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Chapter 3

Sparks flew from the workbench as the Supplier adjusted the calibration node on the plasma core. The tool in his hand hissed and clicked, the soft hum of power coursing through the metallic frame of the prototype. His workshop was dimly lit, cluttered with scavenged tech and experimental weapons—half-finished drones dangled from ceiling hooks, blueprints were pinned haphazardly across the walls, and a dozen monitor screens flickered with schematics, data streams, and surveillance feeds.

He wore a set of stained, oil-slicked overalls, the kind of garment no one expected from one of the most dangerous arms dealers in the city. But the reflective, silver plate covering his face told a different story—sleek and expressionless, its surface gleaming under the overhead lights. Medium-length blond hair hung loose around his face, damp with sweat and streaked with soot.

He didn’t look up when the footsteps echoed in from the far side of the workshop.

“Boss,” the man said, stopping just short of the workbench. He shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance at the pulsing weapon core the Supplier was building. “Got news. Another delivery didn’t make it. Nightingale hit the transport before our people even got to the buyer.”

The Supplier stopped. For a long moment, he simply stared at the glowing weapon in front of him. Then he set the tool down with precise care, straightened up, and turned slowly toward the rows of monitors lining the wall.

Without a word, he tapped at a console. A video jumped onto the main screen—Nightingale, masked and suited, taking on several gang members at once. The frame froze as she turned toward the camera. Her sharp, dark eyes and fierce expression stared back at him through the grainy image.

He tilted his head, studying her.

“She’s starting to become more trouble than she’s worth,” he said quietly. “Three shipments in two weeks. Two of them high-grade tech. She's good and getting better.”

He moved to another panel and typed in a series of commands. The screen split into four images: surveillance photos of Nightingale at crime scenes, thermal footage from an aborted ambush, street-level captures from an automated drone. The city had dozens of heroes, but she had been the most consistent thorn in his side. The most relentless.

He touched a finger to the screen, trailing it down her frozen image like he was tracing a blueprint. “She’s focused. Fast. Predictable, but not enough to be irrelevant.”

The lackey lingered awkwardly near the door. “Should I increase security at the next deal?”

“No,” the Supplier said, voice cold and metallic beneath the mask. “She’ll just adapt. She always does.”

He tapped another button. A separate file opened—encrypted and classified. The header read: PROJECT: REWIRE.

“It’s time,” he said finally, his voice dropping an octave. “She’s made herself a priority.”

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Perils of a Novice Superheroine

A generic superheroing setting drenched with sex and scandal

About

Acropolis City, the center of super-human and caped crusader activity in this particular world - with its own dizzying highs and lows, high-tech skylines and slums standing in stark, four-color contrast, it provided everything that a costumed megalomaniac or masked vigilante could ask for. In fact, as is usually the case where colorful masked characters are the norm, it has become something of an institution by this point. But although the mere existence of costumed heroes and villains no longer shocks people, these people - who, by their very nature, thrive on attention - keep finding new ways to stand out from the crowd and attract the eye. This last goal tends to get a lot of emphasis in the most simple, sexualized way possible. For reasons that the world's most brilliant scientists have yet to explain, latent super-abilities seem to manifest more often in women than men by a ratio of 3 to 1 or more. This is true even when the superpower isn't "natural"; paranormal artifacts fall into their hands, esoteric martial arts schools never seem to have a male heir, the technological prototypes they test always seem to be the ones that are most easily used or abused for good and evil. Unfortunately, the glory days of the past where citizens were happy to see any old masked do-gooder show up are over - in recent years, Acropolis City has established a ranking system of heroes where those who get high marks from the citizens and resolve incidents are rewarded with corporate sponsorships and (most coveted of all) seats at the prestigious League of Propriety. Those who intimidate the populace, cause excessive collateral damage, or simply don't excite anyone, garnering low rankings, get 'asked' to move to less prestigious cities. Few superheroes want to get stuck battling clans of villainous hillbillies and corrupt small-town sheriffs for the rest of their careers, so they're always eager to please the influential citizens of Acropolis City (judges, eminent scientists, first responders, and of course the all-important reporters). On the other side of the law, a similar dynamic predominates; only the most glamorous and charismatic costumed ne'er-do-wells can make it in this town. And so, the novice superheroines just learning the ways of battling for justice and order, without any team to back them up, always end up patrolling the skeeviest, most undesirable slums of the city and taking on the most thankless rescues. As if that weren't bad enough, most of them feel obliged to dress in ways that get more outlandish and revealing with every passing year while they fight the good fight and/or feed their craving for attention, depending on how you see the 'cape life'. As if that weren't troublesome enough, the superhuman mutations that make so many of these heroes' careers possible also result in greatly increased sexual sensitivity, particularly in females. The adventures and misadventures that these spandex-clad lady crusaders get into are often too hot to print for the kind of comics that their young admirers would read. Messy mistakes will be made, but you don't want to disappoint your readers, do you? So let the League know what kind of superheroine you are, your chosen name, powers, and appearance, and they'll send you out on your first patrols. Good luck.