Chapter One
The early morning fog was dispersing from the parking lot outside the Athena Apartments building. A late model Pontiac turned into the empty space near the driveway. Moments later, Karen Perry pulled her petite form from within, her nurse’s uniform now lacking the crispness it had had when her shift had started at eleven o’clock last night. Even though she was exhausted after work, her 110-pound, 5’ 4” frame moved comfortably in the early morning light. She raised her face to the yellow sun that hung just above the horizon and breathed in the cool early spring air. Her short hair hung to just below her ears and looked like a dark brown helmet as she shook her head to drive away the weariness. She stretched, her arms reaching out to her sides, rotating her shoulders. It felt good knowing that she had the next two days off, if for no other reason than to give her a chance to finish the process of moving into her apartment, her first since graduating from college. It had been convenient, living with her parents for the first few months, allowing her to save some money and get her car, but, boy, the freedom that having your own place offered….
There was someone in her apartment! Her dark green eyes had easily found her balcony four floors above the street. One of the first things she had done was learn to recognise which was her place. She admired it. On the top floor, a corner apartment, it was a plum location. But she had made the mistake of leaving some boxes of her personal items on the balcony. Now, she saw, the sliding door to the interior was halfway open and some of the boxes were gone. Tired or not she would have to do something about this.
She ran to a door that was a side entrance to the building. Pulling it open, she entered the stairwell and raced up the first flight of stairs two at a time, her soft white shoes making almost no sound. She entered the first floor and found a maintenance closet next to the door. Pulling it open she stepped inside, already reaching into her tote bag.
Inside was Crimson Flare’s costume. It was a sleeveless crimson spandex leotard, covered with sequins. It fit tightly over her body from crotch to neck, cut high up on her hips. From her right shoulder and her left hip a gold cascade of a fireworks explosion flowed toward her abdomen, likewise covered with sequins of the same colour. She stepped into the leotard, and then easily pulled up the small zipper in the back. It clung to the contours of her body, the sequins glistening in every crevice. She liked the feel of the spandex, its smoothness and the drama of the material, against her flawless skin. She also liked the look of the sequins in any light. They made her feel like she was on stage, and they captured the attention of any foe. They also helped to obscure the zipper at the top of the back of the costume. Around her waist she pulled her black leather belt, to which was attached her ‘baton’, a device which generated a powerful electric charge, which could do anything from disable an opponent to blow open a safe. Her clear pantyhose would serve this time for the colourless tights she usually wore. She pulled her black leather boots over her glorious calves, their high polish reflecting the light from the bulb overhead, and zipped them. She protected her identity with a black vinyl mask, which she placed over the upper half of her face, covering that completely. It did not have to be secured behind her head, but remained in place thanks to the molded vinyl interior. Over the top of her head went a black vinyl cowl that completely covered the top of her head and, with it, her hair. The final touch was the crimson satin gloves that ran to her elbows. The entire costume change took no more than two minutes, and Karen, now Crimson Flare, stuffed her nurse’s dress into the tote bag and hid that amid some containers in the corner of the janitor’s closet.
Before rushing up the stairs to her apartment, Crimson Flare checked the hall. At this hour, it was possible that someone might be setting off for work. It wouldn’t do to have America’s Darling running out of a janitor’s closet in an all-women’s apartment house in Mitropoulos, right in the heart of Middle America. There was no one, and with that she raced to the stairwell and her phenomenal speed took her to the fourth floor in no time.
Her apartment was at the other end of the hall. The door was closed. She walked purposefully down the short hall, past the three other apartments on the floor. The carpeted floor absorbed the step of the two-inch heel of her leather boots. When she reached the door, she held her ear against the wood panel, listening for any sounds from within. There were none.
She tried the knob. The door was locked, not that that represented an obstacle to the superstrong heroine. Gripping the doorknob firmly, she turned it clockwise, crushing the lock in its own mechanism. The door swung open. Crimson Flare’s petite form centered itself within the doorframe, from where she could survey the apartment’s living and dining areas. There was no one to be seen.
Cautiously now, she entered the apartment. The mixture of boxes and furniture hid the corners and, in the early morning light, shadows obscured much. Listening intently, Crimson Flare moved to the centre of the living area.
‘Who’s there?’ she called, firmly.
Still silence.
She moved to her right, toward the balcony. As she moved away from the still-open door, suddenly, from a stack of boxes located in the hall leading to the bedroom, a dark figure rushed toward the exit. But the swift and strong heroine, ready for any sign of the raiders of her apartment, moved quickly and took down the fleeing figure.
Crimson Flare held the larger man down on his stomach on the floor; she held his wrist firmly in her gloved hand and pulled it upward at his back. He grimaced in pain.
‘Now. Who are you and what are you doing in this girl’s apartment?’ she demanded.
‘Just… looking for… something to sell,’ he responded, the pain he was feeling evident in his voice.
‘Well, I’ll just have to make sure that you don’t do this to anyone else.’ The masked heroine who was America’s Darling tried to contain the anger she felt. This was, after all, her apartment. She felt violated. How could someone think they could just slip in here and take her property? This criminal would learn the error of his ways.
Just as she was about to pull the thief to his feet and call the police, she was grabbed in a flying tackle by another intruder and wrestled to the floor. The man she was holding screamed in pain as his arm was pulled sharply upward. Fortunately for him, Crimson Flare released his wrist before any serious damage was done. For moments, while the heroine and her attacker struggled on the floor, he kneaded his upper arm and rotated the shoulder, trying to drive out the pain and restore movement. He rushed his recuperation in order to assist his friend, who had wrapped up the crimefighter’s small frame.
Crimson Flare’s petite body often led her opponents to believe that she would be easy pickings. Standing only 5’ 4” tall, weighing about 110 pounds, she looked like she might still be in high school. Indeed, her costume was based on a majorette uniform she had seen in an old edition of her high school yearbook and, coupled with her youthful appearance, she could easily be underestimated.
As was the case now.
The larger man who held her down now pushed her face into the carpeting. ‘Well, who do we have here? Is this the masked heroine we’ve been hearing so much about? What do you think, Bill? Does she look like a heroine now?’ At first, he wrapped his left arm around her body, holding her down with his weight. At the same time, he used his right forearm to grind her head and beautiful face into the carpet. The heroine gritted her teeth as she struggled. Then he wrapped both arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He planted his feet on either side of her legs and slowly stood up. Bill, his arm having recovered its feeling, approached the struggling pair.
Crimson Flare pushed her arms upward and outward from her body, breaking the mocking man’s grip on her. She dropped easily to the floor, turned, and pushed her open palm hard to his chest. He flew backward, landing in a heap against the wall. Dazed, he gasped for breath.
Bill’s eyes widened in shock at the ease and speed of Crimson Flare’s escape. Again, he thought of fleeing, for the door to the apartment was still open. But before he could translate the thought into action, the powerful superheroine was on him, once again pulling his arm up in a hammerlock and pushing him to the wall. Before he could even grunt in pain, the crimson-clad beauty snapped a cuff over first one wrist, then, grabbing his other arm, the other.
The police were called. There was some surprise that Crimson Flare should spend her time and effort capturing a couple of crooks bent on simple burglary. But the heroine explained that all citizens needed to feel safe in their own homes-or apartments, for that matter.
‘Speaking of which. Where is the person who lives here?’ the policeman asked.
‘It’s plain she isn’t here,’ Crimson Flare replied. ‘And I’m sure she will be willing to press charges against these… gentlemen.’
‘Do you know who lives here?’
‘No. I simply happened to see the thieves rifling through both the boxes and the apartment. It just didn’t look right.’
‘Well,’ the officer mused, ‘I just hope some judge doesn’t throw the case out. Doesn’t sound to me like there was probable cause for you to come after them.’
‘Even if the person who lives here makes a statement that she neither knew them nor invited them into her apartment?’
‘She’ll need to get down to the precinct within forty-eight hours if we’re going to hold them. If she doesn’t make it, we’ll have to let them go without a charge.’
The two were taken off by the police. Crimson Flare suddenly realised how tired she was. A trip to the police station would now intrude into getting her apartment in order. But right now, all she wanted was some sleep.
Karen went to the precinct station that afternoon and swore out a complaint against the two men who had been captured in her apartment. The police assured her that there would be no further role for her, since the pair had previously been arrested and one of them, Bill, had once served two years for multiple burglaries.
Karen spent the next several days getting her apartment into living order. During the hours of darkness, however, she donned her glittering costume and, as the powerful crimefighter Crimson Flare, she fought the good fight against the criminal element of Mitropoulos.
The talented young woman who carried on this battle could not have told you the source of her great strength. She only knew that it had always been a part of her. When she was a child, she had been stronger and faster than anyone in her class at school. And the difference between her physical abilities and those of her classmates had only widened with time and age. America’s Darling now had the strength of twenty men and could easily match pace with an automobile. But what was the source of her strength? She did not know. She simply took it as a gift, since it had helped her and her friends from its earliest appearance.
By the time she was in high school, Karen had used her abilities to fend off bullies and to help herself and her friends get through some of the more trying moments of adolescence and the travails of puberty. But she had never been sorely tried until one evening, her friend, Stacy, had a much-anticipated date with Brian Hirsch. Brian was the star of the basketball team and Stacy was swept off her feet by the fact that she, a sophomore, was going out with a senior.
But Karen had heard a few things about Brian, things that she didn’t know how to tell Stacy. Stacy was not in a mood to believe anything about Brian anyway, and Karen didn’t want to risk their friendship over some rumours. But she was uneasy.
Anyway, the big night came. Brian picked up Stacy at her house, and, after making some charming small talk with her parents, the two went out to dinner and the movie. Stacy was walking about two feet off the ground. The dinner went smoothly and as the two left the restaurant neither noticed that they were being shadowed. The car that followed theirs remained well back, always allowing one or two other cars between them. Brian wasn’t looking for the car because he knew that it was there. Stacy only had eyes for Brian.
Thus it was that when Brian drove Stacy out of town on Old Habsburg Road, a little-used highway that ran to some rural areas out in the county, she hardly noticed. The two cars were about five miles past the city limits when Brian turned onto an unpaved driveway leading into an aging barn on some property his family owned.
‘Brian? Where are we? Where are we going?’ she asked, uncomfortable, but not yet worried. She had only just noticed the detour Brian had taken.
‘’Not to worry, sweetcheeks,’ he replied. ‘I just want to show you something that I came across on one of my travels the other day.’ With that, Stacy relaxed.
The two cars wound their way up the drive. ‘Are we being followed, Brian?’ Stacy asked.
‘Nah. That’s Rob and Dennis. They’re coming along for the fun.’
‘What’s going on, Brian?’ Stacy sounded genuinely frightened now. ‘You didn’t say anything about this before.’
‘It’s a surprise, Stacy. Don’t worry about a thing.’ He drove the car directly into the barn. The following car stopped outside and two young men, the Rob and Dennis whom Brian had mentioned, got out. They entered the barn, closing and locking the doors behind them.
The barn was dark. The setting sun penetrated the holes in the wall, but shadows covered most of the interior.
Brian pulled to a stop at the far end of the building and turned off the engine. As Stacy looked around more and more nervously, Rob and Dennis approached the door and pulled it open. Before she could scream, each had grabbed an arm and begun to pull her out, Brian pushing from the driver’s side.
Once she had been pulled from the car, Brian exited on the driver’s side and approached the frightened blonde now being held by the two athletic boys. She was breathing heavily, her arms held out from her body to the sides. Tears were already rolling down her cheeks.
Brian smiled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You can make this easy or you can make it difficult. I can see that for Dennis it’s already hard.’ Rob guffawed. Dennis smiled. Neither loosened his grip on Stacy’s arms.
‘No. No. Brian, you can’t. Why are you doing this?’ Stacy sobbed.
‘It’s something we do. Hell, you’ve gotta do something.’ With that, he came right up to her and kissed her deeply, deeply, his tongue probing as far back in her mouth as it could extend. Stacy was so surprised that she didn’t have time to resist. ‘There. See? It’s not going to be bad.’
Stacy continued to cry as Brian began to remove his pants. With their free hands, the two adolescent accomplices tore off her blouse, leaving her naked from the waist up.
‘Aaaahhh, Stacy, Stacy, Stacy. Where’s your modesty? No bra?’ Brian teased mockingly.
Stacy reddened. And she lashed out at her tormentor, trying to break free from the two strong boys who held her, trying to reach Brian with her kicks, anything to wipe that grin off his face. But she couldn’t get free. She screamed, ‘NO!’
The two boys now took Stacy to her back on the ground, her legs still kicked wildly. Brian undid her belt and her pants, and then pulled them down her legs and off. Stacy continued to kick her legs, but lying on her back gave her no leverage to get any control or power into these thrusts.
The boys now seized Stacy’s blonde hair. The pain made her scream again. At that same instant, Brian tore off her satin panties, exposing Stacy’s sex to the boys.
With Stacy continuing to kick her legs wildly, Brian could not approach the treasure he so ardently sought. ‘Calm her down a little,’ he said to his friends. With that, the boy who held her right arm to the ground, Rob, drew back his fist and smashed her, hard, right in the jaw. Dazed, Stacy simply lay limp on the ground.
Now free to have his way, Brian quickly moved between her legs, scooping them up and laying the knees across his shoulders. He pushed his hips right up to hers, bending her thighs hard across her torso. She winced at the pain, but, as she swam near unconsciousness, she didn’t cry out.
Seeming to sense the end of the chase, his member swelled quickly, and he penetrated her. Rocking back and forth, he drew himself in and out of her vagina. He fondled her rounded, tan thighs and leaned his face forward to suck and lick the legs of his prize. He even bit them, leaving a trademark on her body. The speed of his rocking action grew faster and faster, his breathing became harsher and more rapid. Sweating now, his eyes widened to the size of saucers and, when he came, he let out a yell, which sounded like a victory cry.
‘The Queen of the sophomore class is mine,’ he told his friends. ‘The best-looking girl, the tightest twat in the tenth grade. She’s just a slut now.’
As Stacy moaned, he pulled himself from her and Rob and Dennis released her arms. Dennis moved around to a position behind Brian, apparently waiting his turn. He pulled his pants down. Brian stood and moved away.
It was now almost full dark. The interior of the barn was almost completely dark, except for a few faint red flashes, created by the setting sun, which cut jaggedly across the floor. The boys who were having their way with Stacy barely heard the cracking of the door as it was torn open. Once she had broken into the building, Karen raced across the floor to the rape scene. She had been concerned about revealing her powers and her identity to these attackers, so she had borrowed Susan Bailey’s majorette costume, the one which was the model for the costume worn by Crimson Flare, and her brother’s Batman cowl. Low socks and running shoes completed this earliest ensemble.
Karen grabbed Dennis by the back of his shirt and the scruff o his neck, Karen thought she got a bit of both, pulled him to his feet, a forced coitus interruptus. Stacy cried out at the violent action. She flung him across the room and he crashed into and through the crumbling wall of the shed. He wound up lying, unconscious, in a pool of dried mud, what was evidently a former pigsty.
Karen then turned and faced the other two rapists. To insure that she would not speak and give herself away by her voice, she also borrowed her brother’s football mouthpiece. But Brian and Rob were not so reluctant.
First, they conversed with one another. ‘Can you see who it is, Rob?’
‘Not in this darkness.’
‘All I can see is a majorette.’ He paused. ‘And a tiny one, at that. Let’s take her out. We can make this a real party.’
Rob was the first to taunt Karen. ‘What’sa matter, honey? Do you want some of what your friend’s going to get?’
‘Yeah,’ added Brian. ‘Every girl in school who is anyone has experienced this.’ He lifted his now-wilted wang and showed it to Karen.
Moving faster than she ever had before, and before Brian could even lower his member, Karen sprinted across the open space and brought her foot squarely up into his crotch. He squealed in pain and dropped to his knees, gasping. Then she turned on the single attacker remaining. Suddenly the joie de gang-bang, which had animated Rob’s attitude, disappeared. He found himself alone facing a single woman. And she scared him.
‘W-w-wait a minute. C-can’t we talk about this? What do you want? I didn’t do anything. They were the ones who raped her.’
Disgusted, Karen again used her great speed to close the distance to the whimpering boy. Her fist hit him squarely on his left cheekbone, dropping him like a stone.
Looking around the barn, Karen saw the results of her fury. As Brian looked up from his agony, he saw the sequins glinting in the last rays of the setting sun, entering through the door torn from its hinges. Then he saw this unspeaking avenger cross to Stacy, lift her shaking body with ease and race from the barn. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to the bare dirt floor, trying to ease the pain.
Karen took Stacy directly to the emergency room of the hospital, where her costume did attract some comment. When she told the duty nurse that this was a rape victim, however, the staff cared less about her and did their jobs expeditiously. Karen took advantage of their change of focus to leave surreptitiously. Although Karen later tried to talk to Stacy about the evening, Stacy was very closedmouth about it all. Because two of the boys were over eighteen, and Stacy was not yet sixteen, the police and prosecutors took a great interest in the case. But because Stacy was an unwilling witness and Karen could not testify without revealing too much about herself, the case against them was weak. At least until two other girls came forward. The two seniors who were already over eighteen, Brian and Rob, went to prison. Dennis got a lighter sentence but it was a long time before he walked free, as well.
Karen had felt very good about what she had done. Although her inability to testify had bothered her, the capture of Brian and his buddies had taught her something about the justice system. She had put away the notion of being a superheroine for a few years, as she finished high school and went to college. Every once in a while she had called upon her great powers to help out herself and her friends, but not until her senior year in college did she decide to make herself into Crimson Flare. Crimson Flare would use the powers of strength and speed on behalf of those who were victims of crime, and she would ensure that whenever she was involved in the capture of a criminal, there would be sufficient evidence for a conviction.
Now, for more than a year, all of Mitropoulos knew of the Crimson Flare. The superheroine was feared in some quarters, admired in others. The news media had dubbed her America’s Darling, because of her sense of justice and her strength and power in its pursuit, and also because of her grace and agility in battle, her masked beauty, and not least because of her absolutely fabulous hips and legs, which her uniform showed to such great advantage.
In that time the crime rate had been dropping precipitously, thanks largely to the effort of her Guardian Angel. No one knew where this mysterious enemy of injustice and gladiator against evil had come from was much debated, but no one knew anything for certain. Strength and speed, intelligence and beauty, all were hers. And why she had selected this relatively small locale for her efforts on behalf of the good people of the community was also a much-discussed topic.
What was certain was the Good that she had done against criminals great and small, who threatened the security and peace of this Middle American town. It had begun with the typical petty problems which confront any American city: robberies of liquor stores and purse snatching, muggings, threats to home and persons, even an occasional violent predator who attacked people at home and elsewhere. Life in Mitropoulos was good, and comfortable, and, most of all, safe. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this was the result of the efforts of Crimson Flare.
But there were other effects of the success of Crimson Flare’s efforts against malefactors. Lately, the criminals who had dared to challenge her mastery had been less concerned with attacking the safety and security of Mitropoulos, and more concerned with what were obviously larger goals: power, enormous robberies, even political assassination. It was becoming clear that the target was not anything that Mitropoulos had to offer these malfeasants, but rather the goal was the elimination of the powerful superheroine. Checkmate, the Wanderer, Hanson, and others had all tested themselves in Mitropoulos and been found wanting. The strength, speed, and intelligence of the beautiful and powerful Guardian of Good had defeated them all. Checkmate had, again and again, vowed vengeance against her nemesis, and each time she had returned, she had been defeated, and each time more decisively. The Wanderer, a former superhero himself, had twice captured the avenger, but was no more successful in his plans than any other. The Dark One had kidnapped Mitropoulos’ wealthiest heiress, but had his plans foiled by the superheroine. Even Hanson, clearly connected to a larger crime syndicate, had found only defeat in Mitropoulos. All sought the demise of the beautiful superheroine, all wound up in prison for their trouble. But Crimson Flare’s difficulties had been increasing, as she became the target of these enemies of justice.
When Crimson Flare operated, she did so privately and secretly, often using the element of surprise to defeat criminals easily. But as the goals of the criminals changed, America’s Darling had to change her tactics. No longer able to simply swoop down upon her targets without warning (at least, not as frequently as she had earlier done), she now relied upon her intelligence and her strength to confront those who would undo her and Mitropoulos. But the underworld’s knowledge of her friends (particularly those at the Mitropoulos Record) and allies also made them targets for Crimson Flare’s enemies. Frequently they had found themselves in situations designed to entrap the superheroine. But each time the power of the beautiful young Woman of Wonder had prevailed, saving both her friends and the day.
Recently, a new terror had come to the city. His identity remained unknown, even to those he employed, who spoke only of receiving messages from him and payments for their services at anonymous drop points. Thus far, the police knew only that he called himself Pitchblende, and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the crimes he had committed: petty theft and large-scale thefts of jewelry and money from all sources, including banks, insurance companies, private homes, stores and shops, even the evidence room at police headquarters. The robberies themselves were hard to detect, and even more difficult to trace. They were clearly well planned and the perpetrators, the few times they were caught, had no information for their captors. The security that Crimson Flare had won for Mitropoulos at such a high price was now shaken.
End of Chapter One
Chapter Two
The next evening Crimson Flare re-entered the treacherous and seductive nighttime world to which she had become accustomed. Seeking the shelter of the rooftops and darkened passageways, she slid in and out of the shadows, using her speed as a protection against discovery. Her strength propelled her across the rooftops, and she was rarely heard and almost never seen, except, perhaps as a ghost moving swiftly through the darkness. Never seen, that is, until it was the moment to pluck up one who sought to earn is living at the expense of others, and without returning any benefit. On this night, she had observed a holdup in a liquor store, but she had also seen two squad cars of Mitropoulos’ finest speeding their way to the scene in response to a silent alarm. She did not involve herself where she was not needed. The police had this one well in hand.
Later, two well-armed men undertook to rob a tavern, firing their guns to warn the patrons to pay more attention to them than to the baseball game on the big-screen TV in the corner. Crimson Flare had used her strength to force an entry through the locked delivery entrance leading from an alley. Then she had used her speed and strength, coupled with the element of surprise, to quickly bring these gunmen to their knees… literally. As was always the case, there were plenty of witnesses to make the case against the criminals captured by the superheroine.
These were the sorts of crimes that had given her career a start. It was her routine success here that had led to the complications, and larger crimes, which had confronted her lately. It wouldn’t be long before she encountered such a crime.
As she made her way away from the river that marked the eastern boundary of Mitropoulos, Crimson Flare caught a glimpse of a man sitting alone in a van, parked in a lonely alley. This by itself was suspicious, but one of the doors of the van lay open, and the two elements provided more than a simple coincidence. The van was parked behind what city residents called ‘Internet Row’, a line of stores that specialised in electronics and computers. Crimson Flare moved quietly toward the van, her boots barely making a sound on the alley’s asphalt. Even in the dim light the black leather shone and the sequins of her costume glinted.
Mitropoulos’ Guardian Angel closed the space to the van unobserved by the driver, who was failing at his job as lookout. He sat, taking a smoke, with his left arm resting on the window frame. Before he knew what hit him, that arm was dragged outward and downward, smashing his head against the top of the door. When Crimson Flare released his arm, he fell back into the cab, unconscious.
The superheroine walked to the rear of the van and looked inside. Four boxes were already piled inside the van. Evidently the driver’s buddies were busy gathering more of the high-tech products available along Internet Row. And it looked like they were pretty selective. Only the best and the most sophisticated equipment seemed to be the target of this gang.
Crimson Flare heard the thieves returning, carrying more of their loot. She moved behind a stack of boxes located next to a dumpster, all part of the garbage pickup for the next morning.
‘What else are we supposed to get?’ one asked.
‘Let me check the list.’ replied another.
‘Do you know how many more shops we have to hit before we have everything?’
‘I think we’re finished in Colby’s. We have to go next door to The Electronic Box and then down at the end to Interway. Let me get the list and check what we have to get in each place.’
As the men placed the boxes they carried into the back of the van, Crimson Flare heard the light rustling of unfolding paper. The men were standing only about ten feet from the costumed heroine, and as she moved around the corner of the stack of boxes, she saw one of them looking intently at the paper in the dim light, the other dropping the last of the boxes he carried into the van. About four feet separated the men.
‘I think your shopping is over for tonight,’ she said, announcing her presence. As both men turned toward her, the one dropping the paper, she walked toward them. In the dim light of the alley, Crimson Flare struck a dazzling picture. The crimson of her uniform and gloves appeared almost blood-coloured in this light. The glinting of the sequins, showing every cleft in her figure, was simply dramatic, exactly as the heroine had anticipated it would be. The shine on black leather of her boots was all that was visible. The boots themselves had all but disappeared in the darkness near street level. Her face was completely obscured behind her mask and in the darkness, so that the voice seemed to come from some otherworldly source. As she drew her baton from her belt, she said softly, ‘Close the door to the van and walk to the driver’s side of the cab.’ The men followed her orders. They had heard about the baton. And about the strength of the young woman who confronted them.
‘We don’t want trouble,’ one of them said.
‘If you didn’t want trouble, then you should have stayed home,’ the young heroine replied.
When they reached the door to the cab, Crimson Flare ordered, ‘Open it and get in.’ One of them opened the door and pushed the unconscious form of their ‘lookout’ to the far side of the cab. Then, one at a time, they climbed in. The heroine now moved opposite them, the door still lying open. ‘You’re going to drive out to Belvedere Boulevard,’ she said, indicating the main thoroughfare at the end of the alley. ‘We’ll wait for the police there.’ Neither of the two men took their eyes off her.
It soon became clear why. Crimson Flare heard the scuffling of shoes on the asphalt surface of the alley. Turning quickly, she saw two more thieves now rushing toward her.
She squared to face them, bringing up the palm of her right hand, catching the first just above his nose, right between the eyes. The force of his charge into the immovable arm of the avenger staggered him. He dropped immediately to his back, not unconscious, but out of the fight. The second man pulled up short, his arms at his side, seeming unsure of what to do.
‘Make your choice,’ Crimson Flare told him. ‘Fight me or surrender.’
Even before she had finished her ultimatum, his right arm shot forward in a hard underhand movement. The knife he threw at her was accurately sighted and the deadly projectile rapidly closed the space between the two. But he had not considered the speed of Mitropoulos’ guardian.
Faster than the eye could see, she stepped out of the way like a well-experienced matador. Then, with a perfectly timed karate chop, she caught the blade in mid-flight, bringing it to rest at her feet.
Her attacker now moved away from the crimson-clad champion, circling behind the van. She moved quickly to a point where she could observe him and still see the two men she had earlier forced into the cab. ‘OK, that’s your last free chance. It’s time to give up,’ she said, firmly.
He raised his arms and took a step toward the superheroine. ‘That’s better. Now you’re being smart,’ she assured him.
Crimson Flare couldn’t tell that, while it appeared that all three men were watching her, they were in fact focusing on a point about six feet behind her, where yet another of this gang had emerged from the store. He was massive, easily over 6’6”, weighing well over 300 pounds. He effortlessly carried a large box, resting it on his shoulder as he emerged into the alley.
In an effort to help their partner close on the heroine, whom they saw was dwarfed by the size of the criminal, the three thieves all started to plead with Crimson Flare at once, their voices plaintive and sobbing. ‘Please don’t turn us in.’ ‘We just got this order over the phone. Nobody told us that anyone would be hurt.’ ‘Yeah, we have no idea who’s behind this. Just some phone call giving us a list of items to be picked up.’
‘You’re going to jail,’ was the last thing that Crimson Flare said. Just then, the huge man behind her smashed a double ax-handle to the base of her skull. She fell to the pavement. Stunned, she slowly pushed herself to her elbows.
‘Oohhh. Wha-? What… hit me?’ she groaned as her gloved hand moved to the vinyl mask which covered her upper face and forehead. She looked up, trying to find her attacker.
As she turned her head to the right, the huge man’s foot powered into her jaw. Her body lifted almost fully off the street and thudded onto her back. She moaned once and was silent.
In the dim light of the alley, the body of Crimson Flare lay motionless. The gang surrounded her, gazing at the petite form of the avenger. ‘She doesn’t look so big now,’ one said.
‘I didn’t understand why he wanted so many for so simple a job,’ another noted. ‘All we had to do was steal about half a dozen things from three stores. But they wanted us to have six guys, and they insisted that Bloch be one of them.’ He and the others now turned to the big man who had stopped Crimson Flare. ‘Who do you know? Why did they insist on you?’
‘I’m as much in the dark as you guys are. I got a message to expect your phone call and to be ready to do a job. I don’t know any more than you do,’ he said.
‘Well, whoever planned this thing sure knew what he was doing. The stuff we’ve grabbed is the very best and the most sophisticated. And he must have anticipated our friend here,’ he said, looking down at the figure in the shadows.
‘Well, what are we going to do with her?’
‘We were told nothing about this. I expect we’ll finish up our enterprise for the evening, which shouldn’t take more than another few minutes, and then we’ll head back to my apartment and wait for word from whoever it was hired us. We can take her with us.
‘Bloch, why don’t you and Bruce go down to Interway? There’s only two more things to grab, both of them there. We’ll take care of our friendly neighborhood superheroine.’
The two thieves moved quickly and quietly down the alley toward the store at the end of the row. In the meantime, the man who appeared to be the boss crawled inside the van, emerging in short order carrying a heavy rope. As two of the crooks sat their unconscious prisoner upright, he looped the thick rope around her torso, securing her arms. Then he took the last two feet of rope and used it to tie her wrists together. Sitting unconscious, her head laying forward on her chest, Crimson Flare was unaware of the loss of her great strength and speed, for it is when she is bound that she becomes as weak as any other person.
She had become aware of her weakness very shortly after her discovery of her great power. As a young teen, she had been engaging in some play with Stacy, one tickling the other, wrestling on the floor of her friend’s bedroom, rolling around and under the bed.
Suddenly, Stacy pulled out a pair of handcuffs and, while the two were catching their breath after the match and the accompanying laughter, she slapped the cuffs on her companion, securing Karen’s hands behind her back.
Laughing harder, Stacy teased, ‘OK, now I’ve got you, my pretty. And your little dog, too.’
Karen, also laughing and trying to catch her breath, tugged at the cuffs and was shocked to discover that they offered no sign of giving under her strength. Since she was already well aware of the strength and speed of which she was capable, this discovery caused a sense of shock. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as her breathing became frightened. She felt an emptiness in the pit of her stomach; she was helpless and under the control of another. Her great strength was gone! She panicked. ‘Let… let me go,’ she said, then louder and more frightened, ‘Stacy, let me go! LET ME GO!!’ She was almost in tears at this point.
Stacy continued to believe that her friend was playing along. She immediately grabbed her from behind and wrestled her to the floor. She straddled Karen who kicked and wriggled ineffectually beneath her. Karen shook her head violently, tears now streaming from her eyes. She couldn’t understand what had happened. And she was afraid. ‘STACY! GET OFF OF ME!! LET ME GO!!’
Stacy grabbed her hair and brought her face close to her prisoner’s. ‘’What’s it worth to you, Karen? How much do you want to be set free?’ Karen couldn’t believe her ears. What was Stacy talking about? What was she doing?
Karen stopped crying now and looked at her friend. Stacy was still smiling the friendly smile that she always had for Karen. Suddenly, Karen realised that, as far as Stacy was concerned, this was an extension of the wrestling match just ended. Karen was in no danger.
Calming now, Karen said, ‘Please, Stacy. Let me go. What do you want? You want me to do your biology homework for a week?’
‘How about we do something deep, dark, and dangerous?’
‘Like what?’
Stacy jumped up and ran from the room. Karen struggled to a sitting position. She was surprised to discover that even that small effort exhausted her. Something about being handcuffed, being bound, drained all of her strength. She needed to experiment.
Stacy returned momentarily, carrying a small white plastic bag. ‘This is the deep, dark, and dangerous secret that I found in the basement. It belongs to one of my parents, I think my father, but I’m not sure.’
Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a magazine. She showed it to Karen. Karen’s eyes widened again. ‘BONDAGE FANTASIES?!!?’
‘Let’s play,’ Stacy said.
As they did, Karen discovered that the helplessness of bondage was something she craved. She felt something new, a wetness and a yearning in her groin. She quickly realised that these physiological responses may be related to her loss of strength. The physical changes signaled by the feelings overwhelming her sensually may be draining the physical power that was hers normally.
This was getting confusing for the 13-year-old.
‘Stacy, I need to talk to you about… something. Take off the handcuffs and let me show you something….’
This was when Stacy found out about Karen’s power. Stacy was the only person Karen had confided this secret to. Thus, two-and-a-half years later, when Crimson Flare made her first appearance in that barn outside of town, Stacy, even through the haze of rape, knew who had saved her.
Crimson Flare was still unconscious, still sitting upright, when the two thieves returned from Interway a few minutes later. The powerless heroine was now bound tightly by the rope that looped itself twice around her body, locking her arms, and then wound its way around her wrists behind her back. Her head lay low on her chest, and in the darkness of the alley, the sequins of her costume and the highly polished leather of her boots winked and gave the only hint of her presence.
The last boxes were placed in the rear of the van and the gang clambered aboard. The one who appeared to be in charge, Jason, gave an order to the big man, Bloch. ‘Bring her along.’
With one hand, the huge figure grabbed the front of Crimson’s costume, reaching his fingers down inside at the neckline and pulling her up in a single, easy motion. In that same motion, he swung her into the back of the van, along with the pilfered electronics gear and three other members of the gang. She landed on her side, grunting with the impact.
With its cargo, the van pulled out of the alley onto Belvedere Boulevard.
When Crimson Flare returned to consciousness, she was bound to a post in a large open space, a loft, which served as Jason’s apartment. She was still bound with the original hefty rope, which the gang had been instructed to bring with them, now supporting the heroine in her standing position. As she became aware of her predicament, she saw the gang of six now standing around her. The room was brightly lit, but the shades over the windows had been fully drawn.
She gave no sign, except the setting of her jaw, that she felt in any way threatened. She had prepared herself for this sort of moment, and, during her career, although it was still early, she had fallen into the hands of criminals before. She knew this always gave them a false sense of security and superiority. Crimson Flare immediately began working her hands to free herself from the debilitating bonds. Once her hands were free, her strength would return, she knew. She did not lose her strength by being restrained, but by being bound. Otherwise, the time she was trapped in the explosion of the downtown Murphy building, swallowed up in a mass of rubble, would have marked the end of her career, and her life.
All one could see was her closed fist, working slowly and regularly against the ropes, apparently without effect. In fact, the razor-sharp claw she concealed in her glove was making slow and steady progress against the inch-and-a-half diameter of the rope.
Jason stood directly in front of her. Her belt was at his feet and he was holding her baton. ‘Well, well, welcome back to the world of the living, dear heroine. I hope you found your rest refreshing.’
‘It wasn’t,’ Crimson replied. It was then that she noticed Bloch standing behind the others watching her. Nodding toward the huge figure, she asked, ‘Was he the one…?’
‘Yes, Bloch laid you out. In a few minutes, we’re all going to get to do that.’ He smiled and the other members of the gang giggled among themselves. “It’s just not every day you get the fuck a superheroine.’
Crimson Flare’s efforts at the rope became more urgent. She had been threatened like this before, though none of the threats had come to anything. In each case, she had escaped and overpowered her antagonists. But the number of those threatening her, and the size of the one called Bloch made escape in this case even more imperative.
Jason whipped her baton and it telescoped out to its full two-and-a-half foot length. ‘I’ve begun to get pretty good at that. Of course, I’d seen you do it once or twice. What I haven’t quite figured out is how to get it to give off that electrical charge. There’s no button or switch. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me how…?’
The heroine shook her head.
‘Didn’t think so. Well, let’s see if I can figure out how this works. I’ve already determined that it doesn’t work by laying it on,’ here he brushed it down the front of Crimson’s sequin-covered leotard; ‘and it doesn’t by striking the target,’ and he hit her with the baton on the shoulder. America’s Darling could feel that she was almost through the rope; just another minute or two, and…
‘Is it a stabbing motion in the direction of the target?’ and her thrust the baton at her crimson covered groin.
‘Oh, NOOO!’ Crimson Flare screamed. The electric charge smashed into her vulnerable sex with the force of lightning and she wilted against the post to which she was bound.
‘Actually, that was a rhetorical question, Crimson Flare,’ Jason said to the unconscious crimefighter. ‘We figured it out a while ago.’ He brought his hand up to the groin of her costume, feeling her. ‘Yep, just as I thought: you’re… ‘hot’… to trot,’ he laughed. ‘Let’s have some fun,’ he ordered and they began to remove the ropes securing her to the post.
‘Why didn’t she just tear up the rope?’ one of the men asked.
Jason considered the idea. ‘Maybe she didn’t have time. Or she was waiting for something, like for us to say something about who we were working for. It’s too bad we don’t know; we couldn’t give her any help there. I don’t know, but when she’s unconscious, one’s thing’s sure: She won’t stop us from this.’
They removed the bound heroine from the post and placed her diminutive figure on the floor. One of the thieves produced a knife and began to cut away her costume in the front, beginning at the neckline and proceeding to her crotch. She soon lay exposed on the floor, her crimson spangled costume lying under her, her arms still tied behind her. The man with the knife next cut away her tights, revealing the soft brown hair of her pussy and the cunt of America’s Darling. Her cunt was red, inflamed by the bolt from the baton.
Her small chest rose and fell rhythmically, occasionally shuddering as a result of the powerful bolt that had passed through her. That bolt, while severe enough to render Crimson Flare temporarily unconscious, was not fully up to the potential of the baton. Strange to say, fortunately, the criminal who held the heroine only understood the mechanics and techniques of wielding the baton; they did not know how to control it. The baton had a range of strength, from a level that would stun a victim to one that would blow a lock off a steel safe door. Crimson Flare had mastered the subtleties of the weapon. It was fortunate for her that Jason’s thrust only produced the power that it did.
Two of the gang members grabbed Crimson Flare’s arms and dragged her from the floor, dropping her on an empty table a few feet away. Jason stood at the foot of the table, already undoing her pants. Her legs hung over the edge of the table at the knees, still swinging irregularly. He grabbed her thighs, feeling their roundness and their musculature. His hands then moved up her legs slowly, feeling the translucent tights that wrapped them. When he got to the section that had been cut away by his partner, he pulled downward on them, tearing the tights completely off her. The shredded remains hung off at Crimson Flare’s knees, just above the shiny black leather boots that covered her calves.
Looking down on the flawless exposed skin of America’s Darling, at the roundness of her hips and the flatness of her stomach, Jason’s erection told the tale of his expectations. A slight moan escaped Crimson Flare’s lips as she revived. He saw her forearms move under her slight frame. He firmly gripped her thighs this time and pulled her roughly across the table top toward him, toward his erect penis, seeking penetration.
The short movement across the table ripped away the last vestige of rope securing Crimson Flare’s wrists. The surge of her returning strength revived the superheroine quickly. Her right leg shot upward, directly into Jason’s jaw, lifting him off his feet and hurtling him backwards across the room. He landed flush on his back ten feet away, unconscious. The avenger next turned her attention to the two gang members who had carried her to the table. Sitting up abruptly, she grabbed each by the scruff of his neck and smashed their heads together. One fell directly to the floor beside the table, the other first dropped into her lap. He seemed to make a futile effort to grab her around the waist, but his arms refused to do what he wished. He, too, then rolled to the floor.
With half the gang members out, and barely thirty seconds having passed, two members sprinted from the room, leaving the door open behind them. Bloch, however, seemed determined to test his mettle against the young superheroine. ‘I’ve taken you down once already tonight,’ he said, threateningly. ‘I’ll do it again.’
‘Only if you can hit me from behind again,’ Crimson replied, steadily.
The differences between the two combatants couldn’t have been starker. Bloch easily cleared 300 pounds and stood 6’6” tall. His physique reflected hours of work in the weight room of the prison where he had spent five years. It would not be an exaggeration to say that his upper arms were as large as Crimson Flare’s thighs.
On the other hand, Crimson’s body was tiny in comparison. More than a foot shorter, weighing 200 pounds less than the big man, she looked like he could crush her like an insect. In addition, her costume lying open, exposing her chest and abdomen, lent an air of absurdity to her circumstance. Only the grim determination around her mouth, the only part of her face visible beneath her vinyl mask and cowl, declared the gravity of the combat she was about to enter.
Even so, the battle did not last long. Ducking under his first grab for her, Crimson lunged, bringing her knee directly into his six-pack abs. The force she was able to muster stunned the big man, making him pause. This was all the opening the heroine needed. She hit him with a left hook to the eye, driving him back a step. He took another step back when a hard right jab broke his nose.
His left hand went to his face in an attempt to stay the flow of blood. However, it was the great sweeping backhand motion that he made with his right that was much more effective. Catching Crimson Flare by surprise, the blow knocked her across the room and face first into a sofa. Moving quickly, Bloch rushed to put an end to the fight while the heroine was dazed.
Crimson Flare, despite her great strength, was not invulnerable. The blows of her opponents registered on her. For this reason, she had taken, and continued to take, a number of martial arts courses to improve her ability to deal with opponents who were frequently powerful men. But she recovered from the shocking blow quickly and, knowing that she could not afford to allow Bloch to get behind her again, she twisted on the sofa so that she faced him as he rushed her.
He came at her in a very amateurish fashion. He rushed her wide open, his arms spread out to the side like an eagle in flight. Crimson brought her legs up and her boots caught him flush at the diaphragm, the two-inch heels digging in just below his ribs. As she pushed him away with all her strength, the force of the air driven from his body gave rise to a sickly gasp. When his body smashed into the post to which the superheroine had earlier been tied, his head snapped back with a crunch. His body twisted off the post and fell to the floor, still breathing, but dark red blood poured from the back of his head across his face and onto the flooring.
The four unconscious men were not stirring. Crimson Flare surveyed the loft, which was serving as Jason’s apartment. The loot from Internet Row was stacked in the corner. Before she called the police, and an ambulance for Bloch, she briefly examined the full collection of goods. Yes, it was as she had initially noted: extremely expensive merchandise, nothing but the highest quality. Whoever was behind the robbery knew his stuff, and these components could be used to make a very sophisticated electronic device. A weapon? Or something to be used in further crimes? That, only time would tell.
Crimson Flare called the police and had them bring an ambulance to the apartment. When they arrived they found the stolen loot from the electronics and computer stores along Internet Row and three gang members struggling against the ropes with which they were tied. One man, a very large man, was badly injured and bleeding on the floor. But the superheroine who had made the call was nowhere to be seen. After all, her state of undress would not be proper for a superheroine of her standing.
End of Chapter Two