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Chapter 19
by
micdan282
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Waking Up
When Nightingale’s consciousness slowly returned, it felt like waking from a deep, disorienting sleep. For a moment, her mind struggled to piece together the fragmented images of the night, the fall, Rogue Knight, the crushing blows and then... nothing. She tried to move, but her body felt heavy, unresponsive. A sharp ache pulsed through her side, making her wince.
The smell of antiseptic and faint beeping noises filtered into her awareness.
She was in hospital.
Cool sheets clung to her skin, and the sterile white of the ceiling came into view as her eyes fluttered open. A heart monitor beeped steadily beside her. An IV was taped to her arm. Her entire body felt like it had been through a shredder. She shifted, and pain lit up her side like a flare.
Panic surged but before she could fully spiral, a familiar figure stood up from the plastic chair in the corner of the room. Detective Thatcher. His face was drawn, jaw set tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice low but steady.
Rikki blinked up at him, still groggy. “What… happened?”
“You were thrown off a parking garage,” he said bluntly. “Into a pile of garbage. Cracked ribs, concussion, busted shoulder. You were lucky I was already on my way.”
“You… you brought me here?”
“Yeah. You were **** and I had no idea how bad your injures were.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I gave them a fake name and said you were found beaten and naked. It bought us enough time for them to treat you without asking too many questions.”
Her heart skipped in her chest. The shock hit her like a fist to the gut and she reached up to feel where her mask should be. The smooth surface of her skin met her fingertips and for a moment, the reality of the situation settled in.
He knows.
"You…" Her voice faltered as she tried to process it all. "You know who I am."
"Yeah," Thatcher said. His expression softened slightly. "Rikki Drakeson, parole officer."
Nightingale clenched her fists, unsure of what to feel. Fear, anger and relief twisted within her. On one hand, her secret identity had been exposed, the thing she’d guarded so fiercely. But on the other hand, it was Thatcher. He was different. He wasn’t some criminal or stranger, he was a detective, someone who respected the law and a friend.
"So, what now?" she asked, her voice low. She couldn’t decide whether to feel **** or grateful.
"I’m not going to tell anyone," he assured her, his gaze steady. "That’s not what I do. Besides, you’re still one of the good ones." He softened his tone. "But you need to rest. Your body’s a wreck, and you’re not going to heal if you don’t take it easy."
Nightingale swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. Despite his kindness Rikki felt embarrassed about what had happened to her.
"Thank you.”
“Is there someone I can call? Someone I should let know you’re still alive?” He asked. Rikki just shook her head, starring at the wall.
“Then I guess I better let the captain know I won’t be coming in today.” He smiled as he sat back down in the seat next to her.
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Perils of a Novice Superheroine
A generic superheroing setting drenched with sex and scandal
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.
Updated on Dec 27, 2025
by micdan282
Created on Nov 30, 2016
by fyreant
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