Topic: Call-In

[Commander La'ra]

Another City of Heroes fanfic, though not a Bob story this time 'round.

It's a sequel, of a sorts.  The GF wrote me a...erm...story...involving one of my villains and her hero.  I'm one of those people that always asks 'but what happened after that', and thus, I started working on Call-In.

Posting rate should be much faster than usual.  I'm writing this for the significant other, and she continually 'reminds' me that I should be working on it.  It's sort of like living in the same house with Grim Reaper in that respect.

------------------------------------


Call-In


"Back on in three."  The sandy-haired producer calls out.  The last strains of a commercial plays over the booth speakers.

"You're back to Mystery Lynn on Paragon City's Ninety-five-nine hottttttt FM...Murray in Skyway City has a problem with his neighbor's bedroom antics.  Could you tell us what the trouble is Murray?"

"Yeah, it's...it's the noise level.  I mean, I know they're into each other and all, but Christ, I work the early shift.  All f*ckin' night all I hear is 'Oh God' this and 'Harder!' and screaming and hollering.  I don't wanna spoil their fun, but I don't wanna start sleeping in earmuffs either."

"Have you said anything to them about it?"

"No...no...I mean, I figure they might try and keep it down.  I even talk to 'em occasionally, but it's kind of hard for me to bring up."

"Why's that?"

"Well...it's two women.  That doesn't bother me, I'm cool with that, but I don't...well..."

The DJ closes her eyes for a second.  Passions surround her, as individual as a face, or a voice, or a scent.  She picks Murray's out easily, drifts through it.  Distance isn't always an issue for Mystery Lynn.  Murray is talking directly to her.  That's as good as being inches away.

"You're worried they'll think you've been listening in."

Silence.

"A little, yeah."

"I'd still talk to them.  If they're as energetic as you're letting on they're probably aware of it."

"Man.  Afraid you'd say that."  Murray chuckles.  "Still gonna be rough."

"You'll manage I'm sure."  Mystery grins  "And there is the off chance they'll ask you to join in."

A nervous laugh from Murray.  A surge of excitement that let her know that he'd probably had that idea before.

"If that happens, though, you have to call back and tell us about it."

The call ends.

"Next up we have...oh my.  Hello, Razor."

"You rock!"  The voice in her headphones sounds young, enthusiastic, and somewhat stoned.

"What's going on with you today?"

"Just calling in for some free advertising, babe!  Bonesplatter's got a gig!"

Mystery didn't encourage people calling in to get airtime for their personal projects.  She didn't encourage people to call her babe.  She made exceptions for Razor.  His affection was honest, and his band eager.

"That's great."  She smiled.  "Where at, I might try and drop by."

"That club in IP!  Ah hell....where'd I put the flyer..."

There was only one place you'd call 'that club' in Independence Port.  It was just called 'Amp' this week, and usually featured the kind of music Razor and his merry thugs enthusiastically mangled. 

"Amp?"

"Yeah!  You rock."

"I know it well."  She admits.  She did.  She hadn't been there since it'd been a drug producing hideout for a gang of cybernetic anarchists known as the Freakshow.  She had a flash of memory.  Wild emotions, thrown punches, the able assistance of a well-liked fellow in a hat.  Someone had bought the warehouse at the police auction and turned it into a rave spot.  "When's the show?"

"Friday night at eleven!  You gonna swing by?"

"I might."

A spike of wild hope from Razor.

"Yeah!"  He shouts.  "You f*ckin' rock!"

She laughs, the call ends.  She glances at the clock.  It isn't time for another song yet.  She looks toward her producer, reads the words he’s fed to her call screen.

"Liz from Galaxy City, you're on the air."

"Hello there, Mystery."

The voice on the phone spoke perfect, unaccented English.  The Dee Jay recognizes it anyway.  More than the voice, the anger, the borderline mania, the hunger.

"Uhm...."  Mystery's fingers curl, uncurl.  She leans closer to her microphone, her voice quieter than it had been.  "...hello.  You had a question?"

"Yes, I did." 'Liz' replied.  "There's this woman.  We had an encounter I enjoyed considerably."

The Dee Jay has her eyes closed.  'Liz' is speaking precisely.  Excellent diction.  She was usually less formal, more emotive, despite her tendency for well thought out plans.  What was she up too?

"I see.  And you're..." 

"...hungry for another taste."

Feet shuffle against the broadcast room's floor.  Cheeks flush slightly.

"Well...have you tried calling her?  Asking her out?"

"Well."  There was a trace, a bare hint of 'Liz's' usual accent.  "I have called her."

"I...well how'd that work out?"  Mystery asks.  Her heartbeat is accelerating.  Excitement and fear.  She'd been carried to her car that night.  There'd only been one person it could've been, and that person knew her secret.

"I'm not sure yet."  Accent or no, that sentence was the 'Liz' she knew.  Unpredictable but deliberate.  Teasing, with the trace of a sadistic laugh.  "I'm still waiting to see what happens."

"Sounds like you know what to do...what was your question?"

"I wanted to know how you think she might respond."

The Dee-Jay squirms a little in her seat.

"No way to tell.  Just have to wait and see."

"Oh, see, I'm just...not very patient."  

Mystery reaches, trying to touch her caller's heart.  Hunger.  Lust.  Curiosity.  All seemingly normal, but mixed in odd portions.  She knew from experience that 2 + 2 with ‘Liz’ didn’t always equal 4.

“Well...maybe you’ll have to be.”

“Maybe.  Or maybe I should just be more assertive.  She’s got a great apartment.  Could surprise her there.  Jump on her and just have my way.”

“I...”  The inside of the Dee Jay’s mouth goes slightly dry.  “...don’t know.  Coming on too strong...you risk rejection.”

“In this case, ‘no‘ isn‘t an acceptable answer.”

Mystery shivers.  What was the woman suggesting?  Rape? Blackmail?

The Dee-Jay contemplates the possibilities.  Fear asserts itself, but something else too.  Something that’d enjoyed being abused, that’d been quite satisfied with the floodgates she’d opened out of desperation.

“I...”  She looks up.  Her engineer is giving her a look that states ‘what the f*ck?’ despite his silence.  She blinks.  “...I think it’s time to go to commercial.”

She hits a button.  A Cell Phone company begins preaching the dogma of better networking as Mystery whips off her headset, snatches up the phone’s for-real receiver.

“Look, I don’t understand wha....”

There’s no response, just the hum of the dial-tone.

Mystery exhales, replaces the telephone.  She leans back in her chair.  ‘Liz’ is capable of most anything, she knows.  She should take tonight as a threat.  She should take precautions.  When she goes home tonight, ‘Liz’ might actually be waiting.

She might not be, too.  Mystery knows. 

The thought gives her a chill.

[Lara]

LOL I do love this. Well done.

[Grim Reaper]

Wow, massive tension! If your gf writes as good as you, I'd love to see that story too.

As for living in my domain (2 links!), I think something can be worked out. She could be Ysabell's buddy. I even have a swing

[Scottish Andy]

wow... that's pretty cool... and damn hot!

Interesting twist with the 'empathic over the phone' attribute. Looking forward to more

[Commander La'ra]

Like I said...faster....

---------------------

The apartment door eases open.  The Dee Jay peeks in.  There's no one waiting for her, at least not in the living room.  If there's anyone hiding somewhere else, she cannot feel them.

She walks into her loft, turns on the lights.  Mystery was born with her abilities.  She trusts them as most do their sight, but as any person with functional eyes knows they see worse in the dark, the Dee Jay knows there are things she cannot sense.  She slides through the living room, checks the closet, the bedroom, the other closet, the bathroom.  There's no one waiting for her.

She bolts the door, not sure if what she's feeling is relief.

The Dee Jay knows she should be scared.  'Liz' was not entirely sane.  'Liz' wasn't even 'Liz', or she wasn't most of the time.  Her name was Wilhelmina.  Wilhelmina Elizabeth Einhorn.  No one called her Wilhelmina.  They called her Colonel.  Her crimes were extensive.  She had no abilities to match Mystery's, but she had firepower, brains, and a cadre of loyal soldiers-for-hire.  In the Dee Jay's other job, the two had tangled more than once.

Then, about a month ago, there was...the incident.

Mystery still isn't sure what to think about the incident.  It hadn't started out as what it became.  It shouldn't have transformed from apprehension to passion.  That was the problem with the Colonel.  Paths did not always take a logical route.

The Dee Jay removes her coat, hangs it on the rack near the door.  She fetches a drink...alcoholic though mildly so...from the fridge and walks to her windows.  Steel Canyon is spread out beneath her, millions of little lights burning in other people's windows.  If she stretches herself she can hear the people behind the windows, a vast droning of passions.  She doesn't.  It's an unpleasant sensation, like having a hundred loud songs playing at once.

She wonders if Colonel Einhorn...'Liz'...Wilhelmina...is watching her right now.  And if she is...she wonders what's she's thinking.


*   *   *



Mystery slid into bed after late night had become early morning.  She slept deeply.  She knew she was dreaming of 'Liz'...Wilhelmina...but couldn't remember the dream.

She lays in her bed.  The Colonel hadn't been waiting for her.  That was good, she supposes, but it didn't mean that she wasn't still in danger.  Why would the woman call her, taunt her, if she didn't have some plan?

Mystery has an answer, but she whispers it to herself, not quite fully acknowledging it.  She shakes her head.  Whether or not there was a supervillain targeting her for destruction, it was time to get up.

There's no show for the Dee Jay, today.  Three nights a week was her usual schedule, sometimes with a special broadcast on holidays.  There is, however, her other job.  The one that'd first brought her into contact with Colonel Einhorn. 

Superhero can seem like a silly thing to call yourself, so Mystery usually doesn't.  Costumed Crime Fighter is less pretentious, or so the Dee Jay believes, but she doesn't generally wear a costume.  Mystery's gifts can be used dramatically, but it tires her, wears her out quickly.  Thus, she usually uses more subtle methods, and to suit her tactics, doesn't dress in a fashion that would grab a dead man's attention.

She does have a costume.  It's hidden under some old Christmas decorations in the closet.  It doesn't get much mileage. 

It won't be getting any more today, Mystery decides, glancing out the window.  Snow is falling fitfully, and the wind cries out every so often.  Not a day for spandex.  Especially small amounts of spandex.

She gets out of bed, goes through her usual morning procedures though it's closer to afternoon than morning due to the lateness of her time slot..  She dresses;  jeans, shirt, sweatshirt with the logo of a local art festival, glasses.  There's also the belt strapped under the clothes and the device attached to it.  Unlike some other 'meta's' (as they're often called), Mystery cannot fly.  An extremely gifted man had built the device and with it, Mystery could take to the skies.

She probably wouldn't be using the thing today.  It got more use on costume days.  Occasionally though, spandex or not, she found herself in an exciting situation she wished to withdraw from quickly.  Hence, she usually wore the belt.

Mystery sets up her voice mail to forward calls to her cell.  She has friends in this business as well as in radio.  Sometimes they needed her help.  She slides her coat on and heads out of the apartment.

[Governor Ronjar]

Not Bob...but equally...enticing.

I want more of course...

--guv!

[Grim Reaper]

I'm curious how you are gonna play this out. Esp the tension curve. Gimme more, so I can see

[Commander La'ra]

Probably my favorite sequence from this story so far.

------------------

Mystery drives a Prius.  It's cheap on gas, quiet, and kind of nondescript.  Water sloshes under her tires as she pulls off the Argo Highway and onto Talos Island.

Talos Island is out in the bay, connected to the rest of Paragon City with some lengthy bridges.  It's commercial, but hipper than Steel Canyon or Galaxy City when it comes to image.  Lots of Internet-based companies have their offices here, and the executives go without ties or wear shorter skirts.  It's got its gangs and its troublemakers just like the rest of the city, though.  She's looking for a specific one today.

Billy.

She'd first 'met' Billy on a costume day.  He'd locked eyes with her during a street brawl.  She'd been about to put him to sleep or send him flying with a burst of telekinesis when she'd felt his sudden fascination.  It was sexual, of course -- Billy was a teenage male -- but the awkward innocence of the desire had stuck in her mind.  She had, despite the raging battle around her, been about to say something to him.  That would've been all it would've taken;  a simple 'I know you don't want to fight me'.

She hadn't been fast enough.  Her friend with the hat had sent Billy sprawling with a painful-looking kick.  But Mystery remembered the fascination.  It was her key inside his head.

The car's door chime begins to ring as she climbs out.  She closes the door, the alarm chirping as she activates the lock.  She's parked near Spanky's Boardwalk.  Billy likes to hang out there, with other members of his gang.  Mystery strolls down the street.  She makes a small mental effort;  onlookers will tend to look right past her.  She's not hiding, per se, just encouraging people not to look at her.  Brown eyes search for her target.

Some time after the brawl, Mystery had realized why she kept thinking about Billy.  His sudden entrancement with her, the wild-yet-untrained lust he'd felt...they belonged to a child, one who had not known real love, real heartbreak, one who couldn't truly understand, yet, that he and his Freakshow friends weren't just having a good time.  They hurt people.  Sometimes they killed them.  It wasn't the type of thing someone who could still feel like Billy would want.

She needed to get to him soon.  Hearts matured like wine.  Given time, Billy's feelings would be that of a man, measured, more controlled, but no less earnest.  That could only happen if his present path didn't sour his heart, stunt him, turn him hard or bitter or cynical.  If she could keep that from happening, it was worth a thousand drug busts or foiled robberies.  At least to her.

Her ankle length boots crunch the snow.  She's gazing down at the boardwalk.  No Billy, yet, but it won't be long.  His companions are creatures of habit.

It would be possible for her to 'steer' him, mentally.  She senses feelings easily.  With more effort, she can change them.  She knows to avoid the temptation.  The effects only lasted as long as she maintained the effort.  Once her influence faded, they'd be back to normal.  If they knew what caused their shift in outlook or mood, they'd usually become righteously -- and justifiably -- pissed.

Mystery shivers a little.  She'd learned that lesson well.

The Dee-Jay is stamping her feet, keeping gloved hands firmly in her coat pockets, when Billy and his posse appear.

There are five of them.  Young, pierced, tattooed, in bright colors that did not match and with uniformly shaven heads.  Weapons concealed but not hidden.  Pedestrians avoided them.  They didn't move with a purpose.  They were just patrolling, cruising around, letting everyone know this was Freakshow turf.

Billy didn't walk among the crew.  He was the Omega Wolf, the new guy.  He trailed behind, saying little, looking less threatening, less belligerent, than the others.  Even without her abilities, Mystery could see reluctance in him, his doubts as to why he was here, with these people.  She smiles.

It was time to start.

The Superheroine closes her eyes.  Thoughts and passions swirl around her.  Intangible fog.  She's close to Billy and his friends, though, and knows what to look for.  Strong feelings of territory, strength from the Freaks.  Though they preached anarchy and freedom, in their minds they were still about greed and hostility, or at least this bunch was.  Mystery has encountered their wilder counterparts, but they were higher up the gang's food chain.  Doubt and boredom in the mix...that was Billy.  She follows that thread of thought towards him, not touching his mind yet, but feeling who he is. 

Mystery can read minds in the classic sense:  The access of memory, of plain language thought.  That takes effort.  Her brand of mind magic involves passion, emotion. 

She's willing to exert effort for Billy.  She can hear him trying to convince himself there's a reason for him to be here.  She can hear him recounting all the ways his companions have 'helped' him.  She can hear him regret intimidating a shopkeeper, scaring a young couple away from a park bench.  She can hear his thoughts in regard to her; not too surprisingly, the memory of locking eyes with the spandex-clad superheroine has remained fresh.

Hello, Billy.  She says.  It's no different than talking, to her.

She sees him stand straighter, suddenly alert.  He's not fearful, just surprised.  He's not completely beneath the notice of his fellows, but he's not important enough for them to note every action or shift of mood.  They don't notice his reaction.

Not again.  He thinks.  Despite the mild frustration and hostility than accompanies the statement, she grins.  There'd been a spike of happiness and excitement from him at the 'sound' of her mental voice.  His clumsy attempt to hide it is endearing.

Still, there is some honest irritation.  It doesn't bother her.  Humans were complex creatures.  Moods were usually cocktails rather than shots.  She understands.  It's a little disconcerting to have 'the man' ('the woman' doesn't sound as oppressive) in one's head when standing next to one's criminal allies.  She never contacts him when he's alone;  his discomfort is small price to pay for having the bad example of his posse standing right next to him.

You don't sound happy to hear from me.

His mood shifts.  He tries even harder to hide his excitement.

Why do you keep BOTHERING me!

I didn't know I was bothering you.

Yes you did!

All right.  I'll leave you alone.  She doesn't break the link, but she goes quiet.

She feels disappointment, a little self-directed anger.  She sees him looking around the boardwalk for her. 

If that's what you want.  She adds.

I don't see why you keep doing this.

I don't see why you're still running around with them busting shop windows and mugging little old ladies.

I don't mug little old ladies!

You didn't shoot at people till two weeks ago.  Then you tried to shoot me.

He's silent.  Down below, he shifts uncomfortably.

I'm not mad at you.  She assures.

I know.  He admits.  I don't understand that.

I'm just not taking it personally.  She explains.  If you'd hurt me you'd have regretted it.  That's why I keep 'bothering' you.  You're not like your 'friends'.

Because I'm a pussy?  Slight anger.  Conflicting ideas of what he's supposed to be like.

My friend, the one who kicked you?  He hates hurting people.  Is he a pussy?

Consideration from Billy.

Can't really say 'yes' there, can I?

The Superheroine chuckles lightly.

What do you want me to do?  He asks.  He always asks this. 

I want you to do what you think you ought to do.  What you really think you ought to do.  She never gives him the 'out' of a command.  He has to decide what he wants, even if she's coaching him.

She can feel the uncertainty in his brain.  Teenagers always amazed her.  That their own feelings could survive with all the other influences -- most from their own bodies -- pulling at their mind...it was an everyday miracle.  The uncertainty was his own, and it was strong now.  Much stronger than it had been a couple of weeks ago. 

I still don't know what I ought to do.  I don't think these guys are...right for me.  I just need to figure out how to...I don't know.

She nods to herself.  It wouldn't be much longer, for Billy.

Is that you on the cliff?  He asks.  Sharp-eyed, that Billy.  He always spots her.

You know it is.  She replies.  On the last visit, he'd credited her hair.  It was long, red, and noticeable.  She supposed if she really wanted to disguise herself, she'd tuck it under a hat.

Lust, clumsily suppressed, from Billy.  The urge to tell her she's pretty.  She laughs and pretends not to notice.  She's amused enough that the spike of fear catches her by surprise.  Brown eyes whip down towards the boardwalk.  Nothing immediately bad is happening, but Billy's sudden terror isn't going away.

It's his posse.  They're talking back and forth, pointing her direction.  She lets their thoughts in.  Pretty girl.  Newb spotted a good one.  Get her, let the new guy have first crack.  Looks like she might have cash.  Doesn't matter if she has cash.  He hadn't said anything to them, they'd just followed his stare.  Now they're proud of him.

They gangers begin to move, nonchalantly, toward the end of the boardwalk.  It's the too-casual motion that the Superheroine knows signals the start of a hunt.  They're dragging Billy with them.

Run!  He urges.  She smiles tightly.

She takes a moment to decide what to do.  Billy's posse aren't that formidable.  She could disable them.  She's not sure she can do it without...a lot of fuss and bother.  She's made progress with Billy.  Fuss and bother might derail that.

She eases away from the post she's been leaning on.  The gangers will take some time to get to her.  Her car isn't far away, and if she doesn't run, they shouldn't suspect she spotted them.  She stretches her senses out a bit, not taking a chance on being a surprise.  She stops walking.

The Superheroine is being watched.  Not by Billy or his posse.  Someone far more dangerous.  Last nights call, last nights fear, come roaring back. 

Not here...

She can't spot an immediate threat.  That doesn't mean there isn't one.  Thousands of windows look down upon her.  Plenty of rooftops.  Colonel Einhorn has some crack shots in her employ.  The thoughts don't feel like her.  It's one of her crew, but she can't see them.

Mystery starts walking again.  Billy's posse are coming up the stairs from the boardwalk, still lazy, still far away.  The other threat...the nebulous emotions that let her know there's a threat...heighten, focus to an almost computer-like clarity.   Even as she strides toward her car, she closes her eyes, stretches herself.  There's no contact with whoever is watching her.  No voice, no visual.  Even talking to them will be hard, but she thinks she has him.  The mind is sharp, amazing concentration, almost unnatural calm.  It's a male.

Billy's posse is getting closer to her.  She'll make it to the car first, but not by much.  She may have to run.  The observer's interest rises

Her car chirps as she keys the doors from across the lot.  Billy's crew begins to walk faster.  Billy is beside himself.  They'll catch her if she doesn't run.  They might catch her if she does.  She has to chance it.

Mystery bolts.

There's a chorus of yells from behind her as the Freaks begin to pursue in earnest.  She has a few priceless seconds before they're up to speed.  She's halfway to her car.

The observer's determination swells.  She can feel his focus, and it's not on her.

No!  She screams it.  Without firmer contact, the observer may not hear.  Something gets through, because determined calm is wrecked by confusion, uncertainty.  She's at the car.  She's in the car.  The engine starts about the time the Freaks arrive.  Angry young men bang on her windshield, rock the little Toyota back and forth.

The observer's concentration returns.

Please no!  She screams again.  Less uncertainty this time.  Reluctant agreement.  She throws the car into reverse.  Chaotic thoughts from the Freaks.  They want her.  They have weapons.

Mystery let's loose some fear.  Of getting run over, of being seen, of getting caught, whatever.  There's no noticeable effect on the Freaks.  They're a bit frenzied.  Still, no weapons are pulled.  She's out of the parking lot and away.

She searches for the observer.  Still there but making his escape.  Frustration.  Irritation.  She tries wildly for a more concrete thought.  She gets several.  He was meant to observe.  If necessary, to protect.  No altruism there.

His boss wants Mystery for herself.

[Grim Reaper]

mmmm is she just a snack, a passing interest? Or is she more to our villainous colonel?

OT: I'm getting a Prius next. Don't like the car but the tax benefits make it worthwhile...

[Scottish Andy]

wow... nice way to rack up the tension there! I was really worried about her getting roughed up.

It's cool that she's 'working' on Billy, the way she's working on him. That's smart stuff. Looking forward to more.

[Governor Ronjar]

Too ill today for an indepth review. Liked the mind-speak sequence.

--guv!

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

I really like this. Your CoH stories are really growing on me, thanks in major part to this one so far. The style seems somewhat different from your normal writing in a way, although I can't put my finger on exactly what it is. Either way, though, great action, great suspense. Looking forward to more.

[Commander La'ra]

Another chunk.

-------------------

The superheroine drives quickly.  She has no destination.  The speedometer on her dashboard creeps upward.  Her sweaty hands knead the steering wheel.

She knows now, that the Colonel is coming for her.  She need not wonder.  More troublesome thoughts replace that worry.  When will she pounce?  How?  What does she want?

What does she want from me?

The Colonel couldn't just want her dead.  She could've killed her after the 'incident'.  Even if she wasn't willing to have her minions do it for her, she could've killed her today.  Was this about fear?  Did she want Mystery scared?  That couldn't be all she wanted, could it?

None of it made real sense.

Mystery removes her glasses, wipes some moisture from her eyes.  If Colonel Einhorn just wanted to scare her, she'd succeeded.  The superheroine knows better.  She'd scared her with the phone call.  Greater efforts than that had been made.  Underlings had been sent to follow, preserve.  That meant there was more to come, more than just rattling her.

She should ask for help, she decides.  The idea scares her more than the Colonel does.  There are plenty of people willing to help her, but she's not willing to share her secret.  The incident had been violent.  Its aftermath had been frightening.  Nevertheless, it was hers, shared only with the other participant.

Colonel Einhorn wanted Mystery for herself.  Good enough, Mystery decides. 

That's the same way I want it..



*   *   *



The Superheroine's destination turned out to be fenced off park area in Galaxy City.  She'd chosen the spot with some care:  When the Colonel had called in, she'd claimed GC as her origin.  She had probably been lying, but Mystery's powers could be enhanced by the foggiest connections, sometimes, and it couldn't hurt to come here.

She'd given some thought to finding a peaceful spot outside of Paragon City.  It had been a seductive impulse, at first, but Paragon is Mystery's home turf.  She knows it's rhythms.  She can spot aberrations.  Colonel Einhorn is definitely an aberration.

Mystery sits on a park bench, folds her hands together and closes her eyes.

Thousands of voices.  Happy, sad, frantic, calm.  Young, old, stunted, cynical.  Hungry, horny, cold, tired.  Passions blend and ebb.  Most are strangers.  Friends are lost in the tide.

She can look closer, separate familiar from a sea of the unknown, but she wants to feel the pulse.  The City has it’s own, but every neighborhood, every block, adds something to it.  Mystery is worried about GC's contribution.  Modern, but not distinctive.  Colorful, but conservative.  Newcomers say Galaxy has no personality, but it does.  It’s informal, unconcerned with appearances, quieter than other parts of Paragon. 

The superheroine waits for Galaxy’s heartbeat to register.  Then she looks for palpitations.

Plenty of the usual.  A mugging here.  Grease fire there.  She listens for worry, but not vanilla worry.  Worry over something unusual.  Worry over strange faces or occupied apartments known to be empty.  She follows trails of emotion, hears glimmers of thought.

Tiny leads are followed.  Snow begins to fall.  The cloud-obscured sun dips down toward the horizon.

There’s a man on the North side of Galaxy City.  He’s curious and worried.  Strangers coming and going from PC Shack.  Guy who ran it folded up tents after the alien thing, moved to Boise.  Still owns the building.  People in there now.  Seen them coming and going.

The thought fades.  Mystery doesn’t try too hard to recapture it.  There were myriad similar thoughts, but she thinks this is the right one.  People, not woman....the Colonel brought her minions.  PC Shack...recently closed business, type of place most passers by would expect to see people at.  The details of it not being open probably weren’t well known.  No solid evidence, of course, but Mystery operates on intuition.

She walks to her car.  She pulls a City Directory out of the glove box.  Handy detective thing her hat-wearing friend had taught her.  PC Shack is a short drive.

She doesn't drive straight there.  She's learned not to just barge in on the Colonel.  The superheroine parks three blocks away and rubs her temples.  Letting in everyone, even on a shallow level, both tires and numbs her.  Her head is hurting, and other people's noise is in her head.  She can't tune it all out so well when she's tired.  Mystery pulls a bottle from her coat pocket.  Aspirin.  The empath's best friend.

She takes a walk, circling the area while avoiding sight of her target building.  She's dealt with Colonel Einhorn enough to know that there'll be lookouts.  Some will be people.  Some will be electronic.  She doesn't know how wide a perimeter the Colonel has set up.  Wilhelmina could be watching her now, but it seemed unlikely.  The more area you tried to keep an eye on, the more likely something could slip through.  The Colonel would keep her front narrow, if she could.  If the Colonel was even there.

Mystery finds an alley.  It doesn't lead directly to the old computer shop.  It does lead close to it.  The superheroine begins to stroll down the forlorn lane, ankle-high boots crunching on the slowly accumulating snow.

The alley takes a left-hand turn.  Brick and concrete on either side, fenced enclaves for cardboard and trash every fifty feet or so.  A sign on the nearest door tells her she's behind a used bookseller.  A few yards down, the alley splits, one branch leading straight to her destination.  There might be cameras watching her right now, but if she turned down that little cul de sac, there would be.  She has a different idea.

The plastic box at the small of her back hums lightly.  Little vibrations slide up her spine.  Mystery's feet leave the ground.  The device provides the lift, she provides the steering;  though better at reading hearts and mending bodies (that hadn't shown up till puberty), she has a little bit of telekinesis.  She can manage gross actions, though not delicate ones.  She can break things, or if they're moving, shift their direction.  She slides up the side of the bookseller and sets herself down, lightly, on the roof.

The superheroine crouches, creeps across the rooftop.  A blast of heat from a central unit's exhaust musses her hair.  She's almost on her belly as she approaches the other side.  She peers over the edge.  PC Shack's back entrance is closed.  The alley behind it looks abandoned.

Mystery operates on intuition, but she's learned observation.  Helped in the spandex business.  There's a little bit of fresh oil on the asphalt behind the building.  There's no ice accumulated around the back door.  Odd, considering the weather and that no one uses the place.  She stretches out, 'listening' again.  She can't feel anyone inside the building. 

That didn't mean anything.  There are ways to block mental senses.  Whatever Einhorn was planning, it revolved around Mystery.  She'd have prepared for her.

Mystery shakes her head.  A little voice is suggesting she get help again.  She shoves it away. 

The superheroine has a moment of indecision.  She'd come here to find Colonel Einhorn, but the Colonel hadn't put out a sign.  Mystery had charged in on the Colonel once before.  That'd led to the incident.  She doesn't know what it could lead to now.  It might be smarter to stake the place out, see who came and went. 

That idea seems unsatisfying to Mystery.  Besides, whatever the Colonel was planning could happen tonight.

The superheroine looks for a way in.  The back door probably isn't the best idea.  Alarmed or trapped, probably, along with the front doors and windows.  Guards inside.  There's no quiet way in.

But then, why be quiet?  She was a DJ at a rock station, after all.

The box hums again, and Mystery is in the alley.  A mental shove tears PC Shack's back door from it's hinges, sends it flying into the building.  Mystery sprints after it, a wave of intense calm and happiness beaming out from her mind.  Anyone feeling that was going to have a hard time shooting her.

There's no one in the back room, no armed men suddenly unworried about the intruder and insanely happy to see her.  Mystery keeps going.  Surprise is gone, speed is now paramount.  PC Shack isn't big.  Mystery covers it quickly.  There's no one here.

The Superheroine, uncharacteristically, curses.

She berates herself for being too eager, for running right into the wrong building, even busting down the door, just because that damned woman had rattled her.  The moment of self-abuse passes quickly; it can't help her.  She starts looking around.

PC Shack hasn't been abandoned long enough for the stereotypical layer of dust, but habitation still leaves signs and Mystery is suddenly noting plenty of them.  Impressions left in the carpet.  A scent of gun oil and ozone.  Muddy footprints on the thin carpet.

Someone had been here.  Mystery steps into the back room, looking for more.

There'd been a chair in the back room.  The flying door had knocked it over.  Something colorful lies near it.  Mystery crouches down.  It's a rose, dyed the deep but not too deep electric blue that the superheroine claims as 'favorite color'.  Next to it, a remote camera and battery pack, its wireless antenna snapped off and useless.  Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her.

The superheroine picks up the rose.  Thorns prick her skin.  She closes her eyes and sighs.

[Scottish Andy]

Innnnnnnnnnnteresting.

Not sure of what you mean by "Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her". The rose and camera, or suddenly-arriving henchmen, or what?

And the Colonel is a very impressive person. Knowing how Mystery would track her down, find her place, how she'd case the joint... very Sun Tzu. And very unnerving for the Dee Jay. Someone able to predict you to such a high degree (though obviously not to 100%) must be very worrying.

Looking forward to more.

[Governor Ronjar]

The tension doth spike a bit more than in the usual La'ra vintage in this tale. I keep having to reread it to get the flow right. I can't just read the last post by itself, or it feels disjointed. This is among the few stories that affects me such.

Anyway, am interested to see it finish. Wondering how long a tale this'll be...

--guv

[Commander La'ra]

Not sure of what you mean by "Had she opened the back entrance normally, they'd have been waiting for her". The rose and camera, or suddenly-arriving henchmen, or what?

She was referring to the rose and camera.  IE:  Had she not busted the door down in a somewhat uncharacteristic fashion, she'd have opened it to see said objects on prominent display.

The tension doth spike a bit more than in the usual La'ra vintage in this tale.

I hope so.  It's the primary 'target' with this story, and I've already ruthlessly axed two scenes that deadened, rather than promoted it.  I really hate doing that when I like the scene...maybe I can use varients thereof in another story.

I may be worrying about it too much.  Never really tried what I'm shooting for with 'Call-in' before.

Anyway, am interested to see it finish. Wondering how long a tale this'll be...

I think it's about 2/3rd's done. That's referring to what I have sitting on my hard drive as opposed to what I've posted.  It seems like it'll end up nearly the same length or slightly shorter than most of my earlier La'ra stories.

[Commander La'ra]

Writing wise, I'm nearing the climax.  Posting wise, we're to a scene that, to me, doesn't add much to the tension...I revised it a bit to cut down on length, which helped, but the 'old man' part seemed necessary to me.  Tell me what ya' think.

--------------

Mystery doesn't kick anything as she exits the building.  She just feels like doing it.

She doesn't know if this building was a ruse or a decoy.  She does know that if had been a trap she'd have walked right into it.  It might've been a bomb instead of a rose waiting for her.  An earnest attempt to kill her.

She forces herself to walk at a normal pace.  Her cheeks are flushed.  The wind is cold on her face.

Why was it a rose and not a land mine?  Mystery is trying not to dwell on that question.  There are obvious answers.  Colonel Einhorn likes to play with her prey.  Colonel Einhorn is just proving a point.  Colonel Einhorn is insane and needs no logical motive.

The superheroine has no trouble believing any of those, but there's another option she's trying not the think about.  For the thousandth time today, she shoves that one out of her mind.  She takes deep breaths.  Calms herself.  She'd taken the offensive and been thrown a curve ball.  That wasn't any reason to stop, and though PC Shack might've been a deliberate misdirection, someone had to set it up.  Clues may exist.

She pulls her coat tighter, buries her hands in her pockets.  The snow is heavier than it was.

The Colonel would've left nothing in the building.  At least nothing Mystery could find without an evidence analysis team.  Mystery had other avenues to pursue; they'd led her here, after all.  There might be more.

She doesn't sit down this time.  She doesn't need the all-or-nothing concentration she'd needed to sift all of Galaxy City.  She's looking for a certain person, that nosy, worrisome person who'd noticed the intruders at PC Shack in the first place.  She finds him easily, allows herself to probe a little deeper.  Mystery is as respectful of people's privacy as her abilities allow, and all she needs from the man is an address.  He's in apartment 320, in a building within view of the shut down computer store.

A light switches to 'walk'.  Mystery crosses the street, strolls down the sidewalk.  The apartment building is five stories, older.  She has a feeling most of the tenants are elderly.  It has that look.  The stairway door is locked, but there are intercoms for the apartments.  Residents could likely buzz you in.

"Yeah?"  A voice asks when she hits 320's button.  Irritation, but curiosity.  He wasn't expecting visitors.

"Hello.  You don't know me, but I need to ask you some questions about that computer store across the street."  She replies.  His mental response is instant: Suspicion, more irritation, impulse to utter an obscenity and shut off the speaker.  It doesn't last, for she's sending things his way.  Her suspicion.  Her desire for help.  Her knowledge that he's the man to ask.  It's not manipulation to Mystery.  It's merely communication.

There's a buzzing sound from the stairway door.

"Come on up."


*  *  *


The man was small, balding, and favored wife beater shirts and brown pants.  He was old. Above all, he was helpful.  He hadn't called the police when he'd seen people in the computer store, but he'd certainly kept an eye on the place.

"Gray van and a car.  Some kind of Ford.  Parked around back where you couldn't see 'em good."  He'd explained.  "I got their license numbers."

The vehicles were probably stolen, and they probably had false registrations.  It was still a lead.  Mystery had copied the numbers down with a smile.

"Bunch of guys, I think.  I saw 'em doing stuff around the building.  Like working on the wires and the lights and stuff.  They took off sometime last night, I suppose.  No one was there this morning."

The men were the Colonel's goons.  They'd been setting up their cameras, their alarms.  They'd lit out after Ein had made her call.  They'd left the rose, on orders? 

No, that didn't feel right.

"There was a woman, too."  The old man had clarified.  Mystery's heart sped up. 

"Tall for a lady.  Fit, like a runner.  Brown hair."

Mystery had felt like cheering.

She leaves the old man's building with a promise to play a favorite song on tomorrow's show.  He'll remember to listen, but he won't be able to recall much about who visited him or why.  He'll remember that he helped someone who appreciated it.  The rest...Mystery takes pains to keep her dual identity dual.


*   *   *


A quick call on her cell phone has the police looking for the Colonel's vehicles.  It isn't an official search.  Some cops are cooperative when it comes to superheroes.  Mystery knows a couple like that.

She doesn't mention the reasons.  She doesn't mention the Colonel, though she does stress that she thinks the beat cops should stay away from whoever's in the vehicles.  She makes pleasant conversation after her request, then hangs up.

Traffic ebbs and flows around her.  The superheroine can think of little else to do.  She has to wait now.  Or does she?  Surely there were other avenues to search down, other ways to find Wilhelmina and her merry band.  She removes her glasses at a stop light and rubs her eyes.  Her stomach growls.

She debates going to the police station.  She could search through call reports looking for suspicious behavior in vacant buildings.  She could 'feel the city' as she did around PC Shack.  She doesn't know where to start, but if she just kept looking...

The light turns green. Mystery replaces her glasses.  She has to stop, she knows.  It's time to stop, at least for today.  Food and rest are more important than Colonel Einhorn.  Food and rest will help her find Colonel Einhorn.

The superheroine turns toward home.

[Governor Ronjar]

Haven't seen the rest, but I imagine shortening this section helped the flow.

This set of mini-scenes seem like the necessary connecting points for larger pieces of the story. Beyond that, I can say little beyond liking the helpfulness of the old guy.

--guv!

[Scottish Andy]

Mystery had felt like cheering.

She leaves the old man's building

Beyond your confusing of the tenses here, I "can't think of anything else to say yet". 

[Commander La'ra]

Beyond your confusing of the tenses here, I "can't think of anything else to say yet". 

That was actually intentional.

[Scottish Andy]

Zhen you 'ave con-fus-ed moi.

[Commander La'ra]

When I wrote the scene initially, it was present tense like the rest of the story, and went on longer.  I was trying, with the way it is now, that Mystery was sort of quickly reviewing her encounter with the old man and was now emerging from the building.

Or something.

[Commander La'ra]

Now that life seems to be settling back down to cruising speed...

-----------------

A quick call on her cell phone has the police looking for the Colonel's vehicles.  It isn't an official search.  Some cops are cooperative when it comes to superheroes.  Mystery knows a couple like that.

She doesn't mention the reasons.  She doesn't mention the Colonel, though she does stress that she thinks the beat cops should stay away from whoevers in the vehicles.  She makes pleasant conversation after her request, then hangs up.

Traffic ebbs and flows around her.  The superheroine can think of little else to do.  She has to wait now.  Or does she?  Surely there were other avenues to search down, other ways to find Wilhelmina and her merry band.  She removes her glasses at a stop light and rubs her eyes.  Her stomach growls.

She debates going to the police station.  She could search through call reports looking for suspicious behavior in vacant buildings.  She could 'feel the city' as she did around PC Shack.  She doesn't know where to start, but if she just kept looking...

The light turns green. Mystery replaces her glasses.  She has to stop, she knows.  It's time to stop, at least for today.  Food and rest are more important than Colonel Einhorn.  Food and rest will help her find Colonel Einhorn.

The superheroine turns toward home.


*  *  *


Mystery's dreams are distant and moody.  She tosses and turns, waking herself occasionally, only to settle back into disturbed sleep soon after.  Deep rest finally comes, but morning seems too close behind.

Morning, and a massive headache.

The superheroine stumbles into her bathroom.  She'd once expressed amazement that her friend with the hat took aspirin in threes.  He was much larger than her, and explained it was a necessity for him.  Mystery is the same size she always is, but she decides four of them won't kill her.

Unlike a hangover, sunlight isn't a bother.  Cold light from the winter sun is streaming through her living room windows, and she spends a few moments bathing in it.  Her headache starts to ebb, and she checks her messages.  Nothing, or nothing about Colonel Einhorn.  She knows better than to expect instant results, but she's still a bit disappointed.

Today is a Dee Jay day.  It's a Thursday.  She has a show tonight.  It should be an easy one.  No guests, just callers and music and conversation.  Normally she enjoys her job;  today she dreads it.  It's the same thing she always does, but while she's entertaining Paragon's radio lovers, she can't be searching the streets.

She probably shouldn't be searching the streets, she reminds herself.  She'd overtaxed herself in Galaxy City, and had almost talked herself into doing more of the same at the end of the day.  That was the reason for the headache.  That was the reason she'd be dull throughout the morning.  Sun-blind to emotions she normally sensed easily.  Besides, her leads might bear fruit soon.  The show would take her mind off the waiting.

She bathes and dresses.  The flight box goes around her waist.  Radio day or not, anything could happen.



*  *  *


“Andy from King’s Row, you’re on the air.”

“Hello, Mystery!”  Happy voice, accent from some part of the British Isles.  “I’m a big fan.”

“That’s always great to hear.  Have something you want to talk about tonight?"

“That’s why I called.”

“Well that’s why I’m listening.  Lay it on me.”

“I’m really concerned about…”

Mystery tunes out her caller.  She’s listening, but not to his words.  He’s talking politics.  Really he wants to vent.  His mood shifts and changes as he verbalizes his worries.  It improves.  She lets him talk for a bit, lets out a quiet sigh.

One of the phone lines is reserved tonight.  Open line from her police friend.  Any lead on the Colonel, it’ll ring.  She has an emergency play list programmed in case she has to leave, a cheater tape of some unaired calls. 

Normally she considers her shows to be inviolable.  She helps people with them, in small ways.  She enjoys them.  She isn’t hung up on normal, but it’s nice to have a part of her life that doesn’t involve gunfire and other hoo-hah.

“…this country would be less divided if…”

The Dee Jay is having trouble keeping her mind on her caller.  Irritation grows.  The Colonel is worming her way into too many private satisfactions.  She forces her attention back towards the here and now.  Yes, her caller just needed to vent.  He’d been going on for quite a while, though.  She waits for a moment of pause to interrupt.

“Things always move in this direction before they swing back the other way.”  She advises.  It’s a stock answer, applicable to many things but no less true.  “It’s like a tide, and we’ve survived plenty of them.”

“I suppose that’s true…”   The caller agrees.  He’s reassured, though she didn’t really do it.  He’d just needed to speak his peace.

She says goodbye, moves on to the next person.  She hopes whoever it is isn’t into politics.

“Babe!”  An enthusiastic voice.

“Hello, Razor.”  She smiles.  She has a brief happy moment of relative normalcy.  “What’s shaking tonight?”

“Just wanted to let you know I fixed things at the club!  Guy knows to let you in even if the place is full.  Just don’t tell the fire department!”

Mystery laughs.  She’s a local celebrity.  Fact of life is that no club’s going to deny her entry.  She doesn’t care.  Razor was making sure that if she wanted in to see his band of metal-blaring miscreants, she would have no problems.  It was a small, sweet gesture.

“I’ll do my best to be there.”  She says.       

“You rock!”  Razor declares.

“This is true.  That was Razor, lead singer of the band Bonesplatter, performing tomorrow night at Amp.  Free advertising courtesy of Mystery Lynn!  Who do we have next, Murray?”

The caller info on her little screen seems innocuous.  The Dee Jay’s stomach twists.  She knows who it is.  She hits the ‘accept’ button anyway.

“Mina from Atlas Park, you’re on the air.”

“Hello, Mystery.  How’re you doing tonight?”  Accent is Southern.  Georgia or South Carolina.  The Colonel is tricky with her voice.

“Doing just fine, thanks.  How’re you?”  The Dee-Jay’s teeth are clenched.  She barely manages to make the words sound friendly.

“Quite well, actually.  I’m in town for a couple of days, and I’ve already found out an…old flame is trying to look me up.”

“I see.  And is this a problem?

“Well I’m not sure.  She showed up at the place I was staying and was pretty adamant about getting in.”  Laughter in the voice.  Laughter in the mood.  The Dee-Jay’s fist’s clench.  “I don’t mind assertiveness, but I’m not sure I know how to handle someone so aggressive.”

“So she wasn’t like this before, huh?”

“Oh she was up front about things, certainly.  But I’m a delicate woman.  Too much and I can get intimidated.”

Mystery’s teeth grind.

“Thought about meeting up with her?  She sounds like she really wants to see you.  Maybe meet her someplace alone.”

“I don’t know.  Like I said, I’m only in town a couple of days.  Not sure what she’s after is something I want.”

“Well, ya’ know, it sounds like she may not be giving you much of a choice.”  The Dee-Jay fights the urge to snatch up the phone, scream angrily at the Colonel.  She’s on the air, and the damned woman would just hang up.

“You might be right.  I suppose if I don’t wanna see her I should make sure she doesn’t find me.  At least until my business is concluded.  Then I might have time for some fun.”

“I wouldn’t rely on that.  Never know when you might bump into her.”

“True, true…but hell, the last time this happened, it was me just bumping into her.  Who knows where something like that might lead?”

“Might not lead to the same place.”

“Wherever it goes might be just as much fun.”  A pause.  “And I suppose that’s really how I should be looking at it, yes?  Now that I’ve talked about it, I almost can’t wait for her to come and get me.”

“Hope ya’ don’t have to wait long.”  Mystery snaps, hangs up.  “Think it’s time for a commercial, everyone.” 

Her producer stabs a button.  He’s giving her the same slightly-freaked out look he was two nights ago.  He’s curious and worried.  Mystery has her face buried in her hands.  Her heart pounds, her face is flushed.  She’s quite angry.

There’s the sound of a ringing phone.  She’s waiting for her producer to answer when she realizes it’s the reserved line.  She snatches up the receiver.

The cop has good news.  She’s out of her chair before he’s finished talking.  The producer protests, but sets up the cheater tape.  Her coat is on and she’s out the door.

[Governor Ronjar]

This was a nice piece about Mystery's...'day job'...

Good nuances and leads me to want to see some combat. Bring on the ass whooping!

--guv'anator!

[Commander La'ra]

Windshield wipers bat away snow.  Mystery isn’t driving fast.  She can’t;  giant snowflakes are pouring from the sky, and all the cars around her move at a cautious crawl.  The super heroine’s fingers drum on her steering wheel as she turns onto an exit.

On the radio, her voice is counseling a caller.  Cheating girlfriend, or so he’d thought.  Boring.  The producer had saved it since it was the kind of thing people liked to listen too, put it on the tape.  She wishes he’d play music.

She’s on Talos Island again.  The world is an odd amber outside her car window as streetlamps reflect off new snow.  Tall buildings shield the streets a bit, and the asphalt is wet but not yet slippery.  She heads for the north shore of the island.  Independence Port is the main harbor in Paragon City but ships dock along the TI waterfront too.  She’s looking for an old storage area near the marina.  A patrol car had sighted the van there.  Lights had been burning where they shouldn’t have been.

Mystery parks in a small lot overlooking the bay.  City lights reflect off black water.  She can see the storage facility.  It’d once been used to house pleasure craft during the winter.  The police weren’t quite sure who owned it now.  It was probably supposed to be empty.

It was another good choice of hideout, Mystery decides.  Nebulous ownership, uncertain status, but not completely abandoned.  Room for several people in what used to be the office/repair shop. 

As she watches, a man emerges from the repair shop.  She cannot tell if he’s armed; too far away.  He lights a cigarette, smokes it with a certain haste.  The super heroine stretches her senses.  She feels impatience, need, discomfort balanced by bliss as the nicotine hits the man’s senses.  His heart is mostly greed and discipline; uncomfortable as he is, he glances toward his buddies on guard duty.

Mystery smiles;  the man discards his cigarette and walks back inside.  She can’t see the guards, but knowing they’re there helps.  She feels them, distantly for she cannot see them and has no emotional connection.  One watching the gate, the fence facing the street.  One, sure enough, watching the bay.  Both have a confidence Mystery associates with carrying a weapon.

She can’t see either of them.  That’s to be expected of Colonel Einhorn’s men. 

She stuffs her hands in her coat pockets.  She can’t tell for certain that they are the Colonel’s men.  They aren’t part of her cadre, her core of real followers.  There’s a lack of something, the odd loyalty Wilhelmina inspires.  The Colonel, however, isn’t above hiring outside help.  These fellows do feel like hired help.

The flight box hums.  Mystery takes to the air.  She stays at a decent altitude for about a third of the trip across the bay.  The snow would conceal her.  The shop looms larger, and she drops so low she’s skimming the wave tops.  She shivers deeply, hair going damp from salt spray.  She can still feel the guard.  She’s sure he’s looked at her, but not seen.  Just in case, she encourages his urge to search high.

Her feet hit the ground next to a concrete boat ramp.  Her clothes are sodden.  She tries to ignore it, runs and ducks behind some tarp-covered equipment.  The guard hears something, turns to look.

She almost makes him feel safe, almost makes him ignore what was probably a cat or something.  She doesn’t.  He’ll be a threat as long as he’s around to do his job.  Boots crunch on snow, drawing closer to the super heroine. 

The guard comes ‘round the equipment.  He’s about to turn and look at her.  She moves a little faster, slipping behind him.  He senses her body heat, her presence, but doesn’t turn.  She’s making the sensations feel very good on this cold night.  He gasps.  She whispers in his ear.  He collapses.

He’s not a small man.  He hit’s the ground, already snoring lightly.  His gun clatters on concrete. There’s a spike of not-quite-alarm from across the little boatyard.

Mystery closes her eyes.  She feels suspicion.  She sends out calm.  Lazy calm.

Slow footsteps, getting louder.  She can’t see the other guard.  The snow is heavy now.  She grabs her sleeping victim by the wrists, pulls him, with a little telekinetic assistance, behind the pile of equipment.  The footsteps are much closer.  Just enough time to grab the sleeping man’s gun, hide it too. 

She never thinks of using it.

A shadow is moving behind her hiding spot.  Suspicion is growing despite the artificial calm.  The conscious guard is looking for his friend.  He can’t find him.  Worry.  Metal on metal as a round is chambered.

The super heroine peeks out of her sanctuary.  The guard has his gun in a low ready.  His worry is peaking.  He’s about to call for help.

You don’t need help.  She can’t touch him, but when she speaks, he feels…caressed.  Warm.  As if all is well.

He freezes, as his friend had.  Utter surprise at sudden pleasure.

How many inside? 

He’s disciplined.  He’s never been shown ways to defend his own mind, but he’s a gifted amateur.  He can’t answer, shouldn’t answer, won’t answer.  He’s aware of his gun and his radio.  He doesn’t get past that…Mystery puts some force behind another suggestion.  The guard joins his friend in slumber.

Both men are wearing radios.  They’ll be expected to check in soon.  Every few minutes.  She doesn’t run for the lit-up building.  That’d be foolish.  She stays low, ducking behind this and that, keeping low, moving at a fast walk.  She can hear noises from the old workshop.  A television or a radio.  Talking.

The front door is out.  Probably too many people, too many guns, in the front room.  Can’t take that chance.  There are windows.  She half-jogs over to one, catching a glimpse of her reflection: soggy clothes, wet, dripping hair, intent expression.

She peeks in the window.  No lights in there.  There’s probably an alarm on it.  If there hadn’t been before, the Colonel would’ve installed one.  She’s probably on camera right now, but if anyone’s noticed her, she can’t feel them.  She picks up a piece of urban refuse, hurls it through the window.

Sure enough, there’s an alarm.  Surprised voices inside the old workshop.  Guns being primed.  Mystery flattens herself against the side of the building, peeks into the broken window.  She can hear the front door opening, excited radio calls.  She has seconds.  What if they don’t do what she expects?

One person does.  A man, weapon at the ready, flows into the broken window room.  He has a split second, a tiny chance to notice her before she acts.  Luck isn’t with him today.  A hard mental shove sends him flying back, into a wall.  He has a partner, right behind him, who gets a dose of the same.  The groggy men are blinking, reaching for weapons.  Mystery’s already inside.

They’re already afraid.  She makes it worse.  Makes them feel small, inconsequential.  Beneath her notice.  Certainly beneath being able to hurt her.  They stare at her in fearful worship.  She tells them to sleep.

They do.

There’s a not-so-distant cry. A warning.  Someone is yelling that ‘she’ is in the building already.  Mystery charges through the door.  There’s a woman in the main area, rising from a crude bank of monitors.  Her pistol is coming up. The super heroine throws herself to one side.  The pistol cracks three time.  A sound like angry hornets as the bullets zip by.

Mystery makes noise.  Not real noise.  A voiceless scream.  The pain is enough that her attacker drops her pistol, fingers seizing temples.  A telekinetic shove puts the gunwoman on the floor.

The superheroine ducks low, conscious of the people outside.  She flips a light switch.  In the dark she had the advantage;  her eyes aren’t as important as her more exotic sense.  The gunwoman is groaning, starting to rise.  She sees Mystery, scrambles for an unseen weapon.  Then she goes to sleep.

Mystery frowns.  Her attacker isn’t the woman she’s looking for.

Glass shatters.  Constant ‘zips’ as bullets rip by.  Something sharp tears into the superheroine’s bicep, and she cries out.  She drops, flattening herself against the floor.  Bits of plywood rain down on her as projectiles tear through the exterior wall.  Then there’s quiet, the distant sound of someone reloading a weapon.

Mystery opens her senses.  Determination and fear outside. Sudden resolve.  They’re about to try something.  Another barrage of lead tears in from outside.  At the front door, she feels a need to kill.

The door busts open, a guard with a machine gun charging through.  He’s a step inside when the door flies back in his face, hard.  He falls backwards, yelping in surprise.  Gunfire from outside ceases again.  Mystery pushes herself up, sprints for the door.  One man is reloading a weapon.  Another is on the ground bleeding from the nose.  Mystery ‘screams’ again.  They scream in a more traditional fashion.  Weapons are forgotten.  In a moment of multitasking, she tells them if they sleep, the pain will stop. 

Their cries cease, replaced by slumber.

The superheroine ducks back inside.  She listens for more people, more threats.  Nothing but dream-images from a bunch of sleeping thugs.  She takes a breath, gives her heart a moment to slow.  There’s a sudden awareness of pain.  She’s bleeding from the shoulder, pretty heavily.

Wincing, she removes a four-inch long piece of wood from her shoulder.  Shrapnel, not a bullet.  She concentrates on the wound  It begins to close.  It’s not an instant process, but it doesn’t take long.  She can’t fix her bloody sweater so easily.  That’ll wait.

She disarms her unconscious opponents, collects the guns in safe place.  She drags the men outside into warmer areas.  The police will be here soon, and she needs to ask questions, but she can’t leave people lying in the snow. 

Which one to ask?  She gazes at her collection of dozing mercenaries.

The woman, she decides.

[Scottish Andy]

nice little segment. Really interesting development/expansion of her mental powers. One thing intrigues me here:

In a moment of multitasking, she tells them if they sleep, the pain will stop.

They choose slumber to escape the screaming in their heads? I guess having a willing target makes it easier to put them out, but could she do so anyway? Or is that a limitation on her powers? She "persuades" them they want to go to sleep, but if they aren't persuaded she can't force them?

[Commander La'ra]

They choose slumber to escape the screaming in their heads? I guess having a willing target makes it easier to put them out, but could she do so anyway? Or is that a limitation on her powers? She "persuades" them they want to go to sleep, but if they aren't persuaded she can't force them?

She can force them, if she has too, but that takes more effort, it's more draining, and they can resist her.  She instead offered them two choices...sleep or scream.

[Commander La'ra]

One of the characters in this story irks me.  She just keeps torpedoing scenes planned long ago...

---------


Always a little surreal, peeking into a dreaming mind.  Thoughts were free, not restrained by language.  Some images, some feelings would lead to the places you’d expect, others, seemingly mundane, might trigger…defenses.  Every person had parts of themselves they didn’t wish to reveal.

Mystery wants information.  She doesn’t want to harm the woman.  She treads carefully.

Images of money, guns…the superheroine follows those.  They lead to memories.  Fleeing a bank while exchanging fire with the police.  Target practice in an old quarry.  They’re not fresh memories, they’re simply…prevalent. 

She lets the woman dream for a moment, waiting for something familiar.  Dream images of the fight…the inside of the boatshop.  Those might do.
Discomfort.  Cold.  Irritation.  Boatshop isn’t heated, and the portable the mercenaries had brought wasn’t enough.  Irritation at a certain person for taking the job.  Happiness at the thought of a payoff.

Payoff.  The Superheroine follows that one.

The woman’s thoughts become more coherent.  Aware, dimly, of the intrusion.  Mystery cannot simply stop, but she tries to be…quieter.

Images of a local warehouse.  Maps of the same building.  Something valuable inside.  No knowledge of what.  Stealing for pay, not to fence the stuff themselves.  The idea that it would be easy.  The fear that their employer wouldn’t pay up.

Employer…

There’s no loyalty to the employer.  There is a little fear.  Not a ‘normal’ client.  So-called super villain.  Unpredictable.  Colonel Einhorn.

Mystery’s fists clench.

There’s more about the employer.  The sleeping woman doesn’t trust the Colonel.  Doesn’t like her disappearing for hours.  Doesn’t like her insistence that they wait a couple days to do the job.  Doesn’t like her taste in radio.  Mystery hears her own voice in the sleeping woman’s head.

Nothing about where the Colonel is now.  Mysterys abandons stealth and simply ’asks’.

Resistance.  Greater awareness of a trespasser.  Knowledge of who the intruder is…not specifically, which was good…and determination to fend her off.

Mystery soothes, cajoles, reminds the woman that no one can hear this.  The mercenary remains defensive.  Mystery justs wants the Colonel.  Where is the Colonel?

The mercenary doesn’t know.  The employer had vanished again.

The next question is sensitive…Mystery asks why the Colonel was making those phone calls.

The sleeping woman is confused.  She doesn’t know about any phone calls.



*   *   *


The superheroine steps out of the boat shop.  Sirens are howling;  they’re getting closer.

Mystery jogs to the water’s edge, activates the flight box.  The snow is heavier now, sheets of it assaulting as she flies back across the bay.  She’s running, she realizes. 

It’s a silly thing to be doing:  She’s a licensed super heroine.  She’s just disabled a band of mercenaries working for a known criminal who were armed with illegal weapons and shacked up on someone else’s property.  She has no reason to fear the police.  Mystery doesn’t want questions, especially ones she cannot answer.

Boots hit asphalt. The flight box shuts down.  She turns, looks back across the water.  There are flashing blue lights all around the marina now.  For the first time tonight, cold invades her senses.  She’s soaked to the skin.  She shivers deeply and heads for her car.

The Prius starts.  The engine is still warm, and deeply appreciated heat comes spewing out of the vents.  She has some extra clothes in the passenger seat.  She changes into them, awkwardly.

Her teeth chatter. 

Disappointment creeps up on the super heroine.  It’s worse than the cold.  She’s rousted the Colonel’s hired help, perhaps stopped a robbery.  That hadn’t been what she’d came for.  Hadn’t been it at all.  She’d wanted answers, explanations.  Closure, perhaps.  What she’d wanted didn’t matter now.  The police would find out who the thugs were working for, and the whole city would be looking for Colonel Einhorn.  Insane as she might seem, the Colonel was a practical woman.  She’d be out of town and far away before morning.

There’s a black, sinking feeling in Mystery’s chest.
 
The Colonel would be back.  The Colonel wasn’t done with her.  The next time she had business in Paragon City, the pattern would repeat, and Wilhelmina would be armed with more knowledge of her, how she would react.  This could go on forever.  She leans back in the car seat, closes her eyes, and sighs.

Mystery is suddenly aware of a smell that doesn’t belong.  Oily, mechanical…she’s a half second from recognizing it when she feels the cool touch of metal on her temple.

Scared brown eyes find the rear view mirror.  There’s a gun to the superheroine’s head, black sunglasses, the sound of an unrestrained Afrikaans accent.

“Drive.”  Colonel Einhorn instructs.

[Scottish Andy]

Not much to comment on here. A good continuation, more insight into how Mystery does things, but nothing really grabs me from the plot.

As for storytelling style, still batting... whatever a good batting score is. 

[Commander La'ra]

And...she's done.  Hope I carried the ending off well, though I'm more confident of that that I might've been since a usual 'surface reader' who betaed it caught the foreshadowing very early in the story.  Tell me what ya'll think.

------------------


The Prius is just using it’s electric engine.  The radio is off.  The only sounds are tires on wet road and breathing. 

The Colonel doesn’t look like herself.  She’s dressed conservative-casual.  Jeans, blazer, long fashionable trench coat.  Her hair, longer and curlier than usual, is blonde.  It was a far cry from the wild woman in lycra who’d knocked over First State Bank two months back.

The gun is more typically Colonel.  It’s small, sleek, high tech looking.  It’s pointing at Mystery and hasn’t wavered, though now it’s bearer is in the passenger seat.

“Turn here.”  Einhorn instructs.  Mystery complies.  The Prius pulls onto the highway, hums down the road.

“Why are you doing this?”  The super heroine asks.  The Colonel smiles, a small, yet threatening expression.  She doesn’t answer.

Mystery tightens her grip on the wheel.  She tries for the hundredth time to reach into the Colonel’s head.  The effort hurts.  There’s some kind of static in the air.  An unnatural mental noise.

A mile passes.  Then another.  The highway takes a wide turn.  There’s an exit ramp.

“Get off here.”  The Colonel orders.  Off to the left is Paragon Bay.  Mystery entertains a brief notion of running the car off into the water.  The divider would probably stop the little Toyota.

The exit leads to a park area on the mainland.  It’s not a safe place at night.  The Colonel doesn’t seem to care.  Mystery drives as instructed, down one forgotten car path after another.

Whatever Einhorn was doing to her mental senses, Mystery still has an option.  She’s all brute force with her telekinesis, but perhaps she could knock the Colonel out, disarm her….she knows better than to try in the car.  The gun was too close to miss, even if the shot fired was accidental.

Would the shot that killed her be accidental?  Mystery doubts it.

“Ah, here we are.”  Einhorn coos.  Was the joy in her voice honest?   The Prius slides to a halt.  There’s nowhere for it to go.  They’re at a dead end, a recreation area that hasn’t seen use in years.  “Get out.”

This is where it’d happen, Mystery decides.  Miles away from anywhere.  No one around to hear the shot or find the body.  She’d lay out here for days.

But why go to all the trouble?

“Why are you doing this?”  The super heroine asks.  Why the drama?  Why the harassment?  Hundreds of chances to kill her.  Was this all just theater?

“Get out.”  The Colonel says.

Mystery opens her door.  She has a better chance outside anyway.  She slips out of the car.  The Colonel is standing before she is.  The gun is still pointed at her.

“Down by the water?”  The Colonel asks.

“Sure.”  Mystery snaps.  “Why not?”

She marches downhill, leaving bootprints in the snow.  Talos Island is beautiful, thousands of lights burning.

Seashore, waves sliding onto rocky ground.

“This is stupid.”  Mystery snaps.  “Can we please just get this over with?”

“Turn around.”

Mystery has no complaints there.  She’s not a violent woman, but with a little anger flowing, she can understand why one would prefer not being shot in the back.  She turns to face the Colonel.

Einhorn has lost her blonde hair.  Straight, reddish brown and blunt cut, now.  The natural state of it. She still has those silly sunglasses.

Now or never.

The Colonel flies backwards.  The gun cracks and flashes, bullet whizzing off to nowhere.  Mystery charges.  The Colonel is rolling to her feet;  another mental shove and she’s down again.

Mystery throws herself onto her tormentor, hands seizing the villainess’ wrist.  She squeezes, fingers pushing hard into pressure points.  The Colonel shrieks, but doesn’t drop the gun.  Hard punches to Mystery’s ribcage.  The super heroine gasps for breath.  The gun slips a little.  A mental shove sends it sliding across snow.  Another sharp blow to the ribs. Mystery cries out, surrenders her hold, throws hard punches. 

She’s screaming as she strikes.  A fist to the nose, the cheek, the jaw.  Blood on her knuckles.  The Colonel reaches up, grabs hair.  Something hard slams into Mystery’s face.  Stars dance in front of her eyes, her hands fly to her mouth.

There’s a brief sensation of flight.  She’s in the snow again.  She rolls away, struggles to her feet.  The villainess is already up, already at her lost gun.  Mystery knocks her down again.  It takes too much effort.  Pain in her head.  The Colonel lands well, comes up with the gun.  The villainess has lost her sunglasses.  Scared brown eyes meet insane blue.

She runs at Mystery.

The heroine is a little too hurt, a little too slow to stop the charge.  Bodies collide, end up back on the ground.  Another painful mental shove gets the Colonel off her.  She tries a last, futile time to get in the Colonel’s head.  Still the static.  She can’t win.  Maybe she can escape.  Flight box is still there.

She comes up into a crouch.  Wilhelmina is doing the same.  The flight box hums.  A heavy boot slams into her stomach.  She rolls, farther and faster than if the box wasn’t on.  She skids to a halt a foot from the water, face down in powdery snow.  She’s trying to get up when a weight pins her, a hand seizes a handful of hair.  The gun is at her temple, again.

“You see, Mystery, the reason I called…”  The Colonel’s voice, the Colonel’s accent, right next to her ear.  “…there’s this woman.  I have her completely at my mercy, and was wondering what you think I should do with her.”

“Will you please just get this the f*ck over with!”  Mystery barks.  She can’t yell.  Doesn’t have enough left in her.

“But then the fun would be over!”  Wilhelmina cackles.

“Fun.“  Blood spatters snow with every word.  Mystery tastes it in her mouth, enough she has to swallow. “I’m some goddamn game to you…”

“No game, my little cape.”  There’s a quality to the Colonel’s voice, the sound of utter satisfaction.  “That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.  You enjoyed yourself the last time, didn’t you.”

Mystery trembles.  Hands crush snow.

“You were going to kill me!”

“You were the intruder, my little cape.  The invader.”

“I was there to arrest you!”

“And all by your little self, too.  So foolish.”  The Colonel’s voice drops to a whisper.  “Were you just that confident?  My cocksure little Dee Jay…”

Mystery trembles.  Anger and fear.  Embarrassment.

“Did you plan what happened?”  The villainess coos.  “Was that how you were going to…disable me?”

“You…were going to…hurt me.”

“So you crawl around in my head.  You find something I need and throw it at my feet so I won’t kill you?”

“That’s not what it’s like!”

“Then what was it like?”

“I didn’t think about what I did, I just…did it.  What was I supposed to do?”  Tears in Mystery’s eyes.  “Why are you doing this to me?!”

“You already know.”

“No I don’t!  You could’ve killed me that night if I….offended you that much!”  She takes a breath.  Blood’s in her nose now, too.  “Is this torture?  Do you just want me scared all the time?”

“You are scared of me, aren’t you?”  The Colonel purrs.

“You’ve got a gun to my head!”

“Lots of people have had a gun to your head.  What’s so different about me, hmmm?”

Wilhelmina pauses.  Mystery can feel the smile on The Colonel’s lips.

“Do you just like bad girls?”  The Colonel asks.  “No…I don’t think that’s it.  Too simple for you.”

“I like men.”  Mystery growls.

“That didn’t stop you before, now did it?  I’ll tell you what I think….I think you got a peek inside my skull…and you liked it.”

“But you’re f*cking crazy!”  The heroine yells.

“And you like it!”  Einhorn barks.  “Little cape, little miss help-people.  They call you with their problems, their little sicknesses and they just want you to fix them!  And you do!  So good at it, Mystery Lynn is.  So good at making them normal!”

“That’s what you wanted to do with me, isn’t it?  Crazy ‘Mina.  You wanted to fix me.  That’s why you came alone.  Therapy time!”

More insufferable satisfaction.  “You forgot that insanity can be… a choice, didn’t you?” You can’t fix me, little cape.”

“You’re such a goddamn psycho…”  Mystery murmurs.

“Uh-huh.”  A little laugh.  “And you know what?  You wants more of it. You want more of me. You want more of your Colonel, don’t you?”

Mystery manages not to scream.

“Not once did you bring some other cape.”  Einhorn snarls.  “Not once did you tell the police the nefarious Colonel Einhorn is in town.  You haven’t even tried to call for help now, have you?  All alone.  Mystery and ‘Mina.  That’s how you wanted it.”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”  Mystery confesses.  Logical voice now.  She’s seized some control.  Has too, somehow.  “I didn’t want anyone to know what happened.”

“You didn’t want anyone to know you needed another taste.”  The Colonel whispers.  Teeth sink into Mystery’s ear.

More tears.  “That’s not what I want.”

Hot mouth on her earlobe, her neck.  The gun was gone.

“This isn’t…”  Her head is pulled back.  The kiss is hot and brutal.

“Oh God.”

[Commander La'ra]

Mystery awakens.  It’s a slow, languorous process involving a stretch.  She’s cold, but she can feel sunlight on her skin.  She becomes aware of discomfort, pain.  She’s not in a comfortable position, and whatever she’s laying on is scratchy.

Oh Goddamnit, Colonel!  She thinks.  It’s an irritated thought, rather than a malicious one.  She laughs a little.  Her eyes open.

She’s in the back of the Prius.  The cargo area, specifically, with the rear seats folded for more room.  There’s a blanket over her, and sunlight streaming through the rear window gives her surroundings a hazy quality.

She’s also naked.  She makes a noise that’s halfway a sigh, halfway a growl.  Clutching the blanket to her chest, she sits up, looks around.  Outside the car  the world is still snowy.  The tide has come in, and the shoreline is closer, calm morning waves sloshing against rock.  There’s no one around, thank God.

With some effort, she crawls into the driver’s seat.  She looks for the wet clothes she’d changed out of the night before.  They’re gone.  She curses the Colonel yet again, arranges the blanket around herself like a primitive dress.  The keys, thankfully, are in the ignition.

She starts the engine. The heater will take a few minutes to warm up, but it’s still relatively warm in the car;   Einhorn must have run it for a while, after she’d rendered Mystery unconscious.

Think of everything, don’t you, Colonel?  There’s no response.  There’s no noise at all, really, being so far out of the city.  It’s a rare, quiet morning for the Dee Jay.

Something on the passenger seat catches her eyes.  Scrap of cardboard.  Colored white -- or was it ‘bone’?  It’s someone’s business card.  Not the Colonel’s, but there’s a phone number on the back, scribbled with precision and with periods instead of dashes in the European style.

“You are so crazy.”  Mystery says to no one.  And, God help her, there’s a little twinge of excitement in her belly.  She doesn’t deny it, now.

She puts the car into gear and heads for home.



*   *   *


“That was Carol from Founder’s Falls, and it sounds like she’ll be single soon, fellas.” Mystery chuckles into the microphone.  “Line forms to the right and no shoving.”

“Oh Lord…”  The caller giggles.  There’s a little excited surge from Carol. Mystery enjoys it as she hangs up.

“Who do we have next, Marty?”  The Dee Jay asks.  The data comes up on her little screen.  “Was expecting this one.  How’re you doing Razor?  Really loved the show!”

“Saw you in the front row!”  Razor howls.  “Was worried you wouldn’t make it!”

“So was I.”  Mystery laughs lightly.  “And ya’ know what?  I’m wearing one of your T-shirts.”

“Awwww….you rock!”  Razor remarks.  Surge of something honest there.  Happiness that someone he likes is willing to wear his colors.

“Yes, yes I do.”  She looks down at the shirt.  She’d bought it out of fondness for Razor and the sudden need to replace a couple of tops.  “Nice…screaming skull?”

“Yeah!  Lulu came up with the design…she’s artistic like that!”

“I can certainly see that.  So how’d the show go over with, you know, the club people.”

“Invited us back in a month, babe!”

“Things are definitely looking up, then.”

“Yeah, babe, they are!  And in case I forgot to mention it, you f*ckin’ rock!”

The Dee Jay shakes her head, smiling.

“Thanks…babe.”  She replies.

“Awwwwwww yeah!”  Razor hollers before he hangs up.  Mystery laughs hard.

“That was Razor, and just for the record, he and his band Bonesplatter really do put on a great show.  That’s my pro bono advertising for the night.”  She looks up at her producer, he nods.  “Next caller is…”

She was expecting this one, too.  Her stomach twists, and she takes a moment to examine the sensation.  She wasn’t scared any more.  Nervous?  Maybe nervous.

“Mina from Atlas Park, you’re on the air.”

“Hello, Mystery.  I called in to the show the other night, do you remember?”

“Yes, yes I remember.”  The Dee Jay answers.  Her face is hot.

“I just wanted you to know you were right.  That woman did find me.”

“I told you.”  Mystery chides.  She had.  “How did things…turn out?”

“A little different than I expected, I’ll admit.”  The Colonel is doing her Southern accent again.  “She was…as aggressive as I’d feared.  We even had a bit of a disagreement.”

The Dee Jay stops herself from snorting.

“It was her fault, though.  She just assumed from the way I greeted her I was mad at her, or something.”

Mystery clenches a fist, twists her mouth into a little knot.  It wasn’t so much an angry expression as a perturbed one.

“In most relationships, assigning blame is a mistake.  Not everyone reads signals the same way.”  She opens her hands, relaxes.  “How did things go after your argument?”

“About like I’d expected.”  Her phrasing was innocuous.  Her tone was not.  Anyone listening knew ‘Mina’ had got some tail.  They didn’t know who’s, thank God.

Mystery kicks the floor a little, smiling despite the little bit of violence.

“About like she expected too, I think.”

“Always dangerous to assume what someone else expects or wants.”  Mystery chides, quieter for a moment.

“But wonderful when you’re right.”

“Maybe.”  The Dee Jay’s smile returns.  She had questions.  She was supposed to be the answer woman, though.  How to do this…

She says, finally, in her therapeutic tone. “Was this just a one night thing?”

“Oh…I don’t think so.”  The Colonel answers.  Her tone is…deliberately sexual. “She is….once is never enough.”

Nor, apparently, was twice.

“How does she feel about that?”

“Oh, she knows.”  ‘Mina answers smugly.  Mystery kicks the floor again.  “It may be difficult.  Our jobs cause…schedule conflict.”

“Well sometimes if circumstances won’t let something happen…”

“…then you make them happen.”  Einhorn interuppts.  “I’m certainly not going to give up.”

“What are you looking for, from this woman?”  Mystery asks.

“Anything I can get.  Like chocolate, as long as the taste is in my mouth I suspect I’ll be satisfied.”

The Dee Jay’s face burns.

“I guess that does leave your options open.”

“The worst part is that I have to leave town for a while.”  The Colonel confesses, a wry tone in her voice.  Mystery chuckles to herself.  Despite other events, she had foiled the villainess’ scheme.  One of them, anyway.  “I may not see her for a while.”

“You know what they say about absence.” 

“’They’ are full of sh*t.”

Mystery laughs.  She was laughing a lot tonight.

“Sometimes.”  She grants.

“But I’ll be back sooner or later and then we’ll see what happens.”

“No giving up, huh?”

“Never.  And like I said the other night, whatever happens is bound to be enjoyable.”

Mystery smiles a very personal smile.

“I guess it might be.”

“I must go now, Mystery.  Thank you for taking my call.”

“Thanks you for calling in.“ She answers.  “Goodbye, ‘Mina.”

“For now.”  The Colonel says.  The line closes.  A dial tone.

For now.  Mystery thinks.

She spends a few moments in reflection, followed by a few in anticipation.  Nothing logical about what’d happened with the Colonel.  Was that why she wanted more?

Who knew?  She shakes her head, chuckles, and looks at the clock.

“Looks like that’s all the time we have for tonight, Paragon City.”  Mystery announces into the microphone.  “Until next time, this is Mystery Lynn, for Paragon City’s hoooot ninety-five nine.”



END

[Governor Ronjar]

I love the story. I love most girl on girl stuff. And while I got nice mental imagery...this one still somehow left me feeling all icky inside. Like I'd just violated myself with a really knobby dildo...

Just about perfect, I'd say then.

Fire up another one.

--guv

[Scottish Andy]

Okay, that was really hot, and the tweaking phone call was perfect. That was a pretty good wrap up, and I love that the story was all about Misty'n'Mina getting it on! All the crime stuff was just window dressing for a goody-two shoes getting her bit of rough.

The Guv's response though... scares me. Now I feel all icky inside!

[Governor Ronjar]

The Guv's response though... scares me. Now I feel all icky inside!

Good...GOOOOOOD!


--guv!