You're pretty angry now, time to bring her in!

"What are you waiting for, you bunglers?" The mystery villainess screeched, trying to wipe away the semen glitching up her invisibility suit but only succeeding in spreading it all over her hand and arm. "Get her!!"

"Hehehee. G-ghahhahahaaa!" Kevin chuckles and snorts. "Did she just call us 'bungholes'? Who is that anyway? She sounds fine..."

Lucas had had even less time to recover from the haze of his orgasm, and he just stared blankly, standing there with his jaw half-open and belatedly moving his hand to cover his softening manhood. "Uh," was all he could manage.

What a couple of dopes. It's a travesty that you had to reward their incompetence with group sex. You made a mental note to make sure the police didn't let them off the hook for their part in the disturbance that drew you here in the first place. But first things first: the one possible outcome that would make the fact that you'd just had dirty, messy sex with a pair of wannabe criminals in-costume (namely, apprehending a dangerous target) worthwhile..

Though you could always hope that she was bluffing about trying to shoot you, you can't bet on it, so rather than get closer to her, you bend your lithe body backwards and do an impossibly nimble backflip, getting some distance. Your dark grey bikini bottoms slip back into place during the maneuver, but that just means that when you land crouched low, doing the splits with your legs spread wide, the momentum made a big droplet of cum start pooling against your slit. The feeling was just a little distracting, and your follow-up attempt to pull a throwing knife from your belt was clumsy. You flung the little wing-shuriken, but it just ended up embedding itself in a couch cushion, not knocking her arm aside like you'd hoped.

What was worse, as it turned out, her pistol arm was not her jizz-wiping arm, and she hadn't been bluffing. A faint red beam lashed over your head horizontally, leaving a blackened, scorched line in the door and across the wall. That finally got Lucas's attention, and he dove to the floor inelegantly.

Moving from your split-crouch to a standing high-jump, when the beam swept back over to where you had been crouching, you went over it this time. You'd been lucky so far but you were trying to remember your counter-weapons training. Definitely a continuous-beam laser; most dangerous at short to medium range. It had no recoil, but it would overheat. Making a head-on attack while the shooter was charged and ready to fire was a sure-fire express ticket to the burn ward - the closer you got, the worse it'd hurt.

"Why do the villains get so much more effective weapons..." you silently mutter to yourself through gritted teeth as you make another springing leap, this time acrobatically boosting yourself off of the top of one of the couches with your arms in mid-flight, knocking over the tacky yellow piece of furniture and propelling you all the way to the other side of the room. The semi-visible villainess proved her inexperience by holding down the trigger on her pistol, sweeping a faint red beam all over the room, leaving wavering, squiggly black lines all over the ceiling and sweeping it around the perimeter of the room.

The split second that you paused after landing to turn back around to face her and come up with a plan cost you. You felt a searing momentary pain as the beam lashed over your back for a split second, and let out a cry of pain before you ducked under the reverse sweep of the beam and took cover behind a couch. The pain was distracting. You had a long, straight burn over your exposed back. Wincing, you realized with a sigh that your excessively skimpy costume actually helped you there: a laser sweeping over exposed skin really hurt, and you were going to need a lot of ointment... but a laser melting a thin layer of skin-tight latex or PVC so it clung to you and burned you continuously was worse.

What was, however, worse was that you realized that even if you could close the distance, disarming her would be hard, because the arm holding the laser and the gun itself were barely visible. You peeked over the edge of the couch and just barely ducked back before she trained the beam where your head had been, and burned a smoldering furrow in the top of the overturned couch.

Surely she had to be close to overheating by now... Overheating... that was it! Most weapons like that were designed to give a little electronic ping or click when they were entering the red zone and needed a few seconds for the barrel to cool. You licked your lips and hummed softly, calling upon your super vocal-cords and telesonic abilities, wrapping the area where the gun was in a bubble of silence.

Leaping out from behind the couch, you dared the beam a couple more times, doing cartwheels and other acrobatic maneuvers, rapidly reversing directions. The beam came close enough to singe some of your hair, once. You were getting the villainess frustrated, making her fire wastefully. To enhance the effect, you started giving her mocking, bird-like whistles.

"Come on, 'darling'," you said to her, panting, in between leaps. "Don't you know you're supposed to be ranting about how superior your technology is?"

"Brave words for a foolish girl who's already half dead." She shouts back at you with a sneer. Using your voice to tell where you are, she fires another long red pulse and starts burning through the couch to smoke you out... but before the beam can bore its way through the layers of stuffing, you hear a pained, surprised shriek from her direction. An object falls to the ground with a clatter, the pistol's optic camo coating fizzling and shorting out completely as the barrel and hilt start glowing bright red.

You flip over the couch and start tumbling towards her threateningly. Apparently she's not so confident facing you hand-to-hand, as you see the semi-visible, cum-coated pair of tits turn away from you and start jiggling towards the door. You deliver a brutal flying kick - though you'd been aiming for her back, intending to get a little payback and leave this villainess in traction, you end up delivering a devastating boot to her squishy backside instead. With a yelp, the not-so-invisible woman stumbles forward and slams her forehead into the door.

Falling down on the ground, clutching her head in pain and sobbing like a little girl, the villainess who threatened you and those peace officers doesn't look so threatening now. She's so pitiful that you don't even kick her while she's down despite the burn across your back still throbbing. Instead you just grab a nearby bottle of cheap champagne as you walk over and plant your boot on her midsection, pinning her to the ground. With a crash, you smash the neck off the bottle against the door, and pour a waterfall of the fizzy yellow liquid down on her. This washes away some of the semen, but that's the only good news, as it also shorts out her invisibility suit completely. "A toast to foolish, spoiled girls who think gadgets without training are enough to win." you say snidely.

You still can't see any of your now-helpless captive's features; the silver skintight bodysuit she's wearing covers her from head to toe, even her eyes, nose, and mouth. She's about your height but heavier and a lot less athletic; she's a bit plump around the midsection and bottom area, actually, but although she could stand to spend a bit more time on the treadmill, those excess curves of hers were mostly in the right places, with breasts probably twice the size of yours, the skin-tight suit showing every detail.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you give the two guys who fucked you a hard look. "You two horny little boys, get down there to the dance floor and turn yourselves in as the instigators of this brawl. Otherwise I'll drop you off there myself, and I don't mean using the stairs." you croon threateningly.

"C-can I at least get my pants..?" the still shell-shocked Lucas asks with a groan. You think for a second. "Hmm-NO."

As they shuffle out, chastened, the woman pinned under your foot groans and lets her head drop against the floor. "W-wait... Miss superheroine..." her voice is meek and shy now, a far cry from what it was. "I'm... they call me Diamond Nine, I'm from the Full House Gang! They're... we're always watching each others backs, so they shall be coming along momentarily to free me and avenge this indignity. So if you would just- URGH! GRRRGLE-NGGH! Stop that!!!"

Before she can get through her spiel you resume pouring the champagne, over her face this time. Sure enough that face-covering mask is water-permeable, to allow her to breathe through it - which means that liquid getting poured onto it is like being waterboarded. She thrashes around under you and loses any dignity she might have had left before you roll her over onto her hefty tits, give her bruised bottom another slap, and zip-tie her hands.

"Full House Gang, huh?" you ask with a confident smirk. "If and when they bail you out of lockup, tell them that Nightengale is back in town, and she'll be there to put them all to bed the next time they try to have a night out on the town." To make sure you send a message to the corrupt owner of this club (and make sure the cops know who they have to thank), you produce a large cartoon sticker of a cream-colored, white bellied bird and paste it on her forehead.

To end this with a flourish, you wait around for a minute, lingering by the window to the street-level, until a few cops (late as usual) plod their way up the steps. When they burst into the room, finding the struggling, tied-up Diamond-Nine and look up just in time to see you give them a salute and blow them a kiss before you drop backwards out of the window, clinging to the balcony rather than dropping to the street immediately. When one of them rushes over to see where you went, you're gone. The cops start chatting among themselves excitedly, asking who was that sexy red-haired heroine who took out the night's trash? The glow of pride buoys your spirits in spite of the mega-sunburned strip across your back. Your work here is done.

And, in fact, although the night is still young, you think you're going to call it for tonight. You need to get back, call your lovely assistant, and get your back bandaged up... not to mention give yourself a douche and toss your semen-stained costume bottoms into the wash (between that and all of the acrobatic leaping you were doing, you didn't need to worry about having been cummed inside of - one of your college friends had told you that if you jumped up and down after sex, the sperm got confused and started swimming backwards, which sounded plausible enough). Surely you won't let yourself get dragged into any more incidents on the way back, right?