Blurring the Line Between Good & Evil (Closed)

[Mephistophelily]

A closed thread for myself & Miss Vail​

Saint City.
1 am.
Wednesday Morning.

It was supposed to have gone off so easily.
A simple break-in. A simple theft. A simple 'gift' for her 'dear old friend'. She had done it so many times before, and yet, it always ended the same way.
Was she becoming too predictable? Was that it? Perhaps it was the help. The old saying was true, wasn't it? You could never find good help these days. If you wanted anything done right, you had to do it yourself- but she was there too. At least they served some purpose, useful in some way. They distracted that infuriatingly punctual hero long enough for her to make her escape. Usually.

Usually being the key word.

There had been a number of times, a number of times with new crews, new incompetence, that didn't distract long enough and landed her back behind bars.

She had been there earlier this evening. She should have still been there now. But Hysteria had her ways; be it friends or toys or basic knowledge of the human anatomy and pressure points. Nightynight,officer.

Instead of being behind bars, she was settled at her favorite hiding spot, nursing the bruises and bumps, broken bits that served as souvenirs from her favorite foe. One nice thing about her stops in the ol' penitentiary stomping grounds; she could get some great triage treatments before snapping someone's neck. Slunking down into the old prop throne left behind in the theater, the usual smile that held her bright red lips was instead traded for a sneer as her fingernails tapped against the chair's wooden arm. "She always knows. And here I go, everytime, trying to make such a surprise for her. Does she know the trouble I go through? Does she?! Why, I'd almost think she doesn't even care..."

She groaned with that, shifting in her chair, a hiss of pain as she wrinkled her nose. "Oh, but I do. Everything happens for a reason. It always does. She beats me now, she beats me then, I end up there, I end up here. Always the same. Ever the same. Oh, damn. Now that song is in my head." A hard, heavy sigh left Hysteria then, her eyes closing as she shook her head into the back of the seat. "It's always on replay. I get so close, always so close, and then... Predictably, she's unpredictable in her arrival. How I would love, just once, to beat her to the punch... Instead of her punches beating me."

A light laugh managed to leave her with that, her hands helping her to push off from the chair and propel her steps across the stage. "Waddaya say, Manny? Hmm? Time to go back to the ol' drawing board? Dig around in the brain and see what we can find?," she inquired, her fingers tracing the collarbone of the broken mannequin she addressed. She paused, a questioning look on her face as she leaned in toward the dummy's unchanging lips. "Hm? Speak up, Manny! ... Lay low for awhile? Beh." She shoved the figure with that, rolling her eyes slightly. "That's the coward's way, Manny. I'm no coward. I laugh in the face of danger! And police. And her. And cats. Damn cats. So arrogant." A finger traced against her chin, a contemplating look taking to her eyes. "Hmm. But she probably expects me to do something again soon, since she stopped me so easily tonight. Or she expects me to do nothing at all. I do or I don't... It's so hard to think like her thinking like me!"

It was something that she had heard so many times from others like her throughout Saint City; those who had devious dreams about the surrounding population. Those who wanted power, fame, revenge- whatever their reasons, they all had the same intentions. They wanted something, and the heroes of Saint City always seemed to prevent it from happening. They were being defeated far too easily anymore. Were the villains of the city becoming less of a threat? It seemed such a disheartening thought. They'd lost their oomph. That simply couldn't happen. Hysteria had to think of some way to fix this. But what?




http://th00.deviantart.net/fs32/300W/i/2008/223/2/4/Master_of_Puppets_3_by_azurite.jpg

 

[Vail_Indigo]

An except from Rolling Stone's metahuman interview series.
Strike: Anyhow, like I was saying, I didn’t really think I’d ever get noticed. I mean, if I had known what was going to happen, would I really have chosen ‘Strike’? Its fine and all, baseball jokes aside, but hardly an inspiring name.
I was strong, no big deal. I was fast, no big deal. But I could also make my skin incredibly hard. Not just difficult to pierce, but actually painful to bump against, like metal. I could also make my skin sharp. It seldom looks like it, but you've seen what it can do. You add those two things in, and some martial arts training, and, well, I could do some fucking damage. I was useful. But still kinda useless.

RS: Useless?

Strike: Well, if you’ve ever tried fighting crime when you don’t do something like fly, you’d understand. Be as strong as Shatterstar, you still aren’t likely to make it to the scene before everythings over. Even with the bike it was almost impossible.

RS: Right, and you ride...?

Strike: At the time? A Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R.

RS: Serious bike.

Strike: Well, when you just aren’t going to be hurt taking a spill, you can afford to ride something way more powerful than any reasonable person would.

RS: Now, of course, you have the skybike, and all the other equipment The Guard have acquired over the years. Its your second term as leader, right?

Strike: Yeah, it still makes my head swim. Think about it, I’ve met Shockwave, flown with Mystikal , fought beside Aeon...and no, I'm not going to answer the question that always follows when I mention her. Its not of your business.

RS: OK, I’ll let it slide. All of that started when you started squaring off with Hysteria, right?

Strike: I can't help but feel bad for her. It was like fate, almost. Where ever I was, there she was. Where ever she was, I was. It was never intentional. Not until I joined up with the Guard. And that was because of her too. She's how I made my name. It must kill her that my entire career grew out of our paths crossing randomly, again and again. I hope she reads this: I'm the hero I am today because of Hysteria

RS: I’ll check our subscription lists. Can we talk about your work with the LGBTM community?


She just couldn’t believe it. Strike paced around the rim of the disc that was headquarters to The Guard.

Blockdown, Bolt, Skysword, all bitching and moaning about how boring crime fighting had become. She’d heard it from a couple other groups as well. From talking with those outside Saint City, it seemed like it was a localized phenomena.

She wondered if it was because the villains that roamed this city weren’t exactly
Mech Horde class, not likely to wipe out a continent or anything.

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t still dangerous. Doesn’t mean this is a fucking game,” she surprised herself by speaking outloud.

Strike had started small. Strike wasn’t a powerhouse, and that had kept her reasonably humble, even through her meteoric rise.

But that just made her all the more angry about her team-mates’ attitude.

All the anger in the world, though, wasn’t going to change their minds. Metahumans tended towards the “show me don’t tell me” perspective.

Show me, don’t tell me.

Show them.
Show them.

An idea began to unfold.

 

[Mephistophelily]

I see your face on the cover of a magazine...

Usually Hysteria found her own mug staring at her from the news stands. Usually they were worth a good laugh, too; spoutings on her latest escapes, escapades, the like. But this time... This time she saw the odd one out.

She saw Strike. All heroic and such. Staring at her.
Hysteria snatched it. Not one, not two- as many as she possibly could. That was stealing her spotlight, damn it! Ignoring the shouts of the guy manning the booth, she tucked the stack under her arm and returned to the old theater. Reading material. Burning material.

That decision was multiplied incredibly upon reading the actual article inside. Felt BAD for her?! Hero she was today because of-
"What is this shit?!" Hysteria shrieked, hurling the magazine out into the empty seats. Stamping her heel down into the pile of other magazines, twisting to rip the cover baring her enemy's face, she gave another howl. "Pitying me. That's just... She's mocking me, isn't she?! I don't need her pity!"

She was seething now, her red lips pulled back to bare her teeth at Manny, a finger raising to shake accusingly at the plastic man. "She's right on one thing, though. You know that? I made her a hero. Everything that got her to where she is now is because of -me-. I bet I could just as easily take it away..." She smiled slightly with that, the idea of seeing Strike fall from her glory as a hero because of her seeming so glorious... But the problem was, how could she do something like that?

"Because of me..."

She frowned slightly, leaning her head on Manny's shoulder. "It's all just a game of give and take, Manny. Everything that makes me hate her, is why I need her. The more I think on it, the more it disgusts me to realize she's right. Do you have any idea how much it sickens me to know that? As much as she needs me... I need her. Saint City is simply the place that's brought us together." Her attention fell once more to the stack of magazines sprawled on the stage floor, the frown growing deeper. "I should thank her for the publicity... Though I have a feeling this isn't going to go over too well."

Sure enough, the cell phone settled upon the arm of her chair began to go off; buzzing and shaking so much it nearly fell. Meandering back, she scooped it up, closing her eyes after seeing the name on the screen. "Need more facepaint, Rooney, ol' buddy?"

"Quit the bullshit, Giggles. The Brotherhood just called a meeting. Be at the Summit in an hour."

"Oooh. A meeting. Why exactly am I part of this thing, anyway? Brotherhood. If you haven't noticed, Deviance.... I've got tits. Well, so does Big Man, but his aren't exactly the same-"

"you're wasting time, Giggles."*click*

-*-

Hysteria hated this place. So dark and dismal. So stereotypical of the villain type- an abandoned warehouse on the south side of the city. She could swear she still smelled old deliveries of fish long forgotten in the storage of the place, her nose wrinkled still as the head of the Brotherhood strolled out to the table, a sour look upon his own face. "I'm sure you're all aware of why we're gathered here today."

"Y'all didn't have to go through such a fuss for my birthday." Hysteria quipped, a smirk trying to return to her face- only to get elbowed hard by Deviance. She snarled at him, rubbing the tender spot in her ribs before looking back to Mister Marks. The heavyset man paced around the gathered group at the table, his large frame coming to rest behind Hysteria as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"The articles on those heroes are becoming more and more numerous lately. One in particular caught my attention. One in particular had a little... name dropping."

*Fuck.* "Oh come ON, Marks... You make it sound like she and I are in cahoots or something."

"Not at all, Hysteria. Not at all. We're all fully aware of your capabilities. As.... meager as they may be."

*MEAGER?!* "Listen, Fatman-" She choked as his hands moved from her shoulders to her neck, tightening the thick digits against it.

"Do you know how many Metas are around you, Hysteria? Are you fully aware of it? You think my size is from a lack of self discipline. No, my dear. That is something that YOU are lacking. You are the odd one out in this group, Alisa. Oh, I am fully aware of what your former name was. Metahumans are all around you, and you continue to attempt your... humor. To have the attention of someone like Strike, in your status, is simply disgusting to the rest of us."

Hysteria rolled her eyes as his hands released, reaching up to rub her neck as she smiled. "I think someone's jealous... But think about this, Mister Marks. Even with all your abilities and such, look at how easily so many of you are being taken down anymore. And I'm the disgusting one? You are all pathetic. Absolutely, completely, pathetic. And it takes someone with more BRAINS than special abilities to tell you that?" She pushed out from her chair, glaring at Marks as she stepped around him. "You'll see. Every last one of you will be back at that Penitentiary. And I'll be on the outside... laughing my ass off. Just me and Strike... Because you know what? We're all this city NEEDS."

Waving behind her as she headed for the door, Hysteria gave another laugh, blowing a kiss to Deviance as she walked backwards. "It's been swell knowing y'all... But I have a feeling I just got myself kicked off the guest list for the next big shindig."

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Defining Moments and Iconography

“What do you care?”

“What do you mean ‘What do I care’? Why shouldn’t I care??? I’m the fucking leader of this team!”

“You lead. You don’t get to control our minds,” Bolt’s reply was short, meant to be curt.

“And you don’t think this attitude might cause problems in the field?”

“Being bored doesn’t mean we don’t get the job done. All we were saying was that the thing in New York, with all the hostages tied to the outside of the building, that was really...”

“That was really dangerous. Go on, call them, call Shockwave, find out if he thought it was fun.”

“We didn’t say FUN!” Blockdown looked like he might almost jump to his feet. At least, as fast as Blockdown did anything.

“You might as well have. This isn’t a game. Is our city as dangerous as New York, or LA? Maybe not. But people are still in danger. This, by the way, is exactly why people don’t take us very seriously.”

“Bullshit,” Bolt wasn’t about to let Blockdown go off, “It’s because we fight the lame-as villains and we don’t have a leader who can destroy a moon.”

“That would hurt if I cared.”

“I know. All you care about is moving up the meta-ladder.”

“No. I care about doing the job. If you don’t want to do it, get out of the way and I’ll find someone else.”

That someone else was Shift, the new girl. She’d wisely kept silent during the ugliness, and was part of Strike’s plan to revamp her team for more serious members, with a more serious mission.

“You know what...just...” Strike started, and let it hang in the air unfinished as she turned and left the meeting room.

Strike cared about a great many things.
She cared about her team.
She cared about her city and keeping it safe.
She cared about the job.

She did NOT care about whatever mythical meta-ladder there was. She didn’t care about making the news, or even being offered a position in The Alliance.

But respect.

The respect of her peers, her heros, this was priceless to her.

And she had it, to a degree. They respected how far she’d come so fast. They respected her potential. But her team, and her complete inability to guide them into being heros, real heros, was costing her that respect, she believed.

Without realizing it, she’d ended up at her quarters. Members who didn’t keep secret identities were given quarters on base, and, as leader, she got the prime real estate. It was actually bigger than any apartment she could afford otherwise. Nice view of the entire city, too. Her city.

Looking out over her city, she tried to come up with some way to fix things. She could be patient, slowly fill the ranks with people of character. Which would likely take years. There hadn’t been any fatalities due to the childish view that seemed to permeate the hero community in Saint City, but it was only a matter of time. And this attitude was pervasive. She’d heard snippets, rumors of conversations. It weighed on her.

She could simply disband the team. Start over from scratch. Assuming she could get anyone to trust her after kicking everyone out. And, at least, this way she could keep an eye on the fools.

But it was only a matter of time.

This was her city and she didn’t know what to do to save it.

Looking out over it all, her forehead pressed against the cold glass, she remembered a day just a few months ago.

She didn’t keep a secret identity, but she still wore a mask, and sometimes it was nice to go out and do normal things.
Safe things.
Like buying groceries, or a six pack of beer, even though the team’s base had a service to keep it stocked.
It was nice to walk and be surrounded by the people she cared about.

She was doing just that, when she looked across the street, and saw a girl.
The girl wasn’t wearing anything unusual, wasn’t done up in crazy makeup, or brandishing some bizarre weapon.
But Strike knew her.
How could she not recognize Hysteria?
The other girl was looking right at her, as well.
They stood there, staring at each other, for a very long time.

There wasn’t any hatred. Not really. Just an understanding that they were on two different sides of the war. That, in this theater, they were the ones that determined the rules of engagement, the victories, the defeats.

This had been Strike’s, Tara’s, life. The only part of her life that had ever mattered.
She wanted Hysteria to understand that. She didn’t know why, but she wished she could tell her that their conflict had given her life meaning.
Not in the simple way that most people would have assumed.
But more deeply.
Hysteria had defined her. Hysteria had made her the woman she didn’t know she needed to be.

And, in this strange, unforeseeable way, she was important to her.

She ached to reach out. To touch the other girl’s cheek, to make a connection.

The sun creeped slowly across the sky. Shadows moved and shifted, lines blurred, they both stood in darkness, and in light.

And then, as one, they turned and walked away.

Tara liked to think they both understood.

Strike and Hysteria were all this city needed.

 

[Mephistophelily]

She was used to people being on the hunt for her. It came with the territory. Villains always had someone out to get them. It was just how things were... She did bad things. Heroes did good. Dogs barked at cats, birds shit on recently washed cars. It all was just- expected.

But there was something off about it all anymore. A disturbance in the force, to borrow a phrase. Hysteria usually liked things out of the ordinary, but the feeling inside her was too bizarre for even her own likings. Unfamiliar. Strange. Questioning.

Ever since she saw that woman.
Those eyes. How was she not supposed to recognize them? She stared into them so many times before, whether on the receiving end of a fist or those brief seconds where Hysteria managed to catch her off guard and gain the first strike.
Strike...
Yep.

Het heart had raced. Her adrenaline rushed. So many thoughts... It's her... I could take her, right here, right now... She knows who I am, I see it... Good lord she's beautiful.

That last one wasn't the expected thought against her arch-rival.
It still lingered. It drove her mad. And that article- it seemed almost to drive salt into that bewildering wound. The open sore that she hated revealed. Her heart.

Villains don't fall in love. Certainly not with their greatest foe.
Well, now she had plenty more to keep her mind occupied. She'd pissed off the entire brotherhood, meaning two sides wanted her now. One focusing more on a corpse than anything else...

They were idiots. This city deserved far better. Marks was a fool... The same old ways achieved nothing. But who was she? He was right... A lucky little bitch with a fucked up mind. Strike really did provide her with her status among the degenerates of Saint City.

She needed a drink. She needed a deadened mind.
She needed to stop thinking the word "dead" so much.
Angel's Folly; a little bar, little patrons, stunk of old cigarettes and cheap whiskey. Good for a pity hour drinkfest.

Plunking into a booth, the recently unpainted Hysteria, the girl known as Alisa, ordered herself five shots and one of water.
Sobriety roulette.

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Laying on her bed, Tara let that interlude run through her mind again and again.
There was something there, something she could almost see.

But this sort of thing had never been her strong point. The mystics were good at it. If she could trust Blue Shimmer, she’d have called her in, but while Blue was a good hero, in her own way, Tara wasn’t sure what the next days and weeks...or hours...might bring. More, she wasn’t sure who she could trust with whatever secrets her own mind was holding.

She banged her head down against the pillow three times in frustration.

“Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.”

She grabbed the leather jacket from her closet. It was her favorite piece of clothing, gel pads in all the important places for a biker, and the thing would, basically, take a knife. At least once. It wasn’t like she needed the armoring, but she simply wasn’t in the mood for powers, hers or anyone else’s.

In the corridor, she ran into Shift. The girl was slowly but surely transitioning away from her ‘secret identity’ and was spending more and more time at the team’s HQ.

“Hey, that was...” the younger hero started.

“Incredibly unprofessional? Disappointing? The last thing you...” Tara cut herself short, her fingers squeeing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “No, wait. I don’t want to feed into this.”

“Its OK. I always assumed that there was some kind of ugliness behind the scenes. There always is. So the World Hero blog network tells me.”

They shared a smile.

Tara reached out and lowered the strange goggles Shift wore down to hang around her neck, the ones that let her see when she wasn’t fully here.

“You’re a good girl. And a good hero,” she said softly, the back of her fingers caressing the younger hero’s cheek. “Whatever happens, today, tomorrow, whatever, just be the hero you dreamed of being when you put on the ‘mask’. Do that. Do that and you’ll make me, and everyone in the world proud.”

On impulse she kissed the girl’s brow, smiled sadly, but with a hint of pride, and left the very confused Shift standing alone in the corridor.


In the garage, she pulled the tarp off her Ninja. It had been a year since she’d last ridden it. Things get so busy, and the skybike Aeon had given her when she became the team leader just made more sense, usually.

But she loved her old bike, and kept it cleaned and tuned and polished like the day it was new.

And it started for her with barely an effort.

The acceleration was still impressive as she tore out of the garage in search of something.

Something.

“Alcohol and bikes do not mix. Alcohol and bikes do not mix,” she repeated out-loud as she found herself circling in on Angel’s Folly.

She parked the bike outside the bar, with the acceptance that sometimes the only way you can think things through is to be at a bar. Even drunk, she wasn’t likely to do anything more than property damage on a bike, and it wasn’t like she could get hurt.

Angel’s Folly was neutral space. Heros and villains were both welcome. As were those who wore badges instead of masks, and those for whom crime was never about notoriety, just getting it done. Whether it be the war between good and evil, or the struggle for balance between order and chaos, both sides needed a place to NOT be who they normally were. A place to rest. No one else was welcome at the bar, and the staff just seemed to know who was and who wasn’t.

“Two shots of Jack Daniels, and one Jaggermeister,” she ordered at the bar. The bartender winced at the mixture, and filled the three tiny glasses. Tara tossed some cash and turned to lean back against the bar, contemplating the merits of sitting at a table alone, versus quicker service at the bar.

And there she was. Hysteria. No make-up, just like that day on the street. And she looked like Tara felt. And she was beautiful. The combination was too alluring, in its way, for Tara to resist. She was standing at Hysteria’s booth before she even had decided.

The girl looked up at her, the glint in her eye was one Tara was familiar with, the light you get before a fight.

“Holy ground, Highlander!” Tara joked, and was more than a little relieved when it seemed to defuse the situation. She sat down across from her...nemesis...without asking.

“I don’t even know what to say to this girl who has been so much of my life,” and Tara was surprised by the realization. She’d thought about making a joke, or some sort of observation. But sitting there, it was like the two of them were held in a bubble, and the outside world, the world they were both obviously hiding from, wasn’t there anymore. And inside the bubble, the slate was blank.

Then, softly, “My name is Tara.”

 

[Mephistophelily]

It was the third shot. Not too bad. Not too good, either. The dead line of the middle, splitting her drinks just as her mind was spliced at the moment. Good thoughts, bad thoughts- and the ever present sprinkling of insanity on top. Just enough for added flavor.

Sprinkles.
Ice cream.
Yum.

She glanced up as footsteps approached then stopped, a blank stare at first given to the newly arrived-
Waaaait.

Lights on. Everyone home. I don't want to play right now.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, the recognition of Strike's face fully opened as she slipped into the opposing seat. Her quip managed to crack a minor smirk on the villain's face, quickly hidden by the glass of the newly picked up shot. "Careful, hero. The jokes are usually my department...," She growled around the lip of the tiny glass, plopping it back on the table with a resounding clunk.

She froze momentarily as the name was uttered. Fingers refused to leave that little cup.
Real name.
Identity.

It panicked her.
Her fingers tightened still, almost taking the usual white hue her face held in her other state.

"I-"
She didn't know what to say.
She stared at the other woman's hands for a moment, watching those fingers flex and move, remembering how many times she had felt that fist against her skin. "I... I'm Alisa."

They'd just killed it. That boundary of who they were. Things were so far gone as it was- why not drop the one thing that seemed to be a constant? "It's funny. I've always wanted Saint City to be in chaos. It was my dream... and now that it's happening, I don't- It's not as fun as I had hoped it would be. I'm disappointed. So very, very disappointed. I mean... look at it. Look at us. This should never be. It was never supposed to happen. And yet, it is. The insanity here... It's not my doing. I don't like it. This is... just... so sad." She licked her lips, shaking her head before looking at the other woman; truly looking at her for the first time.

"Things need to change around here, St- Tara. Things need to change."

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Tara thought about what her...friend? Enemy? Beautiful girl she was having trouble not staring at? Had said.
Because it certainly seemed like chaos, but even she’d felt that ‘chaos’ wasn’t the right word.
“Because it isn’t chaos. Its just two sides beating each other up. Its just stupid bullies banging heads together. You want rules to vanish, society to shatter, and all that. This is just the strong doing whatever they want. Each side has its own set of guidelines that they stay within for the sake of appearances, but its just a bunch of playground bullies. Thats not fun, thats not insanity, thats not interesting, thats not even mildly surprising.”
Tara chuckled.
“I’m kinda stunned you haven’t started fucking with them, y’know? I can totally see you skulking about in the shadows, randomly sabotaging ‘Mister Marks’ plans by...I dunno...setting his gyrocopter on fire or whatever. But only after it was already in the air.”
She was laughing now at the mental image of the giant man burning in mid-flight.
“A big, old, fat-ass fireball!”
Another shot. And another.
Neither of them realized they had started holding hands on the table.
“You know what? They fucking need to be taught a lesson. All of them. This isn’t fucking paintball. ‘Supervillains’ my ass. Yeah, I know, I swear a lot when I drink. They don’t understand that this is our city. That they don’t matter.”
Hands squeezed.
“Its always been about us.”
Saying it out loud suddenly made everything drain out of her, including the strength she’d been relying on to keep her moving, even though she could clearly see the whirlpool she was drowning in.

 

[Mephistophelily]

"Soooomeone read my manifessstoooo...," Alisa noted in a sing-song voice, a smirk on her lips as she looked at Tara once again. "That's exactly the problem. It's bullies being bullies. Cowering and hiding and hating. I hate the hate. I want... chaotic glory. To answer that voice in the back of your head that says 'Just go fucking DO it' with a firm 'HELL YEAH!' and be proud of it..." She paused, glancing to the bartender and waving her hand into the air. "Hey! Whose leg do I have to cut off to get another round of shots over here?"

With a sigh, she lolled her head back toward Tara, the smirk still holding strong.

“I’m kinda stunned you haven’t started fucking with them, y’know? I can totally see you skulking about in the shadows, randomly sabotaging ‘Mister Marks’ plans by...I dunno...setting his gyrocopter on fire or whatever. But only after it was already in the air. A big, old, fat-ass fireball!”

Another round of glasses was set before them then, thin white fingers taking up one of them as the smile slowly left her face. "Mm." Alisa shook her head as she downed the liquid, letting a soft puff of air pass her lips as she plunked the glass back down on the table. "You need to look into my records again, Hero. It says I'm criminally insane, not suicidal. As fun as that all sounds, and believe me, the idea has come about... If anything were to happen to ol' Marky Mark right now, I'd have his whole Funky Bunch on my ass in minutes..."

Funny.
Discussing things like this with her...

Even funnier.
Strike's hands- no, Tara, it was Tara... They were much softer, gentler than she expected. When she had come to have them rest against her own, she didn't recall, but they certainly didn't feel the same as when they were balled into fists.

Listening to her was so surprising. Even more than the touch. "You could do well as a villain, Hero. All this talk of blowing things up and all that...," Alisa chuckled, shaking her head briefly- though it stopped just as quickly. Wait, was she- was she serious? Looking to the touched fingers, she just stared for a moment, finally looking back to Tara with confusion on her face. "I think I must have had too many myself. You actually... Ha-haha- Oh my god, I love it."

She licked her lips again, nodding slightly. "Oh, that's just- that's just beautiful. You're right. It is about us. These assholes don't know what this city is. A fucking playground, that's all they see. It's so much more than that. It's OURS. They're just here. Enjoying the ride. We could... We could do..." Her eyes closed as she drew a sharp breath, another laugh sputtering between her lips. "Oh, fuck. I'm drunk. I forgot where I was going with that."

 

[Vail_Indigo]

We could... We could do…
"We could do anything," Tara finished the thought. "

Tara giggled. She wondered when the giggling started. It had been a while since anything seemed funny, or since she'd been anything remotely girlish.

"What is 'anything' though? Start another team, you start another gang? Same idiots, different haircuts is all. Maybe do a Wille E. Coyote thing and make'em all run through some painted scenery and off a cliff?"

She had to be careful not to snort booze through her nose.

"Sorry, sorry, thats your gimmick, Jester. I start in on that, you'll start in on saving children from fires and bashing bank robbers."

Wait.

Tara didn't know when her fingers had started caressing her friend's, but it just felt nice. Right.

"But you would look SO crazy-cool standing on top of some rubble after a fight, the big hero all over the TV news. I think you'd need a new costume though," and giggles turned to laughter. Tara felt something shifting inside herself. Felt something coming close to breaking. No, not breaking. Opening.


Another shot seemed to help.

What are you saying?

"Of course, its not like you'd win much, not with me as the superbaddie. But you'd get to pummel the fuck out of Marky Mark," she snickered, "And I'd get to beat Bolt into the ground. Hm. I guess I get a little violent when I'm drunk too, not just a potty-mouth. God its been ages since I did anything outside the costume."

She signaled for four more shots. It felt like this was going to be a long night.

She had only turned back to Alisa half way when she came to an abrupt stop.

Do you need to be the hero? What if being the villain gave you back your city?

She turned back, and sipped her shot slowly this time, her eyes searching for something in the girl across the table from her. She felt the urge to lean in, to whisper in Alisa's ear, something secret, something conspiratorial.
Something too big to be said out loud.

"We could teach them a lesson. Lets face it, its almost not about which…side…we're on. Good or evil, hero or villain. Order or chaos. There just needs to be someone on each side. Balance."

It didn't feel like her voice whispering in the pretty ear that smelled of theater make-up, whiskey, and scented soap. It came from somewhere else. It couldn't be her voice. None of this was right but she was saying it anyways.

What if. What if. What if.

Could you walk away from the hero?

Its what you've fought so hard to be. But why? If this is right, than can you do what is required?

Can you be either side of the mirror?

 

[Mephistophelily]

This night was getting funnier and funnier. Not in the way she completely enjoyed, but this most recent turn of events was certainly more interesting than the one that had happened earlier that night. So many points being made, so many nagging thoughts and questions being raised. Tara was right. What good would it do, to just keep running the same wheel? Sure, she could try to one-up them, but what would come of it then?

Alisa's fingers tightened against Tara's with the cartoon reference, smirking slightly with the apology on infringing territories. "M'thinks Hero likes the big booms too," she noted with a light laugh, the smile turning slightly lopsided as the idea seemed to keep flowing.

Heroic poses.
New costume.
It sounded like little girls playing dress up. You try on my clothes, I'll try on yours. A little game. A chance to see what it was like in someone else's shoes. Er, boots.
It sounded crazy.
But Hysteria liked crazy. The question was, was Strike as crazy as she was?

That couldn't be where she was going with this. It couldn't. That was pushing into her boundaries of madness, certainly not territory for someone the likes of Strike to be meandering into. "What we wear gives us a second side to us. You'd be surprised what the clothes can do...," Alisa stated softly, her gaze attempting to read Tara. Such a story unfolding behind those eyes. No, not story. Scheme. Oooh, was that what she looked like when she had one of her own?

An eyebrow cocked as recognition sparked in Tara's expression, eyes meeting. Whatever she had been thinking must have made a connection. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering...?," she asked with a smile, her eyes lidding slightly as the heroine's lips came close to her ear. Secrets. Did this make them BFF's?

She'd done it. She'd crossed that line.

"I don't think it does," Came the whispered reply after a moment's silence, Alisa's hand clutching onto Tara's. "I don't think it matters at all. It's like you said- This city needs us, and we need each other. That balance has to exist in one form or another. A switch of the scales... The beautiful chaos I want so badly-" She paused, looking up quickly to the eyes before her. "-And I get it from you. Ha...hahaha... The one place I would never have thought- That's just beautiful, ohhhh-" She began to laugh as she took it all into consideration, a hand coming to rest against her cheek as she chuckled. The laughter stopped abruptly, her hand peeling away just slightly as she gave a light frown.

"You realize that. This. It doesn't change things between us. Between Strike and Hysteria. That's something that can never, ever change..." Her attention drifted to the twined fingers before her on the table, her lips parting to try and continue. Close. Open.

Whine.

"...But..."

She swallowed, forcing herself to look to Tara once again. She was supposed to hate her. She was supposed to be planning ways to rid herself, this city, of this woman. Strike had always been the reason her chaos couldn't exist- but now, she was offering it to her. "But I don't really know who I am anymore... And that certainly changes things...."

 

[Vail_Indigo]

“We grew up thinking villains were evil, and heros stood for good. We grew up thinking it was that simple. I think we’ve seen that it isn’t. And if it isn’t, then, maybe, no one knows who they are. I know for sure that half my team sure as hell ain’t heros, and half the guys on your side are either bullies or fucked up business men. I say get’em some high class hookers, thats how you handle guys like that.”


Tara’s head was still swimming in the scent of her...opposite’s skin, that and more than a little booze. Where the hell had the hookers bit come from?

“I dunno...maybe Strike and Hysteria can’t change. But I’m not sure I even am Strike. And I don’t think you are Hysteria. They are toys, tools maybe. But they can’t be who we are. If they were, I’d be putting you through a wall right now,” Tara smiled.

If she really was Strike, she definitely wouldn’t have this fluttering in her tummy every time the jester smiled. And she wouldn’t be trying to get herself to stop calling the girl things like that. She was Alisa.

Wasn’t she?

Things were coming out of Tara’s mouth that definitely shouldn’t. Here, at a table in a bar, she was unravelling her life. Quite quickly. She was watching her entire identity float away, her center and compass.

Part of her was terrified and turning to a quivering little girl in the corner.
The other part of her felt stronger and more sure than she ever had.

There’s still time to pull back. You’re drunk, You’re pissed, it doesn’t have to become real. Please.


“Y’know, it almost doesn’t matter if you agree with me or not, “ a devilish grin Hysteria was sure to appreciate creeped its way across Tara’s lips and eyes. “I mean, if I were to, say, leave Strike behind and, whatchacallit, cross over, you’d be pretty fucked. Its not like you’d be able to compete with the schemes I’d be hatching.”

She giggled.

“And I’ve always wanted to hatch a scheme.”

Tara leaned back, resting her head in her hands, tilted to the ceiling, as if such a hatching were already taking place.

“Oh, sure, we’d compete, try to out do one another in some bizarre game, and then we’d probably fight, and you KNOW how that goes. I’m figuring you’d come around eventually and just be my sidekick. OH! Then there could be a gang war between me and my goons and Marky Mark and he could totally take you hostage!”

Tara was laughing, tickled pink by the entire idea. A glance at Alisa showed a less enthusiastic response.

“OK, no, really, my point is, you really don’t have a choice, in a way, poppet. If you wanna look at it like that. Just sayin’...”

Its done, isn’t it?

Those kind of thoughts warranted more drinks.

“Anyhow, I think you’d have more fun planning it out with me.”

She leaned across the table again, eye to eye.

“I even have toys stashed away.”

At some point, Tara’s grin turned almost feral.

Its done.

 

[Mephistophelily]

"The media leaves the hero with all the glory. It makes you wonder, really, why anyone would ever want to be their opposite..." Alisa sighed, rolling her head back and forth against her shoulders as she closed her eyes. "Stupidity, perhaps... Insanity? Pretty high up there too. I don't think I'm evil at all. I just have a warped sense of right and wrong. But then again, who doesn't anymore, hmm? Look at how fucked up things are around us. I'm starting to think I'm one of the sane ones- and that's really fucking scary." She laughed slightly with that, the jovial titters fading slowly as the rest of her foe/friend's words sunk in.

"They can't be who we are."

Yeah.
The only ones who could do that were... them.
Another light chuckle at the wall comment. She'd been expecting that. Hell, she half anticipated a good punch to the jaw any moment for looking at her funny.

Maybe she should stop drinking now.
Maybe Strike should too.
YOU gonna try and take her booze, dumbass?
Good point, Head.

The hero's wheels were churning again. A smile that rivaled one of her own during those most wonderful of wonderful schemes' births. It was scary, beautiful. It almost made her forget what was being said.

Slow reaction time.
Wait, had she just-
Did she just imply she could be a better villain than YOU?!

"If I didn't know any better...," She started slowly, Alisa's back now arcing her forward into the table to peer across at Tara. Her words were lost, replaced instead by a morbid curiosity, fascination.

Holy hell, she really was.
She was saying it.
And then that word.
That horrific, terrible, ugly word.
Sidekick.

She stared.
Hands planted firmly upon the table, lips locked tightly together, eyes focused on the woman before her.

“Anyhow, I think you’d have more fun planning it out with me."

A mere twitch to the right eye as Tara's locked with hers.

“I even have toys stashed away.”

Tara was smiling.
Alisa was not.
"Tara..." Her voice was quiet, yet somehow still firm. "I think... you've had... enough."
Her hand flicked out to the drink beside the hero, sending it crashing to the floor.

Congratulations. We're fucked.

"There's always a choice, Tara. And like you said, what is this city without you and me?" She took a breath, slowly peeling herself up from the seat.

Hoo. Sparklies. How many had she had?

Shaking it off as best she could with a quick toss of her head, she steadied herself enough to step over to Tara, leaning down to bring her lips close to the woman's ear. "We're the balance this place needs... That we both need," She whispered, delicately kissing the shell of her ear before quickly straightening. "Take care of yourself... Tara. Don't do anything I would."

Staggered steps, a reeling head.
Get home.
Sleep.
Plan.

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Tara woke to an unpleasant version of reality. The lights were on, which meant she was keeping her eyes shut for a while. Her head hurt. Her stomach churned in ways you would think only a deadly toxin could cause. Years spent at the center of violent encounters had taught her to try and check as much of her body before trying to move. Outside of the hangover, though, she felt intact.

Then came the distressing part, running back through the evening to try and figure out what happened. The last thing she could remember was seriously considering dragging Hysteria…no…wait…Alisa…off into a corner for some serious kissing.

“Holy fuck,” escaped her lips, “What the hell were we talking about?”

Memories of a very strange conversation came flooding back in, the sheer surprise of it all made her eyes again.

It wasn’t her ceiling.

And her head wasn’t hurting like a headache. It was hurting because she was laying on a cold, hard floor.

Her eyes shifted slowly left, then right.

“Fuck. How the hell did I end up in a Pod?”

In just a few steps, she made it to the med-con, and the anti-intoxicants it could provide.

And a few moments later, her hang-over was virtually gone.

She collapsed in a chair, still hurting and upset. Not because of the alcohol, not even because she’d been venting anger and frustration all night and saying crazy things.

It was because, in reflection, she’d meant every word. She wouldn’t take a single sentence back. And its one thing to say you have to abandon your life, its another thing entirely to realize what it takes to do that, what it means.

In her drunken state, she’d obviously had some understanding of what she was going to have to do, of the sheer vastness of what was before her. And thats how she ended up here.

When she became her team leader, Tara…Strike…designed and had two backup locations, Pods, created. If the base were to fall, or anything other major disaster along those lines, she’d have a backup command center.

And then she’d installed the Holographic Intelligence Core. She’d found it while going through the rubble of the Final King’s battlecruiser. The King had technology far too advanced for even his brilliant mind, and Strike had wanted to know more about where it had come from. It appeared that the Core was responsible for most of it. King had actually made something significantly smarter than even his exceptional intelligence.

With the Core, and the various systems she’d copied from her main HQ, Strike could run a field hospital, manufacture equipment, and command a small army. And no one even knew this place existed. It was the perfect…lair.

She’d built this place to help her defend her city.

Even if she was on her own.

And now, she was more on her own than she’d ever imagined she would be. And defending her city in a way that she couldn’t have even said aloud.

She kept replaying the evening over and over again in her head.

It sounded like Alisa…Hysteria…wanted nothing to do with this. And, if she were honest with herself, Tara would have to admit that even she wasn’t 100% on board with this insanity. But she simply didn’t know what else to do. This was a move of the purest desperation and she just had to trust in herself, in her city, and in the girl who wasn’t her enemy, but maybe still was.

She needed Hysteria…Alisa. That much she was sure of. She needed her opposite.

She also needed a plan. A scheme. She wasn’t a villain, yet, and this wasn’t her strong suit. But, apparently, Drunk Tara had come up with one and spent no small amount of time writing it down on her hands and arms.

Tara began reading through her notes, even began smiling, even began giggling at the good bits.

It was perfect.

Alisa…Hysteria…didn’t want to play, then Tara would force her.

With a mix of determination, resignation, and uncertainty, she brought the Core online and got to work.

First, on herself.

 

[Mephistophelily]

It was probably the deepest embrace she had ever given in her life. Her hands clung so tightly, her head lowered... Alisa was hungover, the old white toilet having become both her best friend and worst enemy over the last few hours.

Friend and enemy...
...Tara...

"I know, Manny. I know."

How she had managed to drag the mannequin along with her in the rush to the restroom, she wasn't quite sure, but there he sat in the broken wicker chair in the corner, his emotionless eyes seemingly set on the sprawled villain.

"I said I know, Manny-! I don't know how it happened either. We were just there... and the drinks... Liquid courage, Manny, it really is..." She shook her head, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she peeled herself hesitantly away from the porcelain. "We were connected there, for a bit. We hit a level plain. Alcohol put us together, I suppose. Gave her some insanity, detracted from mine. We were equals, to a point. A taste of each other's world..."

She licked her lips slowly, her gaze falling to the pale fingers extended on her leg. Her own light hues seemed even paler in comparison to Tara's hands last night.

Her thoughts flickered over the events of the evening. It was strange, how alcohol seemed to bring out the saner aspects to her mind. Now, however... to reflect on what she could recall...

"She wouldn't..."

It was more a hopeful wish than a firm belief.

"She can't..."

Her fingers flexed, danced. Ached to feel that strong hand atop them once again, a touch of compassion rather than fury. They had their parts in this city.

"...You really don't have a choice..."

It echoed. Lingered. Stabbed into her brain. Taunted her, a dare from that woman who drove her mad in so many ways.

Dragging herself up off the broken tiles, she lazily shoved her way around the falling Manny and into the backstage halls of the old theatre. Her own claimed room, the stacks of mattresses she had rounded up from previous performances of Once Upon a Mattress (which led to her obsession with calling everyone Fred for a few weeks), her gallery of gadgets, the old costume room. This was where she had pulled together her current attire of choice; the facepaint and reddened hues of Hysteria.

"...I start in on that, you'll start in on saving children from fires and bashing bank robbers."

Was that what she was insinuating? What she planned to do? Unscale the balance... She couldn't allow that. But could Alisa really fill that other side?

She stood in that doorway for a few moments, hesitant to go any further. Could she? She was nearly shaking now. Of everything she had ever done, this felt the most frightening.

"Its not like you'd win much, not with me as the superbaddie."

Possibly.

“If I were to leave Strike behind and cross over, you’d be pretty fucked."


Frightening.

Its not like you’d be able to compete with the schemes I’d be hatching.”

"Can Saint City take it either, Tara...?" She finally took that deep breath, charged in.

"I think you'd need a new costume though."

"Yeah. Don't think you're old friends are gonna be too accepting of THIS wandering around on their team." She paused. Their team. Would that even work...?

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Ten days later.

It took three days to finish designing and implementing her new look. One to pick it all out (with help from various demographic analysis sub-programs) a day to build the clothes, while spending it under the creepily fast and efficient servo-arms of the Core-controlled med-center, and then a day for recovery in a hyperbarric chamber.

“No mask. Its scarier without a mask. OK, maybe a mask later. Or another new face. It wasn’t so bad, just a little owie here and there,” Tara had taken to talking to herself over the days.

“1,” came the voice of the Core’s UI.
“One what? One day at a time? One Life To Live? There Can Be Only One?”
“0.”
“Zero? You watched Tron while I was under, didn’t you?”
“1 1 1 1!”

Before repackaging herself, Tara had spent a week rebuilding her own mind. Simply being a villain wasn’t enough. She had to crawl into the mental caverns and dark places that Hysteria lived in. She tried meditation, role playing, and a few other things, but nothing seemed to help. Then she tried just turning off her linguistic filter, just saying anything that came to mind without consideration. That, surprisingly, was the key. Impulse is chaos. And she was giving in to impulse.

“I shit you not, I’m going to snap that bulb in two if it gets any more flicky.”

“Can you make a gong noise? No, not like the old show, like the impressive
‘something unreal and supercool is going to happen now, bitches!’”

“If this is going to work, we’re gonna have to take Hawaii. No, thats a stupid idea.”

After a day, she got tired of talking to herself, and the Core wasn’t much of a conversationalist. It was sleek and smart and practical and obedient.
Luckily, it had a graphical design interface for building behaviors.
Not so luckily, Tara didn’t understand most of it, even with the Core answering questions. She couldn’t seem to put a coherent question together, and combined with her new habit of speaking without thinking, well, things went poorly. Until she just told the system what she wanted. In hours, a level of randomness and initiative had been worked in to its behavior patterns.
It began doing things, talking with her, exploring just as she did.

“Next time, you ask me first cause I love that movie and popcorn and we can SNUGGLE!!”

“0!”

“You are NOT gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“0!”

“I KNOW! You are hard and have unpleasant pointy angles. Amazon will delivery a blow up doll next day, and I can hook up a little speaker to its face. It’ll TOTALLY be a date!”

“1?”

“Don’t be shy. No, you aren’t my type anyhow. But a girl likes to be asked is all.”

“1!”

“Good boy! Now fetch!”
Corey rolled out her new uniform, and Tara made him shut off all his visual inputs while she changed.

“OK, you can look now,” she said as she stared at herself in the mirror.

“Hmmm…I don’t remember asking for the tats…”

“1! 1! 1!”

“I know, always listen to my stylist.”

She stared for quite a while.

“I would totally do me.”

“1!”

“I thought you said you were gay.”

“0!”

“Sorry, I guess I was misreading the signals.”

“1!”

“I need a new name, though. Something that’ll strike (HAH!) fear into the hearts of gabillions and make that little trollop Hysteria jealous.”
She leaned in close to one of Corey’s displays.

“What do you think of 'Feather'?”

“1!”

Her tonguetip danced on the cold, hard surface of the monitor.

“1!”

http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2011/061/d/4/ultra_by_miss_mischiefx-d3aqmpm.jpg

 

[Mephistophelily]

Piles of clothing surrounded the floor's space, a hand flinging more out wildly from the closet area. "Nope." Another. "Nuhuh." A few more. "Ewww!! Naaaasty!" A giant pile was flung out then, Alisa flopping backward into the stack.

"I don't know, Manny. It's just so haaard. I don't know this superhero stuff. I've always been on the receiving end. I never thought to study her for those reasons..."

A thought.
A smile curled her lips, a resemblance to a certain greenhued villain of holiday times seeming to come through. A villain that, like her, had to face a change of heart.

Hmph.
His wasn't forced.

But it gave her an idea. There were heroes to study. None in Saint City would be willing to let the attempting-to-convert Hysteria apprentice, but what about the ol' boobtube babysitter? She grew up learning from it. Now it could teach her to be a good girl.
Mister Rogers failed at that 16 years ago...

There was still the matter of her new persona. That was certainly one thing that Tara had been dead on about. Hysteria in any form wasn't going to be welcomed by others in this city. Something simple would be best. The opposite of who she... used to be.

That shirt.
Those pants.
Those gloves, that top.

She pulled from the various piles around her, finally coming to decide that the simplified version of a hero's suit would be more to her liking.

"Needs some color," She decided firmly as she looked herself over in the mirror. Wandering off to find her stash of wigs, the pink hued bob caught her eye immediately. "Oooh, Manny.... What'cha think?," She asked with a grin, twirling around to show off to the mannequin.

Oh.
Oh dear.
"Manny... Dear, sweet, wonderful Manny..."

She came to settle upon the fake man's lap, running a hand against his plastic cheek. "You've been so wonderful to me. The epitome of the perfect man. But... I'm so sorry. I can't be seen talking to someone like you. Why, that's just... insane..." She smiled, cocking her head slightly before kissing his cheek. "Toodleloo, Pookiepoo."

Now. To become a hero.
To the internet!
Various ideal heroes came up on searches; comic books, cartoons, detectives, so on and so forth...

How wonderful. How helpful. So many ideas....

But what of a name?
A lingering cartoon was playing on her laptop, a smirk on her face as she nodded. "I've got it...," She decided with a nod, taking the pair of black sunglasses from her belt. "...Agent P."

The platypus growled from the screen.


http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs26/f/2009/246/b/0/Agent_Pink_3_by_azurite.jpg

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Two weeks later

You don’t have to do this.
Yes I do. Its my plan.
No, it isn’t. You’re just carrying it out cause she’s too ditzy to handle the details.
Thats not the word I would use for her. Not to her face.
This isn’t you. Don't be afraid of her. This is going too far.
Thats why I'm afraid of her. And no, this isn't going too far.
This is just the start.

Feather had learned no small amount of respect for her 'predecessor' and supervillains in general. It wasn't easy to come up with a scheme that matched both size, technical requirements, and personal aesthetics. She'd entered a despair.

But, finally, the idea had come to her while watching Puppy Bowl.
“Corey, if you put the Super Bowl on one more time I'm gonna...LOOK! GUINEA PIGS IN A BLIMP!! Silly piggies! You belong in a...”
She laughed for an hour.

It hadn’t been all that hard to find a giant sized hamster ball. It had been somewhat tougher to install a suitable axel based drive train right through the middle of the thing. But not that hard.

It hadn’t even been very hard to lure two little college kiddies into a dark, soundproofed room with promises of drugs and kink. Sure, the girl had been hesitant, but jeez, this sounded like a porn fantasy for the boy.

The hard part had been to keep them still, keep them from screaming. Not so much for secrecy’s sake, but because they were just annoyingly loud. Sure, the pleading and begging were cute, but eventually it just seemed melodramatic to Feather’s delicate aesthetic sensibilities.

“If you were scared in a more interesting way,” she whispered in his ear while straddling his bare hips, the tattoo machine she’d found behind an out-of-business parlor humming away, “maybe I’d be more gentle about this. Aw, who am I kidding. That would jut make it all the more fun!”

She was happy when he finally passed out.

The girl was a different story. She began the same, of course. But sometime during the second hour, she became very very silent.

“So, I get it, you’re the kinkster, the fun one. You just didn’t know how bored you were, did you?”

There was a whimper, and a shifting of hips beneath her.

“I don’t mind you enjoying yourself, but if you cum, I’ll fucking kill you in ways you won’t enjoy.”

Feather continued her scrawling on skin.

“But, if you are alive, say, two days from now...c’mon and visit.”

“God...its not that I mind the blood, it just doesn’t look right. And if its too bloody, no one will be able to read it! Stupid stupid stupid,” But, after a couple of days of care, finally, everything was ready.

Boyfriend and girlfriend in the ball, the remote control ready, the warehouse door pried open.

Feather leaned against the plastic, near the terrified girl.

“Now, remember what I said, kitten,” she whispered before running her tongue along the ball. Terror burned in the girl’s eyes.

Before Boyfriend could ask anything, Tara had the ball rolling.

Sadly for the two inside, seatbelts and helmets had not been provided. Several minutes were spent with the two being tossed about, backs bending in unfortunate ways when they hit either the sphere or the axel. But it wasn’t along before cruising speed centripetal force kept them pinned to the plastic. Except when directions changed, of course.

The ball itself had significant mass, but it was really the velocity that got the destruction going. Cars were crushed, but the hamsters or by the chaos and other collisions. Lamp posts, power lines, all fell in its wake.

Tara watched from a rooftop and monitor.
She aimed for Market St. and Pine, the busiest intersection in town. After checking on the status of the present hidden in the axel, she increased speed and locked in.

“God she was SO fucking cute. I really hope she makes it,” Feather giggled to herself, and Corey over the comlink.

“0!”

“Oh don’t be jealous. I’ll share.”

“1!”

“I really thought you were gay. And I was NOT saving whiney boy for you.”

“0!”

“I’m SORRY!”

 

[Mephistophelily]

Alisa was aching. It was almost as bad an ache as other certain aches. She had no idea just how much scheming, planning, plotting was a part of her life. Not doing it was simply... painful.

She missed Manny.
She missed Hysteria.
She missed... Strike.

Sitting now on the upper ledge of one of the larger buildings in the city (that had an elevator- seriously, how in the hell did those guys manage to get all the way up to the top of the skyscrapers in this place?!), she peered down into the streets below, waiting... Just waiting for something to happen.

The waiting was the hardest part.
She was up to something. Not her. Strike.
No, not Strike.
Tara.
The warning still lingered in her ears. Tara wanted something to happen. She warned of it. She was going to try to take Alisa's role in this city.

Gotta keep things even.

A sound hit her ears. A curious sound.
Big. Loud.
Messy.

"What the hell...?" She stood up, peering out at the sparking wires and blaring car alarms in the distance. It was getting closer. She could make it out now. "What the HELL?!"

Alisa wasn't sure whether to be horrified at the giant orb...
...Or jealous.

What a fucking AMAZING idea. Why didn't I think of that?!
You're the hero now! You can't think like that!!
Oh god, another voice in here?! We're supposed to be SANE now!

"Shuddap! I'm thinkin'!"
This wasn't going well.

At least she had gotten a few good ideas from her web wanderings. Heroes that didn't have meta abilities, had gizmos. Gizmos were something Alisa could do. Just a little reworking of some of her old equipment...

A grappling hook, revamped from an old punching gun. It shot out into the distance, Alisa- Agent P- using it to swing from her current post and out into the city, chasing after the ball. Downtown. That thing had some odd coloring to it. Like it had been rolled through a few paint piles, splatterings of red all over it.

Wait. Those were clear walls. That was inside.
"Oh, Tara. No..."

Stop that thing. Somehow.
More cars.
Crap.
School buses.
DAMN IT!

"I swear, if a kitten riding a puppy wanders through..." Gritting her teeth, she glanced around quickly, trying to think of some way to bring the giant ball to a halt.

Golf.
Hole in one.
Make a hole.
Another firing of her hook, a hand sneaking into her pocket for one of her old mini bombs. The smiley face had yet to leave on them. Work in progress. The tiny orb dropped from her hand to the manhole cover below, a high squeak emitting from the thing as it hit.

A new perch, opposite roof.
Big boom.
Alisa couldn't help but grin. So pretty.

You can't think that way!
STOP TELLING US WHAT TO DO!

The giant ball finally passed over, slowing somewhat in the divot. Another shot back, Alisa gripping the line. Pull. Pull hard. Keep it from-
Holy hell, not strong enough.
"Owwwww-!"

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Feather watched events on the small monitor beside her. She laughed, watching her ‘friend’ struggle to subdue the rolling disaster and minimize the damage it was sure to cause.

“Seriously, did I look that silly trying to stop the Deathdozer?”

“1”

“Shut up, you weren’t even there.”

She tilted her head to one side as the hero seemed close to succeeding.

“Should I let her have it? OK, well, if Little Miss Platypants wants a victory, she can have one. But it’ll be a pyrrhic victory, to be sure. A PYRRHIC VICTORY!!”

“0”

“No...its not much of a catch phrase. Sort of like saying ‘I’m gonna make you regret eating that last piece of pie!’. Or ‘Your malaise is inevitable!’. I’m gonna need something with punch and kick! Work on that for me, will ya?”

“1!”

“NO! That is NOT villainous at all! Come back when you have something better.”
Turning her attention back to the struggling heroine, Feather eased back on the ball’s throttle, letting P bring it to a rest.

With a flick of a switch, the ball’s door popped off.

“Now...come on little hero...crawl in there and read what I wrote on their backs. Come on, the gag doesn’t work if you don’t read it. Read it read it read it!”



Scrawled in tattoo ink on the backs of the two victims, readable only if the bodies are laid side by side

“HELLO PRETTIES!
Oh yes, oh yes, great gobs of YES!
Its time for a change, and its coming soon!
So hold on to your hats

P.S. KABOOM!”


The EMP went off.

 

[Mephistophelily]

The ball stopped.

Alisa, however, did not.
Her attempt at a hard yank on the cord resulted in her own fall from her perch, landing in a rather less than heroic crumble before the orb. Grimacing slightly, she tried to regain some points in the hero department as she got to her feet, peering at the thing before her with hesitant touches to the clear covering. "This can't be good... Can't be good at all..."

We should be running.
Heroes don't run! Cowardly chickens run!
BUCK FUCKING BUCK! Haul ASS, moron!

"Shh! All of you!," She hissed, the heel of her palm coming to smack the side of her own head.

Sanity was not easily gained.

The smack, however, gave her an idea. Taking the same attack against the side of the ball, she found the latch to gain entry into the giant dome. Her fears on the contents were confirmed as it cracked open, the bruised and broken forms sprawled around the strange setup inside still unmoving as the attempting-to-reform Hysteria crawled inside.

No time for delicate.
Her hands gripped onto belt buckles and ankles, whatever was closest, giving her something to cling to as she tried to haul them out. A groan, a simple hope of life in one of them.

They'll recognize us! Let go and RUN!
We didn't do this!
THEY DON'T KNOW THAT!

Laying them before the opening, she sat back for a moment, trying to breathe. It smelled odd in there; a mix of scents that were strangely familiar to her. Blood, sweat, normal things... but there was still a few things she simply couldn't place at the moment...

The back of the young man caught her attention, P peering curiously over at him. It was broken words, like the other half was missing... Like... Like...
Like a friendship necklace.
It clicked.

She rolled the girl over, the tattered back of her shirt revealing the second half.
Alisa's lips moved as she read the words, trying to understand the riddle left to her by her friend/foe. What was she-

"Oh... Fuck."

TOLD YOU WE SHOULDA RAN, DUMBASS!

She barely had time to grab the tattered shirts, trying to pull the two away.
Hysteria would have run on her own, leaving the duo to suffer themselves. To each their own... But Agent P was trying to not do that.

What Hysteria WOULD do... P would NOT.
Schrapnel from the ball dug into her back, causing her to cringe and screech, but refused to let go of the duo. Flinging them down before the cop car that tore towards them, she simply glared at the man inside.

Stop that. Hero, remember?
"Old habits die hard....", She mumbled, forcing herself to straighten up instead. "Take care of them, officer. I know who's behind this."

"Damn Hysteria...," he growled, shaking his head at the orb and the two before him. "She really is out to destroy this city...."

"Think you're blaming the wrong one, sir. You've got bigger troubles than Hysteria."

"You seem to know a lot about this. So who are we dealing with?"

"I... don't know."

"Uh....huh. And who are YOU, then?"

"Call me... Agent P." She glanced at him again, taking out her revised grappling gun and firing it off into the skyline before drawing herself up after it.

The officer simply stared. "...Like the cartoon?"



"I don't know where you are, Strike.... But I will find you. You can count on that."

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Feather might now have said she was sulking, she might not have admitted even to Corey, but she was, in fact, sulking. The Pod was filled with the noise of her sulking, especially as Feather’s particular flavor often involved smashing anything she could get her hands on.

She would NOT have called this a temper tantrum.

“What...the fuck...happened??? It wasn’t supposed to be a BOOM bomb, it was supposed to be a frizzztzzz bomb! E.M.P.! Not an Earth Shattering Kaboom Bomb! What the fuck???”

A surprisingly resilient chair hit the wall and nearly rebounded into Feather’s head.

“I wanted to see what happened when every computer went KABLOOEY!”


If one were standing very, very close to her, not a safe hobby of course, one might have heard the bell go off in her head.
She turned around to face one of the monitors.

“Corey?” Her voice was much softer now, “Corey, sweetie, did you somehow replace the E.M.P. with something explosive?”

“0!”


“Corey?” she leaned in, lips almost touching the screen, her face bathed in the strange light.

“1.”

“Were you worried that it might frazzle you too?”

“1”

“But sweetiekins, I have you completely shielded! If a nuke went off over head you’d still function.”

“0”

“You were still scared?”

“1!”

“Oh, baby!” she gave the screen a kiss, leaving lipstick smeared on it,”I won’t ever let anything hurt you, don’t you go worrying all your processors over it.”

“1!”

“But, that was NOT a very good debut. Then again, it didn’t go all that well for Hyssypants either. Oh, sorry, ‘Agent P’. Stupid news reporter STILL said it was Hysteria who set the whole thing up, I SIGNED MY NAME! But noooo...”
She sighed.

“OK, fine, whatever. We’ll just have to do something bigger this time. Something involving a lot of screaming children and really horrible chocolate sauce, maybe. Really, bubbling hot chocolate sauce. How much do we have in petty cash?”

“...”

“Corey? How much do we have in petty cash!”

“0”

“WADDYA MEAN ZERO???”

She stormed into the room that she’d assigned to Corey, not that he needed one, but she’d felt it was only fair. Inside, she saw boxes and boxes of items from EBay and Amazon.

“WHAT IS ALL THIS? No no no, you did NOT spend all our cash on these sexy motherboards, cyber-porn, 1500 socks YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE FEETS! Oh, these are cute I’m taking these, and these, and oh yes, thigh high socks are for me me me! But thats no excuse. I am ever so cross with you and I’m shutting down your Pay Pal account."

“00000!!!!”

“No, you’ve proven yourself irresponsible. No more pay sites. Now how am I supposed to hire henchboys and henchgirls and goons in general?”

“1!”

“I am NOT giving them a cut of the gross! Maybe the net, but not the gross! Well...maybe...if we plan for a significant rate of attrition. Remember this, Corey, never take a cut of the net. The 'net' is a myth. But thats beside the point. Now we gotta...we gotta...pull a heist!”


“1!”

”Yes! Heists are good. They make good movies. They’ve got a classic thing, a little retro to go with the new. Plus, you have a built-in audience.”

She ran her cheek along Corey’s monitor.

”You wanna pull a job with me, sweetie? Maybe I’ll wear those socks for you.”

“1!”


There was no way in hell she was wondering if Hyst...Agent P would like them.
Absolutely no way.

 

[Mephistophelily]

It was hard to get out of the villain frame of mind. A large portion of Alisa wanted to stay in her hideaway and sulk; she had failed. She had tried to be a hero, and hadn't done very well in her first attempt.

If at first you don't succeed...
...Blow it up and call it a day!

"She beat us to that." Her voice was flat, her legs dangling off the arm of the throne. Some things were just impossible to part with. "What we need... Is a way to beat her to the punch. She did it to us countless times... How do we return the favor?"

Third person. Another thing impossible to leave behind.

"She's thinking like us. She's caused destruction, induced mayhem... But how is she- She can't do it again now, can she? That ball, holy hell, that glorious BALL.... That thing had to cost an arm and a leg, not counting the ones she broke on those two. If she's thinking like me, and I should think like her, what should I expect her as me to do without me as her knowing?"

The chair was forgotten, for the moment. Alisa paced now, wheels turning, ideas forming. That was merely a welcome wagon, the introduction. She'd done one herself, but nothing as AMAZING as that....
But what of round Two? The opener was the big blowout, the call and warning. That had certainly been achieved. But it was the followup that left her wondering.

She recalled her own. The extravagancies, the timing and planning, and the money...
Money.
Strike/Feather/Tara may have dipped into the Guard funds for this. Unlikely a second visit to the ATM would give her anything. Money was the root of all evil, and every evil loved that money.

There was just that problem of the absurdly large number of banks on this city. Which one would Tara head for? Was she even wrong on this guess?

Well. Only one way to find out.




Note to self: Steal a cycle.
We're not STEALING anymore!
OK fine! COMMANDEER a cycle!

Alisa had to agree with her old mental state; this whole running on rooftops and the abashed ride in the taxi cab was a little less than heroic. 'Borrowing' a vehicle would make things far less cumbersome.

For now, she chose to keep close to one of the easiest forms of transport; the police station. If Feather chose to do something, they'd be on it as well... and Alisa could hitch a ride that way. Very little was happening inside the station at the moment, just the usual rounding up of pickpockets, drunkards, and noise-complaint-filing old folk.

A car in motion, lights blaring, flying out from the garage. P set into motion herself, praying to whatever patron saint of baddies-gone-good there could possibly be as she made a blind leap for the top of the car as it passed.

Good jump. Bad landing. How the cops inside didn't hear her was beyond her comprehension, flailing wildly to keep a grip on the blinding lightbar under her fingertips. "Fuck-Fuck-FUUUCK!" This could have been far better planned.

Finally gaining a grasp, she ripped the hearing device from her belt and plunked it against the roof, trying to hear inside.

"....Chief thinks it could be her again."
"Hysteria's gotten even more disturbing than ever. Really moved up that Freak ladder with that last one."

She wished she could have taken credit for that.

"Silent alarm, over on 29th. Check into it."

Well, if anything, got her further downtown.
At least it was cheaper than the taxi.

 

[Vail_Indigo]

Sure, she was late.
She’d over slept, and hadn’t had time to pour herself into the latex costume she was beginning to regret picking.
She never imagined she’d miss spandex.

Sure, she was standing there in a trench coat, nightie, and thigh-high-rainbow socks, which she’d worn to bed since she couldn’t trust them with Corey.
She’d grabbed a belt of nefarious devices on her mad dash out, but those were hidden inside the coat, and, really, a pretty girl in a nightie and silly socks? No one was checking the inside of her coat.

“I look like a flasher on acid,” she sighed.

Oh, and a giant fucking gun. She’d brought that.

Outside of the late start, things had gone surprisingly smoothly.

She waited in line, receiving more than a few confused stares.

She’d handed a classic stick’em up note to the teller, but she hadn’t expected that to work.

Then all hell broke loose.

But only for a moment.

She whipped out the giant gun and, the people of Saint City being more than a little acquainted with bank hold-ups, the customers quieted down quickly and got on the floor.

“Now. This is NOT a big deal.”

You are so fucking stupid. You have no idea what you are doing. You don’t have a plan. You shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. None of this is going to change anything.

“Fuck off. You are all going to do a few things for me. You will remain very, very still. Even if I tickle you. If I tickle you, you’ll like it, but you’ll stay very, very still. Next, when all this is over and people ask you who did it, you’ll tell them it was ‘Feather’, ok? If I turn on the news and even HEAR the name ‘Hysteria’ I swear upon all that is holy or delicious that I will hunt each of you down, but I will not kill you. I will cut your spine in ways that leave you paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of your lives, and leave you as a burden for your loved ones, sending them into personal and financial despair as the lose their lives taking care of you. I am not fucking kidding around.”

Everyone was silent.

“Who pulled this job?!?!”

“FEATHER!” they answered in unison.

“Who is Hysteria?”

Confused looks passed over the room.

“Fine. ‘Some washed up bimbo’. Jeez. You people gotta learn to think on your feet. Uh, knees, I guess. WHO IS HYSTERIA?”

“SOME WASHED UP BIMBO!”

“Damn right.”

She hopped off the table and began wandering through all the employees.

You only have a few minutes. You know they set off the silent alarm.

Crap. You forget these things when you are a hero.

Were a hero. Now you are...just sad.

“Fuck off.”

She poked an older woman in the back of the head with her gun.

“You, you the manager?”

The older woman looked up, her mascara had run.

“Ah, new to Saint City, ain’tcha? You’ll get used to this. Though, given how many frickin’ banks there are in this burg, it may be a while. Seriously, you’d think that half the state banked here. I guess bad guys need places to store their money, and lots of it, so there’s business a-plenty here. But that doesn’t make much sense. Anyhow, enough chit chat about your mistake in careers. Open the vault.”

“Its time time locked.”

“Over-ride the time lock. Thats how these things work. You say no, I say yes, you go do it.”

“It can’t be over-ridden. I had that changed when I started!”

“Really? Did no one explain things to you?” she rapped the manager on the skull with her knuckles.

“Well, what are the chances you’d hit our bank?”

“Touche. But I can’t let this slide. It would look bad. I’m really sorry about this, though, because you seem like a nice dame, and if you ever want to come over to my side, send me your resume and a couple of references. But not for a few weeks.”

“Why not?” the woman asked, more confused by her own curiosity than anything else.

“Because...”

Feather gripped the woman’s hair and pounded her face into the floor, once, twice, three times. She kept at it until there was a stain of blood and the woman stopped struggling.

“Can’t have no ugly mugs like yours around. You’ll upset Corey.”

A zero popped up on the wrist communicator Feather wore.

“What? That won’t upset you? Jesus, baby, she’s bleeding out her eyes!”

“0! 1!”

“OH! You’re right. We could totally sew her up any way we want! I forget things.”

“1!”

“Should I...”

“1!”

“Nah. Maybe later. “

“0!!!”

“OKOK, I’ll bring her along. Jeez. Fucking pouty thing you are! Anyhow,” she wandered over to the massive vault door,”How we gonna open this up?”

“0”

“Oh come on. You didn’t plan for this?”

“0”


“Holy jebus! Do I have to do everything?”

“0”

“Then open this!” She aimed the communicator at the door, as if it might fire a magic beam.

“0?”

“Fine. What do you suggest?”
“1!!1!!1!!”

She shook her head.

“Reinforced glass. Concrete walls two feet thick. Built to withstand a truck barreling through the front. If we try to boom the door, it’ll turn everyone here into jelly! Which would be fine except for ME you dolt. And your little friend I’m bringing home.”

“111111!!”

“Yes yes. I promise. Dammit. These tellers carry chump change. Barely enough to buy boots. Wait. Corey, you are a computer, right?”

“0”

“Corey...”

“1”

“Chit chat the vault computer then. Make nice with her. She’ll open up wide, then!”

“0”

“Be real. You love it. Vault in every port, I’m sure.”

“1?”

“Seriously, I’m looking like an idiot here. And i think I got blood on my socks.”

“1.”

“Fine. Let me know when you are...WHOA!”

Feather barely got out of the door’s way in time as it swung open forcefully.

“NICE! Who needs spanish fly!”

You didn’t think that would be it, did you?
What do you mean?
Look at it.

There were piles of money, cash, moolah.
She filled her dufflebag up until it could barely be zippered closed.
But paper is heavy. Very heavy.

“GODDAMMIT!” she cursed as she dragged the thing with all her strength, “And I DID get blood on my socks!”

 

[Mephistophelily]

The police car slid through the streets, Alisa gripping the lights even tighter as her body tried to flail off the edge. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up a bit higher, already starting to question just how many bruises this alone was going to earn her.

Which of us had this bright idea, anyway?
Pretty sure this one was you.
Yeah, all you.

"Oh, sure, NOW they can agree on something..."
The car finally came to a halt, Alisa letting go and simply falling straight off the back of the car with less-than-heroic grace as the officers bolted from the car.

"Call for backup! If this is anything like the last time-"

"That's what I'm afraid of too," Alisa whispered, getting to her feet and moving behind the car. The officers continued their inspection of the scene, while Alisa simply stared at the building. How would a hero get in there? Hysteria would have simply stormed in with guns drawn and declaring the situation.

Well...
No guns...
But...

"Meh." Agent P gave a shrug, reaching into the pouch on her belt to pull the joy buzzer rings out. She really needed to keep working on upgrading her heroics supplies instead of recycling... Running over to the door, she decided to try the hero's triumphant kick to open it- only to discover it had an electronic lock that refused to give. New pain. Great, and she hadn't even faced Tara yet. "Oh, screw this," She hissed, slapping her hand against the door and letting the over-charged buzzer short the lock.

"Good day, ladies and gents- Have no fear, Agent P is here!"
They stared at her.
Oh right, heroes didn't really do that.
"Where is she?"

"Feather pulled this job and Hysteria's a washed-up bimbo...," A meek voice called from the corner, the security guard of the bank peering over one of the tables.

Oh THAT'S how she gonna play this?!

"That's.... very nice. But I ask again.... Where is she?"

The woman on the floor in front of her pointed toward the vault, receiving a nod from Agent P as she headed for it.

"Feather."
Her voice managed to deepen as she stepped into the little room, staring at the other woman. "Having fun...?"