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.