MIKE -- who is it?" Alice seemingly asked the air. <> the building's Cybernetic Intelligence answered in his permanently genial voice. "Okay -- pipe them through." She heard the ping of the open circuit. "Hello?" <<("Hey, Ms. Mercury!")>> Harleigh said cheerfully. Like Tristan, Sam and Kirby himself, Harleigh Campbell was a nine year old student at the Academy. She was the product of the war years producing a baby boom among the paranormal community, especially among the heroes and villains who'd been hiding out at the Center of the Earth during the early stages of the war, waiting for their chance to counterattack. She was... enthusiastic. Putting her in a room with Sammy Burns was usually a recipe for trouble. Tristan Burns wasn't particularly good at restraining them, given how easily he could be distracted by interesting scientific experiments, dust motes, shiny objects.... Regardless, the group was often a disaster waiting to happen. Alice approved of this wholeheartedly, and doubly approved of Kirby's friendship with them. "Hey Harleigh -- what's up?" <<("Can Kirby come down? We're putting together an obstacle course.")>> "I thought the training rooms were still in use." Lochaber's training had displaced the students of the Academy -- the actual reason for the whole institute at this point -- almost entirely. Another point of tension between Alice and Elizabeth. "It is. We're doing it in the Load Pan Bay." "That sounds like a terrible idea." <<("It is!")>> "Just so you know. Remember, if there's so much as a scratch on Ms. Tirkoff's Austin-Healy, her wrath will be disproportionate and terrible to behold." <<("We know!")>> "Kirby's not in. Let me check in with him." {{Kirby?}} Alice sent telepathically. There was a pause. {{Kirby Rogers? If you're stealthing so I can't find you and refusing to answer me, I will personally make certain your entire collection of Hercule Poirot DVDs gets scratched.}} ((I'm here! I'm here!)) Kirby's mental voice sounded a bit rushed. Alice had been 'Momma Alice' more than long enough to recognize the mental sound of Kirby trying to cover up something he shouldn't be doing. Most days, Alice would do something about that. Today, she had too much on her mind -- besides, you had to give kids a break sometimes. Otherwise, they'd figure out you were onto them and change up their strategy. {{Good -- Trist, Sammy and Harleigh want to do something really dumb in the Load Pan Bay and want you to go with.}} ((Oh... I can't. I'm with Ooaunt Mandy, doing my independent study.)) Alice blinked. With Mandy? That hardly fit the 'doing something he wasn't supposed to do' mold. {{Hey Mandy,}} Alice sent on a different telepathic 'frequency,' out towards Mandy Harken -- old friend, ex ALU member, current Chair of the Rogers Institute and superintelligent problem solver. {{Is Kirby with you?}} ((Yes he is,)) Mandy's voice came back. ((Do you need him?)) {{No, that's fine. Thanks!}} Alice shifted channels again. {{Okay, kid -- your story checks out. Remember -- dinner tonight isn't optional. Your Aunt Susan's going to be here.}} ((And you need me to be around so everyone's civil in front of the kid. Gotcha.)) Alice rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Harleigh -- he's busy." <<("'K! Bye!")>> There was the ping of the circuit disconnecting. Alice frowned slightly. What would Kirby be doing with Mandy that would have him covering up his activities? And what was that weird mental name slip -- 'Ooaunt Mandy?' It was like he was yodeling in his mind. "Hey Alice, is that butter supposed to be browning?" Buddy asked. "Ack! No!" Alice blurred into speed, moving to take care of the cooking, distracted at least for the moment. * * * * * * Darrin Bates, aka Capacitor, was -- as we said -- a simple soul. He was an expert at all of the skills and talents that came with being a superhero... though he was somewhat deficient on the 'hero' part. But he'd been working on that, mostly. Beyond that? He was an electrical engineer in his day job and he liked pretty women. A lot. There were reasons for this, mind, but we don't need to go into those right now. Regardless, on any number of nights, Darrin would have company staying over in his apartment. As we said -- he liked the ladies. But, after getting burnt in the field, despite having undergone treatments and a few spells from Parvenu, even Darrin wanted a night off. They'd been running hard the last few weeks, and even Darrin's electrical bioenergies wasn't a substitute for sleep. Naturally, at 1:19 am, there was a rather sharp knock at Darrin's door. His eyes flipped open with the sound. Knocking? That couldn't be... it wasn't nearly that time of the month-- There was a second sharp knock. Three hits in succession. Darrin rolled out of bed, grabbing pajama pants and pulling them on. "Coming," he said, loudly enough to be heard, but hopefully not too loudly as to wake the neighbors. His condo was nice, but there were three others on this floor. Darrin reached the door, undid the chain, and pulled it open. He didn't bother to check. He knew who'd be out there. Maria Mendez, looking annoyed and wearing a black trenchcoat that was tied closed, pushed past him. She wasn't mirrored right now, and it looked like she'd recently brushed her hair, making it a touseled mane around her head. "About time." "Oh my," Darrin said, rolling his eyes. "Is it the fifteenth already? Where ever does the time fly?" "Shut up. It's been a bad couple of days, all right? It's not like you won't get something out of it, too." Darrin pushed the door shut. "Oh, I know. How I do know. Because if there's something that never gets old, it's having you condemn me for liking sex during the day and then showing up unannounced expecting it at night." "That's different," Maria snapped. "I have a condition." "A condition. That's what we're calling it, now?" Maria turned, eyes narrowed. Arm on her hip. The coat was still closed. "What would you call it?" "A security hole. Pun intended." "Thus I'm here. Or should I leave?" Darrin looked Maria up and down, feeling the interplay of electromagnetism around her -- her L-Phone's battery and circuits, her watch, her key fob-- Her underwire bra. Something she never wore, except when she showed up at Darrin Bates's condo. Darrin sent a tiny amount of voltage through the wires. The bra-taser, turned down to a sharp tingle instead of an incapacitating shock. Maria's whole body locked, her eyes closing, her breath coming in sharply. Maria was ultra-sensitive to tactile stimulation. It wasn't as bad as when she was fully mirrored and in a state of 24/7 tactile sensory deprivation, but it was still there. As the tingle passed, she moaned very slightly. Darrin knew Maria was using him at the same time she was insulting him to everyone they knew. But Darrin -- as we have said -- was a simple soul. And sometimes hypocritical sex could be the best sex of all. IS HYPOCRITICAL SEX REALLY THE BEST SEX OF ALL? IS ROMANCE DEAD, OR IF NOT IS IT ON LIFE SUPPORT? WHO IS THEODORA TESLA -- AND SHOULD WE REALLY BE ADDING NEW CHARACTERS? SERIOUSLY? THE BRA-TASER? WHO ARE WE TRYING TO KID? SO... IS MARIA USING DARRIN OR DARRIN USING MARIA? ARE THEY BOTH JUST KIND OF UNPLEASANT? ARE WE REALLY STILL DOING A CITY OF HEROES PARODY THIS MANY YEARS AFTER CITY OF HEROES WAS CANCELLED? HAS ANYONE ELSE RECOVERED FULLY FROM CITY OF HEROES BEING CANCELLED? Not me! But I'll continue reading SUPERGUY DIGEST to help ease the pain! Episode Notes and Commentary Available at the Superguy List Livejournal Community! The Superguy List Livejournal Community -- it still exists! http://superguy-list.livejournal.com/35545.html for Episode #7! This series uses characters graciously given by Executive Producer *THE* Mason Kramer As Executive Producer Mason also contributed plot elements and dialogue in places. This story could not exist without Mason. This story continues thanks to Mason. -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: