Here's a story I'm thinking of developing.
To be honest, I'm still feeling my way through. The aim is to create a slow burn, so folks seeking an immediate pay-off should probably look elsewhere (but I'm willing to bet I can win you over).
For those interested in taking the ride—please let me know what you think. Feedback, whether good or bad, is always appreciated.
If this gets traction - I'll aim for weekly updates (🤞 I know, I'm not the most reliable - working on it). I realize it's hard to judge based on one posting, so I'm already working on the next bit. Figure it will take at least another posting to accurately gage the temperature.
Lastly, quick warning, this story is in the dungeon for a reason. While the intro is fairly clean, future updates (let's stay positive) will contain graphic elements of both a violent and sexual nature.
Okay, deep breath (sorry, gotta shake out some nerves; it's been a while), and... here we go:
ACT I
Tuesday – June 20th 9:59 a.m. ET
Honolulu – Population: 390,800
On any given corner there is, as the saying goes, a story.
Take the 20-something in the purple-dyed hair, scurrying across the street. Her fleshy arms bouncing upon taking hold of the red and white lawn sign.
“Hey! Wait…you can’t do that!”
As he spoke, beer from the man’s greasy lips dripped down onto his beater. The patter of his flip-flops animating his struggle to free his hefty frame from the rickety chair. Desperate, with every cough, to loosen the warmth clogged in his throat.
Lost in the beat of her headphones, the girl blocked out his pleas. Instead, she continued to fold the sign – the one advertising the gaging man’s politics – in an attempt to relieve the scorching, 100-degree heat by creating a makeshift fan.
Or how about the cyclist down the street, swerving to avoid the bimmer pulling into the intersection. Expecting an apology, as she looked back, the spandex-clad woman was rendered speechless when the teenager behind the wheel opted instead to stick out his tongue.
Amongst the commotion no one noticed the black-cloaked figure. The tip of her assault rifle scraping the asphalt as she crossed the road towards the tourist-filled beach.
Few throughout the city’s shopping and financial districts paid much attention to these wraith-like beings in metallic body armor as they exited their vehicles. Even with weapons drawn, they remained invisible—ghosts in a world too busy; too apathetic to take notice.
Until, that is, the stroke of ten.
No longer willing to be ignored, these anonymous young men and women swept back their hoods to reveal silver masks, frozen in expressions of haunted anger. Stepping from the shadows, they unleashed a coordinated cacophony whose death toll quickly swelled into the hundreds.
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“My God—”
Staring out the window of the MD 500 Halley Garda could feel her rage building. Her grip tightening, with every breath, on the sub-machine gun lying in her lap from the sight of all the bodies—families and children sprawled along the shoreline in pools of their own blood.
No matter where she looked, Honolulu’s once pristine beaches lay littered, as if struck by a hurricane. The Island winds dragging everything from beach balls to umbrellas across the white sand, pinging them against the manicured rows of palm trees.
As the helicopter skirted along the water’s edge, the automatic weapons responsible for the destruction could still be heard—shattering hotel and shop windows, like rays from the sweltering sun. Whoever these bastards are, they’ve isolated entire blocks thought Halley, observing the tire fires and make-shift barricades that the cloaked figures were using to control the streets.
“Even more will die unless we figure out a way to stop these maniacs.”
Lieutenant Heath Lowe’s voice crackled over the noise-dampening headsets, snapping Halley and the other members of the FBI counter terrorist unit out of their collective daze. Suddenly, she could feel the helicopter banking towards its destination.
Incredible.
A saucer-shaped crater filled Halley’s window. Its vegetation-covered walls rising over 750 feet into the air. She had heard of Diamond Head, the monolithic landmark that towered over Honolulu’s skyline but, still, she didn’t expect it to be so big. Its beauty eclipsing the city’s latest and greatest innovations—all that humanity had to offer bowing at its feet.
Turning to her commanding officer, the 26-year-old cheekily remarked: “So, we’re literally landing on a volcano. Isn’t that like jumping from the frying pan; into the fire?”
Heath smiled as he shifted his gaze towards Halley. Her 5’4”, slender frame all but lost beneath the layers of black tactical gear. Only her pale, oval face stood out amongst the padding and ammo protruding from her body.
And yet, despite her soft features, Halley’s thin lips and lush brown hair – held loosely over her shoulder in a ponytail – were hard to ignore. There was even less that she could do to conceal her eyes. Blue and intense they revealed Halley’s intelligence, drawing attention even while alongside the other, more physically imposing, members of the squad.
Mindful not to stare, Heath reached out with a reassuring touch. “We’re going to stop them Hal.” His voice, as always, was calm and steady as he took hold of her arm.
“So, fire up that computer and see if you can’t penetrate their network,” he continued as the helicopter landed, with a bounce. “Whoever these guys are, they’ve divided the city, preventing the cops from uniting their forces. We need a way through.”
Even before the words had come out Heath knew they were unnecessary; Halley was already working her magic. Her furrowed brow wrapped in concentration. “It’s just endless gibberish,” she mumbled, her fingers gliding across the keyboard, as if her laptop were a piano.
“You got this Hal.” Heath chuckled, turning his attention to the others. “Reggie, Sanchez. You two check the perimeter.” As he spoke, Heath pointed first to the unit’s explosive expert and then its sniper—directing them to scope out the makeshift shelter, some twenty yards away.
While the army still maintained a presence at Diamond Head, it was token. Its value as a look-out post long lost in an age of satellites. Relegating the 300,000-year-old monument to little more than a tourist attraction.
Heath’s focus fell next to the final member of his squad. “Q-ball, I want coms functioning in five.”
“You got it boss,” replied the coms officer. A smile creeping across his face upon spotting the large, metallic tourist map advertising the surrounding trails. The possibility of camera-happy hikers lurching about caused him to holler: “Better cool it babe….” He paused to allow the emphasis on “babe” to linger, “…wouldn’t want that trigger finger of yours spooking any civvies?”
Ana Candela Sanchez didn’t need to look back to know who Q-ball was addressing. He’d been pulling the same routine since their academy days. And yet, it never registered with the “communication expert” that the joke was both old and offensive.
“Call me babe again and yeah … I’ll put you in my sights,” replied Sanchez, arching an eyebrow to deflect his gaze towards the sniper riffle hanging from her shoulder.
“Whoa, chica. If you wanted a pump…all you had to do was ask,” answered Q-ball, raising his arms in mock surrender.
Sanchez tried to fight it, but Q-ball kept milking the joke – flexing one muscular arm and then the other – until finally, with a shake of her head, she smiled. “You’re such a moron.”
Heath welcomed the levity. Although the situation was tense, he knew his squad would be ready when it counted. They’ll have to be, thought Heath, approaching the guardrail that ran along the crater’s edge.
Ignoring the stunning Pacific vista, his thoughts turned back to the wraiths and the carnage below. What are they really after? They’ve made no demands. Their only intention appears to be death and mayhem.
The mission brief mentioned reports of over two dozen gunmen—well-armed and highly coordinated; masking their movements through the underground tunnels that linked the city’s public spaces.
To counter this, command had ordered his squad to gather more intel and, if possible, aide police efforts. Should the situation turn into a hostage crisis they were to signal for army support from Pearl.
But as Heath reached out, clutching the rusty railing, he could feel his doubts swirling. His superiors knew that his unit wasn’t prepared, let alone equipped to handle a situation like this; they had come to Hawaii for training, not to confront a full-on siege. And yet, with his eyes racing over the rocks and trees and down to the city below, all that mattered was that people were dying.
Ready or not, it's time.
“All right…,” said Heath calling his crew back together, “…let’s get dialed in.” His tone was hard and serious.
Pausing to allow Reggie and Sanchez – who were signaling an all clear – time to rejoin the unit, Heath cut to the point. “Command is expecting an update in 15; I want to be able to give it in 10. So, gear up.”
But instead of hustling to put on their paraglides the team froze, as a youthful, female voice filled the air. “That won’t be necessary.”
At first, all eyes shot to Halley; after all she was the youngest. But she too was baffled. Her shoulders hunched, hands out to her sides. “Wasn’t me.”
What’s going on thought Heath, turning next to Q-ball who, with a quick shake of his head, confirmed that coms were silent.
Finally, the squad clued in—drawn by shadow to the silhouette hovering above. Their jaws dropped, one by one, in recognition of the angelic figure, who in a playful but confident tone declared: “I’ll take it from here.”
To be continued ???
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Nobody ever looks up.
OK, that’s not entirely true, thought Supergirl, well aware that the wind was catching her skirt—teasing her audience with glimpses of her most intimate regions. Her long, toned legs guiding their eyes toward the light blue fabric revealingly stretched over her vulva.
The media often asked about this, ahem, problem. The more conservative outlets even accused her of being a hussy; after all, her red, flared skirt barely extended beyond her crotch. “Would it not be more prudent,” they often asked, for her “to wear a less flowy costume, or at the very least a more protective one?”
These questions always brought a smile to Supergirl’s face. I’m blonde but I’m not that blonde. Of course, people were staring; the media most of all—those hypocrites.
But, she was proud of her body. She ate well. Worked hard and liked the way her costume flattered her svelte figure. More importantly, the 19-year-old felt comfortable and was, as she often pointed out, no more exposed than a figure skater, gymnast or any other type of athlete.
However, it was her ability to handle this attention with such unassuming air that endeared her to the public. Even as she continued – and increasingly enjoyed – exploring the power of her femininity.
It never fails, thought Supergirl, purposely pointing her lead toe in order to accentuate her shapely legs during her descent. Basking in the attention, her red boots gracefully touched down on Diamond Head.
Upon impact, the bend in her knees ensured that her blonde mane draped across her cheekbones. Providing the perfect excuse for the young heroine to swing her beach-waved locks, with model-like grace, back over her shoulders. Her heart-shaped face beaming as she bounced forward—the perfect picture of confidence.
Oh please, thought Halley. But, to her dismay, all eyes were transfixed on the famous beauty. They can’t really be falling for this? Frustrated, Halley struggled to restrain herself as Supergirl greeted the squad with a cheerful: “Hey guys.”
Why does she always have to act like she’s in a fucking commercial? Halley thought, dabbing her forehead with her sleeve. Her irritation growing as the Girl of Steel seemingly appeared unaffected by the midday sun. Let me guess, perfect skin is another one of her super powers. And yet, as Halley rolled her eyes, she realized what was actually bothering her—Heath. There was something about the way he had perked up that was fueling her suspicions. A familiarity, not only in his movement but in the young blonde’s voice that—
This is silly. She and Heath had long entered the friend zone. And yet, Halley could feel a pang of jealousy as she took stock of the Girl of Steel’s cupid bow lips, almond-shaped eyes and….
No way!
For the second time today, Halley couldn’t believe what she was seeing. No one could.
They had all been too entranced by the young heroine’s sudden appearance to notice that she wasn’t alone. At least, not until the Maid of Might dropped the cloaked figures in her arms. With a thud, all four hit the ground, forming a pile around the athletic blonde.
“Picked these guys up on my way in,” said Supergirl, rubbing her hands together; enjoying the squad’s surprise, as she released the unconscious figures.
It didn’t matter if she was holding a person, train or even a plane, humans were always taken back by her strength. Personally, Supergirl thought the whole flying thing was a bigger deal but, hey, to each their own. Shrugging away the thought, she turned towards Q-ball. Her blue eyes beaming with excitement. “Looking good Q. ’Been working out?”
But all he could do was stare. His hands rubbing the back of his naked head, attempting to understand how the girl’s slender, 5’9” frame could possibly sustain such weight.
Like a cartoon, his eyeballs sprung forward, soaking in the curves of her torso—her lean muscles visible even through the thin fabric of her costume.
“You okay big guy?”
But the Girl of Steel’s question only succeeded in flustering him further. Jumbling his answer, Q-ball hastily looked away.
Heath, however, was a different matter. Pivoting towards him – her legs slowly crossing – Supergirl could still feel his touch from last night. The warmth of his fingers running across her long limbs. The taste of his lips as they pressed against hers.
She wanted to leap into his arms, then and there. But, before she could, she began to hear a distinct mechanical click off in the distance.
WHOOSH!
As quickly as she had appeared, Supergirl was gone.
“So…we’re not going to be shooting anyone today?” said Sanchez, corralling her bangs back over her ears as the wind from the Maid of Might’s wake swept her face.
“Heath. Heath!”
Grabbing him by the arm, Halley pulled Heath towards her screen, noting the firmness of his triceps. “It’s not gibberish.”
“What?”
Heath’s nose wrinkled, attempting to shake the fading image of Supergirl from his mind, only to be hit by an endless loop of code. I hate when she does this. “Hal, speak English.”
“Look, the activity on the network.” Halley started fast, expecting Heath to keep up as she pointed to the numbers and symbols on her screen. But the glossed look on his face told her to slow it down. “Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “At first I thought it was just gibberish but it’s actually a synchronized countdown. And it’s coming from Pearl.”
“She’s right.”
Supergirl waited, allowing the shock of her sudden reappearance to wear off. Once it did, she dropped four more masked figures onto the growing pile before continuing. “Whatever these guys are after it’s at the naval base.” As she spoke, the heroic blonde turned to face the Western part of the Island.
She can’t really be staring at Pearl from here? Heath thought. It’s eight miles away!
To the general public, Pearl Harbor is a date in history. The site of Japan’s devastating sneak attack against the U.S. Pacific fleet and a rallying cry for the American entry into the Second World War.
Known today as Pearl Harbor-Hickam it remains – as it was in 1941– a naval yard. A berthing ground for both surface ships and submarines, as well as an air force base.
“Wait, Supergirl,” said Heath trying not get distracted, as a cool breeze swept the young blonde’s cape. His gaze rocketing up her bare legs towards the round contours of her bum—while her taut cheeks danced in and out of the shadow of her billowing skirt.
Tongue-tied, Heath struggled to pull himself together. A voice in his head telling him, something isn’t adding up. Facing Halley, he finally managed to spit out, “a countdown to what?” But, before she could answer, Supergirl was already in the air—blasting, once again, towards the action.
“I think she’s got this,” said Q-ball.
With Supergirl fading into the distance, Sanchez added, “That girl has got it all.”
Staring at the activity on her monitor, Halley wasn’t so sure.
To be continued ...
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With the sweltering sun still beating down on the Hawaiian Island of Oahu, Supergirl surveyed her position.
Approaching Pearl, she could see the natural harbor forking into three inlets—two of which were separated by a small island. It was here that a battleship was moored beside a white, rectangular memorial, seemingly floating on the water. The ship’s large batteries – pointed high, as if in salute – were capped with wood.
In contrast, the surrounding vessels were smaller in size, with angular, modern hulls and fewer visible guns. The Maid of Might counted nine of these missile cruisers docked, in rows of three, along the coast.
Moving inland, a lush, green garden broke across the surrounding grounds, dotted by white, trapezoid buildings and, in the distance an airfield. But regardless of where she looked, Supergirl couldn’t detect any activity. No military personnel. No nothing. Not even the customary “restricted air space” warning to greet her as she continued her approach.
That’s odd. Back on Diamond Head she had seen a dozen cloaked figures swarming the base’s perimeter. Where’s the security? Holding her position, the Girl of Steel turned to her super-hearing.
Enjoying the breeze in her hair, she began filtering out the ambient noise. The chirping birds. The ships bobbing against the slow rolling waves and…a splash. Followed by another. And another.
Finally, Supergirl saw them—bodies bobbing between the vessels.
Before the next one could be dumped into the water, she swooped down, slamming the two cloaked figures against the outer wall of the warehouse that stood some twenty feet back. The wraiths were unconscious even before they hit the ground.
Her adrenaline pumping, the athletic blonde swiveled in search of her next target. But all she found were victims—dozens of women and men dressed in their navy whites; their bodies strewn across the concrete dock. A foul smell filling the air.
Oh Rao.
Burying her face in the nook of her arm, the Maid of Might stepped back. Her foot slipping on the urine oozing from the corpses behind her, causing her to smear a trail of yellow as she nearly tumbled. Oh… my boots!
Her disgust, however, was temporary as she quickly shifted her attention back to the blister-covered bodies. This isn’t the work of bullets. What happened to these people; they look ill?
Raising her hand to her mouth, the Girl of Steel fought back a rush of bile. She wanted to turn away, but there was something about the corpses that attracted her. She remembered paramedics once telling her that involuntary bowel movements were common upon death. Pinching her nose, she crouched down to examine the nearest figure. Its eyes were pure white, with no pupils. Mucus sputtered from the dead man’s nostrils, while an equally white substance poured out of his ears. It’s like his brains have melted inside of his skull.
Careful not to let her cape fall into the growing puddles of piss, the Girl of Steel swiveled towards the next victim. She looked young. Probably her age, if not younger. Her eyes were also white and her mouth—
Supergirl flinched in disgust from the sight of the girl’s gnawed lips. Somehow the victim had chewed through her own cheeks. The Girl of Steel could feel her heart racing, as she realized that the girl was not alone. They’ve all eaten their own faces. And their limbs… how did they get so twisted? They look deformed. Like puppets.
A cold rush swept through Supergirl, as the girl’s body suddenly jerked. Gripped with fright, the Maid of Might leapt back as the cadaver’s hips thrust into the air, arms flailing, legs kicking. Phew, it’s just a death spasm, thought Supergirl, instantly feeling embarrassed.
Kara, you’ve been watching way too many movies, she thought, warily navigating the bodies – a trail of human bread crumbs – drawing her towards the warehouse. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin. Everything from the blood stains on the sliding door to the eerie silence was telling her to brace herself—to not take that last step.
But she needed to find the missing troops. A base this size must house hundreds. Cautiously entering the warehouse, a look of horror washed over Supergirl’s face. Her jaw dropping at the sight of the bodies piled on the floor. So many.
She had found her missing personnel, all twisted and deformed like the ones outside. What’s going on? Who or … what could do this?
SNAP!
Supergirl whipped around upon hearing footsteps, only to turn directly into her assailant’s attack. Her hands clutching the coil wrapping her slender neck. She could feel the metal-like grip squeezing, resisting her strength, as it lifted her off the ground. With her air flow decreasing, the young heroine’s red boots kicked aimlessly for the concrete floor.
I…I can’t breathe, thought the Maid of Maid, gasping as she looked down on the woman holding her captive. Despite her efforts, her super-vision couldn’t penetrate her assailant’s white mask. Leaving the Girl of Steel with no choice but to stare at the soulless, solid pair of eyes encased in a statue-like countenance.
“I am Ague. It is an honor to test my skill against yours.” The woman’s voice was gruff beneath the mask. Her shoulder-length blonde hair clinging tightly to her face, like a bird’s hood, as it brushed against her smooth, purple armor—which protruded down just past her breasts, enhancing her natural curves. The rest of the woman’s toned body was dressed simply in a dark leotard over a light brown pair of tights with a white sash tied around her hips.
The look was reminiscent of an ’80’s wrestler, prompting Supergirl to remark, with grunted breath, “you were great on Netflix,” as she shifted her gaze to the purple, fingerless sleeve covering Ague’s left arm—the one with the coil. Spotting her means of escape, the Maid of Might extended her arm towards the whip, looking to free her neck from its hold.
But, before she could, Ague sent her flying. Hurling the snarky teen into the air before yanking her back down, like a yo-yo, against the floor. Supergirl’s head took the brunt of the impact – her cheeks pounding the concrete – as the villainess struck not once but twice without mercy.
“Foolish child,” remarked Ague. “Against me, you face death.”
With dirt spewing from her mouth, Supergirl was unable to respond. But as she tried to pull herself up, it was clear that Ague wasn’t finished. Reeling the moaning heroine back onto her feet, the villainess turned to her free arm, watching the light reflect off her metallic claws. “Tell me blue bird, how loud can you scream?”
The lack of expression on her opponent’s face, was almost as terrifying as the four-inch nails lancing towards her chest. This girl means business. Clearly, Ague wasn’t to be trifled with but, then again, neither was the Girl of Steel. Time to step up my game.
Tired of holding back, the heroic beauty put on a display of speed beyond any Ague had ever seen—whisking the woman’s claws away from her S with one arm and delivering a punch with the other.
Supergirl was too busy drawing air back into her lungs to see where Ague had landed. Not that she needed to; the trail of debris was clear. Elevating into the air, the Maid of Might grew worried, glancing at the concrete holes, that maybe she had hit her opponent too hard. That her emotions had gotten the best of her.
Everyone, regardless of what they’ve done, deserves a trial, thought Supergirl, fighting to curtail her growing urge for vengeance, despite the mountain of corpses around her. It was only upon touching down on the opposite end of the warehouse, to gaze at the open field, that she began to feel a swell of relief.
Ague was lying straight ahead; semi-conscious in a dirt crater. Her mask cracked, revealing her pale skin from her chin to the bridge of her nose. A string of blood, dripping from her lip.
Determined to make the villainess answer for her crimes, Supergirl stepped forward, her graceful carriage brimming with confidence. Clean and pristine, the wide expanse of green before her resembled a parade ground. The kind of place, she imagined, where bugles blasted, awakening soldiers with their morning reveille.
Suddenly, Supergirl stopped. Her attention diverted towards the imposing, column-lined building on her left. The one with the large, unfurled American flag planted beside an oval-shaped fountain. And to the two white-masked warriors descending the marble stairs towards her. Metallic whips cracking at their sides.
They looked exactly like Ague, same height and athletic build, except instead of purple armor the redhead wore teal, while the raven-haired one sported sage.
“Scarlatina. Taenia. Stand down.”
The booming voice belonged to a hulking figure, dressed in a green sports bra and a low-rise pair of camouflaged khakis. Her dark hair was held tightly back, revealing an elegant but muscular neckline.
“So, you’re the one in charge,” snapped Supergirl, having flown up to the elevated courtyard, where the woman calmly awaited.
Ignoring the black-cloaked wraiths standing to the side, the Girl of Steel approached with long, powerful strides. I know her, thought Supergirl taking in the leader’s massive 5’11” frame. The woman’s pulsing veins helping to emphasize a dense and powerful physique.
Even though Supergirl’s slender figure paled in comparison, she continued to approach without fear. “Who are you?” she demanded. Proudly displaying the S that stretched, like a second skin, across her chest before taking hold of her hips.
But instead of admiring the full swell of the young blonde’s breasts, the beast of a woman simply folded her arms and stepped forward. Her brown eyes darting directly into the shorter heroine’s baby blues.
Why isn’t she afraid?
No one had ever challenged the Maid of Might like this. None dared. Staring at the ringed serpent inked across the woman’s impossibly taut stomach, Supergirl began to feel self-conscious. Her abs are tighter than a drum. It wasn’t often that the heroic blonde was this badly out staged, especially by another female.
There’s not a drop of fat on her. I’ve never seen a waist that small. And her breasts, they can’t be real!
Recognizing the heroine’s unease, the villainess pressed her advantage, “I’m a product of your sins. Ironic, you don’t remember—you will, once I strip you of all you hold dear.”
Cocking her hip as she shifted her weight, Supergirl pretended not to be impressed. She had, after all, heard these kinds of threats before, many spoken by far more imposing opponents. And all, to a T, had come to regret their words. But she was baffled by her muscular foe’s deep and exotic accent. Her near-perfect English modulated by elongated vowels that hinted at a middle-eastern tone and a British education.
“Do you know what this is?” asked the advancing villainess. Her long, thick fingers forming a V, to direct the Girl of Steel’s gaze like an arrow back towards her tattoo. “It’s an ouroboros. Notice the serpent locked in an infinite loop—seemingly devouring its own tail only to be reborn.” Relishing, the heroic beauty’s discomfort, the villainess closed to within arm’s reach, “Well, I too am torn – no thanks to you – between life and death. And soon, little girl, I will take your soul.”
It wasn’t the woman’s words, but the realization that her foe’s larger breasts were weighing down on her own that startled the Girl of Steel. A wave of electricity passing between them, causing the Maid of Might’s legs to buckle.
Before she knew it, Supergirl was stepping back. Something’s not right. As her gaze swept over her opponent, the young heroine no longer saw a mindless brute, but a strong, confident woman. Her smooth, olive skin, wide curves and high cheekbones unquestionably feminine.
But what truly flustered Supergirl was the all too familiar pose, as the woman’s arms – sleek and defined – casually flexed upon taking hold of her hips. Anchored by her spread legs, the ripped beauty smiled icily; her picture-perfect abs sticking out like biceps.
With a shake of her head, Supergirl broke free of the mesmerizing display. Instantly, recognizing the stance, her anger boiled. Nobody mocks me like this—nobody. But, before the heroic blonde could re-engage, the woman held out her hand. Her open palm commanding the Maid of Might to halt.
To her surprise, Supergirl obeyed. Continuing to follow her foe’s index finger as it pointed back towards the harbor.
Without looking over her shoulder, a wry smile broke across the villainess’ face. “Tell me pet. Does it bother you … knowing that your costume would look better on me?”
Before Supergirl could respond, the missile cruisers fired.
To be continued ...
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“Talk to me Hal?!”
Even from eight miles off, the roar of the Tomahawks echoed across Diamond Head. With fright-filled awe, Heath and his team watched, as the missiles catapulted into the sky—leaving behind trails of twirling smoke and flame.
There’s too many, thought Heath. His hands blocking the fiery glare in an attempt to ascertain their direction.
Though Heath was trying not to show it, Halley detected his fear, as he once again demanded answers: “Hal, tell me something?”
But even with the weight of the team’s collective stare upon her, Halley’s focus remained on her screen. Her hands straying from the keyboard only to wipe away the sweat that dripped from her brow.
For a second, she thought Q-ball was going to physical attempt to shake a response out of her, but even he knew better than to disturb her.
Finally, Halley broke her silence. “I can’t be certain, but it looks like they’re targeting Los Angeles, Sydney and possibly Tokyo…maybe Seoul.”
“How long do we have?”
“It’s not that easy Heath. There are variables.”
“How long Hal?”
“Well, considering the average speed of the missiles, plus the distance….” Halley glanced back at her screen in order to complete the calculation. “Give or take 15 minutes before they’re over the West coast; add another five to 10 for the rest.
“The good news, now that I’m in their system, is that I might be able to disrupt the signal and regain control.”
With a nod, Heath urged her on. Time was no longer a luxury they had. The situation had spiraled out of control. But the flash of blue and red streaking up in pursuit of the missiles helped reassure him that things were going to be okay.
“I told you, Supergirl’s got this,” shouted Sanchez, her binoculars trained to the sky.
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Even as she approached the missiles, Supergirl continued to picture the woman standing akimbo—her perfectly sculpted muscles firing in ways that didn’t seem possible. The arrogance! I can’t wait to wipe that smug smile off her face.
But, in truth, Supergirl knew there was nothing she could have done. As soon as the Tomahawks blasted off, she had no choice but to let the ripped beauty go.
And yet, her opponent had landed a psychological blow—not only stealing her stance but owning it. The realization fueled Supergirl’s anger as she swooped into action.
Already the missiles were veering in opposite directions. I’ve got to act fast. Cutting loose with her heat-vision, Supergirl sliced through the closest group, separating the warheads from their rockets—allowing gravity to harmlessly cast them back down into the sea.
With a burst of acceleration, the Maid of Might set off to pursue the rest. Shutting down the closest missile with her freeze-breath, she then hurled it into the pack, setting off a chain reaction that lit up the sky. Sheltering her eyes from the explosions, the heroic blonde could feel the destructive power as she was blasted back by the accumulative heat wave.
That should do it, thought Supergirl, pulling out of her freefall.
But, to her surprise, she spotted two more missiles bursting out of the black smoke that blotted the sky. Larger than the others, they began to pick up speed in search of a new target.
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“Dammit!”
Halley nearly knocked over the crates, and the computer resting above, as she slammed her palms in frustration against the makeshift desk in tandem with her scream.
“Every time I’m about to hack a missile she destroys it. How can I help, when she won’t even let us in on the plan?”
“You got this Hal.” Heath’s attention, however, remained on the explosions above.
He had no idea of the complexity of what she was attempting. Pissed and tired of being patronized, Halley let loose. “Stop standing up for your ….” But she pulled back before stating what she knew she would regret.
Too late; the line had already been crossed. Heath was now glaring directly at her. Warning her to stand down.
Normally she would, such was her respect for him, but this was a long time coming. “All I’m saying is that Supergirl isn’t a team player. We should be helping, not trying to guess her intentions.
“She did the same thing last month in Paris with Parasite. It’s grandstanding! That’s not how we roll, and you know it.”
Even as he paced, Halley could tell her words were eating at Heath. His nostrils were already flaring. That was the sign that he was a about to bite. Good, he needs to hear this.
“Come on Hal? She’s freakin’ Supergirl! What am I supposed to say, ‘sorry, we don’t want your help?’”
“Yeah Hal,” inserted Q-ball. “She’s getting the job….” Normally Q-ball was deaf to social cues, but the look Halley gave him cut like a dagger.
And yet, he tempted fate. Grunting as Sanchez attempted to quiet him with a quick punch to the arm, he, nonetheless, continued: “I’m just sayin’…look at your screen. How many missiles are left?”
Halley could have knocked him out there and then. But as Heath shouted, “Stay out of this Q,” she couldn’t help but notice the two blips on her screen.
“You see,” protested Q-ball.
Trying not to sound impressed as she flicked Q-ball’s finger away from her monitor, Halley reluctantly conceded the obvious.
“But…,” her voice suddenly spiked, “…the remaining two missiles are targeting us!”
To be continued ...
----------------------------------8----------------------------------
Again, and again, Supergirl fired her heat-vision in vain, as the missiles whisked by. They’re anticipating my attacks. Is that even possible?
She knew that Tomahawks could be guided remotely, but this level of responsiveness was uncanny.
Extending both arms, Supergirl accelerated, continuing to fire her heat-vision to no avail. Equally surprising was the effort required to keep pace. But what really pissed her off – as the missiles continued to dance above the water, just out of her reach – was the damage they were inflicting upon her hair. Now, it’s personal, she thought. But, as she stretched to take hold of the nearest booster, the spray from its wake only amplified the frizzing in her silky locks.
Got you! With a grunt, Supergirl dug her fingers into the metal casing. As she did, the missile elevated, lifting her high above Honolulu’s sky. Pulling back to decelerate, she sensed the missile resisting, thwarting her efforts to crush its engine. Why…won’t…you—
BOOM!
Over 50 kilos of explosives – enough to penetrate over 100 feet into the earth – slammed Supergirl back.
The pain in her hand, shot across her body as she spiraled down.
No longer certain of her bearings, the Girl of Steel called upon her flailing limbs to brush away her cape, but they wouldn’t respond. Fortunately, she could see glimpses of the sun, despite her blurry vision, through her blonde tresses. Accelerating towards it, she immediately realized her error. For the bright yellow, melding before her, wasn’t the sun but its reflection.
Oh no!
Over 30 stories of glass greeted the heroic beauty as she ripped down the side of Honolulu’s tallest building to crash into the plaza below.
Debris raining down, her mind went dark.
----------------------------------9----------------------------------
“Supergirl!”
Stumbling to her feet, the Maid of Might could hear the muffled screams. At least she thought the people running towards her were calling her name.
Please stop shouting.
Attempting to ease the ringing in her head, Supergirl took hold of her temple with one hand, while extending the other in an attempt to quiet the growing crowd.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been out. Judging from the expressions of those around, it didn’t appear to be long. More importantly, the pain shooting across her body quickly reminded her of the other missile. Where’d it go?
But as she staggered forward, she could tell that something else was wrong. The crowd were clearly in shock. There’s so many, she thought scanning their faces. Hundreds of people, scurrying out of the surrounding buildings. They must have been hiding, waiting for the shooting to stop. “It’s alright. I promise it’s almost over,” said the Girl of Steel, attempting to reassure.
Her attention, however, was captured by the hand of a young boy pointing towards her. It was only then, following his small, outstretched finger that she realized her costume was torn.
At first, Supergirl noticed only a couple rips. Nothing too bad. No doubt my hair is also a mess. That damn booster. But as her eyes swept past the tears in her skirt, she began to notice more holes: the first ran up her sleeve, while another, even larger one, revealed her taut abs. Thankfully that appeared to be all… at least that’s what she thought, until sensing an unfamiliar breeze.
With flushed cheeks, Supergirl fumbled to cover her exposed nipple. Her pink flesh perking at attention through the slit that cut across her breast. Her voice breaking, she muttered, “I…I’ve got to go.” Unable to look anyone in the eye, she quickly lifted her head, preparing to soar before any more photos could be taken.
To her horror, it didn’t take long to find the remaining missile.
----------------------------------10---------------------------------
As the ball of fire exploded, Heath, Halley and the rest of the squad watched in stunned silence. In a blink, Honolulu’s core was decimated.
“Did we just lose?” asked Q-ball. His face frozen from the carnage.
Nobody had to answer. They all knew that Tomahawks carried 1,000lbs warheads, enough to level a small town. But it was another matter to bear witness—to watch helplessly, as the collapsing towers unleashed a torrent of debris.
“We have to get down there. Come on, put on your gear,” commanded Heath, gathering his paraglide.
“Wait,” said Halley. Pointing to the flickering lights. “It’s not over.”
----------------------------------11---------------------------------
For the first time, in a long time, Supergirl felt helpless. While she, herself, was unhurt, it didn’t take super powers to hear the agonizing screams around her.
There’s too many, she thought, wiping away the swirling dust as well as her tears. Though her chest had taken the brunt of the impact, the surrounding buildings had fallen, nonetheless, like dominos. Leaving the young beauty on her knees, at the center of the newly formed crater—the second that now rested on the island of Oahu.
Clenching her fists, the Girl of Steel could feel her nails digging into her palms, as her thoughts turned to those responsible: the wraiths; Ague; Scarlatina and Taenia. But most of all to the ripped beauty in the sports bra and military-styled khakis. I’m going to make them pay. Every last one.
Unaccustomed to failure, her screams filled the air, without a care for her tattered costume. The thin fabric struggling to form a cohesive unit across her naked flesh—clinging to her smooth skin, like strands from a spider’s web. Only her vagina remained largely concealed by the blue fabric. Her red skirt hanging in shreds from her V shaped, yellow belt.
It was then that the Maid of Might noticed the flickering lights. Row upon row of windows popping to life, transforming the damaged buildings along her periphery into giant screens. Their glow overpowering the sun to bring forth a faint silhouette.
“We are The Swarm.”
At first, the voice was difficult to make out—raspy and guttural it felt more mechanical than human.
Confused, Supergirl continued to watch from her knees, staring at the feminine figure slowly taking shape across the myriad screens. She couldn’t be sure, but the woman appeared to be inside a candle-lit room—possibly a church or cathedral.
The Girl of Steel, however, had little difficulty recognizing the symbol on the hanging banner. Though partially obscured by the mystery figure standing before it, the large circular serpent remained burned in her mind. An ouroboros.
“Let today be a warning to all the false gods: a reckoning is nigh. And there will be no shelter for the greedy, corrupt or those who serve them.
“For I am the Matron,” said the woman, extending her arms as she stepped forward. Although her face remained obscured by both hood and shadow, the chainmail armor encompassing her frame glimmered with light. Especially the eye-shaped pendant that hung from her neck—its large iris standing before a sword, while engulfed in flame.
“And no sinner, shall escape my wrath,” continued the knight-like woman in her distorted voice. “Have faith, my children; soon the first shall be last, and the last shall be first. So it is written…so shall it be done.
“To those in our way, take heed; The Swarm is coming.”
With her warning delivered, Matron faded back into the shadows. As she did, the light from her pendant reflected up, flicking across her face.
With a gasp, the young heroine stared in disbelief. How’s this possible? Although the Girl of Steel had caught only a glimpse, she was certain of what she had seen. Where eyes, nose and a mouth should have been there was nothing. Only a smooth, skin-colored surface formed the woman’s face.
Uncertain of what to think, Supergirl was drawn back to the screens, as a series of files began to appear. A who’s, who of the world’s wealthiest companies along with images of their billionaire CEO’s. The Swarm was seemingly announcing its hit list.
Oblivious to her near-naked state, Supergirl examined the targets, stunned to see her name included amongst the rich and powerful.
Her enemies, it appeared, were multiplying…as were her problems. The young heroine didn’t realize by how much until the first pang swept her stomach. She had already been feeling a tenderness around her breasts, but now she sensed an all-too-familiar leak that sent her eyes darting down, in terror, towards her crotch.
The disheveled blonde desperately cupped her vulva, even as a fresh set of cramps collapsed her bum onto her ankles. To her shame, there was little she could do to contain the bleeding. Betrayed by her body, the exhausted Maid of Might stared in horror as her menstrual flow spilled across her thighs. Her shock only increased as she slowly shifted her gaze from her blood-soaked hands to the choppers hovering above.
End of Act I
----------------------------------12---------------------------------
ACT II
Thursday – June 22nd 5:57 a.m. ET
Washington, D.C. – Population: 700,000
General Nathan Jessup glanced at his watch to ensure that he was still on schedule.
Coming to a stop beside a wood-lined door with a large window, he glanced at the lights and cameras ahead. It was nearly time. With a wave he dismissed his assistant, as well as the talking points in her hands. “I’ll be fine,” he said, reaching for the cigar in his pocket.
Thankful for the blue, pencil skirt that wrapped the young woman’s curvy assets he paused, pretending to straighten his uniform while admiring her elegant stride.
Just like during his fighter pilot days, Jessup was on target and nothing – not even the creak in the door that caused his assistant to unexpectantly glance back – could break his concentration. Instead, he simply met her glare with a grin. He knew what he was. Clearly, she knew as well, quickening her pace to hasten her escape to the outside.
I’ve got four stars and still she won’t touch me. Shit…the world has changed, he thought, dismissing the no-smoking sign on the wall with an extra-long puff of his Cuban.
Even as the hallway filled with smoke, none dared rebuke the general. Passersby simply held their breath, before scurrying ahead, with a quick salute, to take their place in the outdoor garden that lay at the heart of the Pentagon.
Meanwhile, Jessup continued to track his assistant, following her efforts to corral the media to their seats. One particular reporter – a young, raven-haired girl, with the glasses of a librarian – instantly caught his fancy. A back-door man, through and through, he marveled at the tight contours of her perfectly-shaped bum. Her impossibly firm cheeks, threatening to tear her black leggings at the seams.
With his foot tapping the closing beats to Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love, he watched as the girl confidently spread her legs but, endearingly, her hands fumbled away from her hips. Jessup knew then and there that it was time to start the briefing. Either that or I’ll need to retire to my office he thought, struggling to contain his erection. But as he stepped forward, he too suffered the creaky door, wincing as the sound drew the attention of the press.
Ignoring the cameras, Jessup headed down the winding concrete path, that zig-zagged across the park, towards the lectern at the center of the stage. An oval-shaped defense department crest hung from the blue backdrop, while a large screen sat off to the side. Let’s get this over with, he thought as reporters scurried to occupy the rows of perfectly spaced, white chairs that were amassed before him.
“Ladies. Gentlemen.”
Jessup’s voice shot into the microphone.
That’ll wake ’em, he mused, noticing the early morning yawns. Christ, it’s already 6 a.m.; my staff is in full swing and these pinkos can barely stand.
“This is how it’s going to go…” continued Jessup, staring down his audience. “First, I’m going to make a brief statement. Then, and only then, will I answer questions. If these questions aren’t presented in an orderly fashion…I’ll snap this presser like a panty. We crystal?”
As Jessup expected, the crowd fell silent. Even at 50-years-old his lean and toned figure remained attractive. Although his once black stubble had faded into a salt-and-peppery beard, his stiff back and broad shoulders continued to cast a domineering presence.
“As you know, the situation in Honolulu remains dire.” Jessup’s words came fast and hard, while his dark eyes pierced the smoke that swirled from his cigar. “The restoration of power has aided rescue efforts, but estimates place the death toll in the thousands. And this number is expected to rise.”
After going over the latest stats on the screen, Jessup paused to allow his opening salvo to sink in. Hit em hard, hit em fast. That’s the way. But before he could continue, his eyes shot to a reporter in the front row. Her hand politely raised. God, I hate these liberal ninnies. He was about to chastise her, but the cute smile and wide doe-like eyes brought a welcome rush to his loins.
Definitely an eight.
“Ms., no questions until after my statement,” said Jessup, his attention returning to the audience at large.
No one could believe it. Suddenly the woman stood. Her hand still pointed in the air. While her round, blunt face, continued to hold the same cute smile.
As Jessup took an extra-long puff of his cigar, all eyes shot to the front row—eager to identify the poor lamb about to be slaughtered.
----------------------------------13---------------------------------
Since 1943 the Pentagon has served as a symbol of U.S. military might. Home to some 2,300 employees, its over 17 and-a-half miles of office space weave across five pentagonal rings, intersected by 10 equally dispersed corridors. And in the middle a park.
Why the defense department chose to hold its press conference outside, in this small, enclosed wooded space, instead of the traditional press room was beyond Heath.
“Come on Lt. why are we still here?” asked Q-ball. “These army boys don’t need us.”
“Just be grateful it’s cool,” replied Heath. His binoculars trained on the pool of reporters below. “D.C. can be brutal when it's humid.”
Still the question lingered in Heath’s mind. The frosty debriefing with Jessup had left everyone in a bad mood. The battery of tests that followed hadn't helped much either. And yet, they had been ordered by the FBI to stay. Standing on the roof of the inner most pentagonal zone, it was clear to Heath that his team, still dressed in their black tactical gear, were not being optimized. We should be out there hunting down The Swarm, not baby-sitting reporters and some has-been general.
“Oh snap! I got one,” shouted Reggie.
Drawn by the excitement, Q-ball switched corners. “You sure? ’Cause they’re all kinda meh on my side.”
“Not this bae. Check your three.”
Adjusting his scope, Q-ball zoomed in. “Oh, yeah! The dark-haired cutie? Black leggings, white top; sculpted cheeks?”
“You know it bruh.”
“She’s alright,” interjected Sanchez. “If you’re into the whole Nancy Drew look.”
“Come on Ana, this chick is lit,” insisted Reggie.
Sanchez grudgingly nodded. “Yeah, okay…she’s got a body. But those glasses. This girl is way too young to be this uptight. She needs to let her hair down. It’s like she’s purposefully downplaying her strengths.”
No longer able to remain silent, Halley groaned: “Maybe that’s because she wants to be taken seriously.”
“Come on Hal don’t start,” said Q-Ball with a dismissive wave. “Reggie’s right, this one’s banging. What’s wrong with that?”
The scowl on Halley’s face told Heath that it was time to step in. Especially with the team still on edge following the events in Honolulu. They needed a break; tempers had begun to flare. But, to Heath’s surprise, the look in Halley’s eyes, as they left her screen, sent even Q-ball back to his corner.
He’s actually learned his lesson. Amazing!
“You’re going to have to teach me that one,” said Heath, scratching his short, dark hair in a mix of relief and bewilderment. Halley was half the size of the others and yet, in many ways, the most intimidating. There was steel in her eyes. An intense, werewolf-like glare, that had even sent him running on occasion.
Still, he needed her to put the computer down. No matter how important, the team came first. “Come on Hal,” he urged. “We’re all on watch duty here.”
She knew he meant well; trying to ease tensions by getting her to rejoin the group, but she was too close to stop now. The weight of Heath’s gaze, however, told her it wouldn’t be that simple. With a sigh, Halley turned her screen towards him. “Have a look.”
What the…?
Heath needed a second to comprehend the multiple feeds. “You’ve hacked the Pentagon’s network!”
Halley’s face lit up with pride. “Not quite. Just Jessup’s personal laptop. He really needs to update his password, but thanks to “DirtyBird1969” we’ve got a back door.” Turning towards Q-ball, Halley then added: “which means, we now have eyes on everyone here—including your hottie.”
The ring of cheers, as the team gathered, brought a smile to Heath’s face. And yet, studying Halley, he could tell something was off. There was a tightness…a pull on the corner of her lips that told him—there was more.
Before he could ask, Halley pressed on. “Her name is Linda Danvers. She’s a reporter with the Daily Planet. But, if you ask me, her colleague is giving her a run for her money.”
As the others scurried back to the edge of the roof to scope out the new mark, Heath wasn’t fooled. Halley was taking this too far. This wasn’t her. It was time to call her out. “What are you really up to Hal?”
With a quick glance to ensure that the others remained distracted, Halley's outstretched hand invited Heath to crouch down beside her. “Like you, I want to know what Jessup’s hiding,” she said, directing his attention back towards her screen as her fingers swiped across the keys, revealing a hidden window.
“My God,” gasped Heath.
“There’s more. But first…,” said Halley, her long pause drawing Heath in.
But even as he nodded in agreement, Heath was stunned by Halley’s admission, “…this is a job for Supergirl.”
To be continued ...
----------------------------------14---------------------------------
Linda Danvers hated this feeling. For days, her stomach had been doing circles. Ever since Hawaii, nothing had been going right.
And now, as she fumbled through her purse, things were about to get worse. “Oh great,” she muttered, realizing she was down to her last tampon. Turning to the mirror, an even larger catastrophe awaited.
No, this doesn’t work. Frustrated, the young reporter shook her head, unimpressed with her frumpy appearance—reluctantly wrapping her skirt around her waist, so that it wouldn’t show beneath her leggings. Commencing, with a grunt, the arduous task of stretching her waistband across her bloated belly. If only my costume wasn’t underneath, she thought, wiggling her hips, until finally squeezing the closure together.
But her victory was short lived. Already her leggings were pressing uncomfortably against her waist. The tight, black fabric riding ever higher between her bum even though she, with every step, continued to feel gassy. This is going to be a long day, Linda sighed, exiting the washroom.
Even as she traded the confined interior of the Pentagon’s halls, for the lush, green outdoors, her mood remained dour. Supergirl is needed back in Hawaii, not here in Washington. But her editor had insisted on his young, “ace reporter” covering the briefing. She could still hear his voice insisting, it’s time you wet your beak with some politics Danvers.
Lost in thought, Linda didn’t even notice that Heath and the others were staring down at her from above. And they weren’t the only admirers. She may not have been “feeling it,” but her taut bum, and slender figure was attracting not only her fellow scribes but members of the surrounding brass—especially Jessup.
Even while the general walked past, signaling his approval with an enthusiastic, “hooah!,” she remained distracted. Her mind consumed, as it had been since first encountering The Swarm, by a troubling thought: was Supergirl actually succeeding?
Since arriving on Earth, she had been determined to live up to her family’s legacy. Doing her best, over the past two years, to help the people of this planet avoid the mistakes that had doomed her own. But for all her accomplishments, the Girl of Steel was beginning to question her results.
The media paints me as a beacon of hope…but the world is still a shitty place. Corporations dictate governments. Environmental degradation is accelerating beyond control, as it did on Krypton. And no matter how hard I try, bad people – the real bad ones – keep getting away. Rules that apply to some, suddenly disappear when it comes to others. I was meant to change this. But I don’t know how without becoming the very thing I’m fighting.
While answers were few, the catalyst of her doubts was clear. For days, the muscular beauty had been seared in her mind. Linda still couldn’t believe the woman’s audacity. The nerve, she thought, picturing herself in costume, while her foe brazenly stood before her. Mocking me with my own pose!
Try as she might, the Girl of Steel remained haunted by the woman’s smile, directing her gaze towards the sea, with perfect theatrical flair, to witness the blast of missiles.
Fortunately, Supergirl now had a name to go with her enemy’s face. A name that raised troubling doubts. For, according to her records, she had first encountered Amal Kicillof over a year ago. Better known by the moniker Riven, the Girl of Steel had easily defeated the would-be dictator.
Although a skilled fighter, with homicidal tendencies, there had been little in the Maid of Might’s files to suggest that Riven was anything more than another in a long line of forgettable foes. And yet, despite her crimes, the villainess had escaped her maximum-security prison. Not only that, she had seemingly managed to return stronger than ever.
Looking back, Amal had been an athletic but slender woman; nothing like the ripped goddess she had encountered in Hawaii. Somehow, The Swarm had found a way to drastically increase her muscle density; altering Amal’s height and transforming her into Riven. Just thinking about the woman’s freakishly low body fat caused Linda’s lip to curl with jealousy.
But what troubled the heroic teen was the escalation. When she had started, her opponents tended to be one-off villains. Either would-be conquerors, eager for a fight, or criminal syndicates with nefarious but primarily financially-based schemes. But lately, she had noticed that her opponents had begun pooling their talents.
Desperate to defeat her by any means, Supergirl’s foes were turning the world into a more dangerous place. The Swarm was simply the latest incarnation. Or were they? thought Supergirl. What was it that Matron said, “Let today be a warning to all the false gods: a reckoning is nigh.”
At first Supergirl had thought of Matron as a sort of knight, but the more she recalled the face-less woman’s words the more they began to resemble a sermon. “No sinner, shall escape my wrath.” So, she’s some kind of priestess. If so, what’s her aim?
The only thing she knew for certain, was that The Swarm had to be stopped. Whatever their intentions, Matron was clearly holding Riven’s leash. And yet, the ripped beauty continued to dominate Supergirl’s thoughts. She had already felt a glimpse of the woman’s new-found power when their breasts had touched. The sudden memory shot a fresh warmth throughout the heroine’s chest. As her legs, once again, buckled from the jolt, Linda snapped out of her daze.
With Jessup’s raspy voice, booming across the speakers, Linda was disturbed to feel perspiration forming between her breasts. While the other reporters rushed to their seats, she needed to gather her thoughts. Moving towards the surrounding treeline, Linda couldn’t remember the last time she had broken a sweat. Without even realizing it she shifted into a familiar pose—legs spread with arms akimbo. But, somehow, the stance felt foreign. With images of Riven flashing through her mind, she suddenly lost balanced.
Embarrassed, Linda quickly brushed herself off. What’s wrong with me? Hoping nobody had noticed, she chalked her stumble up to fatigue and refocused her attention on Jessup. Seeing him approach the lectern reminded her of all the times he had ogled over her as Supergirl. Still, she begrudgingly respected the general. While a misogynistic creep, he was, alas, an honest one. And that was oddly comforting—as we say on Krypton, better to deal with the Worldkiller you know, than the one you don’t.
“Word of advice Danvers.”
Startled, Linda spun around to find Hye-bin Son, the Planet’s senior political correspondent, approaching. Elegantly dressed in a white, black-dotted top and short, black-ruched skirt, her willowy frame powered forward. Her gold colored pumps – which matched her thick, circular necklace – purposely announcing her steps. But even with the assistance of a generous heel, she was forced to gaze up at her younger colleague.
“Hey Bin,” said Linda, nervously shifting her weight. The two had never gotten along; often competing for stories. Today would be no exception.
If the 30-something reporter was nervous, she didn’t show it. Instead, she simply cocked her head and delivered a well-practiced smile. Her pink lips stretched tightly, while her large, expressive eyes continued to blink, in a Morse Code-like fashion.
Linda knew that this was because Bin was too proud to admit she needed glasses. Thanks to her super-vision, she had seen her colleague’s struggle with contacts—the solution, more often than not, leaving her with bloodshot eyes. The young teen thought of recommending surgery, but Bin wasn’t the type to accept suggestions.
Despite her pleasant countenance, the petite reporter’s ability to spew the foulest venom was legendary around the office. More than a few interns had been mesmerized by Bin’s sweet smile, only to later be devoured. Linda, although no longer amongst them, had barely survived her tenure. With sweat forming along her forehead, she braced for the verbal tirade she knew was about to follow.
“Let me guess, you’re working on yet another Luthor exposé? LexCorp doing evil…blah…blah. What a bore. I don’t know what Perry sees in your do-goody, puff pieces. It probably has something to do with that tight body. It certainly isn’t your second-rate writing. Don’t you think it’s time you learned to place a comma?”
Bin suddenly stopped. Leaning forward, she craned her neck, drawn towards Linda’s waistline. “Hmmm…better watch it; you’re gaining weight Danvers. Look at you, sweating like a piggy.”
Bin could tell she had struck a nerve. Continuing to conceal her lies with half-truths she attempted to deepen the wound with an artful wave as she turned. Only to pause and add, as she looked back over her shoulder, in the same sweet voice, “oh… and Danvers, have some class; your panty line is showing. And those boots. Red? What are you? A hooker.”
Linda was speechless. Even by Bin’s standards the volley had been harsh. Causing the heroic teen to suddenly wonder, with a gasp, if her ass was indeed getting bigger. Subconsciously running her hands across her bum, she could feel, to her horror, the high-cut outline of her costume piercing her leggings.
It wasn’t until she heard Bin’s childish giggle that Linda realized her foolishness. Bin was her senior and, yet, she was the one playing adult. But as she glared at the petite reporter, who stood with a hand mockingly placed to her lips, Linda struggled to retaliate.
While she could go toe-to-toe with any space invader, this was a game she had never learned to play. Fumbling to find the words, Linda’s cramps proved stronger than her rage. As her hands fought to quell the pain in her stomach, she knew the moment had passed. For not only was Bin gone; she had left with one final parting: “In case, you’re hungry, there are donuts for you to graze on by the stage.”
Even as Bin slipped into the throng, Linda could hear her saying, “Moo.” To those around, it sounded like “move” but Linda knew better. Even worse, the taunts had their affect, as she suddenly realized that she had subconsciously begun tugging on her waistband. Why am I letting her get to me? Running her hands across her stomach, Linda took comfort in its customary tautness.
I’m just being emotional. It’s been a tough few days. Even a Girl of Steel can have her off days. But, for now, the young reporter knew that she had a job to do. Bin will get what’s coming to her. She just didn’t think it would be this soon. Scanning the audience, Linda was stunned to see her colleague standing at the front of the press corps with an arm raised towards the general.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------15---------------------------------
Shake for me girl. Short chicks are the wildest.
Whoever this woman was, he admired her hutzpah. God, I love Asians. Jessup figured Korean. Please, let her have a sexy accent, he thought admiring her slender figure. On any other day he’d probably have offered her a “personal tour” but the rules of engagement were clear. No more warning shots. It’s time for some schooling.
“Look sweetie…I get it. English ain’t your thing.” Smoke streamed from Jessup’s mouth as he spoke. “But in case you haven’t noticed the seat belt sign is on.”
Always make a second pass. With his eyes still on target, the general met Bin’s apologetic shrug with one of his own. And then waited, tapping his cigar to release the ash, before barking, “So take a seat kimchi!”
Dismissing Bin’s heavily accented, “sorry, sorry,” the general, took hold of the lectern and concluded the lesson with an enthusiastic pump from his hips.
Indifferent to the audiences’ giggles, Bin slowly looked around. Secretly pleased to see the other reporters scurrying away, leaving her alone to face Jessup’s wrath. It was almost time to stop this charade…almost.
Even from the back, Linda could sense the irritation in the general’s voice. She knew he hated reporters. And yet, despite Bin’s challenge, Jessup was way out of line. While she may not agree with her colleague’s journalistic ethics, especially her penchant for gossip and half-truths, there was no reason for him to insult Bin’s ethnicity.
But even as Jessup enjoyed a celebratory puff, Linda was amazed by Bin’s tenacity—once again, raising her hand, determined to re-engage the general. I don’t believe it, thought Linda. She’s crazy.
Jessup, on the other hand, nearly choked on his cigar. His anger boiling in disbelief as Bin stepped forward—her ever-present smile beaming, attempting to wave him down.
Jesus H. Christ, what’s this psycho’s deal. Instantly, the general regretted making eye contact. Even without a mic, Bin’s voice boomed across the stage. “Excuse me! Question! Yes, general…. Question!” Shaking his head in disbelief…as well as admiration, Jessup was no longer sure if he wanted to strike or make love to this woman.
Taking advantage of his confusion, Bin swooped in, cutting him off before he could finish his latest puff. “Tell me general, if this is a flight, why are you smoking?”
Jessup looked surprised. “What?”
“Sorry, is it still my English.”
Jessup smiled, noting her flawless American accent as well as her bare legs. It wasn’t often that he got outmaneuvered. That answered it, he definitely wanted to sleep with her. “Maybe it is,” he said, sharing a laugh as he pointed to one of his aides. Directing the young staffer, with a flick of his wrist to start distributing mics.
“But, since you’re clearly determined to hi-jack my press conference, why don’t you tell us what you really want, Ms…?”
“Hye-bin Son, The Daily Planet.”
As Jessup urged her on, Bin could sense his contempt. He clearly hated the press. With a nod, she returned the favor. A warning not so much towards Jessup, but to her peers—that Bin would do whatever it takes – including tearing down a four-star general – to get a scoop.
For the first time, Jessup could feel his command slipping. Lifting his gaze, he, once again, encountered her sweet smile. But this time, her vacant, wide-eyed innocence was gone, replaced by something far more…lethal. A carnal glimmer, that instantly, caused him to question whether he was still the hunter, or the prey.
Bin lived for these moments. Like a spider she enjoyed luring-in her meal, feeding on the fears of her subjects. Relishing the transference of power, when the interviewee, despite being the center of focus, finally realized that they were not actually the one in control.
“So general….” Bin was all but salivating. She was done with foreplay; it was time to dig-in. “…why is Supergirl not being held accountable for this calamity?”
Unsure if he had heard her correctly, Jessup leaned into the lectern. “Say again?”
“You said it yourself: ‘the situation in Honolulu remains dire.’ Thousands dead. Billions in damage. Surely, Supergirl shoulders some of the blame?”
Clearly irritated by the line of questioning, Jessup reached for the microphone on the lectern, pulling it directly in front of him. “Look here sweetie…for the past two days, Supergirl has worked nonstop, assisting the rescue. Thanks to her hundreds, who otherwise would surely have died, are now recovering in hospital. So no, Ms. Son, I think the word you’re looking for is gratitude.”
“And that’s commendable,” said Bin, her tone clearly dismissive. Refusing to let the question die, she fought away the staffer, looking to reclaim the mic, and pressed on. “But would they even be in hospital had Supergirl actually done her job?”
Before the general could interrupt, Bin stepped closer. “Remind me again general, how old is Supergirl?”
Jessup nearly fumbled his cigar. He didn’t like where this was leading. “I don’t see what that—"
Bin didn’t bother to wait for his full reply. “She’s 19!”
Playing to the scrum, Bin let her statement hang, allowing Jessup’s obvious discomfort to fill the void. “Oh…don’t worry general; you’re not the first man to be drawn to that flimsy skirt but let’s call Supergirl what she is—a girl.”
“Hold on a sec,” said Jessup, choking back smoke. He was taking heavy fire but before he could reassert control, Bin staggered him with another blow.
“A girl, without training.”
As his grip on the lectern tightened, the general could feel his knuckles whitening. Damn this woman. Bin wouldn’t stop turning the screws.
“A teenager… with god-like powers and no training. Sounds to me like a train wreck waiting to happen. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Scanning the crowd for his assistant, Jessup began to wish he had taken those notes. As a fresh wave of hands began chirping for his attention. But even though the cameras were watching, his eyes remained fixed on Bin’s ever-growing smile. The little witch played me.
Clearing his throat with a cough, the general had no good answers. Bin was locked on and they both knew he was going down. The only question was how hard.
With a playful wave, Bin pressed her attack. “Oh…and let’s not forget: Supergirl is an alien. A member of an advanced species, with no particular loyalty to America. What’s the going rate for a Tomahawk these days general—$1.5 million? And how many missiles did she destroy?
The eruption of cameras was music to Bin’s ears. With a bow, she blew Jessup a kiss. But before leaving him to fend off the rush of reporters, clamoring towards him, she thrust her hips and declared, with a flip of the mic, “take a seat kimchi.”
As Q-ball chuckled, “I like this girl,” Halley’s focus turned to the one scurrying back towards the main building. She couldn’t place it, but there was something familiar about Linda Danvers. And while she was heading towards the women’s washroom, her fluid stride appeared to be born out of a greater necessity.
But what, thought Halley, could possibly drag a young, hungry reporter away from a breaking story. Linda Danvers, Halley decided, warranted special attention.
But first, Halley was beginning to suspect that she wasn’t the only one poking around Jessup’s private network. For a second, she thought it was just her connection but as her screen faltered, for the second time, she realized that something or someone was lurking in the digital shadows.
With her screen unresponsive, Halley was shocked to discover that she had been locked out of the system. Whoever this person was, they’re good.
She hadn’t been able to detect their presence until it was too late. They’re obviously using state-of-the-art encryption. Frantically, Halley called out to the others. “Um…guys. I think something is about to go down.”
“No kidding Hal,” said Sanchez. Her attention, along with that of others, trained on the familiar beauty hovering above.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------16---------------------------------
With her skin radiating in the soft, morning light, Supergirl gracefully descended. Enjoying the admiration of the crowd, she felt relieved to finally be free of her disguise. To feel nothing but the naked embrace of her costume, sheathed tightly around her feminine contours—its soft fabric effortlessly conforming to her movements as she touched down on the stage.
“Mind if I say a few words general?” asked the Girl of Steel, brimming with her usual confidence.
A second ago, Jessup couldn’t wait to escape the press, but now, catching the heroine’s sweet aroma as she approached the lectern with long, fluid strides, he could hardly control his vigor. Hey, oh, hey, oh. Jessup could feel his hips starting to dance. Casting his eyes across the young blonde’s supple and well-tanned body, he lit up a fresh cigar and happily ceded the floor.
Ignoring the general’s growing excitement, Supergirl adjusted the microphone—her smile instantly quieting the crowd. Still feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious about her body, she was relieved to be standing behind the lectern. Her arms resting against its sturdy sides, while her fingers admired the smooth, dark-oak finish.
A palpable electricity filled the air, as the young beauty’s silky, sand-tousled hair shifted across her shoulders, framing the warmth of her face, as she began to speak.
“I know that words can often feel hollow in times like these. Especially after so many lives have been lost.” Catching her breath, the Maid of Might cast her sultry eyes across the pool of reporters, relieved to see that her somber, heart-felt words were being well received. Her good-girl demeanor, instantly winning over the crowd.
“My heart goes out to all the people of Honolulu,” continued the heroic teen. “I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered. That I couldn’t do more. That I couldn’t stop the missile. Everything, you see, was happening so—"
“Fast.”
The disrupting voice belonged to a familiar figure in the front row—hand poised in the air, bloodshot eyes blinking in tandem with an ever-growing smile.
Good, thought Supergirl. No longer restrained by the limitations of her alter ego, she was looking forward to putting Bin in her place. “Ms. Son, I take it you have something more to say?”
The petite reporter, dressed in high-heels and a mini skirt, grabbed a fresh mic and stepped forward, delighted to once again be commanding the floor. “To clarify Supergirl, are you saying you lost control?”
The young blonde was immediately taken back by the reporter’s brazenness. Few dared speak to her like this, let alone a member of the press. “No! Of course not,” she snapped. But, before she could push back, the Maid of Might began to sense that something was wrong. Pressing her arm against her brow, she was surprised to see perspiration staining her sleeve.
“So, you’re saying you were simply unsure of how to handle the situation…or was it panic that led to your failure?”
"My….my failure,” stuttered Supergirl, shaking off a fresh set of pangs. Even after two days her period was still raging. Rao! It's never been this bad. With the cameras flashing, Supergirl was having difficulty focusing. The ground was shifting beneath her feet. The longer she delayed the worse her response would appear and yet she hesitated—distracted by the beads of sweat irritating her skin beneath her underarms and around her breasts.
Disregarding the look of worry on the heroine’s face, Bin pressed on. “Yes. Failure. How else would you characterize over a thousand dead? I guess human lives don’t matter much to an alien.”
Flustered by the cacophony of voices rising before her, the Maid of Might blurted, “this is absurd.” Bin was clearly out of control. Ambitious and opportunistic, the woman was blatantly mischaracterizing events; spinning the narrative. But what startled Supergirl, was that the crowd of reporters were buying her lies.
With tension mounting, Supergirl attempted to wrestle back control. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m done playing,” she said, struggling to keep herself together. “I did everything I could to save those people. I’m not your enemy. The Swarm—”
Suddenly, a grimace swept across the Girl of Steel’s face. Only her arms, shooting out to grip the lectern, prevented her from collapsing to the ground as the fire in her stomach swelled.
Struggling to pull herself back up, Supergirl immediately sought to reassure her audience. “Sorry, I’m not sure what’s come over me,” she explained, clearly embarrassed.
In truth, her condition was worse than any suspected. But with the eyes of the world upon her, the heroic teen didn’t dare give her body the attention it craved. She could already feel the burning in her stomach spreading to her breasts. All she wanted was to give into her yearning, to alleviate the pain with a hardy squeeze.
Only Jessup, standing behind the stage, could tell that the Maid of Might’s legs were barely sustaining her. That it was the lectern, with her torso leaning upon it, that was actually keeping Supergirl on her feet. Feigning concern, Jessup inched closer, delighted to see the young beauty’s bum hinging towards him. Her cape slowly rising, providing him with an ever-improving view of her silky-smooth haunches. The general could already hear his favorite tune calling, cigar hanging from his mouth, swaying with the heroine’s sculpted cheeks.
The press didn’t know what to make of the situation. Like an ice-cream melting in the summer heat Supergirl was a hot mess—sweat dripping from her face with every labored breath. Her gaze teetering in and out of consciousness, struggling to remain on her feet.
As the Girl of Steel finally stumbled away from the lectern, the only one who remained calm was Bin. Relishing the pained look on the heroine’s face, she stood silently in the crowd, snapping away with her camera.
“I’m okay,” said Supergirl, responding to Jessup’s calls of concern. But her gaze was drawn back to Bin and her ever-growing smile. It’s her, thought Supergirl. She wants me to know she’s doing this. But how? Willing herself forward, Supergirl lurched towards the edge of the stage, with an arm accusingly pointed at the petite reporter.
----------------------------------17---------------------------------
When matron first approached her to help take down Supergirl, Bin didn’t believe it was possible.
Even now, watching the Maid of Might struggle to keep control of her own body, there was a part of Bin that still couldn’t believe it.
She remembered looking at the small, pulsating cylinders and thinking, how could these possibly bring down the Girl of Steel?
It had been easy enough to conceal the black, purple-glowing devices inside the lead-cased microphones. And, Bin had to admit, there was a brilliant guile in having Jessup and his staff unwittingly assist in Supergirl’s downfall. The hard part would be getting to the lectern undetected before Jessup could begin his briefing. Fortunately, the general’s buffoonery afforded her plenty of time.
Think of it like putting your hand against a speaker, Matron had explained. It’s not just your skin that senses the vibrations, but also the hidden sensory receptors within your body. Now, let’s say we amplify the signal—triangulating it around Supergirl, how would her heightened nerve endings fair? Bin could still hear the faceless-woman’s guttural voice telling her, with uncharacteristic levity, believe me, you’ll know when it’s working.
No kidding, thought the veteran reporter, egging Supergirl’s fleeting attempts to approach, like a fashion photographer coaxing a model. The dumb bitch isn’t even aware of the trap. With so many microphones dispensing the finely tuned sonic waves, victory was all but assured.
Drawn to the alert on her phone, Bin put down her lens; shifting her attention away from the groaning teen. With a smile, she verified the latest six-digit payment. Only a few steps remained before she collected the entire multi-million-dollar sum.
What surprised Bin, however, was the ease with which she had cast her journalistic convictions aside to aid The Swarm. In truth, she never really had a choice. Not when fresh-faced know-it-alls, like Linda Danvers, kept getting front-page exclusives.
Tired of being left behind, Bin was determined to break through the noise. Long ago, she had come to realize, that in life, one was either a king or a pawn and Bin was sick of being a pawn. One way or another, she would tear past the media’s collective blindness and salvage her middling career by exposing the biggest fraud of all—Supergirl.
If ever there was a poster child for entitlement, thought Bin, it was the Girl of Steel. From day one, the young blonde had been given a pass. Without any qualifications this alien had been placed on a pedestal. The Kim Kardashian of superheroes. Worshiped, from the moment she stepped out of her rocket ship, simply because she looked good in a skirt.
Well fuck that, thought Bin. Like her favorite movie she was “mad as hell,” and no longer willing to take it. It was time to pull back the veil and tell the hard truth that everybody else was either too scared or dumb to see. With her forefinger pressed against her lips in mock sympathy, Bin re-directed the pain-stricken Girl of Steel to the screen.
----------------------------------18---------------------------------
With her eyes and mouth frozen, as if in mid-yell, Supergirl followed the reporter’s gaze towards the serpent. Its dark, swirling mass, bathed in a blood-red hue—slowly spreading across the large screen at the back of the stage.
But it was the booming voice that sent a shiver up the young blonde’s spine. Causing her ropey, wet hair to release a spray of sweat as she swiveled in search of Riven.
“Remember me now, Girl of Steel?” taunted the villainess. “A year ago, to the day, you stripped me of my honor. My people. My future.”
Frustrated by her inability to locate the muscle-clad beauty, Supergirl turned to the pool of reporters. To her astonishment, they remained captivated by her sweat-dripping frame, seemingly oblivious to the British voice thundering out from the speakers.
Where is she? thought Supergirl, disregarding the confused looks from the press pool and continuing to scan the open garden for her target. But with every frantic pivot her cramps only intensified. It was like an invisible barrier was converging upon her. The pain-filled shocks causing her muscles, especially her abs, to noticeably spasm—like a scene from a horror film.
“You think this is pain?” taunted Riven, ignoring the groans escaping from the heroine’s clenched teeth, with a laugh. “No, this is but the beginning.”
Suddenly, Supergirl’s legs began to wobble. Her fists clenching, attempting to stabilize her marionette-like movements. While memories of her first encounter with colonel Amal Kicillof hurried into her mind.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------19---------------------------------
Even though a year had passed, Supergirl’s scattered mind began to recall Amal’s homeland. Instantly, she could see the burning bodies; the endless sight of mass graves; the rhythmic thrusting of the oil fields – hauntingly out of place with the surrounding chaos – as vividly as the day she first flew over the desert-like landscape.
But as she approached the capital, her attention was drawn towards the onion-capped spires. Especially the four elaborately decorated towers that loomed over the gold-covered dome of the royal palace. The opulence standing in stark contrast to the surrounding poverty of the stone-lined streets.
Such grandeur, thought Supergirl, mesmerized by the decaying architecture. But the sound of bullets quickly reminded her of the battles being waged, as rebel forces swept into the city. The fraying bonds of a country whose claims to nationhood were as artificial as the jagged borders that marked its territory on the map. A place where dormant blood feuds had suddenly been rekindled, turning neighbor against neighbor in a wave of ethnic cleansing that Supergirl – only moments before – had vowed to stop on live TV.
But first, she needed to save the royal family from the would-be assassin hunting them inside the arched corridors of the palace. Thanks to her super-vison, Supergirl could see the slender but athletic woman tearing past wave after wave of armed guards with brutal efficiency.
Crashing through the domed ceiling, the Girl of Steel swooped into action, just as four rhythmic bursts blasted from the woman’s gun towards the cowering heads of the king, queen and their two daughters.
With every blast Amal began to envision her footsteps echoing across the jaded marble of the grand hall. The sweeping roar of the waiting crowd, cascading throughout the octagonal walls, beckoning her onto the balcony—its gilded archway clear as it had been in countless dreams. A coronation of screams erupting as she gazed down on the plaza below to display the severed heads of the hated oppressors.
Except, the bodies never fell.
Looking at her gun, to make sure it had fired, Amal could see the stream of smoke. And yet, the royal family continued their insufferable sniveling. But it was the sound of the bullets pinging harmlessly against the marble floor that drew her attention. The crushed casings rolling away from an all too familiar pair of red, knee-high boots.
“This ends now.”
Having released the bullets from her palm, Supergirl confidently stepped between Amal and the crying family. Her short, red skirt flapping between her parted legs to highlight the smooth slope of her crotch. While the sensual curve of her back and long, well-toned limbs imbued her slender frame with a powerful aura.
An Aura that Amal, despite the blood stains on her green sports bra and low-rise, military-patterned khakis, easily matched. Her athletic shoulders standing, like Supergirl’s, in perfect statuesque alignment with her hips. Except her high, model-like cheek bones, sheathed in olive skin, glowed with an elegance that arguably surpassed even the Girl of Steel’s.
While the young heroine’s sudden appearance had caught the beautiful assassin off guard, she managed to conceal her surprise. “Step aside Supergirl,” commanded Amal, tossing her dark, flowing hair, in a haughty display of indifference. “There can be no peace until these murderers have answered for their crimes.”
“They will answer,” Supergirl assured, gesturing with a calm sway of her hand for Amal to lower her weapon, “but not here. And not like this.”
Undeterred, Amal adjusted her grip, angling for a better shot. “Tell me blondie, why do you care what happens here? People have been killing each other over this land for centuries. Funny, how the U.N. calls for intervention only now that our oil reserves have proven to be larger than expected.”
As Amal intended, a troubled look washed over the heroic teen’s face. “I …I know your people have….” Furrowing her brow, Supergirl struggled to respond. She was about to say “suffered” but realized it sounded too sanitized…too cold…too empty. But how could she possibly explain to Amal, her hazel eyes burning with hate, about all the sleepless nights.
Of course I want to help, Supergirl felt like shouting. Who lived, who died, these were not easy burdens to bear. Neither was knowing that she had the power to end the world’s conflicts but the responsibility to refrain from doing so. Because the lessons of her own world had shown that the road to tyranny was long laid with good intentions. That, while she was here to help, the people of Earth must, ultimately, be the arbiters of their own fate.
“My planet also has…,” pausing to correct herself, the Maid of Might cleared her throat, masking a sniffle, before continuing, “…had a long history of hate and repression. Believe me…killing isn’t the answer,” Supergirl pleaded, glancing back towards the royal family. “I promise, they will be tried for their crimes. I give you my—
Spinning back around to face Amal, Supergirl cursed her naivety. How could I be so stupid? She had allowed herself to be easily lulled by this killer. Like a child, she had been driven by a compulsion to prove that her actions were pure. Had her super-hearing not alerted her to Amal’s elevated heart rate, she probably wouldn’t have had enough time to unleash her heat-vision.
A searing pain instantly shot up Amal’s arm, as she reached for the trigger. Screaming from the hurt, she could see Supergirl’s eyes glowing, causing her to release the now red-hot gun before she could fire.
“Don’t you understand,” beseeched Supergirl, “this violent cycle must end.”
Tempering her anger, Amal ignored her steaming palm to lock eyes upon the Girl of Steel. She had always known that she would have to face this blonde demon, she just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
As she clenched her fists, Amal understood that destiny was calling. Having studied Supergirl for years, she already knew that she was the better fighter. A belief she quickly affirmed; snapping the heroine’s head back with a vicious one-two combination.
“It will end, when my enemies are dead,” shouted Amal, relentlessly pressing forward. “The strong devour the weak Supergirl, that’s nature’s only lesson.” With the Maid of Might reeling, Amal transitioned her attack, spinning from one leg to the other to deliver a thunderous kick.
Having been pounded first right then left, Supergirl was ill prepared for Amal’s ferocity. Crushing into her abs, the colonel’s kick instantly flung the Maid of Might back. The sound of her spine striking against the columns, that lined the far wall, echoing across the vast expanse of the grand hall. As did the grunts that followed as her ass plummeted, along with a scatter of debris, onto the cold floor.
Feeling more humiliated than hurt, Supergirl scurried to her feet. Though eager to repay her attacker, she chose instead to brush herself off. Sweeping the dirt from her bum, she ignored her opponent’s charge.
Foolish bitch thought Amal, hands clutched above her head, while she leapt towards her prey. The Girl of Steel was proving to be every bit the self-absorbed princess she had sickly-grown accustomed to seeing on TV. Well sweetheart, by the time I’m done with you they won’t be featuring you in any more magazines.
With the Maid of Might slowly turning towards her, Amal was already salivating, preparing to unleash her deadly two-fisted blow. But, instead of the expected look of terror, Supergirl greeted her with a kiss.
At least that’s what Amal thought she was receiving. There was, however, little pleasure in the rush of air that followed. Quickly engulfed, Amal was blown back. Her body flailing as she landed with a thud. The blinding shock that followed pulsed through her skull until, finally, her tumble was halted by the back wall.
Still, it wasn’t pain that incensed her; she had been concussed before. Nor was it the sight of the royal family scurrying to safety; she was prepared to hunt them to the ends of the Earth. But when Amal saw the Maid of Might’s model-like strut – the slightly raised chin; the exaggerated sway of her hips; and the straight, pressed-back shoulders that amplified her gravity-defiant breasts – she flew into a rage.
Springing to her feet, Amal was determined to rip the insufferable S from the young heroine’s all-too-perfect chest. The bright yellow and red tones jiggling, ever so slightly, even after the Maid of Might halted her approach to rest her hands on her hips with legs commandingly parted.
Amal knew this pose well, having gazed upon it during countless workouts. The large poster motivating her through every rep, until she too had achieved physical perfection.
Already she could feel her fists drawn to the smooth lines of the heroine’s abs. It was here, above all else, that she wished to shatter the Girl of Steel. Her fists exploding with boundless rage, against the heroine’s core.
Impossible!
Spurred by the Maid of Might’s condescending smile, Amal struck again. And again. Until all she could do was stare in disbelief. She had blasted apart tanks with lesser blows, and yet Supergirl’s abs refused to buckle. Shaking the pain from her hands, Amal could feel her knuckles reddening.
Riddled with doubt, she turned to the heavens: why can I not defeat her! Even as Supergirl took hold of her sports bra; pulling the straps forward, Amal continued to plead: Have I not done everything you asked? Unable to break free, it didn’t take long for the villainess to succumb to the heroine’s slaps. Shame washing her welting face, not with tears but the with the realization that she, despite countless sacrifices, remained badly outclassed.
Through sheer force of will, Amal kept the sweet refuge of unconsciousness at bay, ensuring that every moment of humiliation was burned into her memory. From the gasps of the crowd – both for, and against her – as she was arrested by the incoming U.N. forces; to the mockery of her trial and subsequent incarceration it would all serve to fuel the engine already revving inside.
But none of the hardships that she had or was still to endure compared to the helplessness that she had felt on that fateful day while in Supergirl’s grasp. Her breasts threatening to pop free from underneath her bra, while she was displayed from the palace balcony for all her nation to see.
“Yes, I bet you remember me now,” said Riven, trading one shame-filled nightmare for another, as she snapped the Maid of Might back into the present. The hot glare of the cameras instantly transmitting images of the young blonde’s sweaty, teetering frame to the world.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------20---------------------------------
With her hands pressed against her stomach, Supergirl continued to sway, while she shouted from the stage, “you were killing innocents…weaponizing children…you…you had to be stopped.”
The villainess teased her reply with a huff. “And what about you: enforcing a peace that ensured the survival of a corrupt regime? Do you even know how long they waited before resuming the eradication of my people?” Without pause, Amal declared, “of course not. Once the cameras left, you never even bothered to return. Whoring yourself before the media, you trotted around the world, saving the day but never fixing the actual problem. Ignorance, there is no greater sin."
Supergirl’s stomach swelled with every word. The pounding in her abs vibrating up through her caressing fingers – vroom-vroom-vroom – threatening to burst. Her constant wobbling making her appear drunk before the media and the millions tuning in around the globe.
No longer able to bear the hurt, Supergirl lost her balance, tumbling from the stage. Her screams drawing the cameras closer. Why aren’t they focusing on Amal, she thought fighting back the pain. Her fingers digging into the grass, as her bum shot into the air. Her cape and skirt sweeping to the side, from well parted knees, accompanying her howls. But as a numbness swept over her, the Maid of Might suddenly became aware of the contact between her flesh and the material of her costume.
Her eyes widening, drawn to the dampness of her groin and the heat building between her thighs. She could feel her perspiration spreading, causing her costume to stick between her legs. At least, she hoped it was sweat.
Gripped by a frightening realization, her breath quickened. I’m wet! Cringing with alarm, the Maid of Might could feel her excitement soaking into the thin, blue fabric nestled tight against her vulva. With a shudder, her pelvis bucked, straightening her body and lashing her wet locks across her face. Horrified by her growing arousal, her hands shot between her legs. But before she could free the impeding fabric—she froze.
Catching her reflection in the cameras, Supergirl couldn’t believe her condition. The sweat dripping – in rapid bursts – from her face, was soaking her collar. While the blotches forming beneath her underarms and around her breasts were causing the fine, thin fabric of her costume to cling, tighter than usual, onto her wet body. Drawing attention to her erect nipples, which stood at attention on either side of the lower tip of the diamond that framed her S.
With her hands sliding across her slender, supple body, Supergirl was growing frustrated by the presence of the cameras. Barely able to hold herself together, she searched frantically for a way to secretly satisfy her burning desires. All the while, wondering if her wetness had seeped through. To her horror, the grin on the cameramen’s faces left little doubt. Fanning her fingers across her stomach and then curling them back, she gathered her costume between her fists—seeking, with every tug, to increase the pressure on her vulva.
Even for those who continued to believe in Supergirl’s good-girl demeanor, her behavior appeared odd. What little ambiguity remained over her condition, however, was quickly eroded once the soft fabric of her costume began splitting her lips like a credit card. Flushed with embarrassment the Maid of Might instantly recognized her mistake. Staring, slack jawed, into the cameras, she froze—the sound of her moans reverberating across the speakers.
----------------------------------21---------------------------------
With reporters hurdling the chairs, circling the writhing Maid of Might, General Jessup had had enough. Freakin’ vultures. The only thing he detested more than the media was disorder.
Ripping the microphone from the lectern, Jessup stepped forward. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you. That’s all.”
From the get-go, the press conference had been a shit-show. Supergirl’s “performance” had been the only highlight. And while Jessup would have liked to have seen more – fuck, she was ready to climax – something was clearly amiss. “I said, that’s a wrap. Now let’s give the little lady some space. God knows she needs the air.”
Fuckin’ draft dodging peace freaks. No respect thought Jessup, tossing the microphone to the far side of the stage in frustration. As he dropped down onto the grass, part of him was glad to see the media disregarding his commands. Digging his shoulder into the nearest reporter, Jessup forced a path towards the Girl of Steel. Just like Army-Navy football—hooah!
Surprised by the ease with which, he was able to haul the wet and slippery heroine to her feet, Jessup waved his arm to force back the cameras. Fuck I hope they’re getting this, thought the general, pulling the writhing heroine close. The feel of the young blonde’s hot breath across his neck, heightening his erection. Lord almighty, this girl is revving to go, noted Jessup fully enjoying the moment. His eyes melting over Supergirl’s heaving chest as she collapsed into his arms.
“Saved by the horny general,” teased Riven. “I can’t wait for the headline. Can you imagine what they’ll say once I get that toned body of yours over my knee? I promise, I won’t be so gentle,” said the villainess, allowing the thought to linger.
“I’ve …I’ve…got to stop her,” muttered Supergirl, struggling to break away from Jessup’s enthusiastic embrace, as well as the fog of sexual energy clouding her mind.
“Stop who?” asked the general, bewildered. She’s clearly delirious. His fingers twitching, fighting to retain his grip on the Maid of Might.
But even as Supergirl slowly managed to escape Jessup’s groping touch, she found little respite. Not with the screaming hands of the media, with Bin front and center, awaiting her.
“I’ll make you a deal Supergirl.”
Staring point blank at the press, it began to dawn on Supergirl that she, and she alone, could hear Riven’s voice. She…she must be using a lower frequency…masking her signal through the speakers.
“Strip off that silly costume, right here, right now, before the world and its cameras,” continued Riven, “and, maybe, I’ll go easy on you.”
Although Jessup didn’t know it, he had – by distancing the main microphone – inadvertently eased the stimulation being forced upon the Girl of Steel. But even though the pain in Supergirl’s abs was receding, the sonic waves continued to blast. No longer targeted, they began affecting the audience at large—awakening a plethora of hidden desires.
But what was a tingle to others, remained a massive surge for the Maid of Might. Having already been driven into a state of hyper-arousal, her body pulsed with heat, complicating her efforts to stand. Twisting and turning her sweat-riddled skin pulled against her costume, further engorging her nipples; drawing her hands to her body with every shame-filled squirm.
“What’s the matter princess…camera shy? Or are those moans all you have to offer.”
Desperate to salvage her image, Supergirl turned to the cameras. “I…I…” But the longer she stared, the closer she got to the edge. With tears in her eyes, the young heroine shielded her face and blasted off to a plethora of horny screams.
----------------------------------22---------------------------------
Over 200 miles away, Riven sat back, enjoying the sex-laced spectacle. Inside a darkened room, with only the faint, blue flicker of the TV screens to illuminate her otherwise barren surrounding, she mused: Had it always been this easy?
Even though she already knew the answer she continued to ponder, would I have even seen it without Matron?
Just as predicted, Supergirl had flown away in tears. Indeed, her master was as brilliant as she was powerful.
Struggling to contain her excitement, the muscle-cut beauty marveled at the simplicity of it all. Matron’s wisdom had never been truer: focus on the "GIRL" not the "SUPER".
When all felt lost, this mantra had saved her. With her fingers gently tracing the ouroboros inked across her olive skin, she shuddered to think where she would be without The Swarm. Disgusted by the pathetic creature she had once been, as well as her misplaced desires to be more like the Girl of Steel.
Blinded by her own ego, she had mistaken strength for power. Thanks to Matron, she now understood that Supergirl – despite all her abilities – was little more than a paper tiger. Hampered by inexperience, naivety and immaturity the heroine was too weak to understand the fundamental lesson of history: to the victor go the spoils.
It’s just like Matron said, Supergirl is debilitated by her desire to be loved. Her home world is gone. No family. No friends. All she has is her image. Take that away and she has nothing. Once Riven had come to understand this, every photo-op, magazine cover…heck, even Supergirl’s costume made sense. She may look like a woman, but she’s not. Don’t be fooled by her looks; that pretty head of hers is rife with insecurities.
This realization had helped liberate Riven from the pain of defeat. Finally, she could see past the mystique surrounding the Maid of Might and her powers. She is just a girl. This morning’s “exhibition” was but the beginning. Supergirl would not live to see day’s end, such was Riven’s faith in Matron and her plan. Spurred by thoughts of revenge, she could feel her desires stirring, with each sensual swirl of her fingers against her chiseled abs.
Her moans only verbalized what she already knew: there was no way back. Not with images of the Girl of Steel’s sweat-riddled body flashing across the screens. Before Riven could loosen her belt, her hand had raced beneath her khakis—eager to feed her ravenous lust.
Over the past month, her sexual impulses had become increasingly more difficult to control. A side effect of her master’s treatments. But, even as her head snapped back in savage ecstasy, she hungered for more. Bucking wildly, with each touch, until all she could envision was victory over the Girl of Steel.
Struggling to catch her breath, Riven reached for her phone—it was time to inform Bin about the next phase of their plan. But, as she started to type, she was distracted by the lather of sexual juices running down her fingers. Entranced by the warm stickiness, her mind wondered back towards her panties and the feel of the silky fabric soaking into her body.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------23---------------------------------
Though miles away, Supergirl’s libido was no less potent. “Up, up and away,” was rapidly taking on a whole new meaning as she raced for the open, blue sky. Her toes curling inside of her boots with each involuntary contraction.
What have I done? thought Supergirl. Shame gripping her face. But despite her efforts, her mind kept shifting to the damp fabric between her legs. Oh Rao, I…I can’t control it.
Lured by the incessant warmth, the Maid of Might reached beneath her skirt. Her fingers gliding up her silky-smooth thighs—inching, with each labored breath, towards the source of her longing.
Resigned to her fate, she moaned with every touch. I’ve never been this wet. There was no longer any denying it; she needed release.
Except it wasn’t enough. She required more than just her fingers.
She desired—“Heath!”
The how or why didn’t matter. Not in the moment. As soon as Supergirl saw him on the roof of the Pentagon she raced back down. Tackling him like a practice dummy.
Before Heath could register what had happened, Supergirl was already tearing off his Kevlar vest. While her other hand ripped his shirt, unleashing a flurry of buttons. Pressing her warm, squirming figure directly against his exposed chest, she mashed her mouth against his, proceeding to wrestle his tongue into submission with a hot, wet kiss.
Feeding of Heath’s budding excitement, Supergirl reached down, squeezing her hand around the shaft of his penis despite his pants. To her frustration, he wasn’t ready. Sensing his alarm, the hyper-aroused beauty finally allowed him to breath—saliva splashing onto his chin as he yelped in protest.
Attempting to fend Supergirl off, Heath squirmed in vain. Unable to recognize the sweltering beauty, pinning him to the ground. Her fingers digging into her heaving breasts, clawing at her S in animalistic fashion. While her flailing, blonde locks released a mist of sweat that temporarily cooled the surrounding air. When her blue eyes finally returned, a bewildered Heath searched for a glimmer of the playful, innocent girl from the night before.
But all he found was the animal. And yet, as he shouted “no”, his body reacted to the tingle of her warm breath. Encouraged by his moans, Supergirl made her way up his neck—her tongue painting a wet trail straight to his ear.
“If you want,” she whispered in a low, seductive voice, “I can keep my costume on.” As she spoke, Supergirl could feel the swell of his erection. That’s more like it. She loved knowing that she could affect him this way. That his thoughts were squarely on her. Taking control of his hand, the heroic beauty guided him beneath her skirt. The tips of his fingers dancing across her skin, until, finally, she awarded him with a handful of taut flesh and another breathtaking kiss.
----------------------------------24---------------------------------
Halley Garda couldn’t believe her eyes.
One second Heath was giving orders, attempting to bring calm to the chaos; the next he was on the ground – stirring up a whole new set of problems – with Supergirl straddled on top.
“Heath!” screamed Halley, but her voice quickly fell silent. Shocked to see the Girl of Steel’s cape shifting to the side, to reveal her raised skirt and Heath’s groping touch.
Turning to the others, Halley snarled in disgust at Q-ball’s and Reggie’s erections, choosing instead to call upon Sanchez. But as she shouted her name, Sanchez replied with an incoherent mumble. “Ana!” Halley persisted, this time with a quick slap.
“Hal! what the fuck?” snapped Sanchez, her hand pressed against her stinging cheek.
Without a hint of apology, Halley met Sanchez’ fiery glare. “We’re under attack.” But to Halley’s dismay, Sanchez’ attention started to drift—drawn by the Maid of Might’s carnal screams.
“Ana please,” said Halley reaching out for Sanchez’ hand. Desperate to break through she was drawn to Sanchez’ squirming. She’s aroused. “Look, Ana,” said Halley pointing to the distressed reporters below, “I’m feeling it too. We all are. Supergirl most of all. Don’t you see, it has to be some kind of….”
That’s it! A sonic wave emitter. It has to be. It’s the only plausible explanation thought Halley, her face lighting up, racing through the events of the press conference. Supergirl’s was the only one affected right up until Jessup threw….
“The mics! Ana, I need you to shoot the mics.”
Biting her lower lip, Sanchez fought off a fresh rush of excitement and reached for her weapon.
Nodding her appreciation, Halley took a deep breath and turned, with a sigh of relief, to check on the others. Walking with slow, calculated steps, she reached for her canteen. Testing the water level, with a quick shake, before unscrewing the top, she contemplated her next move—this is going to be tricky.
It was becoming clear that Jessup, by throwing the mic, had unwittingly exposed the trap responsible for Supergirl’s sex-crazed state. But now, without a reference point, the sonic waves were bouncing uncontrolled, casting their pleasurable beams in every direction—who knows, with a strong enough transmitter, we could be talking a radius of over a mile!
Stirred by the water swooshing in her canteen, Halley could sense her own desires building. Her longing swelling—that is, until her measured gaze shifted back towards Supergirl’s scantly covered crotch.
For Christ’s sake, she’s soaking wet. Her secretions are practically dripping through.
Acting on impulse, Halley proceeded to cool thing off; dumping the remainder of her canteen onto the degenerate couple.
While the Girl of Steel barely stirred, Heath was instantly startled by the cool shower. Shaking free of Supergirl’s probing kiss he looked up in shock – as if his mind had been awakened from a dream – to see Halley standing above him with arm’s crossed. “You finished Lt.?” she scolded in a biting tone.
A look of annoyance flashed across Supergirl’s face as Halley continued to hold her ground. Pressing her index finger against Heath’s lips, the gorgeous blonde leaned in and whispered, “I’ll be right back.”
With a moan, Supergirl slowly began to stand. Her rolling hips flaring out her skirt—teasing Heath, who remained flat on his back, with a promise of all that was still to come. Raising her hands above her head, Supergirl swept her hair back and turned towards Halley. Her sharp, erect nipples piercing her blue top. While intermittent streaks of sweat oozed down from her collar, competing with the soup-dish sized stains forming beneath her armpits.
And yet, Supergirl’s disheveled state only enhanced her allure. “What’s the matter Hal?” teased the young blonde, radiating sexual energy with every drop of sweat. Well aware of Halley’s attraction to Heath, the heroic beauty had decided to throw some weight around. Grazing her finger across her glistening lips, she spoke in hushed tones. “Hope we weren’t being too loud.? You know how it is; sometimes a girl has to let loose.”
While Supergirl spread out her limbs – her lean muscles bulging with orgasmic perfection – Halley tried her best to not be intimidated. Instead, she tucked her hands into her pockets and met the Maid of Might’s sexually-laced aggression with an uncomfortable grin.
“Supergirl, you need to get a hold of yourself,” said Halley, leaning forward. “This isn’t you; you’re being manipulated.”
Supergirl was surprised. Halley’s show of concern had caused her plan to backfire. With a girlish giggle, the Girl of Steel decided to double down. Thrusting out her chest, to highlight the curvature of her S, while her swirling hips emphasized her slender waist and smooth abdominals. “What’s the matter Hal, afraid of a little competition?”
Are you kidding me! “Look here,” Halley suddenly snapped. Her cold eyes melting past Supergirl’s facade. She was done playing. “You need to get a grip. Your hormones are crazy outta control. You may not realize it but I’m trying to do you a favor.” Before Supergirl could protest, Halley directed her to the chaos below. “What do you think will happen if those reporters see you acting this way. Don’t you see, you’re playing into The Swarms' hands.”
To everyone’s surprise, Supergirl backed off.
Halley, however, wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. “Also, let’s get something straight: in this unit we work as a team.” Dismissing Supergirl’s apologetic stutter, Halley gave chase. Continuing to cut loose with an accusatory finger. “You’re reckless, impulsive and I don’t care how good you look in that costume…’cause right now sweetheart, that S stands for only one thing, and it ain’t super.”
Sensing the bewildered looks of her colleagues, Halley paused. No one could believe what she had done. Flustered, Halley looked up at the Maid of Might with a nervous gaze. The Girl of Steel could snap her like a twig. Let alone singe her to dust with a blink of an eye. Oh shit, thought Halley, her cheeks warming with the onset of a blush.
Fortunately, Sanchez’ return helped break the silence. Pleased that she had completed her mission, she ran up to the others, rifle still in hand. Sensing the awkwardness as she unscrewed her silencer, she corralled her bangs back behind her ears and nervously asked, “Oh no…what did I miss?”
----------------------------------25---------------------------------
Supergirl felt like a complete fool.
No longer under the spell of the sonic waves, she wanted to hide. Pulling on the lining of her skirt in an awkward, almost meek way, she attempted to stretch the red fabric over as much of her glistening thighs as possible.
The weight of her humiliation preventing her from lifting her gaze. Shuffling her feet, the memories of what she had done...of how she had acted were simply too painful to bear. Her blue eyes welling with tears, the Girl of Steel clutched her throbbing head, mumbling a quick “sorry,” as she stumbled away.”
Sensing the young blonde’s embarrassment, Halley called out: “wait! Supergirl!”
But it was Heath’s pleading voice that helped steady the sweat-riddled teen. Wiping her tears, she glanced back as he yelled, “Please Kara, don't go.”
Glancing at his exposed chest, Supergirl couldn’t help but sheepishly grin. “You sure,” she said, with a sniffle.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Reaching out with a reassuring hand, Heath waved the rest of the team over. “Trust me,” he whispered, as the wind grabbed his shirt, flapping it against his bare chest. “At least you're not the one who looks like a pirate.”
They both needed the laugh.
To be continued ...
----------------------------------26---------------------------------
“A virus?”
Heath was surprised that Supergirl hadn’t considered the possibility. Welcoming the squad's approach, he pointed towards Halley, but kept his focus squarely on Supergirl as he replied, “Hal, you better take it from here.”
Pulling out her laptop, Halley shifted her gaze towards the screen. Where else can I look? she fumed silently. Doing her part, along with the others, to pretend that the debauchery of the past few minutes had never occurred. Her voice cold she said, “these were in Jessup’s files.”
Although Supergirl still found it hard to concentrate – through her lingering sexual haze – she instantly recognized the flashing images on Halley’s monitor. Her face wrinkling with disgust upon, once again, laying eyes on the detached lips and gnawed tongues of the dead officers that she had seen piled inside the warehouse at Pearl.
“The military hasn’t confirmed it, but the blood-blistering, excess sputum and twisted limbs on the cadavers are all consistent with a virus. Probably artificial,” added Halley with a shrug.
“What do you mean…artificial?” interrupted Reggie, furrowing his brow in confusion. Relieved to see Halley putting away the computer.
“It means,” interjected Heath with a swell of anger, “that these sick fucks cooked this thing up in a lab. The question is, why did they release it at Pearl?” Before anyone could respond, Heath, raised his hand, calling for silence. He was getting ahead of himself. “Hal, it’s probably best to walk us back.”
Halley understood that Heath was trying to reassert his authority. His relationship had been outed. He probably feels embarrassed. But right now, with his shirt still open, broadcasting his six-pack, she couldn’t escape the image of his groping touch beneath Supergirl’s skirt. Shooting him a piercing glare, Halley sharpened her voice and pressed on. Clearly emphasizing her points with raised fingers. “There are two things we know for sure. First, the virus is airborne. It’s the only way it could have spread this quick. Second, it works by targeting the nervous system.”
Turning to face Supergirl, Halley deliberately slowed the rhythm of her speech—ensuring all paid close attention. “What this means, is that this thing is highly contagious. In minutes it killed everyone on that base. Nothing, not even smallpox, has ever been weaponized to kill this fast. If this thing were to get out—
“It won’t,” declared Supergirl, abruptly distancing herself from the others. Her clenched fists channeling her determination as well as the sleek tone of her arms. While Halley continued breaking down the virus, Supergirl’s mind drifted. She hadn’t seen anything capable of transporting such a weapon. Not inside the warehouse. No vials or refrigeration like device. Nothing.
Glancing back, Supergirl’s voice was laced with both anger and confusion. “So, this was what...some kind of weapon test?”
As the sun cast the young blonde’s alluring silhouette against her cape, all three of the boys, struggled to curtail their on-and-off again erections. With a sigh, Halley rolled her eyes in disgust and answered. “No. The virus was a distraction.”
Noting the squad’s baffled stares, she attempted to explain. “Heath’s question is the correct one: why did The Swarm attack Pearl?”
Dismayed by the lack of response, Halley continued. Surprised that she had given Heath credit, she could already feel her anger towards him dissipating. “Look, we all know that everything gets tracked. Email, phone calls, text…whatever; it’s all ultimately gobbled up by one government agency or another.”
Encouraged to see a few nods, Halley’s blue eyes lit up with excitement, eager to arrive at the point. “The thing is, it doesn’t matter who, how or by what name it’s collected; the information still gets housed on servers. So, guess where one of the nation’s largest data storage facilities is?”
“Wait,” said Sanchez, sweeping her loose bangs behind her ears, while she shook her head and shot a puzzled look towards Halley. This was starting to sound like some wild conspiracy to her. “You’re saying the attack on Pearl, wasn’t actually an attack—but a robbery?”
“Exactly.”
“Hold on.” Q-ball was equally perplexed. Scratching his bald dome in irritation. “So, the wraiths; the shootings; everything that happened in Honolulu was a distraction. Some wild diversion intended to hide a stupid hack?”
“That’s our theory Q,” stated Heath, still doing his best to avoid direct eye contact with Halley. “It explains how The Swarm were able to fire those missiles. The government isn’t saying anything because they’re afraid it might cause panic. Plus, in this case, it’s not just about what was stolen; it’s also about what was left behind. The only way to find out, without compromising the military’s entire network, is to access the breach directly – at the source – which, because of the lingering presence of the virus, will take time.”
“Look, this isn’t just about digital mayhem,” said Halley jumping back in. “It’s one thing to steal I.R.S and social security data, or the internal communications of municipalities, let alone from the world’s largest companies. It’s another to attack a country’s infrastructure directly. Remember what Russia did to the Ukraine a few years back.” Halley could sense that the others were beginning to understand. “In an act of cyber warfare, the Russian’s shutdown multiple power-grids, leaving nearly a quarter-million people without internet; transportation networks or commerce. Without firing a shot, Ukrainian society had been isolated from the modern world.”
Stewing in silence, the squad contemplated the nightmare scenario being laid out before them. If the U.S. defense system was compromised or, worse still, taken hostage there was no telling what The Swarm could do. While the others were consumed with both worry and thought, Halley took the opportunity to sidle up to the Girl of Steel.
It was time to mend fences.
----------------------------------27---------------------------------
“I know you won’t believe this,” said Halley as Supergirl shifted her gaze, but not her rigid posture. There was clearly still tension between them. “But I admire you. Everything about you, well…it’s easy.”
Shit, thought Halley as Supergirl shot her a quizzical look. This wasn’t the start she had hoped for.
“Sorry, I wasn’t implying….,” said Halley, attempting to back track. “It’s just...you have this grace about you—that’s all. It can be hard to compete with.”
Supergirl wasn’t sure she followed, until Halley’s gaze landed on Heath. The awkwardness only increased as Supergirl felt the moist, wrinkled slip of costume between her legs, transition from a mild camel toe into a full-on vaginal wedgie.
Itching for relief, the Maid of Might masked her discomfort with a crooked smile. “It’s okay Hal; we’re good.” Looking to both reassure as well as to discreetly dislodge the impeding fabric, Supergirl took an exaggerated step toward the tech officer, hoping to loosen the violating fabric with a quick gyration of her hips.
To the Girl of Steel’s horror, the only thing she managed to stir free was the scent of her secretions. Oh Rao, thought Supergirl, wrinkling her nose as the smell of her sex wrestled with her perspiration for control of the surrounding air.
Filled with shame, Supergirl froze, praying Halley hadn’t noticed. Like a bad fart her odor was festering. Anxious to get away, she could feel sweat, once again, running down her face—fueling her embarrassment.
“What worries me is that we’ve never faced an enemy like this.” Clearing her throat, Halley did her best to ignore the powerful smell. “I know you can do incredible things. But The Swarm, they – cough, cough – can be everywhere and anywhere all at once.”
To Halley’s dismay, the young blonde suddenly jerked away—distracted by a buzzing vibration. “Don’t worry Hal, I’ll be careful,” dismissed Supergirl, hurriedly reaching behind her back for the hidden smartphone. Halley didn’t even know the Girl of Steel had a cellular. I guess, it makes sense; what teenager doesn’t have a phone? But as the Maid of Might read her text, Halley couldn’t shake a terrifying realization: She doesn’t get it.
The Swarm was utilizing the power of the web. The secrets they leered in its dark underbelly were capable of manipulating global markets. Entire countries could be brought to their knees. Nothing was safe in a digital age: bank accounts, personal information, or even the news people accessed could be controlled. For the first time, Halley feared that Supergirl was facing a power beyond even her incredible might.
Like a parent trying to educate a child, Halley wanted to rush forward and tear the smartphone from the Girl of Steel’s hands. Slap her, shake her...anything to get her to take The Swarm seriously. But, before she could, Heath interrupted.
“Whatever is going on here Supergirl, we’re picking up more of that weird chatter in Metropolis. We think that’s where The Swarm is going to strike next. Isn’t that right Hal?”
Tired of ignoring the elephant in the room, Halley didn’t bother to answer. Instead, as he approached, she let her stare do the talking.
Heath instantly got the message. His face contorting into an awkward grin as he scrambled to cover up—only to realize he no longer had any buttons. Crossing his arms, he offered an apologetic shrug, but Halley was already walking away.
With head bowed, Supergirl knew better than to get involved. Her wedgie and lingering odor were ample reminders of all she had done. And all that she needed to fix. Flashing an apologetic smile, Supergirl returned her attention to her phone and re-read the message from her secret source.
Oracle: Did some digging. Looks like our “friend” knows Riven. Surprised?
Things were finally starting to make sense. Of course it’s her. Who else? thought Supergirl. Her anger swelling, she prepared to take off.
First, however, she needed to speak with Heath. Come on Kara, say something. Anything. But, as the seconds ticked, neither could summon the courage. Things were broken and she didn’t know how to fix them. Anxious and frustrated, all she wanted was to deal with The Swarm, especially now that she had a tangible lead.
Shaking her head, Supergirl blurted, “I’m sorry I…I gotta go.” Before Heath could protest, she swirled back around and added, “I promise, we’ll talk in Metropolis.” She then blew him a kiss and leapt into air.
In desperate need of a shower, Supergirl cast Heath from her mind and raced home. A loud, wet slap accompanying her efforts to pry her costume away from her sticky vagina. Unaware, as she was filled with shame, that she would never again speak to her lover.
To be continued ...
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Thursday – June 22nd 7:09 a.m. ET
Metropolis – Population: 8,600,000
For decades, LexCorp had single-handedly been transforming the global economy.
From smartphones to personal-computing, the tech giant had invented and then re-invented countless industries, all the while reaping record-setting quarterly earnings.
Its iconic L-shaped logo recognized, around the world, as a symbol of ingenuity and technological prowess. But its home – the place where its flag soared highest – had always been Metropolis.
Cascading up from its renowned cubic base, its shimmering steel-framed headquarters had long loomed over the city’s skyline. Dominating the downtown core with its instantly recognizable L-shaped crown—its glass-tipped panels shinning, like a beacon, in the morning sun.
Formally designated as LexCorp Tower, this technological marvel was more commonly known as the Citadel. A place of power, prestige and, of course, court to Alexis Luthor—LexCorp’s trailblazing founder and CEO. Famous as much for her billions, intelligence and personal style, as her temper.
A temper that Alexis, glancing at her gold wristwatch, was tired of curtailing. Slamming her hands down, rattling the glass desk, she was through listening to excuses. Production at LexCorp Motors’ electric car facility in Palo Alto had stalled, and the head of operations was clearly in need of a swift kicking. Her only lament was that it had to be over the phone.
“This is unconscionable Bernard,” said Alexis, turning away from her desk to gaze out through the full-body windows. She never tired of the view. From her top-story office, the entire city lay at her feet. Soon enough the world, thought Alexis. Her mind racing from one project to another. So many plans, not enough time.
After 30 years of running LexCorp, she still prided herself on her ability to push harder and endure more stress than anyone else. She lived for the work, but tired of the bullshit. “Look Bernard,” said Alexis, drifting back to the conversation, “your people need to do better. You need to do better.” Dismissing his pleas for increased funding, she proceeded to tear him down. “We’re changing the world. If that doesn’t motivate your staff to put in the hours, then, frankly, to hell with the lot of you. By the end of the week, I expect one of two things to be on my desk: estimates below 50k per unit, or your resignation.”
Before the shaken man could protest, Alexis tapped her earpiece, ending the call. Catching her reflection in the window, she straightened her blonde bangs. The chic, bowl cut emphasizing her angular face; helping to mask her 52 years. Her youthful looks, courtesy of a carefully regimented diet and a vigorous daily exercise routine.
And yet, she scowled at the crow’s feet that surrounded her bright blue eyes. Dismayed by the depth of the wrinkles encroaching upon her otherwise sensual lips.
Details, it’s all in the details, she thought, making a mental note to book another Botox session. Her hands brushing down, smoothing out the lines of her white, power blazer and matching knee-high skirt before sitting back down behind her clutter-free desk. Her smile returning as she watched LexCorp’s latest rocket blast successfully towards the heavens on the surrounding screens.
The aerospace division was her pride and joy. To this day, few understood her desire to privatize space. Her willingness to invest the billions required to compete with the Russians and Chinese in the race for Mars. Even fewer appreciated the achievement, but within two years, LexCorp had single-handily revitalized America’s fledgling space industry. Its Phoenix rockets launching daily, orbiting the Earth and soon the vast beyond.
We don’t dream anymore, that’s what’s wrong with this country. The automobile. The airplane. We even walked on the moon. But now, our so called “leaders” lack vision.
The rhythmic vibration in her ear disrupted Alexis’ thought. Idiot’s like this are the problem, she mused tapping her earpiece in frustration to accept the call. “Hello Mr. President.”
She could barely listen to the man speak. His Southern drawl, grinding her ears. “I understand Wallace…,” she said, forsaking protocol and addressing him by his given name, “but this is business.” Aware of his irritation, she got to the point. "We took control of that 'desert wasteland', as you call it, because if we didn’t the Chinese would already be running the oil fields.”
Dismissing the President’s attempted interruption, Alexis charged on. “And frankly, the optics aren't my problem. This isn't the first time we've worked with a dictator. I mean, let's put our big-boy pants on here.” Slowly connecting the tips of her fingers together, she was growing tired of his sniveling. It was time to slip the leash back on. “Come election time, we both know that the only color that matters is green. I can go left or right on this Wallace, the choice is—
CRACK!
Drawn by the sound of shattered glass, Alexis swiveled her leather chair towards the remnants of her broken door and the slumped figure sprawled across the marble floor.
“I’ll have to call you back,” said Alexis, casually clicking her earpiece and directing her attention to the Girl of Steel.
With long, fluid strides, Supergirl entered the oval-shaped office. Resting a foot on the unconscious bodyguard’s chest, she gently rolled the hulking man onto his side. The last thing she needed was for this steroid-pumped goon to choke on his own tongue.
Sweeping back her cape with a casual roll of her slender shoulders, the heroic blonde cast her blue eyes upon Alexis. Stretching her arms out by her side, she clenched her fists and said, “We need to talk.”
----------------------------------29---------------------------------
“Of course I know her.” Alexis dismissed the question with a quick, spirited laugh. “I practically made her.”
Supergirl couldn’t believe that Alexis was openly admitting to aiding Amal. Her surprise evident as she caught her breath. “So, you confess to working with The Swarm?” Thrusting out her chest, Supergirl prepared to take action. But as she stepped forward, the cool glint in Alexis’ eyes left her feeling unsure. Her confidence waning, she instinctively reached for her hips but her grip, yet again, faltered.
This time, Alexis didn’t bother holding back her laugh. “You embarrass yourself Supergirl. Not that that’s saying much.” Pushing back her chair, Alexis slid her fingers across her L-shaped desk and approached the heroic teen with a slow, measured stride.
Though in her 50’s, Alexis had retained her figure. Her long legs; tight ass and narrow waist could easily have belonged to a woman half her age. But, despite her perfectly coiffed, blonde hair, the years had taken their toll. Though she still turned heads, the exuberance of youth had faded, leaving her blue eyes with a cold, empty glare.
And yet, as she nodded in approval at the Maid of Might’s taut physique, Alexis couldn’t help but wonder how she, herself, would fair in Supergirl’s costume. Her bitter tone, revealing her contempt. “I’m surprised you have the courage to show your face in public.”
The heroic blonde’s taut sinews were still glistening from the exhilaration of her super-sonic flight. “Given your recent….” Alexis paused, stroking her chin, pretending to search for the appropriate phrase, as the surrounding screens began displaying footage from Supergirl’s salacious press conference.
“Ah yes…,” continued Alexis, delighted by the heroine’s growing unease, “episode.”
To the Girl of Steel’s horror, the screens split. On one side she could see a close-up of herself moaning in ecstasy, while the other zoomed in, locking onto her wet crotch as she stumbled from the stage.
“Oh my, you really soiled those panties. Makes sense, a hot little number like you. I bet you’re on your back every night, gushing like a fountain. Remind me blue bird, what does this stand for again?” asked Alexis, extending her arm to poke the heroine’s chest. A Cheshire Cat-like smile crawling up her face as she rode the curved lines of the heroine’s S.
“Stop that,” demanded Supergirl. Brushing away the villainess’ prodding touch, she could feel her cheeks blushing. Attempting to bolster her confidence, Supergirl folded her arms, elevating her already gravity-defiant breasts.
But Alexis saw through her façade. Radiating a striking calm, she playfully spun away. Gracefully swaying her limbs, she asked, in a mocking tone, “I hope you rinsed yourself off? I would hate for you to get a yeast infection. At least, now that we’ll be working together.”
Supergirl was baffled. “Don’t play games with me Alexis.”
“You really are lost. Poor thing, all muscle; no brains,” said Alexis, a hint of pity in her voice. “It’s a wonder you’ve lasted this long. I take it you haven’t bothered to read the files?
With a shake of her head, Alexis ignored Supergirl’s swelling anger. “Tut, tut…of course you haven’t.” With a condescending huff, she directed the young beauty back to the screens. “Intelligence isn’t your forte. Is it? Well better late than never, I guess.”
As the sex-crazed images from the press conference faded into text, Supergirl instantly recognized the files as the ones released by The Swarm. Why is she showing me this?
But as she looked closer, the Maid of Might grew ecstatic. Just as she and Oracle had suspected, the documents appeared to verify their suspicions: LexCorp was indeed sheltering profits in global tax havens.
Her most recent exposé in the Daily Planet had been precisely on this topic. But now, The Swarm had seemingly uncovered even more of Alexis’ offshore assets. By the look of things, they’d dug up a treasure trove. A who’s who of financial misdeeds on the part of the global elite.
With all the recent events – the devastating attacks, and massive rescue effort – Supergirl hadn’t had time to do her usual research. But, as she grew giddy, excited by the prospect of completing her series on corruption, a cold feeling washed over her. Her mind reeling as she considered the source of this information.
To her dismay, no matter how many times she blinked, Alexis’ name remained right beside her own on The Swarm’s hit list. With a petulant snarl, Supergirl protested. “This can’t be right.”
Relishing the heroine’s confusion, Alexis walked up behind the Maid of Might. Her hand resting on the heroine’s athletic, but feminine shoulders, as she leaned in and whispered, “It must sting knowing that The Swarm, with but a single stroke of a key, has done more to combat corruption than you and all your powers. But, don't worry, we'll stop them. After all, we're teammates now.”
To be continued ...
Note: This story hasn't had any updates in 3 years