Try to jump down into one of the stolen cars

You still get a little bit nervous every time you try the whole 'jump down off of a building' business. Of course, you don't have the durability to pull off the classic concrete-shattering "superhero landing", so it's really more like high-speed rappelling, but all the same, if your line happened to come loose, you would be falling ten or more stories. Maybe the medical technology available to superheroes nowadays was good enough that you'd live and recover, but you didn't want to test it. All the same, it was undeniably exhilarating feeling the wind whip through your air as you descended.

So swift was your attack that you barely got a good look at the guys driving the cars - there were three men in each car, and they were dressed in business attire with balaclavas over their faces and bulletproof vests hastily slipped over their suit jackets. A couple of the ones riding shotgun were wearing infrared goggles. These were the more professional grade of thieves, and all of them except the drivers were armed with **** weapons. No wonder the cops chasing them weren't trying too hard to catch up.

"GOING MY WAY?" you shouted as you began your final descent.

Considering that this was Acropolis City, these guys knew to keep a lookout towards the skies. One of them shouted an alarm as you descended towards the car closest to the side of the road (a stylish cherry-red imported convertible from some big-name Italian manufacturer). But although they have the advantage in firepower, **** rifles are unwieldy for responding to sudden threats, and by the time he's aimed it upwards where you were a half-second ago, you've already landed in one of the seats, coming down sitting. The criminals in the car did a double take, staring at the new occupant that had dropped in on them while they were speeding along at a hundred miles an hour.

The driver slammed on the brakes out of instinct, which jostled the other two men so badly that they couldn't take aim at you. You flashed them a winning, flirtatious smile as you sprang forward over the lap of the man in the passenger side seat, doing a rolling leap that would carry you up onto the hood and forward. As you rolled, your superhuman agility allowed you to nimbly grab hold of the emergency brake and jerk it forward as you rolled. Coming up on the hood facing forward, the thieves *would* have had a perfect opportunity to ogle your shapely ass, but had only a split second to stare before they were shaken like ragdolls by the convertible going into a skid.

Just as the sports car started going into a full-on spin out, you performed a standing leap off of the hood... leaving you hurtling forwards over the bare asphalt at something like 60 MPH thanks to the momentum your brief ride had given you. That group of crooks was going to be so dizzy by the time they came to a halt (assuming they didn't hit a wall or a parked car) that even the APD cops could handle them. One down and two to go!

Casually reaching down to your belt, you grab a fresh grappling hook. Your plan is to fire off a grappling line and swing forward, where you can come down on the next of the speeding cars, or at least get into position to throw a tracking-device-laden shuriken into it. "As thrilling as all this is," you muse to yourself as the grappling hook fires off with a *PAFF*, "I really do need to get myself a motorcyc-OOOF?!"

You gasp in surprise as you get roughly tackled out of mid-air, a strong arm colliding with your midsection and knocking the breath out of you. Your first thought was that a flying supervillain had caught you in a surprise attack and you were going to be waking up in a body cast (or as a hostage if you were really lucky). But no ribs were broken, and you felt yourself being slung onto someone's shoulder, roughly and clumsily but not hard enough to injure you. As your bruised midsection rested on your attacker(?)'s shoulder, you felt a hand take a firm grip of your backside and another grasping your lower legs, keeping you in position as you continued to speed along at an incredible pace. Whoever was holding you was just a blur of motion, especially when they made several sharp turns that jerked you around this way and that.

Distantly, you heard a couple of angry shouts. Looking up a little, you saw one of the stolen cars speeding right alongside you, meaning that you were still going close to a hundred. A couple of the men in the car shouted something. A deafening, banging rattle of automatic gunfire reached your sensitive hearing and made you wince, and whoever was carrying you put on a dramatic burst of speed and crossed over to the other side of the car by going out in front of it.

You suddenly were carried closer to the car (this one a black luxury sedan). There was a blur of motion too fast to see, and suddenly the front tire exploded. The criminal driving it jerked the wheel the wrong way, and the entire sedan rolled over and went tumbling. You heard the shatter of glass and the screech of metal and fiberglass against the road - the car rolled over five times before coming to a halt upside down. Before you could tell if any of the poor bastards who'd been in it had survived, you came to a literally screeching halt, as the one who'd grabbed you dug his heels into the ground, decelerating from 100 to 0 in about 30 feet. What...? It seemed like this certainly wasn't someone on the robbers' side. Did that mean...?

Blinking the minor dizziness out of your eyes, before you could start to struggle, you feel yourself slung forward, the speedster who'd nabbed you shifting from carrying you in the 'over-the-shoulder' position to the 'bridal carry' pose, with one of his hands holding you up by your back and the other one curled around your thighs, letting your feet droop over his elbow. You found yourself blushing out of surprise and titillation, and without really thinking about it, you rested your hands against the muscular, green-spandex-clad chest of the guy who'd taken you in his arms, completing the pose.

Your sparkling green eyes looked up and met the grey eyes and superior smirk of the one who had "rescued" (i.e. interrupted) you. His lime-green costume wasn't that far off from yours in style... a top that covered all of the arms, upper torso and neck, except his extended into a full cowl that covered his upper face, but stopped halfway down his six-pack abs. On his chest was a black emblem of a stylized boot, with the toe bent as if running.

He didn't have the muscular, broad-shouldered bulk of some supers, but he had a considerable wiry strength to his athletic build, as he laid you down on a bus-stop bench gently. Now that he'd set you down, you noticed that his thighs were completely bare, and he was wearing nothing but a tight green speedo that left very little of his package to the imagination, and beneath that, only flexible boots that barely rose halfway to his knee. A white stripe ran up and down each side of his costume.

With all of the excitement, only the most basic, unsophisticated part of your brain was responding. 'Damn, he's hot!' you thought to yourself. 'Is he a villain? If so, I hope he ties me up and takes me back to his - wait a second, I think I remember seeing that emblem before... he's from the League!'

"G-Green Streak, I presume?" you finally manage, your voice cracking in an undignified fashion.

"Heh," he snorts, looking down at you. "I thought it would only be a matter of time until the new Nightingale needed her tailfeathers pulled out of the fire by a guy with some real speed and power!" He struck a dramatic pose, turning his head to the side, resting one hand on his hip and pointing towards the speeding vehicles. "You can thank me later; I just didn't want to see a pretty young face like yours getting introduced to the pavement. I think you could use some 'mentoring' before you're ready for this kinda prime-time-crime, girly! Now hold on just a second - I wait any longer and I'm going to have to break the speed limit a fourth time over on my way to giving those last four goons a very painful 'ticket'." He raised his head proudly and gave you a cheeky little salute with his pointing hand before taking off in a green blur with a rush of wind that tousled your hair.

As you looked off in the direction that he'd run off in curiously, both the car he'd been chasing and Green Streak himself disappeared over a hill that the highway ran over. You could hear an unholy racket of gunfire, followed by a crash and an explosion. You could see the red haze of a blazing fire and a plume of black smoke following the explosion. A few seconds later, Green Streak came back with a couple of the thieves getting painfully dragged behind him, gripping one man by the ankle in each hand. He was only going about 30 miles an hour now, and thanks to the kevlar vests the thieves had been wearing, they were just *barely* alive and conscious by the time he dropped their sobbing forms off limply in front of a couple of police cruisers slowly pulling up.

You stared wide-eyed at the spectacle and had to remember to shut your jaw. A familiar heat was building up in your chest and lower body, and you felt a wet spot starting to form in the crotch of your grey spandex thong. You crossed your legs tightly and nibbled on your gloved index finger anxiously.

Well... technically he'd just butted in on your crime while you'd been handling yourself just fine, which was very poor heroing etiquette. But Green Streak was an established hero, part of the League of Propriety's A-list, even. You gave a quiet chuckle. 'Streak' was right - he was wearing about the minimum that a male hero could get away with without being accused of indecent exposure (there was a bit of a double-standard there, granted). Not that you were complaining in the slightest. Maybe he'd be interested in the information you were gathering on the Full House gang?