I decided right away that I wanted to keep my identity secret. I got an apartment and a job as a computer analyst, both downtown. Panther won’t like hearing this but I still have contacts inside the Program. One of the scientists helped me create a costume. It’s mostly red, and fits me like a second skin. It’s made of a very hi-tech material, the name of which I can’t begin to pronounce much less spell. But my scientist friend called the material “unstable molecules”. All I can tell you is that it is very durable, which is good since if I can survive most explosions I want my costume to survive, too.
My costume covers my shoulders and arms completely. The shoulders are black, as are the forearms and hands, giving the appearance that I am wearing gloves, though it’s actually more of body suit kind of thing. I cover the top half of my face with a black mask. But my nose is exposed and the eyeholes are ridiculously large. If someone who knows me as Priyanka Chopra gets a good look at me, up close like, they’ll probably be able recognize me through the mask. At the center of my chest is a black star, my logo you might say. About two inches below the star, the costume tapers in either direction towards each of my hips. It does the same thing in back, leaving my midriff and most of my back bare. It has a wide, black bikini bottom that rises high on my hips. I call it a bikini bottom because that is what it looks like, though in fact it is attached to the rest of the costume at the sides. It’s a one piece, really.
My legs are bare, except for the knee-high black boots that I wear. The boots are five inch high heeled, made from unstable molecules, too, and are just as tight fitting and durable as the rest of my costume. I love my costume. The bright red, the black, and the my tanned skin make for a great color combination. In all, it is very revealing, I know, but I don’t care. In fact, I like displaying my great body and if it has the added benefit of distracting my male opponents then so much the better.
It did not take long after my arrival in Megapolis for the citizens of this great city to catch their first glimpse of Super Babe. I was flying over lower downtown, just above the tops of the buildings, when I caught sight of an automobile accident. One of the cars, a Volkswagon Beetle, had collided with a van, flipped onto its side, and caught fire. Even from my great height above the street, I could see the danger that the growing flames represented. A crowd of people had gathered nearby and some were getting too close to the fire.
I landed in front of the crowd and was pleased to hear the gasps of surprise that my entrance generated. Without hesitation I approached the burning vehicle—I could feel the heat from the flames but knew that I could endure them for a short while. My worst fears were realized, as inside the car and struggling to escape was a terrified woman. Unable to reach the driver’s side door, which was now above her, she frantically pounded on the windshield with her fists, but was unable to break through the strong glass.
I did not want to shatter the windshield and risk cutting the woman, so I flew to the top of the overturned Beetle so that I was near to the door. I reached down I dug my fingers into the steel panels and yanked it upwards. I guess I pulled harder than I needed to, as the door was literally ripped off its hinges and ended up flying through the air before crashing to the street near the crowd of onlookers. Relieved that the door had not come down on someone, I reached down through the open doorway of the Beetle and easily pulled the woman from the burning wreckage. I grasped her gently and quickly flew her to safety. I turned her around and looked into her face, fully expecting to see gratitude. Instead, I saw nothing but distress.
“My son! My son is still in the car!” she screamed.
Without hesitation, I flew back to the car and peered inside the destroyed door hatch. There was nobody there. Then I noticed some onlookers on the opposite side of the street from which I had come. They were waving wildly, trying to get my attention, and pointing to the rear of the vehicle. I leaped off the car and went to look. There, his legs pinned beneath the right rear fender, was the woman’s son. He appeared to be about ten or eleven years old, unconscious, and in big trouble. The growing flames now threatened to engulf the car. The heat was growing unbearable, even for me. I knew that the boy must
be getting roasted alive and that I had to act quickly. Jumping closer to the car and the flames, I grabbed on to the base of the rear bumper and…
“Yooowww!” I pulled my hands back. The bumper was hot. Real hot. But the boy was dying. I had to do something. Again I latched onto the bumper with my hands. Ignoring the pain I pulled upward with all my strength. I’m strong. I have the strength of ten men. The burning Beetle was no match for me and I lifted it off the boy and flipped it back onto its tires.
But the movement of the car had unforeseen consequences. Like moving a log on a dying fire, fresh oxygen hit the flames and they flared, unfortunately straight into me. ( www.indiansexstories.mobi
) Searing pain shot through me as I was momentarily roasted and I quickly leapt backward and away from the burning car. I wasn’t seriously hurt but I feared that the boy may have been badly burned and possibly even killed.
“Great,” I thought to myself. “My first act in this city and I get a kid killed.” But to my relief, his position on the ground, low to the street, protected him and the flames passed harmlessly overhead. Still, I knew he wouldn’t last long in the scorching heat, so braving the flames one last time I swept in and picked the boy up on the fly and carried him away from the burning Beetle.
I set the boy down at his mother’s feat. She was sobbing but I didn’t have time to reassure her. I checked the boy’s pulse and pulled back his eyelids and checked his eyes one at a time, looking for a reaction. I opened his mouth and checked that he had not swallowed his tongue. Everything looked good. He was still unconscious and his clothes were singed, and he no doubt had some burns, but it looked promising.
I could hear the sirens of emergency vehicles approaching-- my cue to make a dramatic exit. With a last look at the thankful mother and a wave to the crowd, I lifted my right hand above my head and streaked up into the night sky and out of sight.
It feels good being a hero. It is more satisfying than anything I ever did for the Program. I continued my patrols over the next several nights. The power of flight gives me exceptional range, and rarely does a night go by that I do not find some situation that requires my attention. My second night in the city, I stopped a mugging. My third night, I rescued a young girl that had fallen into a drainage canal and nearly drowned. On my fourth night I rescued an elderly man who had tripped and fallen from a fire escape. And on my fifth night, I encountered the Reavors.
It started out the same as the other nights, with a quick patrol at dusk followed by a more thorough patrol around midnight. It was on the latter patrol that I heard a scream not far from my current path. After a brief search I found the source of the disturbance--a dark alley in the heart of the River District.
The River District is a ten block square area of aging and abandoned buildings, warehouses, and failed businesses, all snuggled between a large bend in the river. Though once prosperous, this part of town has long since become home to the dredges of society-- drug dealers, prostitutes, bums and drunks, and gang bangers. Especially gang bangers. They have taken the district over, made it their home. So violent and dangerous has this part of town become that people have started calling it Dark Water. Water, because of the nearby river, and Dark, because of the people that inhabit it.
And on this night, the bangers had found a victim. She was a young woman, in her early twenties, with dark hair, pretty. They had her surrounded, at the far end of the alley, eight of them, and were obviously intent on having their way with her.
She was panic stricken, screaming every time one of the bangers made a movement toward her. They were having fun, in no hurry, enjoying the power that they had over her, the fear that they were able to instill in her. They took turns lunging at her, pinching her on her breasts or arms or legs, making her scream before backing off and giving the next banger his turn. I could only guess at how she had ended up here, in this place, at this time of night. It was a good thing that I was here, too.
I landed lightly at the entrance to the alley, disappointed that they didn’t notice me. My red and black costume is practically painted on and reveals a lot of skin. My silky black hair shimmers, even at night. Usually, I get noticed right away.
I assumed a cocky stance, my feet spread and my hands on my hips, cleared my voice, loudly, and spoke. “Hello, boys. Why don’t you try playing with me?”
A couple of the bangers turned to face me and then alerted their buddies to my presence. As is typical with members of the same gang, their dress was nearly identical from the first man to the last,
with all wearing black heavy denim jacke , the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, and black denim jeans. A few wore blue bandanas on their heads or wrapped around their biceps. All sported a logo of a snake wrapped around a knife on their jackets, sewn into the denim with heavy blue thread. It reminded me of the insignia used by the medical services in the military, though much more sinister. Their gang colors, it seemed, were black and blue, which kind of made sense as they were obviously nothing more than a bunch of young thugs.
As they looked at me they seemed to like what they saw and I have to admit that their leering and scowling faces filled me with some anxiety. I haven’t had my powers all that long, you see, and the fear that a woman has for evil men doesn’t just go away because you wake up strong one morning. I guess they saw the brief loss of confidence on my face because any hesitancy that they may have