Claiming Supers

Part One.

Kinetica’s cape billowed in the wind as she blasted the roof of the penthouse lair apart with a psionic blast. Her all-female crime-fighting squad; ‘the Ladies of Liberty’ had already infiltrated the skyscraper headquarters of billionaire tech genius and villainess Dr Ruth Ruthless and engaged her cybernetically enhanced goons in a climactic smackdown brawl.

“Ah, I see the jewel of the city has come to stop my nefarious schemes! Well, you are too late, Kinetica. My latest invention will spell your DOOOOM!!” The iniquitous heiress cackled, covered head to toe in futuristic power armor that, for reasons unknown, had a boob window over her bountiful chest.

Kinetica sighed.

Sad to say, it was simply another day in New Avalon. The metropolis attracted supers and villains alike to its grimy streets. Something about packed population centers with sprawling infrastructure and a significant wealth divide was irresistible to all and sundry.

Gangs, mobsters, petty crooks, and anyone with a lick of superpower (well-intentioned or otherwise) flocked here to seek fame and fortune. Crime and vigilante justice were a major problem, not to mention the shady mega-corps that moved in after the entire city was zoned as a tax haven to stimulate economic growth in what amounted to a small-scale warzone.

And the Ladies of Liberty were the premier protectors of said warzone. They each had a role to play, especially since corporate sponsorship of superheroes became a reality.

“Halt villain!” Kinetica cried, deflecting an arcing bolt of electricity with a steel strut held in her telekinetic grip. “Your days of evil-doing are at an end!”

Below, Silver Streak raced at impossible speeds, disarming the mad scientist’s cyborg minions too fast for their advanced weapons systems to track. The slight, lavender-skinned Xeno’s gauntleted fists smashed shoulder-mounted cannons and cracked skulls in a metallic blur.

Miss Miriad’s clones followed closely behind. Pouring out of the stairwells, the duplicated brunettes dogpiled the mechanical hybrids en masse, raining punches and kicks that shattered reinforced bones.

Sally Putty made a dynamic entrance by stretching her hyper-elasticated body between two pillars and launching into the melee like a rubber band—the green-haired heroine tangled groups of attackers in her elongated limbs.

Pitched battle consumed the now roofless laboratory, the villainess’s army of defenders crumbling under their decisive ****. Not that the woman noticed or cared. She was busy grandstanding for the swarm of news drones recording the fight. Standing at the center of a raised circular platform between buzzing Tesla coils, the despicable Doctor gestured towards what appeared to be a twenty-foot **** ray aimed directly at herself.

“This seems like an overly elaborate suicide attempt, Ruth.” Kinetica said glibly. “Never fear. We’ve arranged a nice padded cell with your name on it.”

“Mwahahaha! Fool, behold my brilliance. By harnessing the cosmic radiation released during last year's interdimensional incursion, I have created an energy beam that will invest me with powers untold. You have arrived only to witness my ascension to godhood! Mwahahaha!!”

Kinetica had to admit that the woman had an excellent evil laugh as it boomed from speakers in her armor. But monologuing, really?

A seasoned pro like Dr Ruthless should know better.

With a flare of power, the hovering heroine wrapped the needle-shaped device in telekinetic ****. It was the size of a naval gun and twice as heavy. Metal creaked but didn’t shift, firmly anchored to the floor.

Truthfully, Kinetica could have tossed it into orbit with a flick of a manicured fingernail. She was the strongest psionic in the nation. However, the publicity agents their squad’s sponsor employed demanded theatrics in front of the camera.

Theatrics raised viewer numbers. Raised viewer numbers meant higher brand visibility. Higher brand visibility led to increases in sales and stock value.

She missed the old days when they just arrested the bad guy. But the public wasn’t interested in a ten-second battle where the hero turned up and stomped the antagonist flat in a single blow, and Kinetica had bills to pay like everyone else.

So, reluctantly, she engaged in… dramatics.

“Hnngh! I… will not… allow you.. to hurt… this city!” She pretended to struggle under the non-existent strain. “Sally, help me divert the beam!”

“Roger Dodger!” The elastic girl shouted, extending a hand that inflated to the size of a bouncing castle to latch onto the weapon’s barrel. “Ready when you are, boss lady!”

“Lift on my command.” Something about the otherworldly energies thrumming the device felt strange to Kinetica. An odd reverberation echoed back along her mental bonds. “Now!”

With far more **** than she intended, the whole array flipped out of its cradle, spiraled in the air, and discharged a sickly yellow ray into the city below.

Whoopsie…

“Noooo! My greatest triumph. You stole it from me!” Dr Ruthless shook her armored fists. “My schemes… ruined at the last second! Damn you–”

Kinetica wasn’t listening, staring pensively down at the streets while her squad subdued their foe.

“Ugh. Press conferences are the worst.” Miranda complained, shrugging on a leather jacket. “What a bunch of lounge chair quarterbacks.”

“Why are you bitching?” Sarah laughed, tucking her green hair under an Auburn wig. “You always send a double. The rest of us have to attend in person.”

They were in their private locker room, changing into civilian clothing. Kinetica admired her teammates. They were the best of the best and looked the part. Four ass-kicking lycra-covered super-hotties whose figures ranged from the whip-thin quality of Silvejia’s alien beauty to the ultra-fit sports model physique Miranda maintained.

Sarah’s changeable form didn’t count. Technically classified as a body-morpher, she could shrink, expand, or stretch her hyper-flexible body into various configurations. Presently the rubberized babe was sporting the lean yet busty figure of a beach volleyball player with legs for miles and a spectacular ass.

“At least you two get asked sensible questions.” Silvejia dead-panned, fiddling with her holo-emitter bracelet. “The men of this world are obsessed with my dating life more than any heroic exploits.”

Light distorted around the Xeno speedster, fuzzing momentarily, replacing lavender skin with dusky flesh and turning plum-colored hair black. In her human disguise, she resembled a high-class Indian fashionista—devastatingly slim and tall, with regal features. Even the diamond mindstone fixed to her brow (a symbol of noble lineage) warped into a red bindi.

“It ain’t every day they get to slobber over alien royalty.” Miranda hoisted a heavy duffle bag as though it weighed nothing. She didn't possess enhanced strength but trained rigorously, so each copy of her was in peak fighting condition. “They’re only men, after all. Let me take you on the town, hot stuff. I’ll show ya a real good time. Just you, me and me and me.”

The buff brunette shot her a lascivious wink, which Silvejia studiously ignored. It wasn’t the first time such passes had been made. Their duplicator was a loud and proud icon of the LGBTQ community who wasn’t particularly shy in her advances, especially toward her squadmates.

And why wouldn’t she? Kinetica mused, peeling off the skin-tight gold and black leotard that was their uniform. As a flyer and team leader, hers included a shiny blue cape for added, ugh, theatrics. None of us are less than perfect specimens of one physical archetype or another.

It wasn’t pride nor vanity driving that opinion. Extensive market research, online surveys, and data-mined metrics proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Ladies of Liberty were considered the hottest, sexiest crime-fighting quartet in the northern hemisphere.

Their merchandise flew off the shelves faster than a speeding bullet. Figurines, t-shirts, posters, body pillows, and even a poorly conceived WebFlix mini-series featuring the hammiest acting imaginable proved popular with the star-struck masses.

And Kinetica was their crowning jewel.

Brilliant blonde tresses tipped in scarlet cascaded over her shoulders. She was cheerleader trim, gifted a flawless, expressive face that could light up city blocks with a smile. The tabloids named her ‘America’s Sweetheart.’ She dominated the front page, fighting kaijus or giant robots in a figure-hugging outfit that showcased her youthful body's smooth lines and sensual curves.

Frankly, all the attention made Kinetica uncomfortable.

“You okay, boss lady?” Sarah inquired in her midwestern accent, “Can’t help noticing you're awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”

“The beam weapon that misfired,” She asked. “Did anyone check where it landed?”

“Police cordoned off the entire area.” Miranda waved dismissively. “Let the ground pounders sort that shit out. What else are they good for?”

“A troubled mind only leads to troubled rest,” Silvejia agreed sagely. “Trust in New Avalon’s law enforcement. Those brave men and women are heroes too.”

“If you say so.” Miranda snorted.

“Out, out!” Sarah shooed them away, waiting for the door to shut then stretching over to massage Kinetica’s shoulders. “Don't mind them, boss lady. They're all about the hero lifestyle and sometimes forget why we fight.”

The blonde heroine melted under her friend's relaxing touch. Smiling at the reminder of what she personally fought for…

A quiet, humble life away from the glitz and glamour with the people she cared for.

As if reading her mind, Sarah asked, “Say, isn't tonight date night with that fella of yours?”

“It is.” She said, reaching for a pair of jeans. “Thanks for the pep talk, Sarah. Pass me my glasses?”

Zane staggered up the stairs to his apartment, pain dogged every step.

He was not having a fun day.

Moving to New Avalon had been exciting. The famed metropolis was the financial hub of the East Coast, packed with employment opportunities for fresh college graduates. It was also home to a lively music scene, countless museums and cultural centers, some of the finest dining in the world, and, best of all, superheroes.

Masked demigods who walked amongst the common folk, defending them from the many threats which plagued humanity. They defeated villains, protected the weak, foiled evil plans, and locked up criminals.

Walking the street could mean bumping into the likes of Professor Plutonium or The Human Hammer in their civvies. Never knowing he’d brushed shoulders with legends.

What a thrill!

That was four years ago. Before Zane had been mugged in his first week, landed an entry-level position at the soul-eating Kronos Industries, and witnessed the horror of an actual super battle during the Groundling Uprising. Those sewer-dwelling mutants terrorized the city for over a week!

The destructive fallout had been eye-opening. Collateral damage was nearly as high as rental rates after landlords increased their prices to extort displaced citizens. Organized crime was rampant, the traffic terrible, and the rat race was downright cutthroat.

He imagined most people boarding the subway in an ordinary city didn’t whisper a silent prayer for a safe and uneventful commute to work every morning, free from mad bombers or sentient insect swarms.

Zane had already encountered both.

Today, though… Today was the closest call yet. He’d been walking downtown, minding his own damn business, when the top floor of a nearby skyscraper exploded in superpowered conflict. Broken glass and debris fell like rain which he miraculously survived, sprinting for cover like everyone else when something blasted Zane from above and sent him tumbling across the sidewalk.

He awoke to find a paramedic checking his pupils with a penlight amidst the devastation. After declaring him healthy, minus a few cuts and scrapes, they ordered him to vacate the area, moving to the next casualty.

Unlocking the door, Zane stumbled into his shoebox apartment. The dingy single-bedroom abode reeked of the Chinese food from the restaurant across the street. His stomach growled. Their orange chicken was fucking dynamite.

Honestly, other than bone-deep soreness and an empty belly, he felt exhausted. Flopping face-down onto his goodwill couch, Zane passed the hell out.

"Aaah, not another new series! Please, Meno. For the love of Odin, finish one of the three you're already writing." I hear you cry, dearest reader. My sincere apologies, but it's true. I'm putting Faeophobia on hiatus and dabbling in some superhero corruption. I promise it'll be fun. As usual, if you want to support me or get early access to chapters, consider buying me a caffeine hit. Every drop helps.