The sirens were the first thing she noticed.

Even as she opened her eyes, she did not comprehend what it was she saw, more a mix and jumble of abstract concepts and ideas than coherent information through her retinas.

As the obscure cocktail of colors coalesced into something more legible, Catherine Denise began to realize just how much of a shit-show she’d found herself in.

“Oh… Oh my God…”

To begin with, she was now outdoors. She hadn’t been outdoors earlier. And she hadn’t moved; she could tell that much. So Catherine could only come to one conclusion:

The building she had been within was gone.

And it was Catherine’s fault.

***

“Caldera… Caldera!”

Catherine was jolted from her trance. Three phenomenally-costumed women were glaring at her expectantly.

“My… whoops. Sorry.” Catherine scratched her head. “Still... not used to that name yet.”

“Well you better get used to it soon. We can’t have any hangups with this job.” Across from the dimly-lit, steel table, was a woman wearing all black, blazer, slacks, tie, down to her sunglasses and a hairclip that barely managed to tame the furious black brambles escaping from the back of her head. Her skin too was a deep umber, and her lips were painted only three and a half shades darker. Anyone who saw her would’ve thought she might’ve been a businessperson; in part, they would be right, though none would expect that mogul and rare gemstone collector Natasha Firefly was secretly Nightfly, expert martial-artist and weapons guru in addition to being a master of stealth. Catherine thought her outfit was a bit conspicuous personally, but she knew better than to argue with the boss. After all, Nightfly was the one who approached Caldera in the first place for this job.

“I knew it was dangerous bringing a kid into this.”

Catherine chagrined, arcing her eyes a few degrees to the left. There sat a woman who seemed the polar opposite to Nightfly’s understated cool: this one’s outfit was a skin-tight jumpsuit; identical in form to that of a special operations soldier with scant other articles to accompany it; compartments for provisions, close-combat weapons, ammo, pistols. The only difference was also a striking one: rather than the mottled greens and browns of camo or Black Ops midnight, her suit was a blistering white, a color that only became more apt when one took note of the few feathers peeking out from the gashes torn through the back of the shirt.

These feathers that were only the forward to a massive pair of ten-foot feathered wings graciously curled inward and stowed for comfort at the moment. Her body was slender and lithe, clearly built for speed, speed that would certainly be needed when it fell to Angel Evans – aka, Seraph – to ferry her teammates to safety when the time for extraction came. But contrary to her cherubic title, Seraph was no saint if her rap sheet had anything to do with it. And her hardened glare toward Catherine was all the more intimidating coming from someone who otherwise exhibited such outward beauty.

Catherine wanted to open her mouth to respond, but was beaten to the punch by a crass, wheezing guffaw.

“Awww c’mon… Heh… give the kid a shot!” Trencher’s inflections dipped and rose at unintuitive places, giving her speech a warbling effect. “It… worked out for me!”

Trencher was the only one among the group whom Catherine didn’t know her real name. Her overalls were dusty brown and disheveled, her boots were covered in mud, her hair was filled with flack and dirt pellets, and her eyes were manic, even in periods of calm. The most striking thing about her outfit, however, were her gauntlets. On each hand, Trencher wore a drill-like glove composed of thousands of needles, all arranged at a single point. These gloves connected to wires that ran down her arms and back to the biometrically-engineered energy source she wore on her back.

The loose cannon of the group, Trencher was also, typically, their way in. Her self-designed, ramshackle cyborg mechanics veiled a complex technological super-suit, one that allowed her to dig through the earth as seamlessly as Aqualass could swim through the sea. This made Trencher the scout and infiltration expert, though was notedly more difficult to discern than any of the rest.

“If nothing else… I’ll bet she makes quite the light show when she goes ka-boom…” Trencher winked and clicked her tongue at Catherine, who bristled at the realization that Trencher was in fact not being her advocate, unless advocating for the pretty lights she made when her powers unleashed counted.

Catherine looked at her hands, fingerless gloves revealing her unscathed pads. Unexpectedly, a tiny spark squirted out, becoming a brief flash of firelight that dissipated as quickly as it came. Catherine began to sweat, looking around and thanking the stars none of her crew seemed to have noticed the accidental discharge.

Catherine Denise was the final member of their quartet. A shrinking violet with few achievements to her name, she threw herself into her studies, in this case studying genetic cell growth and opportunities for increased ATP generation.

Studying: the one trait Catherine was good at. The only thing she ever wanted to do before…

That fateful night.

Her thesis experiment. Gone wrong.

Two weeks in the hospital later, Catherine realized two things: 1) her medical bills would drown her for the rest of her life; 2) when she tensed her muscles, she had the power to produce extremely potent explosions. The longer between releases… the bigger the bang.

As a former college student with no prospects, no savings, no family, and now no future, Catherine realized if she wanted any semblance of a good life, she had no other choice but to turn to less than savory methods of making a living. While at first resistant to the use of her powers against others, as time went on and she realized the dog-eat-dog nature of the world, Catherine’s inhibitions would loosen. This was a society where the strong controlled the weak. Not everybody blessed with power had choice… or the desire… to be as honorable as Hyperveil, Meteoroid, Aqualass… or Imperia.

Catherine steeled herself, looking up at her group. If she wanted to live a life she truly wanted, she would need to burn her old self away, down to a crisp. Gone were the days of that tweedy young girl clutching her books with pale skin and unkempt, midnight-black hair. Using her skills in chemical engineering and design, she was able to concoct a suit of her own. One that was fashionable, black and red in a swirling dance, ceramic red mask to shield her face and conceal her identity. And emblazoned in the chest? An emblem of pure fire. Her old self needed to be buried. Catherine needed to drown it in those ashes. And from their smoldering embers…

Only then could the pyrotechnic genius Caldera rise.

The steel in her eyes was enough to attract the approval of Nightfly, the reluctant acceptance of Seraph… even the attention of Trencher, who was currently picking at a piece of food between her sharpened teeth using one of her drill needles.

“Enough planning. I’m ready,” said Caldera. “Now, are we going to do this, or what?”

Nightfly grinned. “Good.”

Stretching a bit, Nightfly pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper and flattened it on the table. Above the complex structural design plans was the caption Aster City Stock Exchange. “If we can pull this off, none of you will have to work another day in our lives.”

***

“Oh… Oh God, oh God…”

Catherine struggled to sit up. Each move was an ordeal; her ripped suit now chafed as it let the grit and dust in. “Stupid… stupid…” The red and black colors seemed like such a good idea when she was designing it in her friend’s basement.

Standing to her feet, Caldera stumbled, shrapnel and fiberglass from the blast crunching beneath her black boots. She didn’t know if the pit in her stomach was from executing the largest blast she’d ever done… or from seeing the remaining bodies that littered the complex.

“No…”

Caldera turned left to right. Some were sprawled across the still intact walls, strewn over their jagged apexes like palisades. Others were in pieces, blood vaporized by the force of the explosion. A scant few were still alive, but nearly two dozen men and women had surely died by Caldera’s hand.

“N-no!” Caldera covered her mouth as she shook.

Crack!

Caldera jumped, realizing it was only her mask, the seam splitting and falling to the ground, revealing the visage of Catherine beneath.

“I… I need to get out of here.”

Caldera looked every which way. Trencher should’ve dug a tunnel… but wherever it was, it was covered in rubble. And the sirens were getting louder. Police were coming.

“C’mon… come on!” Caldera threw herself to her knees, further shredding their latex as she dug through the debris by hand.

“How about this?!” Caldera placed her hands on the jagged pile, and clenched.

Nothing but sparks.

“You can do it!” Caldera screamed, trying over and over and over again to simply blast the boulders out of the way.

Each time… nothing.

“Please! You have… to…”

A shadow, a narrow beam of darkness planted square in Caldera’s chest. She rose her gaze upwards, to the edge of the crater where the meager sunlight managed to sneak in.

Caldera’s mouth fell open, and her heart pounded.

She fell back on her elbows, crawling away, feeling the need to hide herself, to leave this place, kicking up dirt as she tried. But unable to take her eyes off of… her.

For there, what felt like miles above at the lip of her crater, stood her.

Wearing a suit of pure latex, white base with turquoise trim, standing in knee-high boots with utterly precise poise, and a golden halo of perfectly stylized hair that was unfazed by the deluge of dust that threatened it with each passing moment. Her blue eyes were perfectly set in the center of a white, form-fitting In the center of her own bounteous chest, the letter “I”, stylized with all the import of the world was emblazoned. A letter every citizen knew meant that help was on the way.

Above Caldera stood Aster City’s greatest hero.

And Caldera could only barely mouth the ghost of a sentence.

“Imp… Imperia…”

As if on cue, Imperia began to take long, measured, determined steps, basking in her confidence as she gazed down with detached importance at Caldera. Her oceanic gaze was petrifying.

The craggle of rock and metal tumbling against rock and metal, foreseen by a newfound shower of dust from the mottled ceiling of scaffolds.

“Hm?” Imperia looked up just in time to see another boulder fall down on her.

“NO!” Caldera leapt up, reaching for her hero, knowing that it would be her doom, that she’d never make it, that even if she did…

But Imperia, ever the dramatist, was prepared. She reached her hand up high, fingers outspread, waiting patiently for the rock to reach its terminal velocity.

Her fingers met stone. And in only a moment, the rock diminished.

Ten feet, eight feet, four feet, six inches… a single inch. The boulder was reduced from a boulder to a mere pebble, one that Imperia crushed between her gloved hands into dust, drifting away on an errant breeze.

Still very much alive, Imperia returned her attention to Caldera who was now standing, arms outstretched, in awe of the most incredible hero of all time.

“Are you the one who did this?”

Imperia’s relaxed demeanor changed as she scanned the scene, fresh scent of death still heavy on the dusty fog. Her gaze narrowed, her brow furrowed, and Caldera’s starstricken attitude became a morbid fear as she locked eyes with her former hero. The time to fight or fly had come. Her team was gone. And Caldera now stood face to face with one of the greatest heroes in the world.

Her hero.

And she probably wanted to kill her.

Imperia took Caldera’s silence as an affirmation of guilt. There would be no more words.

Imperia slid down the slight incline of the crater, dashing to Caldera.

“Shit, shit-shit-shit!” Caldera tried in vain to ignite, but she was all out of juice. Nothing but paltry lighters exited her fingertips.

Imperia was halfway there. Caldera scanned the ground, grabbing a broken piece of rebar. Brandishing her weapon, Caldera wound up and swung, easily dodged by the skilled martial artist. Caldera prepared another swing before being clocked by an uppercut to the jaw.

“OOMPHCH!” The bar flung out Caldera’s hands as she went tumbling back, barely able to stay on her feet. Imperia scanned the sky, grabbing the bar from midair with expert flair. Safe in her hands, Imperia shrunk the bar down to the size of a paperclip, snapping it in two as she glared at Caldera, crouched, rubbing her jaw.

Caldera stumbled, aghast as her hero simply stood, watching Caldera get her bearings. Without thinking, Caldera rammed herself forward, getting a decent headbutt in Imperia’s midsection that knocked the wind out of her.

“P’FHHH!!” Imperia gasped before locking Caldera’s arms to her side and kneeing her in the face. The stunned Caldera was even less prepared for yet another kick, sending the burgeoning villain to the ground for good.

Caldera shifted and twitched. She was hurting all over. Light had become mere jigsaw pieces in her vision, impossible to tell where any of it was supposed to go. She tried to squirm away like a caterpillar only for Imperia to plant her turquoise boot square on her chest with a vicious stomp that threatened to pierce Caldera’s sternum with her heel.

“You thought you could escape justice, could you?” Imperia chastised, triumphant, victorious, arms akimbo. “Evil always does. But know this… where evil flourishes, I will always be there to stamp it out.”

The utter humiliation of not only getting defeated by her favorite hero, but being dominated so completely, was enough to send Caldera completely over the edge.

“I’m… I’m sorry! I’m sorry, i-it was an accident! An accident! They left me! J-just please, just let me go! Please! Imperia, please…”

Imperia watched as this girl begged for her life with an unchained desperation, and her stomp lightened, even as the ever present din of quickly encroaching police cars grew louder. She carefully removed her boot from Caldera’s chest, and squatted, making sure that she wouldn’t take this opportunity to run away.

“What’s your name?” Imperia asked.

The sniveling girl opened her mouth to say something, before stopping herself. Winced a bit and then said, quietly, “Caldera.”

Imperia smirked. Playing it close to the chest.

“Well… Caldera. Do you hear that?” Imperia pointed up vaguely.

Caldera nodded. Sirens.

“I have a feeling… you’re new to this whole… superpower thing?”

Caldera nodded again. Her voice cracked as she said, “I… I didn’t think anyone would get hurt.”

Imperia smiled oddly. “Well, with this many casualties, that’s not going to matter to the police… who’s they?”

Caldera looked down at her legs. She couldn’t talk.

“Caldera.” Imperia could barely say it without bursting into a chuckle. “You’re the only one here. Whatever happens… they’ll pin this on you.”

Caldera could not cease her shaking. A cold fell over her as she forced herself to gaze into Imperia’s blue eyes once more. They were mystifying.

“But there is another way.”

Caldera perked up, allowing herself the freedom to hope once again. The freedom to return from all of this. “There is?”

Imperia reached out her hand. “I can’t let you go. But if you come with me… I can let you join a very very secret group of people like you. Think of it like rehab. A rehab full of villains who lost their way, and needed a bit of help finding it again. There, you can learn to channel your powers in a positive way, and use them for good, noble purposes.

“But if you don’t…” Imperia clenched her hand. “Then I’ll be forced to hand you over to the criminal justice system. Do you even know how many hedge fund managers you just iced out? They tend to be pretty hard on that sort of thing.”

Caldera weighed her options all while Imperia grinned jovially. The fog of death continued to close in on the two as Caldera still tried to consider her choice.

“I don’t… I… I…”

“They’re going to kill you, Caldera. Capital punishment. And I don’t know how much your ragtag team of misfits means to you since you got ditched… but I know they’ll put you through the wringer getting their names to kill them too. Think about it. I’m your only way out. Now, are you going to join me? Or not?” Imperia’s face hardened as she jutted her hand even closer into Caldera’s bubble.

Caldera ruminated on her words. It was a cryptic offer… but then again, this was Imperia. If there was any hero who was honor and duty personified, it’d be her. Whatever this rehab program had in store for her, how bad could it really be?

The screeching of police tires was already drifting into their orbit. There was no time to think.

“O-okay.” Caldera grabbed Imperia’s hand. At any other time in her life, Caldera would’ve been honored to be breathing the same air as her. And now she was going to live with her! Caldera could only hope she’d be spirited to Imperia’s legendary Fortress of Isolation to undergo training to use her powers to their fullest.

Imperia gripped Caldera’s hand tight and curled her lips into a sly smile. “Good choice.”

Then, Caldera began to shrink.

The jarring feeling of being reduced in size, and so fast, nearly made Caldera throw up. Her hand remained engulfed in the shiny latex of Imperia’s glove so she hung there, scarcely three inches tall.

“Don’t look at me,” Imperia mouthed, dangling the diminutive Caldera between her thumb and forefinger, lifting her to her face. “You’re the one who took so long to make a decision.”

Then Imperia hooked her free thumb beneath the hem of her suit’s collar as well as the stylish black body-sleeve beneath. The elastic top of the form-fitting outfit threatened to escape from Imperia’s grip or die trying with each passing second, so she knew she had to act fast, dropping Caldera within, landing her just between Imperia’s massive breasts before shutting the entrance, leaving Caldera floundering helplessly in a dank, sweaty prison of flesh and musky odor.

Caldera watched as the last slivers of light were furiously executed, leaving her alone on a compressed mattress of moundy, doughy flesh, her constriction already kick-starting a claustrophobic panic. But even as she tried to get her bearings, try to navigate somewhere in this cramped domain, she found herself sliding more and more between Imperia’s breasts, reaching for something, a handhold or anything, but achieving nothing except being sucked further into the crannies of Imperia’s perfectly proportioned body.

“L-let… let me out of here!” Already, Caldera was regretting her choice.

“Let me OUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT….

***

Imperia wet her lips, staring down at her assets.

The tire screeches stopped. Car doors opened and shut, and red and blue lights flashed through the blown out walls. Already, cops were storming the scene, guns held out, barking orders to one another. As the small army of law enforcement advanced, one woman among them was instead taking careful, casual steps deeper into the crater, fiddling with a lighter in one hand, crumpled cigarette in the other. She was wearing a long trench coat, holding a notebook with a notebook sticking out the breast pocket, its dusty brown only a few shades to the left of the streaks of gray that seemed to tug at her brown hair.

Imperia noticed her arrival. The hero knew her well, and she waved the newcomer over.

The Commissioner half-grinned, and trotted to the center of the crater.

The two reached one another, both saying nothing, faces grim. The Commissioner blew out a puff of smoke before grabbing her cigarette. “Dammit. You beat me again.”

“Not everybody can be as quick as me, Chief. You should know this by now.” Imperia winked, then cringed as the Commissioner turned away, unresponsive to her lazy attempt at humor. The police was divided into three groups: one establishing a blockade, one working on extracting survivors, one canvassing the area for evidence.

The Commissioner puffed out another cloud of smoke and sighed. “Well since you’re so fast, I assume you were able to catch the bastards who did this?”

Imperia’s eyes fell. “They got away.”

“Again?” The Commissioner turned to Imperia, eyes flaring. “These sons of bitches blow up goddamn First Avenue and you’re telling me not a single one of them left any trace, nothing?”

“I have reason to believe this wasn’t their intent. There’s no motive I can detect. It might’ve been a more conventional heist, maybe a malfunction of some --”

“CHIEF!”

Both the Commissioner and Imperia turned. A man in a lab coat and khakis was rushing forward, panting as he reached the two. “Forensics found a tunnel leading underground. We wanted to get bomb squad to look in it, but... it was unstable. Collapsed just from us lookin’ at it. Wherever they went… we ain’t gonna be following them for a long while.”

The Commissioner glared and then grunted. The man took this as a sign of dismissal and turned off to rejoin with the investigators.

The Commissioner took several long puffs of her cigarette side-eyeing Imperia. “Our guys haven’t caught a villain in months. Weeks go by, not a peep from Aquarius, Polymaiden… hell, even Nightfly. And then this happens and we don’t even have an ID?” The Commissioner flicked their cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the dirt. “They’re planning something, no doubt. And here I thought working with you caped weirdos was supposed to help us bring these bastards to justice.”

Imperia crossed her arms. “Perhaps evil is finally realizing it cannot survive in a city where the strong are committed to protecting the weak.” As she squeezed her breasts tight against her latex-laden body, Imperia couldn’t help feel a mirthful smirk form on her face.

The Commissioner wheezed out a chuckle. “Forgive me if I’m not quite so optimistic. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of protecting this city… evil will always crawl out from the dirt. Sometimes even when you least expect it.” Then her face became taciturn once again. “We’re gonna be keeping our ears to the ground. You should too. If you find anything, you know where to reach me.”

Imperia nodded, scratching her temple. “Right, Chief.” She turned away and trudged back up the crater, brushing past several police officers, each of which gave a respectful nod as she passed.

Imperia glanced as she exited from beneath the eaves of the blown-out building. The cops were still working on establishing a perimeter, but a crowd of hundreds of terrified bystanders were a perpetual presence at the edge of the yellow tape and orange barriers, many of whom were screaming the names of loved ones, asking for permission to cross. The frustration and tension was mounting as officers were working harder and harder to keep the crowds from rushing the barrier and digging out the dead themselves, until…

“Wait, is that…?”

“It is! It’s Imperia!”

“Imperia! I love you!”

“Imperia? Where? Oh my goodness it is her!”

“Imperia, please! My husband is in there! Can you go back and look for him?!”

“Imperia’s here! Everybody, don’t worry! She’s going to keep us safe!”

The ethos of the crowd did a complete shift from nervous dread to contented excitement the moment Imperia showed her face. Gulping, Imperia put on a strong expression and sauntered out, waving and commanding the crowd with expert precision.

“Everyone remain calm!” she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. Her voice BOOMED, amplifying the soundwaves with her size-shifting capabilities. It did the trick, forcing many of the front-row crowd members and even several officers to put their hands to their temples.

“Thank you!” she called normally. “I know you’re scared, but have no fear! The ACPD is already well on the case!”

“We heard the villains escaped!”

Imperia smirked. “That is true.” A gasp from the crowd. Imperia continued, “The villains escaped. But if there’s one thing villains in this town have grown to fear… it’s me.”

A feeling flashed in Imperia’s eyes, one too small for many to catch. “Nothing in this city, nothing, is capable of escaping my grasp. No matter how small it is.” Imperia scanned the ground, noticing a charred black metal safe, thrown from the building in the explosion. In a bit of dramatic improv, she sauntered forth and planted her boot on it, heroically posing with her hands on her hips.

“There’s a reason that every villain who’s attacked this city never tried again after they fought me. And that’s because I do not give up. Not on justice… or on you, citizens of Aster City. So let this be a lesson to any who would dare to do evil under my watch. You can run. You can even hide!”

The safe beneath Imperia’s boot began to dwindle, buckling slightly beneath the sharpened heel of Imperia’s boot… Imperia began to sweat, a nervous, excited sweat that leaked from each of her erogenous zones. This was it, she thought. This feeling of why she became a hero. Getting to see the people look up to her. To truly see her as something more… something she was always meant to be. It was exhilarating. Terrifying. And freeing, all at the same time.

“But I will find you. And when I do…”

SNAP!

Metallic shards blasted out from beneath Imperia’s heel, the vault now unable to handle Imperia’s crushing weight of her defined calves. Imperia panted, waving her arms up high, certain that the development of any perspiration was safely sequestered within the suit, where they would do their job in further demoralizing her latest passenger.

A hush fell over the crowd…

Clap... Clap... Clap...

A single individual began to clap, and like a virus it spread until it became a rousing round of applause, cheers, and whistles. Even many of the police officers couldn’t help but offer a cheer or two of their own. One officer with a slight grin on his face slid over to Imperia and whispered, “Appreciate the help there. Don’t know what would’ve happened if the crowd got a bit too antsy.”

Imperia nodded, waving again, backing away, smiling, smirking, as she used slipped a small item out from her pocket.

Darting into a back alley, Imperia glanced from side to side before cupping her hands where a miniaturized blue and white motorbike lay in her palm.

A few moments later, the ferocious BRRRR-WHIRRRRRRR!! of the cycle darted from the back alley, weaving through approaching cop cars and pedestrians alike with daredevil maneuvers, though its rider was Imperia no longer. Gone was the gaudy skin-tight blue and white bodysuit, in exchange for the understated thin black rider-suit she wore beneath. Her mask too had been stowed, now replaced by a helmet that carefully caressed her wreath of blond locks, masking her identity.

The vehicle ba-bumped and hopped and skipped, in need of a tune-up, sending Imperia bouncing off her cushiony seat with each imperfection on the road. Her breasts too were driven up by the momentum, sploshing down in their moist entrapment and surely delivering a trickle of sweaty debris to join their new occupant with each tiny movement.

This made Imperia smile.

Imperia revved the engine, anxious to return to her roost. Knowing when she did… she was going to have a brand new toy to break in.

 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.

 “C’mon, please!” Caldera punched the plastic casing, over and over again. Each shot rebounded; her workable area was too small for her to get any momentum. Yet, still she persisted. Over and over, she clenched her tendons, tightening her muscles. Her head throbbed, and she was starving and dehydrated from an entire night of tears. But still she persisted. The image of her hero was bare in her mind. No longer a hero. A dominatrix. A monster, callous and cruel. It was unfathomable. Spirit-shaking. And yet, she persisted even then.

“C’mon… come… on!” Caldera threw another punch.

“Work!”

Another jab.

“Please…!”

There she was, supine. Inches away from the plastic barrier that separated her from freedom. She heaved, her warm breath creating a glistening blurry spot, impossible to see in the low light save for the status LEDs reflecting from Imperia’s computer. She was tired. She was hungry. And with each passing moment, her energy was sapping. Caldera had to face the reality… she was not capable of leaving this confinement.

Caldera took a break. She laid her arms out to her side. She was hot.

Caldera covered her face with her hand. It picked up a few drops of sweat.

She looked at the gloved hand, cloaked in a blistery red latex, reduced to a muted dark color in the light’s near-absence.

Catherine peeled the glove off, grunting a bit. She removed the palm section first, then each individual finger, revealing her hand. Lithe. Dainty. Almost childlike.

Catherine placed her hand on the plastic. And she focused.

Sizzz…

Her fingertips glowed in the dark. They burned a searing four hundred degrees, multiplied by five fingerprints. More than enough to melt the cheap plastic, but not enough to vaporize it. It liquified, dripping on Catherine’s nose and singing her face. She cut the heat, taking quick, shallow breaths as she forced herself to wait for the melted plastic to cool. The dozens of seconds felt like hours, but it soon solidified. Catherine carefully peeled it off with her gloved hand and tossed it away.

Five even-ish holes now dotted her plastic confinement.

Catherine allowed herself a smile at this victory. Pushing her fingers through, she focused the heat on her palm, trying her best to contain the viscous liquid as more of the barrier was melted away. With a few well-placed repetitions of this process, Catherine was able to tear apart the weakened plastic, creating a hole large enough for her to squirm through, hoisting herself over the edge of the container.

Catherine caught her breath, feeling a faint bit of accomplishment. It felt good to be doing something, and even better to stretch her arms out fully. The edge of the capsule was driving a ridge in her cheek. As she sat there, her eyes went to that dainty figure laying there on the table.

Catherine ran through her knowledge of supervillains. Polymaiden made the cut, but Catherine didn’t have an abundance of information on the duplicator, with most of what she did know being secondhand from investigators and Imperia herself.

That horrifying plea for death played over and over in Catherine’s mind.

Again. And again.

It felt… wrong, to just leave her there.

“Hey…” Catherine cupped her hands, wheezing a whisper in Polymaiden’s direction. “Hey…!”

No movement.

Catherine began to lift herself out of the container, then cringed. Polymaiden was naked. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Catherine wasn’t a particularly social girl, and though sexual relations did interest her somewhere down the line, she knew innately now was not the time to survey her prospects. She did not feel anything looking at Polymaiden. Well, aside from mild apprehension at her villainous past.

Said the pot to the kettle, Catherine thought meagerly.

Even so, the idea of manipulating Polymaiden’s form in any way made her feel… dirty, especially after what was presumably a harrowing time in Imperia’s boot. But Catherine needed to take stock of her allies, and she wasn’t going to get Polymaiden’s attention from way over here. If she had to come uncomfortably close, so be it.

Catherine lowered herself out of her container. Her boot hit the tabletop, followed by her bare foot. She jumped slightly, feeling the roughness on her sore sole. Catherine had forgotten she lost the other shoe. She would have to find it later.

Catherine took slow, cautious steps toward Polymaiden’s limp form. She was not far away, perhaps a fifteen-second walk at a brisk pace. But the action figures that lined the table felt notoriously nosy. Their dark visages and indistinct silhouettes gave Catherine the utmost heebee jeebies as she navigated through their ranks. Many stood taller than her. And though their owner was likely asleep, Catherine didn’t want to touch the dolls at risk of offending their master.

At last, Catherine made it to Polymaiden.

She crouched at her front, placing a hand on her shoulder. Catherine punched her own chest, clearing her throat, and after a few attempts where only some scratchy noises came out, she murmured:

“Hey. Are you okay?”

Catherine felt Polymaiden’s bare skin tighten at her touch. Otherwise, she was lifeless. The faint scent of foot odor still wafted off her smooth dermis.

Catherine wanted to call it quits. To retreat to her cozy plastic box. To return to where Imperia had left her. She wanted to get away from this girl, who Catherine only knew as a deranged supervillain and purveyor of stochastic terrorism.

But at the same time… here in this alien, lonely world, fearing for her life with every errant creak of a floorboard… Catherine wanted something else too. Something more.

She wanted a friend. While a friend that was not a serial arsonist was preferred, beggars could not be choosers.

So, she redoubled her efforts. She shook Polymaiden again, more vigorously. When Polymaiden failed to move, Catherine carefully pried her fingers beneath Polymaiden’s prone body, slowly, gingerly flipping her on her back like an omelet.

Once she settled, Catherine brushed some of Polymaiden’s hazel-colored hair out of her face, unveiling eyes just barely squinting, ajar. Her breasts were mid-sized and taut, slightly flopping over into her armpits. Catherine pushed into Polymaiden’s gaze, and she tried to coax her back to the land of the living.

“Hey… say something. Please.”

Tiny coughs limped from her chapped lips. Catherine jumped to action, once again reaching behind Polymaiden’s back, cautiously, quietly, glacially pushing her up into a sitting position. When she was at a 90-degree angle, Catherine carefully let go. Polymaiden did not slump back to the table, but she made no indication that she registered Catherine’s existence either.

Catherine nudged the small of Polymaiden’s back a few times, eliciting a couple more coughs.

“My name is… Catherine.” Catherine tried to smile but managed only a dreadful sneer-like expression. Polymaiden remained mute in response. “And yours?”

Polymaiden said nothing. Her eyes saw nothing. If Polymaiden could hear, she didn’t show it. If there were wheels in her head, Catherine sensed they were full of rust.

“Well… just…” Catherine faltered, wondering what advice on Earth she could possibly leave this woman with that could enrich her life. “Just… remember that I’m here. If you need anything.”

And Catherine turned away. She wanted to slap herself for saying something so corny, so tone-deaf of their current entanglement. Even in the chilly night air, she felt scalding hot. She wanted to dive into a pool of ice to wash away the embarrassment, or better yet, dive into her newly formed felt-lined container bed and truly lock herself away for good this time. She was about to trudge off when something grabbed her ankle. Catherine did everything in her power not to screech as she whipped her head back. Polymaiden was glaring at her askew, her face twisted in a grimace as she buried her other hand beneath her rear.

At first, Catherine had no idea what she was looking at, and couldn’t decide whether to be just confused or confused and mortified… until she realized Polymaiden was merely sitting on something and trying to dig it out. Which she succeeded in moments later, dangling Catherine’s red go-go boot by its throat and handing it to her.

“Penny.”

Polymaiden’s… er… Penny’s response was curt and straightforward. She didn’t want to have her mouth open any longer than she had to.

Catherine took the boot, confusion waning as Penny loosened her grip on her ankle. Penny’s lips split, and it seemed as though she had to collect her thought before loosing one final, monosyllabic expression.

“Thank.”

And Penny’s eyes went numb again. Catherine had to shake her drifting fingers off her own ankle as she stared down at the catatonic woman.

Catherine felt her own numbness spread out from her heart, planting paralyzing tendrils into the depths of each limb. For a moment, as Penny uttered a mere three syllables, Catherine was not alone. She was talking to another human. And a slightest bit of confidence, contentment in life, managed to return. It made Catherine feel energized.

That moment was gone. But Penny was still here.

Catherine lacked the energy to make the return trek to her hovel. Instead, she slumped down herself, next to an emotionless Penny. Catherine hugged her knees close to her chest for a few moments, rocking to her heartbeat. Then, she stretched her leg out a bit and began to equip her boot, hoping only that Imperia wouldn’t display any anger at Catherine escaping from her petroleum prison.

 Emily sat on the edge of the bed. Her feet were cold.

She let out a long, silent sigh, and laid out on her side, carefully pulling the blanket over her so as not to appropriate any of Gabrielle’s real estate. She was a perfect angel, silent, unmoving. Warm.

Emily squirmed, turning, facing Gabrielle. She reached out beneath the covers, fingertips dancing delicately, carefully above the skin of her back. Closer, and closer they got, and Emily’s breath quickened. Millimeters away, she stopped, and a spurt of air burst out her mouth through clenched teeth. Emily paused and tried to pace herself. She took the time to take in a full breath of air. She closed her eyes and opened them back into the opaque shadows. Gabrielle’s spine traced the horizon of Emily’s world.

Emily sucked in a breath, slowly this time. Steadily. And as she exhaled, she allowed her hand to magnetize to Gabrielle’s skin. Spread out, gentle, she rubbed across Gabrielle’s side, letting Gabrielle’s warmth seep into her.

Emily wanted to hug her close, pull her in, and never let go. She wanted to embrace her, to give her a gift commensurate with everything Emily had received from her. Even now, just touching her made Emily feel as though she were taking something that did not belong to her.

A low moan grumbled through Gabrielle’s body, the noise locking Emily’s touch in place. Emily waited, counting the beats of her heart, until:

“Your hands… cold.”

Emily at first barely understood, then suddenly she whipped up from her position, throwing the blanket off. She looked at her hands with concern. “Are they?”

“Mm… mm-hmm…” Gabrielle remained a mere lumpy mound beneath the blankets.

“S-sorry…” Emily tried rubbing her palms together rapidly, breathing on them.

“It’s fine…” At last, Gabrielle squirmed from her cocoon, her fuzzy head popping out of the blanket like a groundhog. “How long have you been up?”

“A few minutes,” Emily lied.

“Good,” said Gabrielle. “Are you going on patrol?”

“No,” Emily said truthfully.

“Great! You’ve been so hard to get ahold of lately. I was thinking we could visit the museum finally head downtown together. Get some Thai food for dinner, maybe visit the botanical – ”

Buzzzzz…

A corny chime warbled through the night’s gelatinous silence. Emily jittered, then reached underneath herself, searching for her phone.

"Oh, I think..." Gabrielle started, driving her hand underneath her disproportionately large pillow. She pulled it out, this time holding Emily’s phone. “It’s for you,” she said, smiling sadly as she handed the phone to Emily.

Emily took it, dreading what she hoped she wouldn’t see. Until her fears were realized.

A single text. From C:

Things brewing. Need you on standby.

Emily dialed, and the other line picked up not long after. “Chief, I –”

“Imperia, I’m–”

The Commissioner's voice was abruptly silenced.

“Commissioner? Chief?!” Emily yelled into the phone, then realized: the red blinking light at the top. Her battery was dead. She’d forgotten to put it on the charger the night before.

Emily scrounged around for her charging cord and came up short. She glanced pleadingly at Gabrielle. “I’m… I’ll be right back.”

Gabrielle nodded, thankful her weary eyes couldn’t betray her emotions in the early morning midlight.

Emily bounded to her feet and was immediately stricken by an urge to sit down. Each step felt as though the scaffolding which made up the tightly wound muscles of her thighs threatened to collapse, her soreness only exacerbated by the eagerness with which she’d approached performing her heroic duties this past several weeks. Emily shivered, then took one patient step after another, careful to avoid wobbling, as she made her way to the basement door.

Emily’s hand gripped the doorknob, stopping to catch her breath. She planted her phone in her pocket, and a wry smile came to her as she turned the handle.

Click.

She left herself behind.

That shy, unsure girl.

And crossed the threshold once more.

Catherine had no real clue how long she had been sitting there, in silence. But when the single bulb that lit the room activated, she felt a burning sensation as her retinas were violated. It was only after she covered her face with her arms did the primal fear of Imperia return. Sure enough, as she glared up, there she stood, a queen surveying her kingdom. She took slow, measured steps down the stairway, as if trying to drive into Catherine how much she intended to relish what she was about to do with her.

“S-stop…!” Catherine began pre-emptively as she made one leisurely step after another toward the desk. She reached out a hand, subconsciously guarding Penny as the silent villain sat on her butt, not comprehending the change in the world state. “Imperia, Imperia please! I don’t know why you’re doing this… but I…”

Catherine’s spiel paused as Imperia took a few steps past her, and the table entirely. As Catherine watched, she noticed that though Imperia’s gait was slow, it was anything but leisurely. She appeared to be trudging with difficulty.

Imperia was aiming for one of the many cabinets and shelves that lined the perimeter of the room. This one was a small latch-box constructed of a dark-brown material. Propping herself against the wall, Imperia grabbed the capsule with one hand, just a bit too small. The box slipped and slid out of her grasp, bouncing with a decidedly non-metallic rubbery rebound.

Catherine watched in morbid fascination as Imperia swore, reaching down with great discomfort to pick it up again. She ferried the box back to Catherine’s table, making space by moving the figurines one by one behind the monitor. Catherine braced herself as the massive cubic shape was deposited on the tabletop. Catherine stared at it, at least the size of a garden-shed to one at her scale. Imperia murmured swears under her breath as she fiddled with the latch until the hinged top popped open.

As it unlocked, a warm, yellow light leaked out and coated Imperia’s face as she smiled lovingly, sinisterly. Catherine’s confusion would grow until Imperia reached her hand into the box and winced.

“Ouch!” Imperia exclaimed, then steeled herself. She clutched something and pulled it out into the air proper, where Catherine could finally see for herself what was inside.

Shortfuse.

“I told you to keep your hands off me! Stay away from me! Get off! Get off!!” Shortfuse dangled between Imperia’s fingernails, held from the scruff of her costume. The dirty-blonde electromancer was still wearing her flashy skin-tight suit emblazoned with her lightning-bolt emblem. If Catherine recalled correctly, the suit was a restraining device designed to limit and control the outburst of her powers, while focusing them in a direction of her choosing. With each flail, yellow-white electrical energy would blast out, dissipating only a few meters from its origin.

Once a street-level criminal, content to steal from ATM machines for quick cash, Shortfuse soon set her sights on amassing more and more power, seeking to siphon the energy from the entirety of Aster City’s electrical grid. It was an explosive battle, and by her own admission, one of the most life-threatening Imperia had ever managed to endure. When the dust cleared, Shortfuse was gone. Nobody had any idea where she’d went.

“You know I’ve been letting you off easy?” Imperia said, slumping into her rolling chair with a rapturous exhale. “Ahhhhh, that’s better,” she murmured. She cast a short glance down at Catherine and Penny, each of them paralyzed in fear as Imperia now towered above them again.

Fortunately, she seemed to have other concerns at the moment. Imperia reached for the toolbox with her free hand, careful to keep the screaming Shortfuse out of the range of her face as she rummaged. “You know why? Honestly… you’re kind of a bitch. Not worth the time it took to wrangle you in.”

“Say that to my face! Grow me back and let’s have a rematch!” Shortfuse unleashed a short-range burst of energy out in a sphere as her anger mounted, enough to make the hairs on Imperia’s arm stand on end. But at her size, there was simply nothing she could do to truly harm her.

“Right. No thanks. Anyway…” Imperia clutched something, pulling it out. A… cell-phone charger? Catherine watched as the wiry device was unfurled. The tip certainly looked like a cell-phone charger, and the other end would’ve appeared to be an adaptor at first glance, but upon her second, Catherine noticed something was off. Then with a bit of a surprise, she noticed it wasn’t an adapter at all. It was a tiny motor, suitable for RC cars. And connected to it was… something else.

Catherine looked at Shortfuse, hanging up there helplessly, putting two and two together. And her heart dropped. It couldn’t be, thought Catherine.

Could it?

Shortfuse was about to find out. Imperia placed the wire device a few paces from where Catherine stood. Then she clutched the villain’s chest between her thumb and forefinger.

“Now, I could’ve just stomped you out of existence, right? You are aware of that, right? That your continued existence is by my fiat?”

Shortfuse chagrined, and she only redoubled her protests. “I couldn’t give less of a shit what kind of car you drive! If you even think about putting me in your boot or your bra or your panties or whatever, I swear to God I will make your heart stop faster than you can blink!”

“I’m well aware, Shorty.” And Imperia clutched the rubbery fabric that composed the rear of Shortfuse’s suit. With a well-timed slice of her trimmed nails, she managed to break open a hole in the minuscule outfit. The tension of the latex was compromised, leaving her posterior and genitalia exposed.

“What are you doing?! And don’t call me that!” Shortfuse groaned, twisting her legs together. “I-If you really want me pissing on your floor, be my guest. Just know it’s on you!”

Imperia simply smiled, further probing her crotch and opening the gap in clothing between her legs. “S-stop it!” Shortfuse pleaded. “Seriously, can you chill the hell out?”

Imperia then reached for the motor end of the wire. There, laying only a few feet away from where Catherine stood, she was able to see firsthand precisely what that object was. A slim object that protruded into a knob at the end. Coated in silicone. As a certified loner who had yet to form a real romantic relationship with any humans, Catherine was embarrassingly familiar with that shape.

Imperia carefully maneuvered the item between her fingertips, manipulating Shortfuse into position. From where she hung, Shortfuse had a wide-open view of Imperia’s massive, grinning face.

“W-what are you going to –”

Shortfuse squealed as Imperia rammed the dildo into her vagina, from below. She lost her breath, catching it again to say something but was cut off as the motor’s circuit was completed, sending the vibrating rod into action ramming it repeatedly into Shortfuse’s cervix and back. Her word became a jumbled mess as liquid began to spew and leak out of her snatch, dribbling down her legs as they kicked and curled, while Imperia used her other hand to insert the charging piece into her phone’s port. A muted “ding” sounded, indicating the charger was working as intended.

Catherine put her hand to her mouth, cursing herself for being right. Even Penny’s eyes widened at the sight of the invasive procedure.

“I knew I could find a use for you, Shorty!” She laid Shortfuse gingerly on the ground, where the mortified villain finally laid eyes on her new sister in captivity. But they were unable to work on salutations as a ferocious orgasm shuddered through Shortfuse’s body, sending a potent jolt of electricity into the ambient surroundings.

“Good Lord, it’s at 20 percent already…” Imperia peered at the phone-screen, amazed. “It’s working better than I ever would’ve thought…! Do you know how lucky you are?” she said, glaring down at Shortfuse’s drooling frame as it twitched and spasmed. “If this didn’t work, I was just going to stomp you outright! I only hope you’re content with this compromise.”

Shortfuse shook her head, twisted her neck, banged her chin against the table, curled her back, twisted her arms. Her body was no longer her own. Even the slightest attempt to try to remove the rotating dildo was interrupted by a spasm of pain or pleasure or both, cruelly wrenching any semblance of volition from Shortfuse’s nerves.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the two of you, mind you,” Imperia said, turning her cruel, terrifying gaze onto Catherine and Penny.

Like a Pavlovian response, Penny shot up, gaze down, but attentive enough to respond. Catherine glanced at her, surprised, then forced herself to look up at the colossus that was Imperia standing above them.

“I hope our quality time yesterday was instructive in what happens when you shirk your responsibilities.”

Penny nodded emphatically.

Imperia made a funny face, then she jerked a thumb at Penny. “Do what you do. C’mon, chop chop.”

On command, Penny focused, twisting her face in effort. Catherine backed away from Penny’s naked body as the outer layer of her skin rippled like a pool of disturbed water. The pain she wore became more pronounced, the ripples more and more turbulent… then they stopped. Nothing had happened. Penny doubled over and heaved.

Imperia rested her elbow on the table and leaned down, boring two holes into Penny with her eyes. At this, Penny redoubled her efforts.

Catherine watched as Penny’s fists curled tight, her legs buckled even as they locked in position. She began to wheeze out an excruciating, haggard groan that seemed to skip every other quarter-second. The ripples on her body were stronger now, such that Catherine could almost see the ghostly form of the duplication that she threatened to make as the cycle of mitosis was nearly complete. Until…

Penny collapsed.

She fell in a heap, and Catherine yelped, dashing to her side. A faint bit of clear slime dripped out the side of her left nostril, but Catherine could tell she was still alive.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand. Are you disobeying my orders again?” Imperia put on a sarcastically confused tone. “Did you not learn the lesson I taught you last time? Do you even want to hold onto all your limbs?”

Catherine ground her teeth together, getting in a protective stance as she shook Penny. She whispered. “C’mon, c’mon. Wake up…!”

Penny shook her head slightly, side to side. This was the extent of her muscle ability.

“Well… if you can’t even do the one thing I brought you along for, I really don’t have a reason to keep you around.” And her hand came in, a prowling UFO. Catherine had no idea what to do, but simply remained where she stood, hunching atop Penny’s limp body.

Imperia’s fingers stopped.

“You know, if you’re worried about your chances, it is not a very good idea to make a bad impression on your first day. Now get out of the way.”

Catherine’s heart raced. She let go of Penny, only because she could feel the heat that threatened to burst through her fingertips. A nervous reaction, utterly unhelpful in this scenario, against something of that size. She bit her lip, turning her head a quarter of the way toward Imperia. Still trapped in her peripheral vision, Imperia was rendered as more of an unknowable blob of untold proportions. Somehow, that was still less scary than looking her in the eye. “She can’t do it. She’s tired.”

“I decide when she’s tired. Here, c’mon sweetie, step aside.” Imperia snapped her fingers then curled them around Catherine’s elbow. It was a shock being gripped by something so huge, and Catherine batted her fingers away out of instinct.

“Ow, God!” Imperia hissed, looking at the tiny red spot on her thumb. Catherine was mortified, hunching even closer to Penny as she looked at her flaming red hands.

Imperia sucked on her finger for a few moments before returning her attention to Catherine. “You stupid fucking fire ant. I took pity on your sorry ass out there, you know that? You worthless, subhuman speck?!”

Then her finger came in with renewed force, jamming Catherine down on top of Penny’s stirring body. Imperia’s pointer finger was buried in Catherine’s chest, restricting her movement and airflow. Caldera tried batting it away with her burning hands. Imperia grit her teeth but was steeled for this. Nothing but a few red marks; Imperia’s skin was too thick for Catherine to do real damage at her size.

But this didn’t stop Catherine from fighting. She punched and kicked, screaming and shouting all the while, as Imperia remained with her cheek resting in her palm, having to fight the urge to yawn. She waited as Caldera’s movements became slower, her blows less focused, her shouts less shrill, until all that was left was a chirpy, hiccupy sobbing.

“H-h-how could you be so… evil?”

Imperia’s sleepy eyes shot open. She lifted her head up and turned her gaze down to Catherine with a slow, robotic movement. Its dead seriousness stunned Catherine silent, and beneath her, even Penny was forced to shrink away from its dreadful energy.

“Evil? What would you know about evil? What would a two-bit street rat like you know about the meaning of evil?”

Imperia started to press her finger even harder into Catherine’s chest. Her heart worked overtime, and her lungs were struggling to get even a spoonful of air with each breath as Catherine winced.

“I have met truly evil people. Eldritch demons. Psychotic crime lords. Cyborg commandos. I have seen what they’ve done. The people they’ve hurt, maimed, killed. I’ve seen firsthand what evil is.”

With each passing breath, Catherine’s body was using up more oxygen than it was letting in. She tried to squirm free, but Imperia’s finger only tightened its pressure, a deterrent from her moving. Her fingers, once burning hot fleshy pads, had been cut off from their fuel source.

“And you know what? I did something about it. I do my part to rid this world of evil. Every day, I go out and fight. Put my life on the line for a better world. And you know what I get in return?” Imperia chuckled dryly. “A shitty apartment. A police commissioner that works me to the bone. Having to ransack couch cushions for rent money.”

Catherine was beginning to hiccup now. Her body was rejecting the situation it was currently in, and with each moment its choice of protest became more drastic.

“But what about you, huh? Or any of you scumbag ‘villains’? You were blessed with power. Unimaginable power! And yet… you decided to abuse others and harm our way of life? How many innocents do you think you wiped out in that bank heist of yours?”

Catherine was unable to answer on account of her vision being filled by multiple blotted dark spots. Her ears were beginning to ring. Her skin felt scratchy and tingly, and her limbs spasmed on their own.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t get to tell me what’s evil. So if I decide to have a little fun at the expense of you subhuman pieces of lowlife garbage… well, you’ll just have to deal. I already paid my dues, so I think I more than deserve this. M’kay?”

Imperia let go of her finger, and like a spring Catherine punched up into a fetal ball, sucking in as much life-giving oxygen as she could manage. Once her brain received the air it had been so desperately pleading for, she was finally able to take in and process the enormity of Imperia’s spiel.

“You’re not here to chat, network, or protest. You don’t deserve the right to complain. You don’t deserve to live. None of you. And when reach into my heart to show you mercy… you have the nerve to call me… evil.” Imperia glanced at Shortfuse, currently flopping on the table in a puddle of her own urine and vaginal ejaculate. “How dare you?”

Emily crouched, taking great pains to keep her face neutral, brutally business-like. Her massive eyes surveyed Catherine’s every nook. Her teeth shone. “Want to live? Wake up every morning and ask yourself, ‘What can I do with my life that’ll make Imperia choose not to reduce me to a stain today?’ If I give a pass to anyone who can’t abide by that simple dictum… what sort of precedent would I be setting?

Catherine slid off Penny’s body, defeated and morally crushed. The screams of everyone she killed were repeating in her mind over and over again. She could only hope that they’d stop once her ears stopped ringing.

“There we go… good girl,” said Imperia. She lifted Penny’s arm and let it flop to the ground. “Now you. Stand up for me.”

As Penny was getting to her feet, zombified expression burning with ghostly fear as Imperia prepared her punishment, Catherine wondered something.

“What do… you need her for?” Catherine asked.

“So chatty…” Imperia waited for a moment. When Catherine didn’t respond, Imperia sighed. “Well, ‘Caldera’, I am incredibly sore and like most days, nights, evenings, I am dying for a foot rub.” Imperia stretched her arms up high, and from her small stature Catherine could hear the pops and crackle of her joints. “Polymaiden here so graciously agreed to be my masseuse for these occasions, something I agreed to because she is very non-flammable, non-toxic, and will not try to electrocute me.”

Catherine’s own gears were turning as she listened to Imperia’s speech. “And you need two… One… for each foot.” Catherine was almost disgusted by herself for agreeing to Imperia’s premise with such a matter-of-fact complacency.

“Bingo,” Imperia clapped her hands. “Someone just won a gold star.”

Catherine took another look at Shortfuse, still not having moved from her spot, but had finally run out of steam for her continued grunts. Her body simply vibrated and twitched, silently humping the air.

If Catherine wanted to make herself useful…

“What if… I…” Catherine had to physically force herself to complete the sentence. “R-rubbed your feet?”

Imperia’s eyebrows furrowed, and she tapped her fingers on the table, each motion causing Catherine to jolt.

“Catherine… Catherine!”

Catherine managed to mask her surprise as merely another nervous jump from Imperia’s idiosyncratic finger tapping. She had completely forgotten that Penny was right next to her, considering Penny had by some metrics more than doubled her syllable count since the past 24 hours.

“Catherine, what are you doing…?!”

Catherine responded out the corner of her mouth. “I’m trying to protect you…!”

“You’ll get us killed if your fire –”

“You know what?” Imperia’s voice blasted their conversation apart. “That’s not a bad idea! The two of you can tag team it. But try to use your pretty little candle powers to hurt me in any way…”

Imperia leaned forward, her massive pale freckled face only inches away from Catherine’s.

“And I will kill you all.”

And Imperia rolled away from the desk, reclining the back of the seat as she pulled one long, muscled leg upward. Its heel landed on the table-top with a BUMP, followed quickly by the other foot.

Catherine stared up at the foot. From her size, it looked less like a foot, and more like a giant, pulsating cliff face, the toes wiggling dexterously. Even at proportional sizes, the foot was unexpectedly long. If she tried hard enough, Catherine could trace the ridges formed in the sole from the pattern of her footprint. She had only recently gotten up from bed so thankfully there was only the semblance of an odor drifting of the sole; if she trained her mind, it might’ve even felt pleasant to Catherine. In another life.

Catherine turned to her right, where Penny was already standing up. She gulped, glancing at Catherine with fear in her eyes as she took a walk toward Imperia’s left foot.

Catherine remembered the vision of Penny’s clone pasted on the sole of Imperia’s foot from the previous night, and she shuddered. She had no idea how many versions of Penny may have met their end at the hands (or, well, feet) of Imperia, or if any other down-on-their-luck villains had been snuffed out so unceremoniously.

Catherine raised her hands up to Imperia’s sole, slowly, cautiously, and realized there was a burning light reflected from her fingers on the wall of skin.

Not now… not now, not now! Catherine looked at her hands. They were flaming red. She looked at the foot, then turned to Penny, who was already deep in the ritual of kneading her hands on the bottom of Imperia’s sole. Catherine looked over her shoulder and considered running, realizing Imperia technically couldn’t see her at this range. But that would mean leaving Penny behind, even if she could get away. Something that was less and less likely as –

“Just breathe. Take a breath and let it out. On the exhale… do what you need to do. Calm down, and focus.”

Catherine at first couldn’t tell where that voice came from, only realizing it was Imperia when she noticed the shadow of her eyes peaking from above her monumental toes. She sounded… auspiciously reasonable.

“Do it. Don’t leave me waiting.”

Catherine returned to attention, looking at her hands. They were still fiery red.

Just breathe… Just breathe…

Catherine inhaled.

One.

She exhaled.

Two.

As the carbon dioxide left her body, she noticed a dimming.

Was it working?

She tried again. She inhaled, and exhaled. There was no doubt; her hands ignited in cycles. When she breathed in, they flared up. Breathing out? They dimmed. If she could lock her mindstate in the dimming, she could control it.

Breathe in.

Her hands flamed.

Out.

Catherine closed her eyes and placed her hand on the sole of Imperia’s foot.

“Oh ho, that’s warm… But keep going.” Imperia’s omnipresent voice scared the daylights out of her, but Imperia’s assent was a blessing. Her hands weren’t ignited, but their warmth from the previous seconds was retained. Bracing her legs, Catherine began to dig into the sole of Imperia’s feet, careful to avoid clenching too much. She remained cool and focused, kneading along the interior arch of the heroine’s dominating peds. They were smooth and dry, and Catherine couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation of battling against their dough-like mass. In any other situation, this might’ve even been fun or desirable.

“You’re getting hot. Breathing is just a focusing maneuver. If you can’t focus and control yourself, it’s useless.” Imperia chastised.

Catherine bristled and realized she couldn’t let her mind wander. Focus, that’s what Imperia said. She needed to latch on to that feeling of serenity when she breathed out and hold onto it for the duration of the massage. Her fingers curled together, knuckles guarding against the fire of her palms as she tried to restrain her own mind. In, out. In… out.

She continued.

“Oh yeah…” Imperia mused, her feet twirling as she got ever more relaxed in her chair. “That’s it… right there.”

Catherine could hear her, and realized she was not yet focused enough. She retreated deeper into her place of peace and invested the entirety of her mental RAM into this massage. No powers, no captivity, not even the violently gyrating form of Shortfuse a moment’s walk away.

Nothing but her and a colossal wall of dough that she had to knead. And she would do the best she could.

“Stop.”

Catherine kept going. Penny stopped and looked over at her friend. “Catherine,” she whispered. “Cath!”

Now Catherine stopped. Her slow mind reformed the pieces of her reality. She left her dream state. She was back in this gray, dull, terrifying world.

“I have to say, that wasn’t bad for a first outing.” Imperia removed her feet from the worktable. Catherine could almost detect a genuine smile on her face. “In fact, I may just say… good job.”

Somehow, even though Catherine was in the most horrifying situation of her life, taken prisoner by a demented size-shifter with a twisted sense of morality, only one accidental slight away from being turned into a living cell phone charger… Hearing her hero give her such earnest praise, even over something as degrading as a foot rub… It made Catherine’s heart melt. She couldn’t form her words in response, which wasn’t a problem to Imperia as she turned her attention back to Shortfuse and the phone to which she was combined. It vibrated, and a cheesy song travelled through the table and into Catherine’s bones.

“Oh, right,” said Imperia. “I’ve gotta take this. We’ll talk more, you two. Maybe make you two partners. I bet you’d like that huh, Poly…”

And she unplugged her phone from the charger, standing and trotting up the stairs.

Catherine fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

Penny saw this, and she tried to run to Catherine but tripped and slid along the rough table. “Agh, shit!” Penny grunted and punched the ground. Then, still fatigued and unbalanced, she crawled the last few meters on all fours. She took Catherine’s shoulder. “Hey, hey! Are you okay?”

Catherine shook out of Penny’s grip and swayed. Left, right, front, and then she fell backward, reaching to the sky. Her smoldering fingertips burned into the air, before Catherine sighed. And they were extinguished.

Catherine turned her head to the side. Only a short distance away, Shortfuse remained, hooked up to her infernal sex machine. She was whimpering like a rabbit, her nails scratching the table vigorously as her hips continued to disobey her, the electric pulses in her body redirected into the cord, spurting out through the end of the charging tip.

Imperia… thought Catherine.

Who are you, truly?

 On a winding dirt road through a pine-laden forest, there stood a small booth seated before a massive wrought-iron gate. Barely larger than a portable toilet, this booth was glass on the three front sides, plastic paneling on the fourth. It was inside this booth that a man sat at his desk, leg kicked over his knee, clawing at the leafs that made up a large tabloid.

Holding a flashlight in one hand, Jameson tried multiple times to turn the page; his chapped fingers slid off the corner, unable to grip the edge.

Jameson grunted, and he touched his finger to his tongue and tried again. Grip applied, he managed to get ahold of the glossy-coated strip. Gone was a technicolor image of Meteoroid on a dusty, alien planetary terrain, hiding behind her own cape, presumably nude. It was replaced by a two-page centerfold of Shinobi standing barefoot and mostly exposed in a running brook surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms. Her shōzuko and katana were respectively folded and sheathed on a nearby rock, while her fingers were behind her back, frozen by the photography as they sought to unclasp the straps that sealed in her midnight-colored bra.

Jameson chuckled. Then he turned around. He reached for the phone, situated on a cluttered desk at the back wall populated by schedules, tickets, building plans, and other useful files. He punched in seven numbers and waited.

Soon, someone picked up.

“Yo, what’s up Jameson?”

“Hey, Mack. Anything to report?”

“No, nothin’. Same as the past seven hours. You?”

“Ah, nah. Nothing, really.”

“So, is there any reason you felt the need to call me right before the end of our shift?”

Jameson scrounged for the tabloid. He’d forgotten where he set it down. “Only to hear your lovely voice, Mack. But, uh, n-no, nah, yeah, nah. Though, ah… I was wonderin’. I need your opinion on something.”

“Shoot.”

Jameson clutched one half of the magazine. The other half was open completely, this time on an image of Hyperveil, racing a Formula One car in a skimpy bikini. The car had only just crossed the start line while Hyperveil was already around the first bend.

“Yeah, I was just thinking. So, say, sake of argument, gun to ya’ head, right? Who has the best tits between Meteoroid, Shinobi, and ahh… Hyperveil?”

“You’re callin’ me, while we’re both at work, to ask me that?”

Jameson waited for the incoming response.

“Meteoroid clears.”

“What? Seriously?!”

“Bro, have you seen how big those knockers are?”

“I mean, yeah, no shit I have! But you cannot tell me that pair of knockers looks better than Shinobi’s do on her.”

“Is that your answer?”

“So what if it is?! Size isn’t everything, you know. Shinobi’s complement her figure at least!”

“You said nothing about figures, old man. You asked me about tits. And I told you my answer. About tits.”

“Yeah, sure, sure kid… Okay, so, now, Aqualass, Imperia, and Sylph? Same deal, gun to your head. Best ass, who ya got?”

“Look I… who’s Sylph?”

“Oh, my bad, I thought you knew. She just hopped on the scene. Some sort of wizard, I think? A bunch of magic mumbo jumbo, I don’t really understand it.”

“Like, ‘Sylph’, Sylph? Like Alexander Pope, Sylph?”

“Look, I can link you her Wikipedia page if ya want. But we ain’t here to talkabout 18th century English poetry. We’re here to…”

Jameson looked up from the magazine. A car was rolling down the lane, headed straight to the gate he was stationed at. It was a pristine, pure white Humvee, being driven by a young-seeming looking woman with snow-blonde hair, wearing round red sunglasses and an unseasonably-heavy trench coat. Jameson sighed and said, “Hold on, we’ve got a visitor,” before putting the phone on the desk, still on.

The vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the booth. She rolled down her window and leaned out.

“Angel Evans. I’m here to see Miss Firefly.”

Jameson touched the button on his desk and spoke into the microphone. His voice came out fuzzy on the other end. “Cra-ack - You ain’t on the schedule.”

“We’re good friends. She called me. It’s important.” Angel Evans – codename: Seraph – lowered her glasses and glared at Jameson.

Jameson nervously ground his teeth. Then he talked through the speaker, “Hold on a sec.”

Jameson picked up the phone again.

Mack was on the other end, listening to it all. “We got company?”

“I dunno, some fashion model lookin’ type, Angel Evans? Probably one of Firefly’s clients. Or one of their wives. Says she wants to see ‘er.”

“Well, I don’t see nobody on the schedule.”

“That’s what I said! Looks real shifty too. Says she’s a friend though.”

“Well, any little motherfucker can say they’re a friend of the boss. Doesn’t mean we let ‘em in.”

“Yeah, kid, I’m well aware. I’ll handle it.”

Jameson put the phone down again and spoke to Ms. Evans. “Look ma’am, you’ll have to come back with an appointment. We can’t let you in without that or Firefly’s say so.”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Allow me to repeat myself. My name is Angel Evans. I am here to see Natasha Firefly.” Though a glass barrier separated the two, Jameson could tell that whether this woman was a friend or foe, she wasn’t going to be leaving by her own choice.

Jameson shifted uncomfortably in the booth, scratching at his beard. He gulped, making sure his job-issued firearm was within reach beneath the desk. “Look, Miss Evans, I’m sorry. Bottom of my heart, right hand to God. But if you don’t have an appointment –”

Ring-ring-ring-ring-ring!

Jameson’s personal phone.

He paused, reaching for the phone in his pocket and glancing at the caller ID. Unknown number.

“Could’ve sworn I silenced this…” thought Jameson as he answered lackadaisically. “Hey, who’s this?”

Angel smiled as he watched Jameson’s expression in the wake of answering the call deteriorate from mild annoyance to complete and utter despair and mortification. He said a few things, inaudible behind the glass, but somehow apparently always cut off by the voice on the other line. Jameson snuck in a few evil glares back at Angel, which Angel always replied to with a perfectly neutral expression.

Finally, Jameson was hung up upon. He lifted his finger demurely to the speaker button. “G-go on ahead, Miss Evans.”

Angel went on smiling as the gate opened. Without a word, she drove on through. Jameson muttered under his breath. “Freak show…”

Jameson jittered as he watched the car leave, squinting as he just barely heard odd, muffled thumps and bumps emanating from the trunk. He peered out into the night, wondering what those weird shadows in the rear-view window of the SUV were, when suddenly a voice burst out of the phone again.

“Oh, yo, Jameson, you there? Okay, I Googled Sylph, and hot damn, that’s a lot of cake.”

…

As Angel approached the garage aperture, it opened for her without any input from Angel. Taking the invitation, she maneuvered the vehicle through, slowing to a stop in the twelve-car cave upon one of the designated parking spots. She turned her head. “You okay back there?”

From the trunk, Trencher’s voice came back. It was quivering. “This is… unpleasant… vehicles… vehicles… Get me out of here…”

“We’re almost there, just stay put for a little longer,” Angel pleaded. Trencher grunted in response, nesting in her pillows and blankets Angel put for her.

Angel put the car in park. Then she took a bit of time to glance at the other automobiles that called this garage home. From Maserati’s to Lamborghinis, Pontiacs and a spare Nissan GT-R, the garage had no shortage of muscle cars, performance vehicles, cruisers, and pristine classics. It was impressive the first time, but upon subsequent visits it lost the effect on Angel.

With no provocation, a series of machines began to activate, humming and groaning beneath the slot. Angel rolled down her window and peaked out, making sure her car was within the lines. It was, and she sighed, relaxing once again as the floor began to give way. Soon, the visions of cars surrounding her began to rise at a relaxed pace, as the secret elevator shaft initiated, and all Angel could see was rapidly moving concrete.

“Showoff,” Angel muttered, drowning in darkness. Much like the repertoire of vehicles, this too got old after the first time.

***

Natasha blinked. The monitor blinked back, flashing a tiny bit as it briefly obscured the information displayed.

I need to get this thing replaced.

Natasha got up and walked a short distance away, footsteps reverberating through the wide-open cavern within which she was situated.

She reached a minibar. Pulling out a bottle of whisky and an appropriate glass, she poured it and added a few drops of water. As she returned to the supercomputer, her steps were quick, yet never so much as created a ripple at the rim of the cup.

Natasha sat down again, just as the machinery of the elevator rumbled to a halt in an adjacent room. Natasha grunted, and she put the glass down, rotating her chair just as Angel came marching inside the complex looking very unamused. Trencher followed her, bare of most of her cyborg enhancements, save the battery pack grafted to her spine, glowing faintly. She approached skittering on all fours, barefoot, with disturbing skill. “Ground! Ground!” Trencher hugged the earth lovingly, sliding across it as she crouch-walked behind Angel.

“What is wrong with you?” Nightfly said, calmly, patiently, measuredly. “Truly, what is it? Why do you think it’s okay to barge into my place of residence unannounced? Do you know I had to chew out a perfectly good security guard for doing their job just because I knew you’d force your way in if I didn’t let you in myself?”

Nightfly lifted the glass to her lips only for Seraph to slap the cup out of her hands. It shattered, the alcohol draining into the porous stone floor. Nightfly’s eye twitched, but otherwise she didn’t respond.

“Forty-eight hours? We botch the biggest heist of our lives, and you don’t even so much as send me a messenger pigeon for forty-eight hours?” Chilly rage drifted off Seraph’s words as she spoke. Her trench coat seemed to warble and twitch.

“You are aware of what it means to ‘lie low’ and ‘wait it out’ for a bit, aren’t you?” Nightfly stood up, returning to the bar to pour another glass of whisky. “We failed, and the heat is on. We try again another day. You know this. Besides, I’m sure you’ve caused ten times that amount of collateral damage in your day.”

Seraph watched, immobile, clenching her fists. “That’s not what I mean.”

Nightfly paused in raising her glass to her lips. Then, slowly, she brought it the slight rest of the way and took a sip. “What do you mean, then?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Seraph slumped down in the chair, burrowing into it. Her jacket fell off, and her wings sprouted out. Visibly, Seraph felt a sense of relief as she was able to brandish her mutant enhancements uninhibited. “We’re short.”

“Ah, short, short!” Trencher cheered. “I was beginning to miss the little upstart. Is she nearby?” Trencher sniffed the air to and fro.

Seraph glared at Nightfly. “Sadly, she is not. And it seems us two are the only ones who even care that the kid is gone.”

“I’m doing everything I can to –”

“And what is everything, huh? What, is this really everything you can do?!” Seraph gestured to the supercomputer screen. An image of police files displaying one of Shortfuse’s earlier mugshots was one of the few sources of light in the cavern. “We live in the real world. Cather… Caldera needs help now. She can’t wait around in prison while you’re –”

“Caldera’s not in prison.” Nightfly took another sip.

This caused Seraph to sit up. “She isn’t?”

“I’ve checked the police records. I’ve made phone calls. I visited the place yesterday. Trust me, she is not in prison. By all accounts, our associate has been missing for almost a week.”

“But… that’s…” Seraph put a hand to her chin. “She didn’t take the tunnel. Where could she be?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Sighing, Nightfly poured the rest of her glass down the drain. “Do you know who that is on the computer?”

Seraph looked at the picture of Shortfuse again. “Who doesn’t? Aster City’s most wanted? If not for Imperia, because of her we’d be living in the stone age right about now. I just wish someone would catch the bitch just so I don’t have to look over my shoulder every time I turn on my television.”

“Right.” Nightfly walked over and gripped the back of the chair, rolling a slightly startled Seraph out of the way before hunching over the keyboard and punching in a few keys. The screen changed, and was replaced by a woman with short, brown hair, holding up prison identification numbers. Her eyes looked dead. Above her, a caption labeled “Penelope ‘Penny’ Gardner” was added with digital editing.

“Now that’s a face I haven’t seen in a while.” Seraph crossed her arms. “I think she still owes me $20. What about her?”

Nightfly turned to Seraph, leaning back on the computer desk. “Do you know who Mustafa Nasser is?”

“Yeah, uh…” Seraph snapped her fingers a few times. “Some… writer... guy…”

“Mustafa Nasser is…” Trencher licked her finger and held it to the air. “An investigative journalist… and Pulitzer Prize winner, currently employed with the Aster Gazette.”

“Very good,” Nightfly said. She reached into the desk drawer and grabbed a wrapped fortune-cookie, tossing it to Trencher who lunged it out of the air with her mouth, devouring the cellophane snack in one gulp. “I’m glad someone knows their civics.”

Seraph looked away sheepishly. “W-well alright! What’s the point of any of this?”

“Nasser’s specialty is contemporary superheroics and crime. My sources in the Gazette told me that Nasser visited Adrian Penitentiary to interview Polymaiden. And –”

“And let me guess,” Seraph interrupted. “She wasn’t talkin’?”

“It’s… hard to explain. It’s like…” Nightfly stopped to think, tapping the desk. Trencher sidled up next to her, rubbing her cheek against Nightfly’s felt black pant leg. “Are you familiar with Voodoo dolls?”

“If I say yes, will you get to the point faster?”

Nightfly rolled her eyes. “It was like she was possessed. Allegedly. She couldn’t even speak. Not for long anyway. Kept getting these fits. Violent.” Nightfly stroked Trencher’s hair. When it came back, her hand was covered in a fine layer of sediment. “Nothing usable came out of the interview, so they scrapped the thing. But it did get me wondering…”

Nightfly turned back to the computer, inputting a series of keystrokes until another face came up.

“Imperia?” Seraph wondered. “What about her?”

“Simple. Shortfuse. Polymaiden. Our associate. Imperia was the last person who fought them all.”

Seraph raised an eyebrow. “You’re not insinuating that Imperia did something to them, did you? Like, I understand you’re smart and all. You’ve made deductions I could only dream of. But this? I mean, it’s Imperia. This is a huge accusation for someone like her.”

“Her power profile is perfect for it,” Nightfly went on. “The ability to shrink anyone and anything to a manageable size. You’ve seen her TV demonstrations, haven’t you? And these wouldn’t be the only villains who disappeared either right after or several weeks after battling Imperia. The prevailing theory: the queen of Aster City isn’t as pure as we think she is. Human trafficking is a profitable business over the border.”

Seraph looked at her knees. Her wings flapped lightly, peppering the air with a handful of loose feathers. “This is a reach. A huge one. No hero that sugary would risk their career – their lives… doing something like that. Besides, we’re criminals. Since when do we worry about human traffickers?”

Trencher made a mock gasp. Standing up, she dramatically leaned back, aghast. “Seraph, you wound us! Criminals we may be… but. We have standards!”

Nightfly was less jovial. “It’s just a pet theory. All of it is. But at this point, it’s either this, or Trencher’s tunnel collapsed prematurely and crushed Caldera to pieces. Hey Trencher, do you think your tunnel collapsed?”

“Not a chance in Hell,” was the reply. “I calculated it for our weight only. No more, no less. The fact we are alive is proof enough the morsel should’ve had a chance to escape.”

Nightfly turned back to Seraph, and she shrugged. “You heard the girl.”

Seraph was silent. She had no love or hate toward Imperia one way or another. While Seraph has run in many of the same circles as a few of Imperia’s foes, the two had never met face to face. Hopefully, they never would. Imperia’s nice to the cameras, but she’s made no secret about being quite brutal to those she faces in battle.

Ultimately, Seraph said, “Fine, genius. So what’s the plan? How are we supposed to find her?”

The implicit question was one of peering deeper into Imperia’s personal life. For as famous a hero as she was, Imperia was quite avid on keeping her identity under wraps. Nobody had even seen her without her mask. None of the top celebrities and billionaires that called Aster City home matched her profile. And in a city of millions, it was hard to narrow down one blondie in a haystack this massive.

Nightfly smirked. “We don’t. But we don’t have to, when we can make her come to us… or someone else.”

 Emily bristled, and she pulled her jacket closer to her body. She leaned against the wooden slats that made up the frontal façade of the apartment complex. From her front porch vantage point, she scanned the horizon.

The streets were bare. Only the faintest hints of morning rays threatened to pierce the trees. She was in the clear.

Emily ground her teeth together. Then, she glanced at her phone.

2 Missed Calls.

Emily rolled her eyes and prepared to redial. Before her finger could punch in the last digit, Emily heard a single bell chime. Looking back to the street, a middle-aged woman was riding a recumbent bicycle. Noticing Emily, she waved. Emily waved back.

“Good morning, Mrs. Chau…” Emily called out half-heartedly.

An avalanche of heavily accented English was the response. “That’s Ms. Chau now! Didn’t I tell you I dropped that two-timing cheater down the drain like old eggshells last week? Hey, if you know any young single men who don’t mind getting with an older woman, you better send them my way, okay Honey? Anyway, how’s Gabrielle? Such sweet young girls, the both of you. Hey, did you ever visit that physical therapist I told you about? Don’t think I don’t see how sorry you look trying to limp around here! Ankle-biters like you shouldn’t have to worry about back pain for another forty years or so! The state of kids today, what with mutants running around, villains blowing up city blocks. Disgraceful, that’s what it is!”

Ms. Chau rode as fast as she could speak and was already nearly out of Emily’s sight. Not wanting to leave her hanging, Emily nervously called back, “Ah, uh, yeah! I’m with you…”

Ms. Chau shouted out, “Nice chat! We’ll talk later! My nephew is in town, I’m sure Gabrielle could be a good tutor for him! Maybe we could come by for dinner! He’s failing 4th grade…” Ms. Chau disappeared around the bend.

“Good chat…” Emily trailed off.

Emily shifted her eyes left to right and started counting down from sixty, but once she hit 48, her phone rang again.

The Commissioner blared out the speaker, clearly agitated. “Nice to know in this era of political division, ‘third time’s the charm’ still has some level of meaning to young folks like you.”

“Do you know how hard it is to keep a low profile out here? And this isn’t exactly a secure line…” Emily said.

“Imp, you’ve been at this for, what, five years?”

Emily thought for a bit. “Six,” she muttered.

The Commissioner laughed. “Right. Six. I’ve been working in this city for decades. And you know the most brutal lesson I’ve learned in that timeframe? It’s that nobody cares about you. Or me. Nobody will actually knock on your door unless they want something that you can give them. Nobody will go through the effort unless they already know who you are. Once you get that through your skull, let me tell ya. You’ll be able to enjoy yourself a whole lot more.”

Emily groaned, and she leaned on the balcony. “Speaking of enjoying myself… what is it? Why are you calling me on my day off?”

“Well, why else but to hear your lovely voice, Imp?” The Commissioner chuckled, then continued when Emily didn’t laugh. “Consider it a tip. A private firm asked the ACPD to escort an armored van today that’s passing through on its way to Circuit City.”

“So, what’s this got to do with me?”

“They’re keeping the cargo under wraps. Nobody’s telling what’s in the van, how much it’s worth… even the name of the firm is a mystery. It’s a black box as far as we can all tell.”

Emily was confused. “So why even take the job if you don’t know who’s paying for it? Aren’t you, like, the police? Don’t you get to make these decisions?”

The Commissioner was silent. “I do know who’s paying for it. An old… friend of mine.”

Emily thought on it for a bit. “So, it’s nepotism.”

“Look, if I know her well enough, I know whatever they’re transporting would be a ripe target for villains looking to score. I don’t know if it will happen… I would just appreciate it if you were there in case something did happen.”

“I take it Meteoroid was busy?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss what Meteoroid is currently doing off-world. But rest assured, if she took a break from it to come back here, you, and me, and everyone we know would be speaking Galornish within a week. If we’re lucky.”

“Always nice being the backup…” Emily sighed, then winced in pain. A migraine just streaked through her forehead.

“Look… Emily. I know it’s tough. But think about what I’ve done for you. If not for me, the police would be on your–”

“I’ll do it, Jesus Christ…” Emily covered the phone and looked behind her. Nervous habit. “You don’t need to keep guilting me.”

“Right. Appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing.”

Emily said nothing, simply waiting for the Chief to finish. The Chief strode past her passive-aggressive silence with aplomb.

“My offer still stands. I could get you hooked up with a place downtown. Nice place, warm water, no bugs. I could even make some calls, get enough space squirreled away to have a sleeping area for your girl. We’d need to do some security checks, of course… There’s a weapons ban, for one. No controlled substances, that sort of thing. Standard. It’s an open invite.”

Emily was silent once again. The Commissioner at first thought she may have left the phone lying somewhere. She was prepared to hang up when Emily responded.

“I’ll think about it. What time is the convoy coming through?”

“Noon.”

“Got it.”

Click.

Imperia glared at the phone as a flurry of complex feelings bubbled and mixed in her stomach. She wanted to throw it out into the street, but ultimately cooler heads prevailed.

Noon…

Shopping with Gabrielle would have to go on hold.

But that gave her just enough time to let a let off a little steam…

***

Caldera didn’t know how long she had been asleep by the time she woke up.

She was sprawled out on the table. The stress and exertion of serving under Imperia had done a number on her stamina, and the repetitive low whale-like sounds had been an effective sleeping aid. In her mind-addled state, it was easy to think it was the hum of a computer, or a piece of heavy machinery elsewhere in the complex. It was only when Caldera blinked a few times and glanced to her side again that she was reminded of the true origin.

Shortfuse. She was in an odd, near-bowing position, her pert booty still raised high in the air, twitching. Said posterior was now coated and shiny slick with sweat and cum, with her legs only unfurled just enough to allow the insertion dildo to continue its gyration work. Her hands were sprawled out, tensing and clenching, loosening. The knees of her skin-tight rubber suit had been rubbed raw. The pool of sweat, and tears, and ejaculate within which she now laid was thin and viscous and goopy. The motor’s whir masked Shortfuse’s own, desolate moans. Continuously being drained of her fluids and her electricity, even when the actual phone she had been charging was long gone. She was far past the threshold for gleaning whatever meager pleasure she could from the torture device.

At first, Shortfuse’s predicament was a simple oddity, mere window dressing on Caldera’s own trials she had to endure to survive. Now though, the moment had passed, and she was still there. To be party to such misery was an active detriment to Caldera’s acceptance of her environment. Whether it was advantageous in the long run or not, Caldera couldn’t just leave her there. And besides, helping her might be the key to gaining yet another ally, a precious commodity.

Caldera glanced behind her. Penny was asleep, but still jittering in her dreams. Unlike the previous night, Caldera suspected that simply blowing on the duplicator would be enough to stir her from her slumber.

Caldera listened. She listened closely, trying to break through the droning sound of Shortfuse’s torment. She heard footsteps up above. Overlapping strides. The walls were just a bit too thick for her to discern whether she heard a voice or voices. She had no idea what it was Imperia was doing, but she seemed to be doing something. And whatever that something was, it’d be good enough for Caldera to work.

Caldera tiptoed over to Shortfuse’s body. She walked in front of the electromancer, trying to display herself so that Shortfuse at least knew she was there before getting to work on removing the vibrator. Shortfuse’s eyes widened, then they narrowed back to their slits. Her flushed, gaunt face returned to its default of painful lewdness.

Caldera was nervous. She felt hot. Seeing Shortfuse in such a revealing pose of course didn’t turn her on – the opposite, in fact. She was terrified of doing something wrong, something that could exacerbate the problem or magnify Shortfuse’s pain. The dildo was quite a big one, at least 9 inches proportionately from Caldera’s erstwhile observation. As it pumped and pumped, the suction keeping it in place inside Shortfuse’s vagina caused it to reveal an extra spare inch or two with every repetition, but otherwise the item had been fully inserted inside Shortfuse’s snatch.

Caldera breathed. She focused. The plan was to gently place her hand on Shortfuse’s hind quarters, hold her in place, then pull it out with her free hand. Simple. So, Caldera executed step one: she touched Shortfuse.

“ACH, God, shit!”

A spark of light bridged the gap between Shortfuse’s skin and Caldera’s finger, flashing in a blinding stun, tossing Caldera a few feet back. She didn’t lose her balance, but she did lose her vision for a while, and her ears rang. Caldera waited, feeling the stress and anxiety associated with losing one of her senses. Eventually though, the spots in her eyesight once again coalesced into visible light. Even with much of the excess energy being siphoned out through the charger, the ambient static that collected on Shortfuse’s body still packed a hell of a punch.

Caldera rubbed her eyes. Shortfuse was just as incapacitated as she ever was.

Caldera looked back to the lightly stirring Polymaiden. Perhaps there was a reason Penny hadn’t gone to help Shortfuse herself.

Caldera’s eyes journeyed across Shortfuse’s body, eventually landing on the motor component.

It was small for normal proportions, though it looked plenty big enough to be a generator to the shrunken Caldera. Still though, it wasn’t a complex design, identical to those sold in RC stores and electrical shops used to power toy helicopters and hand-held fans. Caldera had worked with various electronics before, and she knew a few ways she might be able to disable to motor itself given the right tools. But without access to those – or, more importantly, her size -- the simplest method in her toolkit was to simply burn it and hope for the best.

So, Caldera inched close to the motor, keeping her distance from the villain it was attached to. The motor too was wobbling, lifting slight bits off the ground with each thrusting of itself and Shortfuse’s hips in response.

Caldera mentally prepared herself, placing her hands on the motor. She cringed, but ultimately it was well insulated enough to give her nothing but a slight static shock.

Then, Caldera closed her eyes… and breathed. This time, she focused her energy on every inhale.

She waited, feeling the heat and strength rush through her body and into her hands, until –

BOOM!

“Ah, ah, ahh!!”

Caldera opened her eyes. The motion had stopped. The aluminum casing had melted. Smoke was coming out.

“S-sorry!” Caldera said, reaching once again for the inserted sex toy. In her haste, she brushed against Shortfuse’s behind and was met with another shock. Stomaching the pain, she managed to hold it together long enough to brace her hand on Shortfuse’s back and use the other to rip the dildo out of her inflamed vagina. She didn’t want to close a circuit with Shortfuse’s body any longer than she had to.

Shortfuse summoned a wail and cut it off with a teeth clench. She curled in closer to a ball shape. The smoke from the destroyed motor had baked her buttocks, painting them red with the heat.

Caldera cleared her throat. “A-are you –”

“S-s-s-s-shut up!” Shortfuse whispered. “Just, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet…!”

Shortfuse put her hands to her ears, forehead to the ground. She banged her head on the table. Then banged it again, harder. Then another time.

She continued to do this. And Caldera watched, concerned. She reached out a hand tentatively, touching Shortfuse’s arm. To her surprise, there was no electric shock.

“Get. Your hand. Off me,” Shortfuse growled. “Now.” Her face was still obscured, glaring down at the table in despair.

Caldera acquiesced. Then she said, “I’m s… I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened –”

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME. DO IT, DO IT NOW!”

Shortfuse bared her fangs, pouncing up and lunging for Caldera, who only barely managed to sidestep out of the way.

Shortfuse faceplanted, but quickly returned to her feet. Her stance was uneven, her knees were visibly weak, and her face was still being streaked with tears. Caldera put her hands up, scared, unsure of why Shortfuse attacked. Caldera had all but forgotten the reality of who she now boarded with. Villains, criminals, maniacs of all stripes.

“I bet you think you’re so safe, huh? The both of you…” Shortfuse’s eyes narrowed. Caldera turned around; Polymaiden was up, alert. She took a step toward the burgeoning battle, but a spark out of Shortfuse’s fingers deterred her. A threat.

“Look, Shortfuse…” Caldera held her hands out at length, and she tried her best to keep the flames they spurted at a minimum. “We’re on the same team, here… none of us want to be here!”

“Don’t play dumb, little girl…” Shortfuse held up one slim finger and pointed at Caldera, who felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. She didn’t know if it was from the fear or the static electricity. “I saw you… you think I didn’t notice… but I did. It didn’t take you a full day to become Imperia’s bitch…”

“What?! No, I’m not! Why would you think that?”

“What are you, dense? I’ve never seen her talk like that to anyone. Even her!” Shortfuse jerked her chin toward Polymaiden, who chagrined. “Giving all that focus bullshit and therapy crap... You need to make a choice, right now.”

Polymaiden took another step.

ZZZZAP-CRACK!!!

Shortfuse blasted the floor with a bolt of lightning. The table in front of Polymaiden was charred and smoking. “Stay the fuck away.”

Polymaiden obeyed.

Then Shortfuse returned her attention to a terrified Caldera. “Now… whose team are you really on?”

The accusation was blindsiding. Caldera stammered. “I… I-I… I mean, this team! Our team! I’m, I –”

“Say it like you mean it! Or I’ll –”

THWACK!

A swift running kick from behind knocked Shortfuse to the ground. Polymaiden then grabbed the scrambling villain, grappling her, keeping her down.

“Wha… but –” Caldera turned around. Polymaiden was there too, running into the fray. She locked her arms around Shortfuse’s legs, immobilizing her.

Polymaiden had Shortfuse in a headlock. “Stay down…” she whispered. “Stay down!” She increased the pressure on Shortfuse’s neck, even as Shortfuse unleashed a burst of energy through the air, causing both the clone and the original to hiss between their teeth. But still they maintained their dominance.

At last, Shortfuse went limp. The sparks at her fingers dissipated.

Polymaiden let go of Shortfuse’s head, catching her breath. She crawled over, helping herself get out the entanglement of Shortfuse’s legs. It was a very industrial, utilitarian display, yet Caldera was somehow intrigued watching the two nude clones run their hands along one another as they checked each other for damage.

SLAM!

Everybody looked up.

Imperia was back. She was glaring at the table with bloodshot eyes. She also held her supersuit in a bundle in her arms; the blue-white latex oversuit and the boots. Her black nylon riding suit had already been donned and zipped. “What… what’s this all about?” she asked, not unlike a mother arriving home to a group of squabbling children.

Steam still wafted off the tiny motor. Polymaiden standing above Shortfuse’s knocked out body just as she was beginning to regain consciousness did Poly no favors either.

“Who…” Imperia trotted down the stairs. “Who did… who did this?”

She walked in front of the table deposited the clothing in the seat before she pointed to the destroyed motor and charger. “Who broke this?” Imperia’s emotions flared, and her all-seeing gaze seemed to bore ever deeper into the ragtag group of disheveled super villains.

Shortfuse looked at Caldera. Caldera pleaded at Polymaiden. Polymaiden looked at the other Polymaiden. This Polymaiden seethed at Shortfuse. Yet not a one of them said a word.

"Was it you?” Imperia bared down ever closer to Shortfuse, freed from her perpetual orgasm. Even the hot-headed thunder queen had to put her head down in response to Imperia’s massive face approaching like a floating boulder. From this distance, Caldera could tell. Shortfuse was shivering. A far cry from her former demeanor. Still, she remained quiet.

Imperia scanned the faces of the other three. Caldera felt her body heat rise. Her breaths were getting shorter and shorter. She was getting hot. But she caught it in time, tried to breathe. Her hands flashed; Caldera glanced to Imperia, then squeaked and looked back to the ground. Her hands were normal again. She hadn’t seen. Hopefully.

Imperia clicked her tongue. “So, you finally managed to get it up, huh?” Both clones of Polymaiden glared down in shame.

Imperia shook her head, further frizzing her ornate blonde hair. She looked back at Caldera.

“You know anything about this? Caldera?”

Caldera leaned back from Imperia’s dominating gaze. She shook her head rapidly.

Imperia’s face twisted. She clicked her tongue again and shook her head. Then… a devilish smile crossed her lips.

Her fingers reached down for Polymaiden.

“N-no!” Polymaiden jittered, scooting away. Her clone too took several steps back. Yet she lunged for her other self when Imperia grasped her naked torso, lifting her into the air. Polymaiden held onto her shrieking clone’s leg and foot with all her might, yet still had her ripped away. Her face was pale, and her screams grew in power and primal fear as she was lifted forth to face Imperia directly, being continuously squeezed between Imperia’s thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck this… it was me!” Shortfuse screamed out, limping up to her feet. “I broke it. I broke your stupid charger!” She yelled out, waving her hands, spraying sparks from her fingertips. Caldera stepped back from her display.

“I did it! I… broke the thing…” Shortfuse struggled to complete the words. “Put her down!”

Up in Imperia's grasp, Polymaiden was still and silent. She tried to look out over the rim of Imperia’s grasping hands but couldn’t get a good look at what was going on underneath. However, she heard Shortfuse’s admittance all too well.

“A confession!” Imperia said perkily. She scooped up Shortfuse in her other hand, holding her by the scruff of the neck of her suit. Caldera watched in shock, stunned silent, unable to truly comprehend Shortfuse’s words and demeanor before Shortfuse was whisked into Imperia’s fingertips. The hero examined the humiliated villain, rotating her in her view. Imperia squinted down at Shortfuse’s red sore buttcheeks, as well as the glistening sweat and cum that was still dribbling down her legs and into the latex greaves of her suit.

“So… I hope I don’t have to explain to you why you’re in big trouble…” Imperia licked her lips as she looked at Shortfuse. “But I’m more just impressed… I never would’ve thought you’d be able to break out of it. I just keep underestimating you, huh, Shorty?”

“I told you… don’t fucking call me tha… what?!” Shortfuse looked around herself. Caldera had to squint to see, noticing a sudden shift in the light that made Shortfuse difficult to discern. Until she realized… it was no shift. She was getting smaller. The world around Shortfuse was shifting and morphing, becoming more and more convex, less and less fathomable. “N-no!” she yelled out, a tinny, rice-sized belt of mercy. Caldera couldn’t hear more than its ghostly echo. “What are you doing?! Stop! Get your hands off me! Please, please stop?! HELP, HE…”

It didn’t take long for her voice to fade into unrecognizability. Shortfuse became a germ in the palm of Imperia’s hand.

“And you…” her gaze whipped back to the Polymaiden clone in her fingertips. Both versions of the diminished supervillainess felt their seed of anxiety blossom into a mindless terror, stunned into a dreadful silence. Imperia let out a puff of air and continued. “So, it seems little Miss Duplicate couldn’t clone herself for me. But you were more than capable, more than willing to sprout a double to get your buddy off… the hook.”

Polymaiden shook her head. Tears were flowing down her face, both in Imperia’s grasp, and on the ground where the free version fell to her knees. Up above, she was pleading out. Her voice cracked. “I-I couldn’t… I swear! I had… you’d… I had to… please, I can make it up to you. I’ll, I’ll rub your feet, again, over and over! Grow me back, I’ll wait on you hand and foot! I’ll do anything for you! I love you, Imperia! I’ll love you and I’ll –”

Imperia tossed Polymaiden into her mouth.

Instantly, on the table, Polymaiden shuddered, and began gibbering incomprehensibly. Caldera rushed to her, rubbing her back, but was battered away as Polymaiden began to convulse, taking deep, rapid breaths that only grew faster. And yet, she was in utter heaven compared to the experience of her shared hive-sensation clone within Imperia’s mouth. Battered by a phenomenal tongue, gummed on by massive, stone-edged teeth, shlicked and sucked on in a torrent of slimy saliva that saturated Polymaiden’s every pore and orifice, she could barely even scream. Any noises she did make failed to breach the puffed-up cheeks of Imperia’s jowls.

All Imperia managed was a giggle, then a gulp.

And Polymaiden was sent down a fleshy, peristaltic tunnel into her acrid tomb.

On the table, Polymaiden collapsed into a heap.

“Polymaiden, Polymaiden?!” Caldera tried to move her but was taken aback by her wide-open eyes. She was dry-hiccupping with each moment, taking in hoarse breaths. Her mouth shuttered open and closed, and she was visibly crying, letting out pitiful coughs as the air in her lungs depleted. When Caldera touched her, Polymaiden would flail and twitch and vibrate painfully.

Caldera looked up to Imperia, mouth agape.

Imperia glanced down at Caldera. And she let out a cute burp in response. She smiled.

Then she closed her other fist. And she trotted up the stairs.

Caldera slumped to the ground. Though Polymaiden lay next to her, Caldera knew in her heart that for the first time in what felt like both a lifetime and a single moment, she was alone again.

And when the prone form of Polymaiden started to scream out a pained, horrid scream, that’s when Caldera knew the digestion had begun.

***

Emily held her fist tight and broke back into the kitchen area, leaning against the door. Her temper was still high… but falling. The charger was a pain in the ass to put together, but it wouldn’t be difficult to make another one. As she accepted this, Emily was able to turn her attention to the fragrant scent of what was cooking.

A hashbrown-and-pepper dish was sizzling in the frying pan, along with some eggs. As usual, Gabrielle wasn’t in sight, but her presence could be felt everywhere. Crosses hung up in corners and on end-tables, a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe in the living area, and her very footsteps could be felt around corners and further into the bedrooms. Clearly, she had wanted to multi-task by preparing breakfast at the same time as she got into her outfit.

Emily grabbed the pan and tossed the food for a few seconds, or at least until her eyes began to water. Content that this was enough to keep it from getting burnt, she scoured the floor, until she found a single brown flat with well-worn rubber soles, just barely peeking out from underneath the couch. It had clearly seen better days.

Emily reached down and grabbed the shoe. She pressed it into her face, sniffing the hard-worn insole, depressed by the heel and ball of Gabrielle’s foot in addition to five perfectly proportioned toes there at the end. These shoes had yet to fail the budding woman, as evidenced by its continued place in her repertoire of apparel. Imperia smiled as she felt Gabrielle’s scent fill her. From anyone else, she might’ve gagged. She could absorb everything within Gabrielle all day. For the rest of her life.

More footsteps.

Emily darted her eyes left to right, then unclenched her fist.

If she looked down hard enough, there in the center of her palm, there was an off-white speck planted right on her heartline. It must’ve been like a canyon to her. Emily had no idea what she was saying, or if she was saying anything at all. She might as well have just been so awe-inspired by the absolute scale of the landscape of Emily’s hand, or the visage of Emily’s face, a god-like satellite that glared down with demented amusement, that she was simply stumped into silence. Unworthy of communing with this higher being. One way or another, Emily had finally gotten Shortfuse to shut up.

Emily heard Gabrielle cursing in Spanish, and she emptied out the barren hand over the opening of the mouth of the shoe. Emily stood up just in time to see Gabrielle come out of her room. She was dressed in a knee-length sundress, her hair collected in a scrunchee’d ponytail. Her makeup was sparse, and her adornments nonexistent with the dual exceptions of a cross chain above her sternum and a lanyard next to it, displaying her identification card as a substitute teacher at Aster City Preparatory College. She had on a single shoe, the matching piece to the pair.

“Hey, Emily, have you seen my…” she lit up as Emily handed her the shoe. “Oh, thank you! Ay, gracias a Dios…” She slipped it on, her wide, bare foot easily slipping into the stretched-out shoe, all five toes travelling obediently to their ripe, designated stations. She stretched and flexed the digits, curling them up and relaxing again as she hopped a little to ensure her stride was even.

Then, Gabrielle exclaimed, “Oh, right!” She trotted to the kitchen and gave the spicy mixture another flip. “Thank goodness they didn’t burn…”

“Heading in?” Emily asked.

“I might as well, right?” Gabrielle sighed. “The music teacher is out for a funeral. I think her husband died in that bombing. Someone else would’ve been coming in from Circuit but I’m closer, and… we need the money.”

“Ah.” Emily watched Gabrielle stir the fry, and she awkwardly tapped her own foot on the floor. “Hey, in that case… Since our plans for going on a date today fell through… maybe I could drive you to the school? So, we can spend at least a bit of time together…”

“Oh, sweetie…” Emily watched as Gabrielle poured a helping of the eggs and hashbrowns into a plastic Tupperware dish. She walked up to Emily and touched her cheek, standing on her tippytoes to wrap her arms around Imperia’s neck. “Don’t worry about me. You just worry about saving the world, okay? Besides, you drive like a crazy person.”

She planted a kiss on Emily’s lips, one that took Emily a split-second too long to realize she had to reciprocate.

Gabrielle opened the freezer and grabbed a bottle of water, rock-solid from spending the previous night inside the capsule. She trotted to the door, then stopped on the mat. Gabrielle reached down to her shoes. She hooked a pair of fingers into the heel and pulled it on properly. “Thought I felt something kind of tingly in there… but it’s gone now. Hasta luego, Emilita! And help yourself to some breakfast!”

She slipped out of the door, kicking it closed behind her. From the other side of the solid wood, she could hear Gabrielle cheer out, muffled, “Hóla, Señora Chau! Congratulations on the divorce!”

Imperia stood a moment, glaring at the door.

Then she turned back to the hashbrowns and eggs. The green and red bits of chopped pepper perfectly accented the yellow and brown of eggs and potatoes. The stove had been turned off for a good few moments now, so Imperia simply grabbed the wooden spoon and scooped up a healthy portion onto it. Opening her mouth wide, she gulped it down, chewing the food into a mush before swallowing it delectably. It was spicy, yet oh so satisfying…

She could only imagine what it must’ve felt like to the shrunken Polymaiden inside her stomach.

To be whimpering in static terror, the acids of her stomach eating away at her hair, her nails… her flesh, her bones… only to look up in sheer terror and be buried in globs of spit-laden food.

She wondered if any of the disgusting shlop would wind up in Polymaiden’s mouth, inescapable. Or even she would eat it herself… to get even the slightest reminder of what it felt to taste something real. Something that had been cooked with love. Imperia pondered whether her stomach’s contents would spill out as Polymaiden’s chassis was continuously disintegrated into the valuable nutrients Imperia needed for crime-fighting.

It was a flurry of imagination, each one more and more lewd and domineering, thinking about what was going on right inside of her. She even allowed Shortfuse to get in on the daydream, wondering about the hot, sweaty, muggy atmosphere within Gabrielle’s shoe that she would be forced to either survive against or be crushed beneath.

“Ah…” Imperia hadn’t even felt it. Her hand had gone to the lip of her pants, a single zipper all that it took to unblock the coming torrent of pleasure that threatened to tear her apart.

Fuck it… fuck it all… Gabrielle’s gone, I’ve got work later, the stupid bitch broke my toy… I deserve this… I deserve this…

All she needed now was…

And then Imperia turned around, straightening her back. Her mouth was watering as she stepped back into her underground base.

Caldera was hunched over Polymaiden’s body, trying in vain to break her out of her stupor. Her hands were heated to a dull light, not hot enough to burn, just enough to provide comfort, she hoped. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have been able to maintain such a precarious partial ignition, but the recent episode had knocked much of the emotion out of her. She didn’t have it in her to even approach her full power.

Polymaiden spasmed and shuddered. Her teeth clacked like those of a rabbit.

“Here… here…” Caldera whispered as she laid her hands above Polymaiden’s bare breasts, stomach, chest. She waved them over her forehead, and Polymaiden’s eyes squinted away from their light.

Polymaiden’s health and stability was continuously cast into question each time she twitched, every time she banged her head against the table, with every wheeze or gasp or spasm or choked sob. Shortfuse had, for a moment, reached an understanding with Caldera. And she paid the price for it. She could only imagine where she was now, what punishment she was suffering at this very moment. If she was alive that is. Caldera couldn’t –

Imperia came back.

Every time the door to the basement opened and slammed shut, Caldera wanted to jump. Imperia stood there again, at the balcony. She was different. Her face looked less… dead. Bored. She looked alert. Observant.

She bounded down the steps and slammed her hands on the table. Caldera shrieked slightly, and Polymaiden broke through her haze, trying to observe what was right in front of her as Imperia stared at them hungrily.

“It’s you or her. Who do you choose?” asked Imperia.

Caldera was taken aback. “Wha… what do you…” Caldera trailed off. She noticed Imperia’s left hand left a wet spot on the table.

Imperia’s fingers curled into fists, and her nails dug trails through the cheap plastic tabletop. “You? Or her?”

Caldera didn’t understand. She looked to Polymaiden who meagerly shook her head. She screeched sharply in pain and took a series of sharp breaths for a few moments before tapering off, though her face was still twisted inhumanly.

“I choose… me?”

“Suit yourself,” Imperia said.

She grabbed Caldera suddenly. Caldera was constricted, pulled upwards as Imperia slumped into her chair. Caldera began to protest, struggling, screaming, until she realized something important: she was getting bigger.

Caldera’s yelling cut off. She was quickly reaching four, five inches, until eventually she’d hit roughly doll sized. Caldera looked to Imperia for answers. Imperia was breathing husky, shallow breaths, and she lowered Caldera down between her outspread thighs until Caldera realized just what was about to happen…

No, she thought. That… couldn’t be right. That was just… beyond the pale. Imperia may have had a demented sense of morality, but she was still a hero… Right? A hero couldn’t do this, right?

Caldera had a flash of memory. It wasn’t so long ago that she was forced to witness Shortfuse suffering a fate almost as degrading. But…

As Caldera performed this cruel bit of calculus in her mind, Imperia was unzipping her leggings. Their metallic, vibrational sound was slow, tearing its way through Caldera’s ears as her constitution left her. She couldn’t even scream; her voice only allowed her to squeak. Magnified now though she was, seeing Imperia’s exposed, shaved vagina at this scale brought her to the peak of absolute and utter dread. Her clitoris was jutting out painfully, a nub of sensitivity and sensuality. Her vaginal walls were pink and inflamed, throbbing and oozing; ever so slightly they flopped out on the seat, like the tongue of a creature in the desert desperate for nourishment. Liquid and heat were leaking out at copious rates into a pool, vapors trailing up Caldera’s nose, filling her head with countless thoughts of the intimates of Imperia’s sex. The scent addled her brain. It made her woozy. Even now, gazing into Imperia’s pulsating cave, she had to assume that this was a dream. A nightmare. It was just too horrible to imagine this was happening to her in reality.

Caldera hadn’t even been here for an entire two days, and yet she felt as though she had dodged an inordinate number of bullets. At first, she thought she may have just been lucky. Then she wondered if there were more more to Imperia than meets the eye. It was a difficulty to reconcile that hope with her erstwhile wanton displays of cruelty… but this was Imperia. Nobody was more honorable, honor-bound, faithful, and heroic than her. She was a beacon of purity and grace. Power and dignity. Where she walked, evil feared to tread.

But this? This was evil. It didn’t matter who it happened to. Nobody deserved this.

Imperia angled Caldera’s body against her will, zooming her around in her grip like a child with a toy airplane. Caldera gasped, her hands pinned against her sides. Even if she could access her powers, at this rate they’d simply be turned against herself before being extinguished in the moist interior of Imperia’s abyss. Caldera belted out in mad protest as she approached her fate. “N-no, NO! PLEASE, don’t, DON’T! STOP, IMPERIA! I’ll do anything, please! Please…”

She had already broken into desperate sobs and tears even before she touched a single bit of Imperia’s nether regions. She was so caught in blind begging she hadn’t even realized she’d been turned upright once more. No longer was she hanging in the space between Imperia’s legs; now she was eye-level.

“Really?” Imperia’s voice was tinged with need. She was holding something in, holding something back. She wanted to finish this exchange as fast as possible. “Would you really do… anything?” She licked her lips.

Caldera nodded her head maniacally. Her heart was racing, her hands flashed even though they emitted no heat.

“That’s what I thought.” Imperia made a half smile.

Then she set Caldera back on the table, quickly diminishing her back to the height she’d grown used to. And Imperia grabbed Polymaiden.

At first, Polymaiden was groggy. “W…what?” Already her other self must’ve had only the semblance of consciousness, diluted into the nutritious stomach-acid soup of proteins and enzymes before being ferried through Imperia’s gut. That same loss of consciousness, loss of self, it washed over this version of Polymaiden, who even now could scarcely tell if what she was experiencing was real life or just a dream.

“Wait, no!” Caldera shrieked, leaping for Polymaiden, yet too late. She slid on the table where Polymaiden had been moments before.

“You… you can’t…” Polymaiden could barely slur together intelligible words. “Im… peria…” Imperia squeezed Polymaiden a few times as she too was magnified to a more comfortable size.

Gradually... as Polymaiden was lowered, she developed an understanding of what was happening. “I… no… no…” She shook her head faintly.

Then, Imperia plunged Polymaiden inside.

Caldera watched up above, quivering. Her hands went to her mouth. Her eyes widened. She witnessed the disappearance of Polymaiden’s nubile, nude form into Imperia’s voracious snatch. It throbbed and ached, its suction relishing the arrival of this new meat to be buried into her hole. Caldera saw Imperia’s demeanor visibly shift as she was inserted. She heard from within Polymaiden’s confused, anxious grunts and groans transition into full on screams, shrieks, begs, all muffled away by the inner workings of Imperia’s body. She shlicked and shlocked Polymaiden’s form. She would jam her inside rapidly, then patiently slide her out with care and precision. Another rapid jam. Then back out. Over, and over, and over.

Imperia was flushed. Her eyes were askew, her mouth was ajar. Drool was petering out of the corner of her lips. Her free hand was travelling to her own nipple, threatening to tear a hole in the deep black riding suit before she managed to pull her collar down, popping her entire breast out of its confinement. She carved symbols against her taut areola sputtering and shuddering as jolts of lightning were sent through her sensitive skin into the rest of her body. Her body glowed with pleasure and sweat, gluing her locks to her neck.

Her hips and hands worked on autopilot, smothering Polymaiden’s screams as they were unleashed deeper into Imperia’s core. The shrunken woman’s body was slicked down, smooth and shiny. Every time she was almost pulled out entirely, Polymaiden would squirm, trying to break free from Imperia’s grip, suck in the air that was so close. But before she had that chance, she would be plunged ever deeper. Eventually, even her squirms weakened, as did the sounds she made. Reduced to nothing but a catatonic dildo.

Over time, Imperia’s masturbation would crescendo. Her breaths would grow haggard. Even Caldera managed to feel the heat her body gave off. Within her pussy, she would instinctually grow and shrink Polymaiden’s motionless form as her needs demanded, creating a rapturous feedback loop that pushed her over the edge. Imperia screamed and shut her eyes tight as she buried Polymaiden as deep as she would go into her cervix, along with her hand and much of her wrist. Imperia’s shallow breaths sped up, becoming even more rapid as her body clenched. Her toes curled; her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Her cheeks were a flagrant crimson. Even her nostrils flared with automatic fervor. Every muscle in Imperia’s body reacted with overexertion as she finally managed to clear the hump that was her climax.

Sticky liquid was still spewing from her vagina, but it was somewhat blocked by the barrier formed with her hand. She gingerly pulled it out and looked at her fingers. They were just as wet and shiny as Caldera expected for them to be, and Imperia planted her index finger into her mouth, sucking off the stringy fluid. However, there was no sign of Polymaiden.

Caldera fell to her knees. She punched the floor, biting her lip. She watched Imperia flop her arms to her sides, basking in her own radiance and self-love. Caldera searched for any little bit of Polymaiden. She scanned Imperia’s nethers for the longest, the practical waterfall ejecting what seemed like gallons of syrupy globules of Imperia’s nectar. Once, for a moment, it seemed as though a tiny sprout was eking its way out, but that coincided with Imperia leisurely lifting her hand to her crotch. Extending a single finger, she poked whatever was trying to escape back inside, slowly, face twisting in loose joy as she did so. Then she grabbed the zipper, and she zipped her leggings up once again.

Zzzzzzzzzip…!

Already a spot was forming on the black nylon fabric. But Imperia couldn’t care less. Her glazed over eyes were in ecstasy. Her left boob was still pinned outside her tight outfit. Imperia looked happier than Caldera had ever seen her since her arrival.

Caldera crawled away. She tried to back up. She didn’t want to be in Imperia’s presence anymore. But no matter where she turned, she couldn’t get away from the woman. Imperia’s size was absolute. Her heartbeat was loud and powerful enough to be heard from anywhere on the tabletop. Her scent was inescapable and would be until she put on the rest of her suit, truly sealing Polymaiden inside her body, leaving her to stew for an untold amount of time.

Imperia opened her eyes a tad. Without moving from her well-deserved rest, she glanced down at Caldera, who froze as she realized she was being observed.

Imperia opened her mouth a bit, then closed it. Here, as the moment passed, Imperia’s amber eyes seemed to plead with Caldera, asking, beseeching her… What do you think of me? they asked. Do you think I’m a monster?

Caldera didn’t speak. She didn’t want to assume anything. She couldn’t. She just looked up at the massive creature in whom her friend’s life had been placed.

Imperia finally took it upon herself to sit up. She stretched, and she stood to height. Rotating in place a bit, she glanced at herself, her front, her rear, rubbing a hand over her left buttock and then scratching between. She carefully grabbed the hem of her riding suit and managed to stuff her exposed breast back underneath the collar. Once she was content, she looked over her shoulder. Caldera was missing.

Imperia sighed and scanned the table. She swiped away a cluster of action figures, dragged from their typical places. From behind them, Caldera was unearthed. She was curled on the ground and rocking back and forth before getting plucked. She squealed in shock and terror, beating helplessly at Imperia before being pulled before the hero’s angular visage.

Caldera had no choice but to look into Imperia’s eyes. Her freckles were readily apparent in her sweat. Imperia tried to smile, but it looked… odd. Weird. Forced. Gone was the decadent grin of her post-orgasm afterglow. Caldera didn’t know what she was looking at, but the Imperia she was faced with now seemed an entirely new beast compared to the one she witnessed a few minutes ago.

“Come with me. I want to take you on a trip.”

Caldera allowed herself to ruminate on those words. And the way in which they were said. She shook her head.

“I promise…” Imperia raised one hand, still covered in a shiny sheen. “I’m not going to… ‘do’ anything. Please. Could you come? And, like, not try to run away or make a fuss?”

Emily looked down at herself then back to Caldera, and she tried for a smile again. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Caldera hung there. She sniffed, glaring down. And she nodded her head.

Emily nodded in response. She unzipped her riding suit, revealing her cleavage once more. “Be careful down there, okay? I’ll stuff the zipper on the inside so you can grab it when you need to.”

And Emily dropped Caldera down, down into the pair of hilly protrusions from her chest, splattering Caldera with her sweat. Imperia’s breasts were tight against the constricting suit, but falling in between the breasts was again a real fear and possibility. One that became more and more real as Imperia sealed her in with another zzzzzzippp…! True to her word, she went through the effort of inverting the zipper, allowing Caldera to grasp it.

Caldera’s breath stabilized. At this point… it would be no different from holding onto the handle while riding the bus. Hopefully.

Emily smiled, and she patted her chest, proud that her body contained not one but two passengers of diminutive stature. Every step she took was another burst of pleasure, an energizer, a shot of adrenaline. Whatever challenges she now faced, she would be ready, even if Gabrielle weren’t by her side.

Emily looked to her blue and white outfit.

Every time she glanced at it before going out on hero duty, her heart leapt. It never got old.

Emily grabbed the latex suit and stepped into it, dragging the elastic clothing over her body where it fit with perfect tightness. She slid on her knee-high boots, latching them until they were firm against her shins.

Emily put her hands on her hips and posed, turning her head over her shoulder. She stroked her hair and dragged her fingers through the lustrous locks. Nodding, Imperia walked to a drawer and opened it, digging into the compartment for a few moments, muttering silently until her hands grasped what she was looking for. She smiled and pulled it out, until…

A cloth doll of Meteoroid. It was a hack-job, clearly the offspring of a repurposed teddy bear retrofitted to somewhat match the visage of the famed intergalactic brawler from another world. Its arms were stubby cotton clubs, cape was a red rag that hung on by threads, and her famed “M” symbol was painted on the beige belly with food coloring

“Hmph!” Emily chirped.

Then, she let go.

Gravity acted on the doll, but Emily was faster. She leaped into a twirl, legs spreading out like a spinning top. Her heel’s force THWAPPED into the doll like a bullet, and its fabric body splatted against the concrete wall. Emily alighted on her feet and turned her head. The doll was still there on the wall, the inertia keeping it suspended for just a bare moment before it fell to the floor with nothing to hang onto.

Imperia sauntered to it, bending down to pick it up, feeling immaculate for every moment her hips stretched. “You’ve still got it.”

She gingerly set the doll back into its place within the drawer.

Imperia crossed her arms and blew a lock of air out of her face, feeling truly good about herself for the first time in what felt like too long. She reached into the pocket of her riding suit and pulled out her white mask. She looked at it, solemn, dutiful, and applied it to her face. Blinking a few times, Imperia flexed the muscles in her brow, mouth, nose, cheeks. The mask fit perfectly, conforming to her every move. It felt like she was wearing nothing at all.

In the silvery black reflection of her computer screen, Imperia looked at herself. And she was content. The Queen of Aster City was ready to defend her title, even on her day off.

Not long after, Imperia sauntered out of the apartment and into the parking garage, feeling the pressure against her breasts, and the chills that came from the thing embedded in her vagina. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d gone to work with passengers aboard, and with any luck it wouldn’t be the last. The feeling of fighting crime, establishing her dominance and power over everything, and feeling this good while doing it… it was an unmatched sensation. And as she boarded her motorcycle and zoomed out the parking garage, feeling every ba-bump from riding over a rock or slight ledge on the way into the city, she knew in her heart that nothing that felt this right could ever be wrong.