Go on the attack

From the shadows of the garage, Velvet Vixen tightens her grip around the heavy wrench she swiped from the tool bench. Her heart pounds in her ears. Cleo and the remaining henchgirl are mid-argument over the deflated tires when the moment arrives.

The henchgirl turns her back.

“Now or never, baby.”

With a wild yell and a swirl of cape, Velvet Vixen lunges out from hiding and cracks the wrench across the henchgirl’s skull with a satisfyingly cinematic CLANG! The woman crumples to the ground like a vintage lamp being unplugged.

Cleo spins around, surprise flashing in her eyes—followed by cold fury. She pulls a sleek black pistol from her jacket and fires, wild shots sparking against the garage walls and the cars’ frames.

“You little brat!”

Velvet Vixen dives behind the car, heart thudding, bullets ringing in her ears.

“You know,” she shouts as she ducks and rolls, “I always imagined this part of heroism would be hotter!”

She sprints out from behind the car just as Cleo runs for the exit, the queenpin’s long legs and flowing jacket trailing behind her.

“Stop! I mean it!” Velvet Vixen cries, chasing her down.

Warehouse Exterior – The Loading Dock

The late-night heat clings to Kendrick’s skin as she and Cleo burst out onto the dock. The air is heavy, thick with humidity and the faint scent of motor oil.

Cleo slows and turns, pistol still in hand, her expression sharp.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves, kitten.”

Velvet Vixen plants her hands on her hips, catching her breath.

“You’ve got a truck to catch or something?”

Cleo narrows her eyes… and smiles.

“I do. But I’m not going anywhere.”

She lifts a hand and waves cheekily.

“You are.”

Before Kendrick can react, she hears the ominous shuffle of heels behind her—then—

Plastic. Arms. Panic.

A clear plastic bag is yanked over her head, the air sucked from her lungs. She thrashes, but Delilah grabs her waist, locking her in place while the blonde secures the bag tight around her throat. Her vision swims, the world narrowing to muffled laughter and Cleo’s approaching figure.

Cleo stands over her, all towering elegance and disdain, pistol glinting in the moonlight.

“Nighty night, darling.”

The butt of the gun crashes into Kendrick’s temple.

Blackness.