Black Alice

The figure swept in out the darkness. The yellow face of a broken gargoyle, garish against a shredded black crop-top that barely contained her breasts, between which hung a crucifix. A leer lit on the great and terrible face, and the eyes were without pupils, pure pits of red light in the shadowed orbits. The plaid skirt around her waist did nothing to hide the demon's lack of panties. The figure, all five feet five inches of it, seemed to hold her attention, and the heavy animal musk earlier now washed over her as that great voice rumbled.

Rat...no, Boston, Lois reminded herself...creased his brow. "...actually, I'm a bit at a loss on this one. It looks like someone I'm familiar with, but..."

The figure shuddered and seemed to shrink in on itself. Yellow skin paled and faded, demonic features receded, bulging muscles, claws and horns all shrank back until Lois and Boston/Rat were staring at a perfectly normal teen goth. Who was currently adjusting her top to cover up her nipples.

"I swear, fucking demons ruin all of my clothes..." she muttered. "...and that rhyming is such bullshit."

"Uh, hello?" Lois said. "Who are you?"

The goth looked her in the eye. "I'm Black Alice. Mistress of the occult, stealer of powers and shit. I heard there was some heavy demon shit going down and..."

Lois looked her up and down. "How old are you?"

The teen fished a wallet out of...somewhere...and fished out a card. Lois hadn't seen any pockets, and the card was warm from her body heat. The reporter waved it back and forth a little, to watch the holograms flicker across the surface. Not a fake.

"Happy birthday." she said, handing the card back. "So, you're legal now."

"For all kinds of shit!" The teen gave a maniac smile. "This cooze is achin' for..."

"I hate to interrupt," Boston broke in. "But you're...a superhero? And you're here to help?"

"Shit yeah, muthafucka! Can't leave it all up to you and MILF here."

Drunk as she was, Lois' fist clenched, and she stepped forward to feed Princess Pottymouth a few of her own teeth—but Boston was already there.

"Look, Miss Lane, we could really use the help." While Rat looked and sounded the same, his carriage and tone of voice were completely different. "My name is Boston Brand; some people call me Deadman. I'm a ghost that can possess the living, I help to defeat supernatural threats. And behind that door..." he nodded at the back entrance of the club. "...is a doozy. One which I can't handle by myself."

"I'm here to find four missing women," Lois said, trying to focus as a pert pink nipple slipped out of a hole in Black Alice's top.

"I'm here to get some," the teen said. "but I'll party. What are we looking at, Deadboy?"