In which a superhero meets his match, masks are uncovered and a mad scientist just tries to get some mad science-ing done without getting distracted by the antics of her magical minion.

---

Well, that escalated quickly.

Diane rose slowly, watching the unconscious hero lying in front of her with trepidation.

She’d only wanted to tease the chronically dour vigilante. She’d never expected his reaction to be so strong. Nor, for that matter, had she expected it of her own.

Diane apprehensively circled around him, and then sank to her knees beside him. She poked him with a thorn, not quite breaking skin, just to make sure he wasn’t faking. Her gaze strayed low; to the spot she’d torn his uniform. To that incriminating hint of lace.

She’d never known she apparently had a thing for guys in pretty lingerie, but she was not one to walk away from unexpected pleasure. She was, after all, a creature of hedonism.

Her gaze travelled back up, fixing on his face. Or rather, what little she could see of it. Diane reached up, caressing his strong jaw, gingerly pushing the hood up. His light stubble was dark — did he have black hair? Dark brown? Despite her curiosity, she stayed her hand.

Masks and hoods had a special significance amongst their kind. Diane was one who could never have a secret identity — her red eyes and the petals growing in her hair made that impossible — but she respected the convention, even if it wasn’t for her. And she’d already forced him to reveal far more than he was likely comfortable with.

But then, she wasn’t exactly a good person, was she?


***


“Honey, I’m home!”

To call the long-abandoned factory a home was somewhat stretching the definition, but Diane had seen — and lived in — worse places.

Stepping over the broken pieces of what may once have been an assembly line, she glanced around. Silence. Silence was ominous; she didn’t like silence. If something wasn’t exploding or bubbling or ripping open the very fabric of space and time, it meant Amelia wasn’t at work.

An Amelia whose work was interrupted was a cranky Amelia. And cranky in mad scientist terms meant unholy nerd rage.

Her ears pricked up when she heard voices from the lower level, the area they generously called their living room. She leisurely strolled toward the sound, aptly dodging the remains of a doomsday machine Amelia had disassembled for parts.

Cheerful music drifted toward her, setting her teeth on edge. It was the kind of inoffensive music that played in elevators. The kind that was just a little too bright, too cheery, the kind that made people want to claw their own ears out.

“We thank you for your patience,” a tinny voice announced. “All operators are currently assisting others. Please hold.”

“You have made a powerful enemy tonight!” Amelia’s voice railed. “Your pathetic attempts to pacify me with music mean nothing! Nothing!”

“Amelia, sweet, we talked about this,” Diane said mildly, pushing the door open. “Think of your happy place.”

“My happy place involves dropping this infuriating announcer into a vat of toxic acid.”

She nodded sympathetically, taking in the scene. Amelia was sprawled over a chair, sullenly glaring at the phone on the table. Her customary white coat was draped closely around her slim body, yet her safety goggles were off for a change, revealing a pretty, dark-skinned face. “Yes, but don’t you feel better for having imagined that?”

Amelia sighed. “I suppose envisioning his screams of excruciating pain is rather…calming.”

Diane inclined her head sagely, making her way to what they passed off as a kitchen. “So what’s up?”

“The voodoo artifact is not performing as expected. It’s broken.”

“Aw. Did you keep the warranty?”

“…you stole it from a museum.”

“Oh yeah.” She scratched her chin while waiting for the water heater to do its thing. “I guess I should have stolen the warranty, too.”

Amelia let out a longsuffering sigh. “Speaking of theft… were you able to secure the funds?”

Diane froze.

She'd… left the money. It was right there, and she had completely forgotten to grab it. Had not even remembered up until now, too distracted by just what went down in that vault.

“Son of a bitch!” she exclaimed. He’d made an unfaithful woman out of her. Money was her One True Love, and she’d wantonly abandoned it for someone prettier.

“You didn’t?” Amelia’s voice was a sharp accusation.

“There were…complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

“A hero,” she answered, truthfully, letting Amelia fill in the blanks. “I’m working on it, all right?”

Amelia might have pressed the issue, but just at that moment the music cut out, replaced by a scratchy voice. “Loa’s Magical Emporium customer service, how may I help you?”

The mad scientist practically pounced on the phone. “Yes! Finally!”

Diane exhaled in relief, grabbing a mug and a tea bag. She peered at the dried leaves and wondered idly if this technically qualified as cannibalism. Sadly, ever since her flower power manifested, solid food proved elusive. Her new body sustained itself on sunshine and water alone.

Thankfully, she found that the definition of water was quite loose, and Diane made do with what she had. She poured the hot liquid over the teabag, letting the flavor breathe a little whilst listening to Amelia’s conversation with magical tech support.

“Yes, this voodoo doll is clearly defective.”

“Hm,” came the noncommittal reply. Then… “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“It… it’s a voodoo doll. What.”

“Yes, but have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“No, I have not,” she said, voice rising.

“Ma’am, please remain calm. Have you tried checking its wi-fi capabilities?”

“It… I… are you even a properly certified voodoo priest?! You’re speaking with a Canadian accent!”

“Ma’am, all our customer support has been outsourced to Canada, but I assure you that I am eminently qualified to…”

The phone exploded in a tiny eruption of blue sparks.

Diane sighed, dropping two cubes of sugar into her tea. After a moment’s thought, she added a third. “I wish you’d stop destroying valuable equipment.”

“We got spares,” Amelia huffed. And indeed, they had a cupboard full of electronics she broke on a regular basis. “Make a note, Loa’s Magical Emporium customer support just made The List.”

The List consisted of people who’d wronged Amelia and would be first to be executed if she ever got around to conquering the world. So far it included PETA, that guy at the grocery store, the research grant ethics committee and the Evil League of Evil who’d quite evilly denied Amelia her spot amongst them.

“Mhm,” Diane said, sitting down at the table and taking a sip from her sweet tea.

Many of her professional colleagues would think Amelia mad for dealing with magical artifacts — well, madder than was proper for a scientist — but Diane knew that was what drew her to it. The challenge of at last uniting these two seemingly contradictory disciplines had captured her brilliant mind. Diane, having firsthand knowledge of the utterly fickle and absurd nature of magic, thought it a hopeless endeavor, but wisely said nothing.

After all, Amelia’s experiments were what had given Diane her powers.

“No matter,” the woman in question huffed. “I’ll make this blasted thing work somehow.”

“Well…” Diane drawled, taking another sip. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

She nimbly dodged the fireball.


***


Shade woke up with the worst hangover that ever hangovered.

He groaned, turning his head and resting his cheek against the cool cement floor. He sighed in relief. That felt better.

Floor.

His brain commenced a lethargic sequence of mental acrobatics at that word.

Why am I on the floor?

Cerebral belly flop.

Cold, he concluded. The floor was nice and cold, soothing his pounding headache. Quite brilliant of him, really, to utilize it like that. God, what had he been drinking…

Sedative.

He jerked up, and regretted it instantly at the sharp stab of pain, his mind flooding with memories. She had… and then he had… Humiliation burned in his gut and he craned his neck, eyes wide.

She’d left him in the warehouse.

He slowly sat up, massaging his temples, dimly realizing that his hood was pushed back. His hand automatically went up, tracing the edges of his domino mask. So she hadn’t unmasked him?

Or maybe she’d just put it back on.

Had she taken pictures?

He swallowed hard, peering down at himself. Still dressed, still sporting claws marks on his uniform, and still exposing his secret for the world to see.

She knew.

She knew and he’d let her get away.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, his calm voice belying the raging inferno within.


***


Paragon City was, true to its name, a shining beacon to the rest of the world. Apart from demented, yet lovely architecture, it had the highest meta population in the world, most of whom wore capes of one type or another. It also sported a staggering number of abandoned warehouses, the sheer volume of which could never be explained to anyone’s satisfaction.

To live in Paragon was to live in a magical world. Superheroes streaked across the sky like comets, speedsters staffed the local Pizzerias, bringing customers their takeout in seconds, and scientists — of the mad and not-so-mad variety; the former reluctantly tolerating the latter, if only to steal their research — unveiled incredible cutting edge technology every other week.

To live in Paragon was also to live in a world of constant epic battles. No other population on earth could obliviously pass by a rampaging dinosaur in the street and only absently wonder if this would affect their morning commute.

There had been an alien invasion last week. The general public's reaction had ranged from “Meh” to “Not again”.

Mostly untouched by this madness was a small, wealthy neighborhood to the west of the city. There lay a gated community of mansions and scenic parks, leaving the rich and powerful to raise their picturesque families in peace and quiet. A forcefield kept the unwashed masses in tights out.

At the very edge of that community was a grand estate, isolated from all its neighbors. There lived a mysterious young man, heir to a great family fortune. To the great disappointment of climbing socialites everywhere, he remained elusive and at a distance, keeping to himself.

In any other city this might have been cause for suspicion. Not so in Paragon. It’s been facetiously suggested that some 50% of the population were, in fact, secretly superheroes or villains in civilian disguises. The only reason the arrangement had not yet collapsed in on itself in a gigantic mess of poor camouflage, suspiciously specific denials and excessive, unexplained tardiness was because everyone was too busy covering their own identity to doubt someone else’s.

The theory was not far off.


***


Shade stared at the selection of panties laid out before him, wondering when, exactly, he had sunk so low.

A teenaged boy obsessively poring over a Victoria’s Secret catalog was normal, wasn’t it? At least that’s what he used to tell himself when he’d spend long nights staring at the gorgeous models posing in lingerie. It was just a far more accessible version of Playboy, really. So what if he spent just as much time fantasizing about the lingerie as he spent thinking about what was beneath. It looked interesting, in a pure scientific curiosity type of sense. Such vivid colors and intricate patterns. Men’s underwear was just so terminally boring by comparison.

And those shiny, silky fabrics looked a lot more comfortable, too. What would it be like, he’d wondered, to feel such softness enveloping him?

As much as he’d tried to shake such thoughts, they grew more frequent as puberty ground on. The more his gangly limbs filled out, the taller he grew, the more frequently he had to shave, the more he dreamt of lace and skirts and high heels.

And bras! God, bras. The way they hugged those delectable curves, delicately framing a girl’s breasts like the perfect pieces of art they truly were. But again, a boy being obsessed with the thought of breasts was completely healthy and not at all abnormal. And if there was a hint of jealousy to those thoughts, he’d chosen to ignore that.

In fact, he’d been very adept at ignoring these thoughts.

Grief and hatred had almost managed to push them out of his head entirely. When his family was murdered by criminal scum it had been almost too easy to devote his entire being to vengeance. His harsh training had left no room for exploration of what kind of person he wanted to be — because he knew what kind of person he needed to be. A weapon, perfectly honed to cleanse this city of its seedy underbelly.

He had sacrificed everything for that goal — his friends, his social life, any career he might have had. Even his own name was almost lost to him; he spent so much of his time being called Shade that he barely responded to Ian.

Villains had learned to fear him. For good reason.

His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist around the lace in his hand.

And today he’d been a hair’s breath away from fucking a villainess, just because she wasn’t immediately repulsed by his clandestine hobby.

Enough.

It was beyond enough. He never should have let it get this far out of hand.

He threw the panties into the fire and watched them burn.