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Chapter 34
by
micdan282
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Flight
The bottle was already in her hand when her phone rang. Rikki froze, the half-empty bottle of wine hovering just above the rim of the glass. She glanced at the screen. Devin. She hesitated. It continued to ring. She set the bottle down, throat dry and pressed answer.
“Devin?”
His voice came through in a rush, loud, panicked, and breathless.
“Rikki, I didn’t know who else to call. I know I’m not supposed to…shit..they’re coming.”
Her stomach knotted. “Who’s coming?”
“Tank. The Corpses. Something’s going down tonight, something big. Their weapons supplier’s showing up in person. They want everyone there. If I don’t show, I’m dead. But there’s more. The guys are saying it’s not just guns this time. It’s tech. Serious stuff. Military-grade or worse.”
Rikki's hand tightened around the phone. “Where?”
“Behind the warehouse off of Laramie. The docks down there. You know the one. With the shipping containers," He blurted out in a panic.
Rikki closed her eyes for a breath, mind racing. “Okay. Okay. If they’re coming to get you just go along with it. Don’t argue with them and put yourself in danger. I’ll call someone. Just… whatever happens you stay low and stay out of the way.”
She hung up. The drink sat untouched on the counter. Instead, she unlocked her phone again. Hesitated. Then dialed. It rang twice before a gravel-edged voice answered.
“Thatcher.”
“Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s me.”
A beat of silence.
“Well, it’s been a while,” he said dryly, but his tone softened. “You okay?”
“Not really. I just got a call from one of my parolees. His old gang’s making a weapons pickup tonight. The docks at Laramie. He says it’s more than guns, something high-tech. Maybe experimental.”
Thatcher sighed. “Of course it is. Listen, I wish I could throw the cavalry at this, but half the department’s tied up at the riot downtown. The rest won't do a damn thing.”
“So that’s it there’s nothing you can do?”
“Not any time soon. I can put out a call but whether anyone shows up, I doubt it.”
“Fuck.” Rikki turned to her closet. She starred at the closed door for a moment before hanging up.
Thatcher looked down at his phone.
“Good luck.”
Rikki walked across the room, opened the closet door and knelt down inside it. She pulled aside the hanging coats and reached toward the floor, fingers brushing the false bottom panel. It clicked open with a soft mechanical snick. Inside was the crate. Rikki sighed deeply before slowly opening it. Her suit gleamed back at her. She hadn’t suited up since the night Rogue Knight nearly killed her. Just seeing it now made her chest tighten. But she didn’t have a choice.
Piece by piece, she put it on. She holstered her stun batons, strapped on her belt and felt the magnetic locks on the new wrist-mounted grapples click into place. By the time she’s finished suiting up, she wasn’t Rikki anymore. She was Nightingale.
She stepped out onto the fire escape and fired the first grapple into the skyline, the cable pulling taut with a sharp whine. Then she leapt, slicing through the night, the wind catching her like an old friend.
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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.
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Updated on Dec 27, 2025
by micdan282
Created on Nov 30, 2016
by fyreant
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