Mort explains your new persona "ThunderBox" and gives you a costume!

Upon entering, it immediately becomes clear that, hard though it might seem to believe, Petite Mort's laboratory had actually been in a very clean and orderly state the last time you saw it. The large assembly plant for creating her over-engineered take on emergency contraception is still there, but it has been pushed into the corner. The centerpiece is now an enormous glass dome with all kinds of electrical bits poking out of the top - rods with a series of rings around their length, pronged forks with arcs of electricity running between them, and other trappings of eccentric science. There are giant bins full of destroyed objects of various baffling kinds - shattered flower pots, scorched teddy bears, splintered chairs, shredded fedoras - along one of the walls. Aside from that there are dozens of badly damaged mannequins (or crash-test dummies?), as well as a pile of discarded costumes that you've never seen before in that same miniature junkyard.

You immediately start looking down under your feet as you head towards the center, not so much because you are afraid of actually stepping on Petite Mort (she'd see you coming) but because you don't want her to surprise you again.

Of course, your efforts are in vain. As you reach the door at the edge of the bubble dome you feel small object with the weight and feel of a shuttlecock land on your shoulder. Glancing at the reflective surface of the dome, you can see a tiny woman in a black dress run across your shoulder, grab onto the zipper on the back of your tight-fitting black uniform, and leap down to the floor holding your zipper and pulling it down with her own momentum in an Errol-Flynn worthy maneuver.

Before you can properly react the zipper is undone completely, and the startled motion of you raising your arms causes the garment to slip forward. As you try to get it back on, Mort, in the process of growing back to her 4-foot-11 maximum size, leaves her arm outstretched so that it snags the hem of your dress and yanks it off entirely, leaving you standing there in just your black satin panties and the tall boots.

Just... your panties. You belatedly remember you didn't wear a bra today. You pull your hands up to cover your bare pink nipples with a muffled curse, and as you do, Mort reaches out and rips your panties right off of your hips with a snap, ruining them."Shhh- Hey! What are you doing? When you said you wanted me for a 'team', did you just mean you wanted to feel me up again, you little pervert?"

"Au contraire," the scientist says, sounding pleased with herself, "I am merely pre-empting ze bucket of false modesty I know you were about to pour everywhere. In fact, I do not have kind words for you at all - I've brought you here to tell you, and zis is coming from a woman whose daily wear is a fucking funeral dress, that it is time to stop moping and move on vis your career! Weeks you have been off the streets now, and you still aren't willing to call the old Nightingale's bluff?"

Petit Mort reaches up and gives you a sharp slap across the cheek, surprising you and making you rear back a step. "On YOUR account, this week I have cut back my typical six hour a nuit sleep schedule to four and a half, and made the pair of new super-suits I've been working on into a trio. And since I know an arrogant 'little pervert' like you will complain - you have potential as a heroine, but your superpower is shit compared to the power and versatility of your disgustingly cheerful poly-chromatic cherie. Now, stay standing right there while I adjust your new costume to you."

Before you can object, Mort is throwing a bundle of loose fabric over you. It seems shapeless at first - but, of course, she can shrink it to fit you smoothly, and she does. While you are putting your arms through it, she disdainfully tosses some overly heavy footwear at you too, hard enough to hurt, and then drops something the size of a pill to the ground, which expands into a full-length mirror.

You take a look at what you're wearing now. You've got on what appears to be an extremely tight-fitting pair of yellow overalls, with full sleeves covering your arms but 'legs' that extend barely two inches past your butt, leaving your thighs almost entirely bare. There is a large square window on the abdomen, showing off your flat stomach and your navel, and although your breasts are more covered by spandex than they had been previously, the material is considerably thinner - each of your nipples are poking out conspicuously thanks to the cold air in here, and, looking down, you can see a noticeable cleft where the yellow spandex is digging into your crotch. And, glancing behind you, you can see that the bottom of the overalls has a pair of buttons allowing them to be opened without taking them off completely.

Well, the new costume is slutty, but it was always going to be, so you don't complain. Besides, you intuit that you will probably get the worst of any verbal sparring with Petit Mort, and the black steel-toed combat boots she gives you are actually rather practical. The last thing she gives you is a large, bulky metallic face mask designed to cover your nose and mouth, with wires plugging into a power supply located at the small of your back. The last to go on was a single disproportionately heavy boxing glove, no doubt a powerful gadget or weapon, fitting over your right hand.

"Hmm..." Mort lifts up her black veil to get a better look at you, revealing her pretty, yet weary and judgemental-looking face, regarding you coldly. "It appears suitable for your figure. You shall be the fearless leader, 'ThunderBox', and that includes being fearlessness of looking like a slut. Ze villains will like it, surely. While he was helping I convinced Streak that you needed something middle of the road, a bit less whorish than one of your new teammates but more so than Rainbow - she fits the 'token wholesome' requirement better than you, I'm sure you'll agree. "

"A little..." you muse, strapping on the mask and seeing that, fortunately, it doesn't impede your breathing or speaking. "Although that wide hemmed skirt of hers has landed her on the 'SuperPantyShots' PhotoGram account more than a few times, which I've seen since B.B. started linking me all of her online garbage, including a seemingly constant argument in the comment sections about whether she is underage or not... that poor girl, if she ever drank **** she'd probably still be getting carded at her 40th birthday... Where is she, anyway?"

"Running late of course. Probably running over more vermin with her car and having mental breakdowns about it." Petit Mort snorts. "But I see that at least one of the newly instated heroines besides you is, though not ON TIME, at least running slightly less late than you..." She points over your shoulder and you turn to see who she's indicating and you notice someone has been standing unobtrusively behind some of the wreckage of Mort's experiments, watching silently.