The motorcycle hummed along the twilit street, sputtering, slowing
down randomly, speeding back up abruptly, and making concerning
burping noises. Black smoke plumed out the exhaust. Its pilot let up
from the gas and coasted before she smacked the chassis a few times.
This seemed to put an end to the sounds for the moment anyway.
Content, she accelerated again, cruising for a few minutes in the
lonely urban sprawl before taking a left into an apartment complex.
The
rider slowed to a stop before the gate, planting her boot on the
ground for balance. She reached over to punch in a passcode and
waited for the rickety barrier to rise, before suddenly stopping
halfway.
Sighing,
she dismounted and dragged the motorcycle through manually, slanting
it sideways to make the gap. Until --
BONK!
“OUCH!!”
The
gate fell on its own, bouncing the edge of the metal grate smack on
top of her helmet. Swearing, she yanked her bike through, kicking the
asphalt as the gate fell freely to the ground behind her.
Safely
inside, the cyclist muttered angrily as she mounted her ride once
again. Revving up, she jetted forth, darting into an underground
tunnel that spread out into a parking garage. Sterile orange lights
flooded the cave with visibility, though several corners still found
themselves lacking on account of the occasional blown bulb.
The
rider disembarked and took her helmet off, freeing her bountiful halo
of blonde hair. She shook her head, dislodging the clumped strands
that had adhered to her neck from the sweat. Now with access to her
peripheral vision once again, Emily Pierce sighed, planting her
helmet on the handlebars of the bike before raising both hands in the
air, slowly.
“That’s
right…” a guttural, male voice cooed. “Where I can see ‘em.”
Emily
turned her head a tad, goosebumps bristling as the tip of the knife
kissed the nape of her neck a few times, never truly piercing skin.
“What
do you want?” Emily asked, rolling her eyes. “I don’t have any
money.”
“It’s
not money I’m after…”
Click.
Now
that was scary.
Emily
scowled as the muzzle of the gun was jutted into her back. Using the
knife, he gestured in the direction of one such area of low light, a
darkness lined by two parked cars. All but invisible to the archaic
CCTV machines.
“Nice
and slow, now. Nice and slow…” The man was gentle with his words,
coaxing Emily to walk in the direction under threat of being gutted
or shot. Or gutted and then shot.
Once
they were in place, Emily stood there, patiently, obediently. “Okay.
Now what?”
The
man grabbed her shoulder. “Now I – WHAT THE FUCK?!”
The
Glock fell out of his hand, now too heavy for him to wield, banging
on the ground with a cli-clack! Emily sneered at his form as
it got punier and punier, shrinking ever deeper into the shadows.
“Ah, sorry. Guess I should’ve mentioned that. I have… a
condition.”
“But…
that can’t… you’re…” The criminal in his three-inch
stupor had barely begun to piece it all together when he was faced
with the underside of Imperia’s riding boot.
SQUELCH!
Emily
drove her foot extra hard into the concrete, surely scuffing the sole
as the man mingled with the dirt and dust all the way down to the
bones. He became a corpse, then a stain, then less even than that,
simply nothing. She gave her boot an extra few hard scrubs against
the ground for good measure. Then, Emily grabbed and hoisted her
ankle up, staring at the bottom.
There
was nothing that could even trace back to him. Just a few scratches
crisscrossing the treads.
Emily
giggled, crouching down to diminish both the gun and the knife before
skipping back into the light, returning to lock her bike and grab her
helmet before entering the apartment complex.
It
seemed as though everywhere and everything Caldera looked at, felt,
and tasted was the dark, shadowy fields of this woman’s boobflesh.
They remained slicked from their own sweaty entrapment in Imperia’s
clothes, creating a Sisyphean environment wherein whenever Caldera
tried to drag herself from whichever coordinates of Imperia’s
breasts she was lodged in, she seemed unable to gain traction, slowly
and slimily swimming in place between thick and gooey deposits of fat
and skin.
The
few outside sounds Caldera could recognize: the hum of a motor, the
din of an anxious crowd, the footsteps of boots on asphalt… none of
them could compare to the overbearing ba-bump of
Imperia’s beating heart. She hadn’t even the time or opportunity
to interrogate the situation she had found herself in because that
ever-present heartbeat didn’t dare allot Caldera a moment to think.
She couldn’t think about her team, abandoning her in her hour of
need. She couldn’t think about her hero, Imperia, degrading her so
readily, so easily. She couldn’t even spare a thought to the
dozens of vaporized civilians whose lives she so haphazardly ended.
All Caldera could think about was figuring out how to live the next
seconds of her life while ingesting the least amount of salty sweat
solution possible.
Caldera’s
dreams of survival were rejuvenated as she heard a zzzzzzzipper
unfurling. Dark red light barely made it through the naturally
translucent flesh of Imperia’s cleavage. Two fingers reached
within, grasping Caldera’s torso and pulling her out. She was
removed with ease, the sweat lubricating her extraction, and
deposited on a large, flat surface.
“GASP!!”
Caldera had never so earnestly treasured fresh air she flopped about
like a mackerel, the sweat that coated her collecting in a puddle,
quickly dissipating in the cool, comfortable, properly aerated space.
Her eyes were blinded by the brightness, though its distribution was
discrete. Wherever she was, the room in general was not filled with
light.
“P’phah!
F’pwah!” Caldera struggled to her knees, coughing out further
globules of bodily fluids that were still lodged in her throat as she
allowed her vision to adjust. After nearly a minute of expelling all
foreign contaminants, Caldera flopped back down on the tabletop just
trying to catch her breath, dry heaving.
Everything
was happening so much. Too quick. She finally got to meet her hero,
when...
Imperia.
Caldera
glanced upward, still sore from her uppercut as she balanced her head
upon on her chin.
Imperia
was standing above her with a detached look on her face.
Even
now, degraded and worn to a nub, Caldera felt an internal need to
stand at attention. Fatigue dripped off her bones, so she settled
with hoisting her body into a sitting position, wrapping her hands
around her knees as she slowly came into focus.
The
first thing Caldera noticed was the lack of a mask. It was jarring;
she’d never seen Imperia without her famous white mask, a precisely
crafted thermoplastic instrument designed to mold to the imprint of
her face, shielding her from laser beams, radiation blasts,
small-arms fire, and any number of other nasty items she tended to
face in her line of duty while also protecting her precious secret
identity. As per the investigative biographical novel, Imperia:
Heroism At A New Scale, which currently collected dust at the
bottom of Caldera’s bookshelf.
She
had freckles. Caldera never could’ve imagined Imperia had freckles.
Caldera
wiped her eyes, clearing them as Imperia continued to stand stalwart
and allow her visage to come into focus. The second most striking
thing about her was the lack of a suit. A supersuit, anyway. Instead,
she wore a black suit of nylon fabric. It was thin; considering her
gloves and boots, Caldera wondered if it was a unitard or perhaps a
modified rowing suit. Whatever the case, it would’ve been a perfect
garment to hide beneath her supersuit without bulking her figure to
an uncomfortable degree, allowing her to switch in and out of uniform
quickly. Her hair was just as beautiful as ever, if a bit frazzled.
Though the helmet in the crook of her arm seemed to be the
explanation for that. It made her look… normal. Still gorgeous,
but… a bit more average than the vision Caldera had known for much
of her life.
Slowly
but surely, the reality that Caldera was becoming one of a select few
who knew Imperia’s secret identity – or at least, what she looked
like – hit her.
“I…
w-where are we?”
Caldera
looked around. She was on a table; she could tell that much. The rest
of the room was dark, barren, unfinished, lacking in comforts aside
from a fuzzy rolling desk chair pushed off to the side. Suits were
strewn across the surfaces of tables and chairs and cabinets, most of
them blue and white, some boasting different configurations of
Imperia’s iconic color scheme. A staircase hugged the east wall.
Still getting her bearings, Caldera turned, slowly, carefully, gazing
into the monitor of the computer screen that burned behind her.
Caldera
was practically entranced the more she learned about her hero’s
inner life, taking slow steps to take it all in. The table upon which
she was set had its own myriad of affects. There was the computer and
keyboard, sure, but also a toolbox pushed to the very edge against
the wall. This wall was adorned with posters of many different
heroes, both photographs, comic book covers, movie posters, posters
dedicated to Hyperveil, Shinobi, Meteoroid, and even a few fictional
heroes as well. There were a couple of figurines on the desk, most of
them roughly the same size as Caldera. She avoided them; they creeped
her out. Stickers were also decorating every flat surface, including
the desktop, toolbox, and the edges of the monitor. One such sticker
caught onto Caldera’s boot.
Caldera
grunted, trying to lift her foot up, but the adhesive was strong.
“L-let go…!” she muttered, grabbing hold of her foot and
exerting force, pulling it away, until --
“WHOA!”
With
one single, smooth motion, Imperia clawed her fingers around
Caldera’s waist, lifting her up into the air. The boot was left
behind, leaving the poor supervillainess barefoot for the moment as
she dangled, once again fearful.
“You’re
in my home.” Imperia’s voice had the hallmarks of one trying
their best to remain calm, desperately wanting to burst out in song.
Her lips quivered and her freckled eyes were bright. “Don’t
worry. You’ll meet more of your friends soon enough. In fact… I
--”
KNOCK,
KNOCK, KNOCK!
Imperia
cringed, glancing toward the staircase. She sighed, flicking Caldera
back on the table with her thumb and forefinger.
“ACH!”
Caldera shrieked, sliding across the rough table, chafing her suit,
tears flooding her eyes as she was pushed up against the toolbox.
“You
know what? They’ll give you the warm welcome,” said Imperia,
unlatching the toolbox, opening up the top. Then she turned back to
the staircase and screamed out, “COMING!”, trotting up and
going through the door, shutting it behind her.
Caldera
watched her go, caressing her arm, before bracing herself against the
toolbox and lifting herself to her feet.
This…
thought Caldera. This is…
“Please!”
Caldera
jumped, the voice giving her a scare. She looked around, then up. The
voice didn’t have any direct source. Until…
Up
above. A figure was crawling over the edge of the toolbox. Another
diminished individual.
Could
this be… one of the villains Imperia told her about?
Caldera
stepped back, gearing up, ready for anything. If it was a villain,
who knew what could happen?
Then
she spoke again.
“He-he-he-help
u-u-us!” The figure beseeched Caldera, now jutting her stomach
on the plastic edge of the toolbox. Her frame was lithe, her eyes
haggard, her hair untamed, her suit… non-existent. She was
completely naked. She inched atop the edge of the box, dragging
herself over, words slurring over each other, until… she fell out.
Slam!
She
hit the ground in a naked, twitching heap. Caldera backed up, wanting
to create even more distance from this odd new darkhorse individual.
Still, Caldera’s nervousness was only matched by her curiosity as
the woman continued to crawl forth, undeterred, inching, convulsing
at regular intervals. It was as though every second and a half, she
was overcome with an inescapable chill, with only occasional moments
of reprieve. Still, she continued, making her way toward Caldera,
moaning and groaning with haunting urgency.
“You
have to…” Cough! “S-save us!” Wheeze. “I
c-can’t… d-do it anymore!”
Caldera’s
heart pounded, and in a moment of empathy, she stopped backing away,
letting this woman come closer and closer. And in doing so, all at
once…
Caldera
realized who she was.
December
31st, 202X. A New Years’ eve celebration in Aster City
was marred when several explosions rocked Dominion Square, and if the
heroes couldn’t act fast, there would be more to come. An
eco-terrorist group that went by the name of Polymaiden. Except it
wasn’t a group – it was one girl, with the ability to create
perfect duplicates of herself. Ultimately, with the help of ACPD,
Imperia was able to uncover her weakness: the clones are able to feel
one another’s senses and pain all at the same time. They managed to
capture the last clones, assimilating them into the original, but one
such duplicate escaped. Polymaiden was arrested and sent to the Box,
but the duplicate was never found…
Until
now.
“S-save
you…?” Caldera crouched, offering her hand out to this woman, who
reached her fingers out, in urgent need of a gentle touch. “How do
I…?”
“Y-y-you
have to kill me!”
“I…
what?” Caldera wanted to leap back again, but her hand was grasped,
caressed by this new individual, looking into her own eyes through
her convulsions.
“Do
it! Now! Kill me now! You have to --”
CRUNCH!
The
fingers went lax, then stopped. Then she stopped. Polymaiden’s eyes
went slack, and she made an animalistic grunt before flopping back on
the ground.
Caldera
gasped, backing away, looking around, until she realized: Imperia was
back. Standing at the top of the stairwell, arms crossed, face
mirthful. She took several long steps back down the stairs,
practically skipping as she seated herself in the rolling office
chair, spinning around a few times before stopping to stare down at
Caldera.
“I
see you’ve been given the tour.”
“Y-you…”
Caldera whispered, backing away. “What did… what did you…”
“Ah,
you haven’t figured it out yet?”
Then
Imperia reached down, unlacing her riding boots. Caldera watched with
fascination and terror, waiting for her to resurface. When she did,
she was holding her left boot in one hand. Then, backing away from
the table a smidge, she lifted her legs up onto the table, one after
another. Her feet were bare, allowing the scent of a hard day’s
hero work to fill the basement lair.
Coating
the fleshy pad of her foot was a bloodstain. And there were just
barely enough sinews available to Caldera for her to realize she was
looking at the corpse of Polymaiden.
Caldera
looked back at the original(?), then again at Imperia, eyes wide,
heart hot and heavy. “Y-you… you killed her?”
“She’ll
live,” Imperia said, pulling a Kleenex wipe from a box on her desk,
reaching forward to wipe the bottom of her foot clean. Polymaiden’s
blood mixed with Imperia’s sweat, creating an immiscible fragrance.
Imperia brought the Kleenex to her nose, sighing rapturously before
dropping it in the trash can below. “And with a bit of luck, so
will you.”
Imperia
retracted her feet from the desk, reaching to grab Caldera, who now
realized she had to run.
“N-no!”
Caldera yelled, trying hard to unleash a blast of white fire to
combat the giant hand… but was unable to. “What?!” she hissed,
trying again, clenching every muscle in her body, emitting nothing
but smoke.
Imperia’s
fingers wrapped around Caldera, who kicked and screamed, “No! Stop!
Let me go! Please, help! HELP!!” until…
Caldera
was placed in a small container. It was the size of a sleeping bag
coated with felt strips of fabric. Imperia looked down with cruel
fervor, using her fingers to hold Caldera in place as she said,
“Tomorrow we’ll introduce you to the rest of the family. But
until then… sleep tight!”
And
Imperia folded the clear, plastic latch on top of Caldera, locking it
with a tinny click!
Caldera
banged against this force field of plastic, helplessly, trying to
escape, unable to, repeatedly, for many minutes, even long after
Imperia stopped laughing at her struggles and simply watched her like
a carnival sideshow before getting bored and retreating back
upstairs. The only light in Imperia’s world was the scant light
that originated with the monitor, reflecting from the table and back
into the refractive clear plastic.
Caldera’s
struggles began to peter out after the first half hour, during which
time she caught her breath, sore, unable to even move a single
muscle. Nothing, not her skills, not her smarts… not even her
powers were going to save her.
But
she was able to cry.
So
that’s what she did.
Imperia
trotted up the stairs, bursting into a room filled with fragrances
strong enough to make the eyes water. The sound of sizzling meat and
bubbling rice caused a similar reaction to occur in her own mouth,
though Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen.
“Gabrielle?
Where’d you go?” called Imperia, before sighing and putting her
hands on her hips. She looked to the meal – seasoned chicken
browned to perfection, due for another flip to complete the other
side – and felt a longing pull.
But
first…
Imperia
gazed to the fridge.
A
devilish smile crossed her face as Imperia walked to it. The freezer
container was on top, and Imperia was just tall enough to open it,
gazing directly into the somewhat Spartan storage compartment. She
pushed past the half-eaten tub of Jim and Gary’s, digging into the
shavings of ice until her fingers clutched something.
Imperia
retracted her hand, unearthing a solid blue humanoid figure, coated
in spikes of ice. Outside observers might’ve thought it to be a
figurine, placed inside the freezer by an unruly child. But this
figure was as alive as anyone could be. A sentient stream of flowing
water, the street-level super-villain Abyss used her power over this
crucial element for infiltration and espionage before being stopped
by Imperia, one rainy night, many months ago.
Now
she was here. She was immobile, but through the body heat afforded by
Imperia’s fingers, a faint heat began to warm her. Her semi-frozen
chassis began to thaw, and slowly her crystalline patina gave way,
revealing hints of the skin of the costume-wearing human woman
inside. A human that was shivering, terrified, unable to move, to
speak, only able to look back as the monstrous face of Imperia smiled
at her gingerly before she opened her mouth, displaying her massive,
pulsating tongue to the figurine. …
Sluuuurrrrp…!
She
couldn’t even scream as Imperia dragged her tongue up the anterior
of the shrunken villain’s frame, her warm breath melting her form
away. ro. Its icy form remained frozen, mouth half melted into a
semi-smooth surface, other half twisted in immovable horror, and
Imperia licked, practically dissolving in pleasure as she felt
Abyss’s truly unique flavor quite literally melt in her mouth,
providing a dashing sensation of cool. Somehow, knowing she was
alive, that she could feel every second of Imperia scraping her form
away, made her taste so much sweeter.
Then
– two hands covered Imperia’s eyes from behind.
Raw
instinct told Imperia to turn around, to grab the arms of her
attacker and slam them into the ground. But in the split millisecond
between instinct and action, cooler heads prevailed. Imperia’s
breathing slowed, and she felt the hands shift, uncovering her eyes,
kneading down into her shoulders for an impromptu massage. Gabrielle
then rested her chin on Imperia’s shoulder, glancing askew into her
tangent eyes, whispering in her ear…
“I
could be a pretty good villain, no?”
Imperia’s
heart still pounded, and taking great care not to draw attention to
what was inside the fridge, she gently removed Gabrielle’s hands
from her shoulder, closing the door with as much nonchalance as she
could muster, leaving her disarmed captive dormant inside. She then
grinned at Gabrielle, planting a kiss on her forehead. “And why do
you say that?”
“You
had no idea I was even coming! And you call yourself the
city’s greatest hero! ¡Ponte las pilas!” she laughed,
clapping her hands with each syllable, before looking at Imperia with
concern. “Why were you staring in the fridge so long? ¿Tienes
hambre?”
Imperia
smiled nervously, putting her hands behind her back. “You got me.”
Gabrielle
took a few steps to the oven, flipping the chicken and turning the
heat down. “I’m making mi arroz con pollo. I know how you
are with spicy food, but I was really feelin’ it tonight, so
make sure you have something cold on hand to drink.”
Imperia
took a glance at the fridge as Gabrielle removed the fragrant,
well-seasoned rice from the stove-top, already preparing her plate.
And Imperia smiled. “Make it as spicy as you want. I think I’ll
be good.” Positioning herself carefully, Imperia peaked into the
fridge again. There in the icy darkness, Abyss sat, buried in the
ambient frost, her terrified horror etched permanently into her face.
At least until the day came that Imperia decided to enjoy her
delicious icy treat for the final time.