Wonder Woman and the Superheroine Serial Killer - Part 2

I hope you enjoy the second installment of this Wonder Woman story. I look forward to your comments at drdominator9@live.com

The Wonder Woman character as well as Steve Trevor are the property of DC Comics. All the other characters in this story are the property of Dr. Dominator and cannot be used without permission. This story is very severe in its depiction of sexual fetishism and portrays acts of violence. It should only be read by consenting adults of 18 years or older. The story is simply meant as entertainment and is not written for profit.

Wonder Woman is following a tall dark figure through the rainy DC streets, keeping to the shadowed doorways, ducking behind newsstands and turning to look through store windows to keep from being spotted. It’s not easy tailing someone when you’re dressed in bright reds and blues and you’re one of the most recognizable people on the planet. But the Amazon is able to do this despite such handicaps. She has been well trained by the IADC and she’s putting it to good use. When she sees the cloaked figure step into an alleyway she follows him quickly. She lets herself smile because she knows he has probably come to the end of his route and she will finally discover her quarry’s identity and possibly his hideout at last.

Pressed against the wall at the end of the alley, she sticks her head around the corner and looks down its length. It’s heavily shadowed and hard to see its end in the falling downpour but she sees no one; just litter, dumpsters and doorways. She spins into the alley and runs down its length, testing the knob on each doorway with a quick twist to determine which door he might have fled through. On the fourth door, she grabs it, feels it turn and then is jolted with a dazzling sizzling arc of painful lightning that jerks her chest forward and her rear end in opposite directions. Helplessly, she feels her entire body jerk back and forth four or five times, unable to release the knob. She smells burning flesh and then the arcing flashing light stops and there is a smell of ozone in the air and a small grey cloud surrounding her body. Wonder Woman feels faint, her eyes roll up into her and she falls against the door, limp and barely conscious. The door swings open into a blackness that captures the heroine’s body and mind as she falls through the portal into oblivion.

Next thing she’s cognizant of is being shackled to a table. A spotlight overhead blinds her to her surroundings. Beyond its cone of light, everything is black. She sees that she is naked and her hands are wrapped in silk cords. She pulls at them but without her belt, she doesn’t have the strength to break them. Just then she realizes there is also a silk cord around her neck. Someone is under the table, pulling on the cord. It grows incredibly tight around her throat and Wonder Woman begins to gasp and struggle, trying to break the cords and fight her way to freedom.

“HEEEEEZZZZZ! HEEEEEZZZZZ!” Raw, screaming pain fills her throat as the cord cuts into her neck with brutal tightness. It’s impossible to breathe now and Wonder Woman is panicked, her legs and arms flailing in all directions. The cords hold firm and the mighty Princess of the Amazons can’t break away this time. This time she’s come to a bad end. The voice under the table laughs maniacally. Diana gasps and wheezes and cries out “NO!”

The raven-haired beauty bolts upright in bed, screaming “NO” into the quiet dawn light of her apartment. Her entire body shudders and quakes as her brain transitions between the nightmare and reality. Diana feels her heart thumping in her chest with a beat that feels like twice her normal resting pace. She wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and reaches to her bedside table to take a long gulp of water from the cool bottle resting there. Finally she speaks again to the empty air.

“Hera! What a dream!”

Her bladder is suddenly tight and insistent for relief and a naked Diana swings her legs off the bed and dashes to the bathroom, plopping down on the toilet just in time. Her knees flop wide apart as she sags backward, her back pressed against the cool back of the toilet seat. She interlaces her fingers on top of her head and groans loudly as her heavy stream noisily churns the water in the bowl.

“Ohhhhh. This case is really doing a number on my head.” She then bends forward, resting her elbows on her knees and lets her bladder empty out completely, the fear and anxiety draining out with her urine as she collects herself at last. She wipes up and paces back into the bedroom, looking at the clock. 5:00 a.m. She had an hour until the alarm was going to go off but she’s far too keyed up to sleep. She moodily shuts off the alarm and starts her day early.

That afternoon, the day after the body of Flare had been discovered, the report from the ME’s office came into Steve Trevor’s email with a copy sent to Diana Prince as per regular procedure and Wonder Woman’s standing request. When Steve knocks on Diana’s office door with the printed out report in his hand, Diana has already gone through it carefully herself. She is now making small red check marks on her printed copy as Steve approaches her desk. She is noting points to check up on.

“It’s the same M.O. used as the first victim with small exceptions,” Steve says without preamble. He sees the ME’s letterhead on the document on Diana’s desk and knows she is already at work breaking down the possible leads from the report. The two of them have built up such a rapport over the last few years that each knows what the other is thinking half the time. Except for the fact that Diana sometimes pictured Steve without his pants and a throbbing muscle in his shorts. But that was for her own leisure time. She tried to ban those thoughts during working hours. Not always successfully. His slightly over six-foot frame, broad shoulders, kind face, and great looking thick black hair made it tough on a gal. Especially a superheroine disguised in dowdy clothes and a bun who had to act a little bit timid.

“Yes,” Diana replies, completely focused on the details before her on the page. She taps the middle of the sheet with her pen. “A different choking method: a thin chain with very small links instead of the silk cord. Wonder why he switched?” Diana nibbles on the end of the pen, thinking.

“Maybe the silk cord was too slippery during the first attack for the man,” Steve suggests. “It IS a smooth material and in a struggle things could get dicey if the woman’s strong that he’s fighting against. Maybe he had difficulty and switched his method just to be sure.

“That’s possible,” nods Diana. “But there were no indications of any slippage or blurred ligature marks on Scarlet’s....on....on the victim’s throat.” Diana’s voice catches momentarily and then she goes on. “I’m not sure metal is any less slippery than silk in sweaty hands. Hard to say for sure. In any case, the chain must have been very durable with those size links. Any normal chain of gold or silver or even stainless steel with those link measurements would have broken under stress according to Marty.”

“Marty? Oh, Banks. Uh, yes, I did see that but didn’t give it much attention. What do you think it means, Diana?”

“We just can’t say at this juncture why he changed from silk to metal but it could be that Flare was stronger than Scarlet. I wonder if he went to metal because of her ability to generate such intense heat. Hmmm. It’s a thin lead but we could check to see who manufactures chains of high-durability alloys that are heat resistant. And see if anyone’s bought anything like that.”

“Huh, thin doesn’t even begin to cover it, Di. We don’t know the alloy, don’t know when it was purchased, and the length was probably so insubstantial it might not even have been recorded as a sale of any note.”

“Well then, what do you have to offer in the way of leads from this report, genius,” Diana barks testily, mostly because she knows Steve is right and she is frustrated.

Steve just gives her a raised eyebrow and a twist of his mouth that he sometimes does when he looks concerned for her. She lowers her head, embarrassed at her behavior and not a little chagrined at having chastised her boss. It is a rare occasion, though, and Steve treats it as such, lightly moving on to his idea.

“I’m thinking that the chip fused to that rubber suit at the neck is another lead worth following. It’s a beta version of one that was eventually put into thousands of laptops...”

“And that isn’t just as thin?” Diana humphs at the suggestion.

“If you’ll let me finish...” Steve gives her an even rarer cold look, his eyes matching Diana’s steely glint for steely glint. She looks at him a moment longer, liking the strength of his face when he is angry. She relents and gives him a smirking grin.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“I was going to say that the Beta testers are most likely all recorded for research purposes and follow-up interviews for the product marketing departments so we contact the chip manufacturer and see where that leads.”

Diana’s face lights up like the edge of the sun after a passing eclipse. “Whoa! That’s right. I didn’t...I mean I.... You’re brilliant, Steve!” She pops up from behind her desk and kisses his cheek with glee, then giggles out a cute snort and quickly sits down again, once more embarrassed at her emotional outburst.

Steve’s face gets serious and he peers at her as if studying her face, then speaks quietly. “You know, Diana. I’m not sure why this case has sunk its hooks into you so deeply but if it’s too much, if you want out, I can reassign it to another agent.”

It is Diana’s turn to get serious now. She shakes her head and speaks just as softly as he had. “No, please don’t go that route, Steve. I know I’ve been off my game on this case...”

“But that’s just it, Di. You’re NEVER off your game. I mean, it just doesn’t happen. What is it? I know you’re good friends with Wonder Woman. Are you worried on her behalf? Is that what’s got you so on edge?”

Diana laughs loudly and shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s not it. I’m sure Wonder Woman can handle herself. She’s no rookie like the two unfortunate heroines who this monster has killed. No, it’s more the fact of the heroine’s sad deaths have possibly affected countless lives that they might have saved over the course of their careers. I guess that’s what has me so upset. The shocking waste of lives, not just of the two girls but those of the people who won’t be rescued, won’t be saved, won’t grow older. The girls, the people they protect, all of them. It just gets to me, I guess.”

“Well, I hadn’t looked at it quite that way, Diana. You’re a very decent person with a good heart and a brilliant mind.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there about to rear its head...” she smiles up at her tall boss.

“You’re right. I’m simply saying this: But if you aren’t able to compartmentalize those feelings while you work this case, you’re going to either miss something or slip up and put you or one of your fellow agents at unnecessary risk. That’s something I cannot have. So do we have an understanding, Agent Prince?”

Seeing all trace of mirth dissolved in Steve’s face, Diana nods quickly and verbalizes a very emphatic “Yes sir!” There is no levity or sarcasm in her tone whatsoever.

Steve smiles, his point made. Then he looks a bit chagrined himself. “Good. Okay, I, uh, had one more thought about possible leads. The suit that Flare was wearing under her uniform, that rubber cat suit...”

“Cat suit?” Diana looks puzzled.

Steve presses on, knowing such things are probably completely unknown territory to a dowdy workaholic with no social life to speak of like Diana. “Yes, that full body garment found on both victims is called a cat suit.”

“Oh yes, I noticed that phrase in the report. What is it supposed to do? It can’t be for electrical conductivity being rubber. Perhaps it provides some kind of dampening of their abilities or senses.” Diana nods down at the information as she glances at the report, then looks up at Steve while waiting for him to expound on the subject. It takes everything she has not to smile. She knows damn well what a cat suit is. She simply wants to have a little fun at Steve’s obviously uncomfortable expense.

“Well, no, not really, not for dampening per se...” Steve says, tugging on his collar a bit. “It’s more for well, there’s no other way to put this so I’ll just say it. It’s for sexual enticement, Diana. A woman clad in such a tight item of...such unique apparel as....it’s...it’s part of the sexual game this man was playing. Possibly as a humiliation aspect. Certainly as a sexual turn on. And...”

“Cat suits turn men on?” Diana looks up, wide-eyed at Steve.

“Well, some men, yes. I’d imagine. Sure.” Another collar tug.

“Some men in this room?” Diana gives in to a little smirk at this.

“Well, that’s really neither here nor there,” Steve coughs softly. “And not really to the point, Diana. I was just thinking that, uh, with that suit fused onto Flare’s body, our perp might have to go out and purchase another one. The suit he used might be locally bought and could be so again. According to the ME’s report here,” Steve’s tone is very official sounding now, very proper in all aspects. “it was an expensively-made version, high-grade material of distinct thinness for...ah, ‘maximizing the sensual experience’ as he puts it.”

“Hmmm. I see,” Diana, nods. “You’re right. We should pass that on to the police for..”

“Actually, Diana,” Steve interrupts, “I was thinking you would be more effective as a possible purchaser. It’s such a high-end item that I’d imagine only two or three adult stores in the area would carry them.”

“Me? You want me to go into an adult store and ask about some sort of sex suit?”

“As a potential buyer, undercover, no IADC badge flashing. They’ll clam up more than likely. See what you can learn as, you know, a regular woman looking to buy one. A rich regular woman perhaps. What do you think?”

“I think you’re enjoying the idea of this way to much, Mr. Trevor. I’ll consider it.”

Diana is startled at Steve’s suggestion. It made sense but damn it could be very awkward to be asking such questions in the type of establishment that sold such apparel. The mirth she’d been having at Steve’s expense and been hit back hard into her court and she has no answer for it as it skims past her for the point, set and match!

“And that’s all I have to say on that topic. Will that be all?” Diana’s mood turns sour at this new assignment.

“Not quite,” Steve replies, hiding a smirk of his own. “The police are still following up that cocktail the girls had been given. They’re focusing on who are the normal suppliers of the barbiturates and the aphrodisiac chemicals involved. But the ME also appended a note to the toxicology report for the second victim. Besides the cocktail, he determined there are trace signatures of some sort of powerful chemical that affects the brain’s neural pathways. He missed it on the first tox report for Scarlet Avenger but when he found it in Flare’s body, he went back and discovered it in SA’s system as well. It’s possible it was part of that witches brew he gave the girls to keep them docile during his time with them, but it’s a highly specific chemical and very rare. That clue may be our single best hope of all.”

“I didn’t get that addendum at all, Steve.” Diana frowns.

“Have you checked your email box because it just came through before I came in here. He’d just verified it about an hour ago.”

“It is here!” Diana blurts, opening up the document and pouring over its contents. “I guess I’m going back to the chemical companies for follow ups.”

“That’s not in the budget, I’m afraid,” Steve shakes his head. “It’s only available in Europe at this time. We’ll have our Interpol contacts check out the companies. According to Banks, there are only two or three of them in the world who make this chemical.”

“Well that should help narrow things down. Once we get their clients list from the three suppliers, we can cross check against the Elimanol clients and see if we get a match.”

“That’s the Agent Prince I’ve come to know and respect,” Steve smiles, heading for the door. “I’ll have Interpol get on those suppliers immediately and give you a heads up the moment they have their lists.”

“Thank you, Steve. For your faith in me and your trust. I won’t let you down.”

“Diana,” he says, leaning on her door frame, but earnestly looking directly at her. “You never have. Oh, and good luck with those cat suit leads as well. You know, while you’re waiting for the Interpol results.” He smiles broadly as her face turns a bright scarlet and she twists her head away and down, mortified to the core as she hears his lusty laugh as he walks down the hall to his office.

“I’m not going in those stores as Diana Prince,” the dark-haired agent vows softly to herself. “Wonder Woman is going to do those interviews. She’ll command the respect from those adult store lackeys. Or they’ll pay the price if they don’t!”

The teenaged blonde heroine clad in her tight, mesmerizing bright gold, orange and blue costume hovers in the air over her tall blond-haired opponent, giving him a patronizing smile. At 6' 6", the villain who calls himself Battle Axe usually looks down at his victims with triumph and satisfaction. Not today! Today he looks up at the lithe beauty named Destiny in her orange pleated skirt, her thigh-high boots and the stylized D within an orange star burst on her ample left breast and scowls in anger. He has come to the grim conclusion that none of his weapons he’d unleashed on her have given her the slightest discomfort or worry or even pause whatsoever: Not his tungsten axe or chains whipped at her body; not the 10,000 volt taser that failed to penetrate her skin to deliver the nasty shock; not the highly caustic spray mace leveled at her eyes; and not his 30-caliber wrist guns or wrist flame thrower fired at point blank range. They too had done nothing. They hadn’t even damaged her clothing. Not at all. No bullet holes, no scorch marks, no luck! All his weapons had either bounced off her or had been shrugged off with a flick of her wrist or a nod of her head or a blast of air from her puffed out cheeks. She didn’t look winded. She didn’t even look very upset. Not a hair on her pretty young head was out of place. He’d never faced anyone like her. And didn’t ever want to again.

“So, have you finally used up all your sad little toys, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”

Battle Axe on the other hand looked like two miles of bad road. He was scraped all over his bare arms, his hands and his face. His kevlar body suit was scraped but essentially not compromised at all except for one of the seams on his thigh which had split open at one point in the fight where his body had been used as a scrub brush on the concrete security barrier in front of the Libyan embassy. She had dragged him there and bent him backward over it before telling him she was doing this for his own good. He had to learn a lesson about playing well with others she’d said.

His forehead was gleaming with sweat that dripped into his eyes and he ached all over from being tossed around like some stunt dummy. Yes, he’d had more than enough. If the Doc wasn’t satisfied with what he got on tape of him fighting this little bitch, than he could find another guy for the job. Battle Axe was done for the day. Now he just had to ditch the bitch and hightail it out of this beat down zone before she captured him and held him for good.

“I may have one or two more ‘toys’ that will prove interesting to you, Destiny,” he yelled up at her.

“That would be a switch. Because up til now, it’s all been pretty dull, I have to tell you, Axe. Say, are you backed by that deodorant company? Because they should get their money back. You’re not giving them a whole lot of value as a villainous spokesman.”

“Maybe I’ve got something that will change your mind, you long-winded cow!”

“Cow, is it? You think my girls are too big?” Destiny looks down at her exposed cleavage. Her deep V-neck collar with its blue lapels shows off her ample assets to full effect. In fact, her whole beautiful body tests the stretchable impenetrable material of her costume with eye-riveting wonder. Nevertheless, the insult to her figure has Destiny letting out a growl that sounds like distant thunder.

“Hear that girls? He thinks you’re udders. What do you say we head down there and show him some manners before I haul him off to jail for assault with intent to kill as well as a seriously flawed fashion sense. Kevlar, Axe? Really? That is sooo 2010. Didn’t you get the memo? It’s carbonized cotton these days. Its light, flexible, repels just about every weapon known and it breathes and is comfortable as all get out.”

“Don’t you ever shut up, bitch? Are you trying to bore me into surrendering?”

“Now that’s just rude!” Destiny declares and starts to head down to the tall blond villain with the intent to knock him out with a flick of her finger and hand him over to the police. That’s when his hand reaches to a row of buttons on his left side and he presses a green one. Immediately a tiny circle over Axe’s heart sends out a bright blinding ray of intense green light that pierces through the air and strikes Destiny right in the face.

Instinctively she turns her head but it is too late. Even Destiny is not faster than the speed of light. The beam cores into her optic nerve and stuns it badly.

“Whoa! That’s almost hurts it’s so bright. Jimminy, what is that thing?”

Destiny’s vision blurs badly, obscuring her vision to a cloudy gray through which she can only make out dark shapes. It takes all of eight seconds before it clears up again. That’s more than enough time for Pascal in the street below to reach his hand out unseen from behind his copper shielded cloak and press the button on the hand-held remote before retracting it back behind the special metal-lined cloth he’d brought along.

“Wow, I thought you were trying to use a kryptonite ray on me for a moment. I may have a lot of the same powers as Supergirl but that green stuff doesn’t work on me, buddy. Anyway, your dumb flashy thing barely even....”

BOOM! WREEEEEEEEKK! The sudden explosion and scream of twisting metal from overhead turns the surprised heroine’s head around. She looks up to see a giant billboard twenty stories up shudder and begin to fall from its lofty perch on the building above. It tilts over completely and heads down toward a neighborhood bar with patrons inside and some on the sidewalk outside who’d been watching Destiny totally handing Battle Axe the beatdown of his life.

“Golly, a distraction. What sly misdirection. What a dramatic tactical maneuver. What a waste.” Destiny turns in mid-air, kicks her legs and sprints through the sky toward the falling sign: over a ton and a half of gravity-enhanced death. It’s an easy catch and replace for her. She returns it to its proper place atop the building and quickly proceeds to spot weld it in place with her heat vision.

Back on the ground, the light flash and the preset explosives have done their jobs. Destiny is too preoccupied and too far away to prevent Battle Axe from making his escape.

He dashes for the sewer hole he had emerged from only 40 minutes ago and is about to hop down it and make his way through the tunnel system below the street when a golden lasso flies from over his head and snares onto his shoulders.

“Stop at once!”

Battle Axe goes rigid in place, a mere foot away from the sewer opening. From behind a parked car, Wonder Woman stands up out of her crouch and strides up to the frozen villain. He can’t move a muscle within the loop of this tightly cinched golden rope. This wasn’t in the Doc’s plan.

“Tell me. Why are you here?”

He starts to lie to her for then for some reason the truth just seems like a much better alternative. Funny he never realized that before.

“I’m here to fight Destiny. To learn her moves. Record her tactics.”

Twenty stories up, Destiny is just finishing with one support leg of the sign and is about to move on to the other. On the street she sees Wonder Woman has roped Battle Axe and is talking to him.

Cool. We’re the Sisterhood of the Dazzling Pants!

The blonde beauty looks down at the second strut and focuses her heat vision so it melts back onto it support base and forms a solid base. A couple of moments longer and she can form it and straighten it and cool it with her breath.

“Why is it so important to know her tactics?” Wonder Woman holds the lasso lightly between her fingers. It’s all she needs for this simple minded thug.

“Well, if we know her tactics then we can figure out a way to fight her more effectively next time.”

“Who is we? Who are you working with or for?”

“It’s more like ‘for’ since I’m being paid by the job and not a full partner. But that’s okay. I have come to accept that arrangement.”

Diana jerks the lasso, scowling at the fact that her slightly imprecise questioning has brought this ramble out of the big blonde thug. “Who is paying you?”

“ Ahh, I get you now. That would be.....”

The bag of lead balls that slams against the back of Wonder Woman’s head seemingly bursts behind her eyes with blinding white pain. She collapses to her knees and then onto her face in the street, flat on the ground, viciously stunned and bleeding. She then loses all consciousness, her body sagging inertly in the street with a final grunt.


“....Doctor Paaa..,” Battle Axe starts to say his employer’s name but stops the moment Diana’s conscious will collapses with her body’s final explosive breath. Even as the golden lasso is jerked out of the unhearing Wonder Woman’s limp fingers by the fast-thinking Pascal, he quickly pulls the lasso over Battle Axe’s head. He tosses it down onto Wonder Woman’s prostrate form with a shudder.

“Ugh. Nasty thing. Quick. Let’s move, we haven’t got much time. Destiny’s got to be almost done with that sign. We need to get into those sewers and away from here. Get in the hole, Axe. Now!”

Doing as commanded, the big man, dangles his feet into the hole and drops out of sight. Pascal kneels down beside the defenseless Wonder Woman, pats her rump and then glides his hand under her starred pants with a big smile.

“Oooh la la! La derriere c'est fantastique!” He caresses the curve of her firm buttock and then pats it gently again before withdrawing it. “Another time, mon cherie,” he whispers in her ear and then quickly follows his companion down into the sewer. He doesn’t bother replacing the cover. Speed and a carefully preplanned getaway route within the concrete sewer tunnels with their miles of copper wiring will be more than enough to cloak them from Destiny’s remarkable x-ray vision. Copper is the bane of Destiny’s existence just as lead is to Supergirl’s.

65 seconds later, a concerned Destiny is rolling over a limp and moaning Wonder Woman.

“Oohhhhhh...what....hit....me...Owwwww....” Diana’s head rolls on her shoulders in sick confusion.

“I’d say a steel pipe or some kind of sap very forcefully brought down on the back of your head. Take it easy. You might have a concussion. Don’t try to sit up so fast, you’re going to get diz...Oh there she goes.”

Wonder Woman swoons in place, collapsing to the side before Destiny can haul her back up slowly from nearly banging her head on the concrete curb of the sidewalk. With her left arm firmly around the Amazon’s shoulders, Destiny reaches over with her right and lifts Diana’s chin to look in her eyes. The pupils are hiding under thick half open lids.

“Uuhhhhh...head hurts...”

“Wonder Woman. Focus. How many of me do you see?”


“That’s good. How many fingers?”


“Right on the money,” Destiny smiles. “Who’s the President?”

“Osama Obama.”

“Hmmm. Close but no cigar. Although there are many people who would agree with you. Republicans mostly. Let’s try another one.”

“This isn’t friggin’ Jeopardy. Help me stand up,” Wonder Woman groans.

“Not quite yet.” Restraining the mighty Amazon is no challenge to the Most Awesome Teen as she has been labeled recently in the press. Brand new to the ranks of superheroines, Destiny is only six months past her 18th birthday but has already filled the headlines in the nation’s capital many times and twice around the world with her amazing exploits and incredible powers. Some say she could give Supergirl a run for her money. She certainly outclassed the Maid of Steel in chest size. She was a 39 D whereas Supergirl was only a 35 C or so. Like those things mattered! Anyway, next to Wonder Woman’s 44s, it seemed to be a moot point.

“One more question. Who’s the person on watch in the Justice League satellite right now?”

“Uuhhh...J’onn. Martian Manhunter, I’m pretty sure. Why?” Wonder Woman’s pupils lower from their heights under her lids and she begins to focus again. Held in check by Destiny’s arm around her shoulder anyway, the Amazon warrior sitting on the street curb lowers her head between her knees and breathes deeply, gathering her strength. Her remarkable belt helps heal the cut but the headache and wooziness remain for now.

“Because its your new protocol when heroines are attacked to notify the JL”

“Oh. Right. I forgot.”Diana looks up and over at Destiny. The Princess from Themyscira is feeling a little better with every passing moment.

“Don’t worry, I have my new communicator. I’ll do it.”

Pressing the central button of three on the small disk she removes from a tiny zippered compartment on her belt, Destiny calls in to the Justice League and, indeed, J’onn J’onzz is on duty, although he simply answers as “Manhunter.”

“Uh, hi. This is Destiny. I’ve got Wonder Woman here. We were attacked but we’re both okay. Well, she might have a bit of a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion. That mistake about Obama is pretty common. Anyone can make it.”

“Diana, Princess of the Amazons. Do you require assistance?”

Destiny makes a stern face and silently mimics “Princess of the Amazons” with a heavy back and forth wiggle of her head but suddenly stops when she sees Wonder Woman glaring at her with absolute focus in her eyes. The searing look along with a slow shake of her head has Destiny gulping loudly.

“I’ll be fine J’onn. Just following protocol as suggested by my young friend here Has anyone else called in need of assistance while you’ve been on duty?”

“No, Princess. It’s been mostly quiet. A volcanic eruption in Micronesia. A near crash of an airliner in South America. Not too much. It’s all been handled. You sure you’re fine. I can be there in no time.”

“Things that dull up there?” Diana smiles at Destiny who’s handed her the communicator and smiles back.

“You have no idea, Diana.”

“Hang in there, J’onn. The Flash should be there in only six hours. WW out!”

There is a small groan followed by a subdued “Six hours. JJ out.”

“Satellite watch can be very tedious. 8 hour shifts,” Wonder Woman explains. “We’re talking about cutting them down and increasing the rotations but it puts a strain on the heroes and heroines doing their job well when they keep having to race back to the satellite so often.”

“Maybe you guys should, you know, increase your membership drives. Sounds like the pressure’s intense.”

“Being a member of the Justice League is nothing but intense pressure. In between periods of remarkable boredom. It’s akin to what its like being in a war, or so I’m told. Not everyone can stand up to such pressure.”

“I’d like to try it one day,” Destiny says brightly.

“Well, you certainly have the powers for it, but it takes a lot more than power. It takes personal inner strength and commitment and knowing your boundaries and when to push them. It means a lot of different things. It’s pretty complicated at times to be a member of the JL.”

“It’s complicated enough to be a superheroine sometimes,” Destiny retorts.

“Can’t argue with you there. Like this guy getting away. That’s very frustrating. We both had him soundly beat. I was watching you for a while. Before the sign was blown, you handled him with no problems, but can I give you some advice?”

“Sure. I’d love that.”

“You should bring things to a conclusion faster. Drawing things out with extra chatter only delays the inevitable and who knows, you could be needed on another emergency sooner than you think. I know having the upper hand is appealing but you can’t do the cat and mouse thing with your enemies. You can’t play with them, Destiny. It’s not right and it’s not fair and it can lead to mistakes. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Sure.” Destiny tosses her head, her brilliant blonde hair tousled by the shake. She’s a little put off by the older heroine’s tone.

“I hope you can take that as constructive criticism. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I think you have a bright future. I’m just trying to help.”

“I understand. It comes with training and practice. Like, you know, watching your back so people don’t sneak up on you.”

Diana gets very quiet and very still for a moment. She hands the communicator back to Destiny and stands up quickly, only to sway momentarily from rising too fast. When Destiny moves to help her, Wonder Woman slaps her hand away and simply lowers her head, focuses silently for a few seconds and then straightens her body, her spine, her entire being as if nothing at all had happened to her. It was an act of will that had Destiny’s mouth gaping at the view.

Diana turns to her but her tone is not severe. Rather it is soft and even. “You are right, Destiny. Even battle-hardened veterans need to be reminded of the basics every now and then. I truly did not mean to offend you with my advice.”

“Oh, Wonder Woman. I’m sorry, too. That was just so bitchy of me. I blurted it out without thinking. I appreciated your advice and I will take it to heart. And try to cut down on the chit chat with the enemy.”

“Don’t get me wrong, there are times you want to be talking to them to get them distracted, to learn their plans or secrets or sometimes just to stall to clear your head. You just need to be aware of when the talk helps you and when it hurts you.”

“I see what you mean. Thank you for helping me be better at what I do. That’s what I really need. The training in New Mexico was fabulous but nothing beats real world experience out here in the streets.”

“You’re correct about that. And my experience tells me I should keep my ears tuned for sneaky opponents more carefully. Heck, I should be more careful about all my opponents lately. Letting this guy get away. Not being able to locate the man that killed Scarlet Avenger and Flare. It’s so damn frustrating to know he’s out there, baiting me and I can’t do anything about it!”

“I read about both of them. You’re the one trying to track him down? Any luck so far?”

“Not really. Nothing solid. There’s one French guy but I’m not even sure its him. He’s a professor at Georgetown University. He barely ties in. Anyway, I’m probably grasping at straws. Hey, thank you for the assistance. And for the refresher course,” Wonder Woman pats the shorter girl on the shoulder and smiles at her. “I like the costume by the way. Very dramatic. And the boots, thigh-highs. Wow!”

Smiling back, Destiny reaches out to shake Wonder Woman’s hand her eyes gleaming brightly from all she’s heard and learned this day. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll remember it and follow it. I hope we can work together again sometime.”

“I hope so too. Stay out of trouble. And thanks again for your help. If you weren’t there, I don’t know what Axe would have done to me.” Wonder Woman gives a final nod, then runs off to the south where her apartment and a warm bath await her tired body.

Destiny flies off to the north and her new apartment. She was thinking about how she could be a better heroine and help Wonder Woman at the same time. Maybe that French professor....Dr. Paah at Georgetown University. At least that was what Destiny heard with her super hearing from the roof while she finished cooling the billboard’s other support. Whoever he was, he wanted to know how she fought for some reason. Probably wanted to take her on. Well, she’d find out who he was and show him her tactics from a front row seat. No one had come close to beating her yet. And if he was the one who’d killed those heroines, she might just have to put a permanent hurt on the slimy pervert before she took him to the police. Break something that wouldn’t heal right the rest of his miserable life. That would teach him and all his kind a lesson about what it meant to kill a superheroine.

“And thank you, mademoiselles for the update and girl chat. Very, very enlightening,” Pascal says as he clicks off the radio receiver that had been transmitting from under Wonder Woman’s costume briefs where he’d secured it before dropping down into the sewer. The adhesive would disintegrate and the spy microphone with it’s two-mile range would drop off in about another six minutes. More likely than not, it would end up in the wash with Wonder Woman’s tights and panties, just a tiny dark speck that could be a cookie crumb if no one looked closely enough. It was an expensive bauble but it had more than served it’s purpose for Pascal. It had given him an additional fighting edge he could exploit against the Amazon cunt.

“Poor Wonder Woman. She is so frustrated by me that she is blabbing everything to this dumb blonde. C’est si bon! Things could not be more perfect. Wonder Woman will be going on a guilt trip of epic proportions before I am through with her.”

Sal Abato and Jimmy Glendennan are waiting in the attractively furnished reception area at the offices of Chesapeake Pharma Supply Corp. in Bethesda, Maryland, just over the border from Washington DC, about 10 blocks from Chevy Chase.

This company is one of the prime suppliers of not only the barbiturates found in the cocktail used to sedate the murdered heroines but also the psychoactive drug used for the aphrodisiac component of the cocktail. The two detectives are slouching in the leather and steel chairs flipping through industry magazines and yawning. After a while, a young pretty brunette pushes open the door in glass partition wall separating the back offices from reception and walks toward the two men who rise to meet her. She is holding a sheet of paper in her hands and looking over the two policemen.

“Detective Abato,” she says looking at Sal, immediately sizing him up as Italian as opposed to the his ruddier Irish-looking partner. She hands him the sheet. “Here’s the information you requested. There are 14 clients on that list that purchased both of the drugs from us that you inquired about. I hope it helps you in your investigation.”

“Thank you, Miss Williams.” He barely glances at the sheet before folding it in thirds and stuffing it into the inside pocket of his worn and shiny sportcoat. If he’d checked it at all, he would have seen the name Pascal Research LLC near the bottom of the list and the small amounts purchased of the two drugs. As it is, he won’t be turning in the list until the following morning.

“Does this have anything to do with the death of those heroines,” the secretary asks, leaning toward Sal with a conspiratorial whisper. “The news said that they both had been heavily drugged. I was just wondering.”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Miss Williams. You wouldn’t want me to compromise the case would you?” Sal is flirting as best he knows how but the brunette isn’t having it.

“No, of course not. Good luck, Detective.” She shuts him down cold with an officious tone, turns and walks back into the rear offices without giving him a second look. The glass door barely swings shut before Abato murmurs angrily about her being an uptight bitch.

“Nice try, Romeo,” Jimmy grins. “Next time, tell her what she wants to know. Give her a little inside info to feed her ego. I would.”

“I know you would. That’s why you haven’t gotten a raise in rank in three years, ya’ dumb mick.”

“You’re just sore ‘cause she shot you down faster than a Patriot missile.”

“Come on, dickhead, we got three more places to hit today before we punch out. After that, I’m going to Clancy’s for a nice tall one and a whiskey chaser. You in?”

“Am I ever not in?” Jimmy grins.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re Irish. I forgot.”

Meanwhile, over at Georgetown University, Destiny is following up on Wonder Woman’s comment about the French professor. In her secret identity as Kasey Draper, the brunette-wigged teen is posing as a reporter for the school paper doing a story on notable professors at the school. She asks at the administration building if there is anybody named Professor Paah who teaches French there. She is informed by the exasperated tall and thin middle-aged secretary who’s eyeing the clock just coming up on the five o’clock closing time that there was no professor of any kind at the school named Paah. When the secretary reads out the names of the two professors and their graduate assistants who teach French, none of those names even comes close to sounding or spelling like Paah. Disappointed Destiny is about to leave when the secretary offers up the tidbit that there might be some professors at Georgetown who hold French citizenship. Could she mean that kind of French professor?

“OH! Of course! I was being too literal. Yes, please, can you check on that for me?”

Again, eyeing the clock now two minutes past five, she exhales heavily. “I can try. It’s not how we’ve filed them, of course. Why don’t I think this through and you can come back in the morning and I’ll see what I can find out for you, okay, hon?”

“There’s no way to check quickly now. It’s really important.”

“What’s this story about again, that it’s so important?”

“It’s about the most noteworthy professors at the school.”

“Who teach French...” The secretary’s eyebrows dart upward.

“..or who are French, yes.”

“Why would anyone read a story like that? Or write one?” The secretary is now openly skeptical and starts packing up her area at the counter by closing the registration book with a hearty thump.

“The paper’s doing a continuing column on all the nationalities represented at the university. It’s called ‘Uni-Diversity’ and my column for it is due real soon. Can’t you help?”

“I can’t tonight. It’s going to take a little while for me to check the possible sources for that kind of information. Citizenship isn’t even one of the regular filing data fields we can sort by. Well, never you mind, hon. I’ll track it down first thing. Oh, is tomorrow Saturday? I forgot. We’re only open in the morning, from 9 am until noon. And we’re usually short staffed and very busy. I won’t be able to get to your information request until at least 11 am. Come by around 11:30 and I’ll see what I can give you at that time.

“Oh. Okay, I guess I’ll have to wait. Thanks for all your help....Frances,” Kasey says, reading the name tag.

“No problem, dear. See you tomorrow.”

Gary Kramplitz flips through the latest issue of “Titanic Tits” magazine, lazily appraising the gargantuan breasts revealed on its glossy full-color pages. He sits on the raised stool behind his cash register, slowly sipping his Coca Cola with its secret shot of rum from the flask buried in the broken returned items box beneath his feet. The breasts displayed in the magazine laying flat on the counter before him start at size Double D and move up the alphabet to dizzying heights of mind-altering reality where physics and Photoshop meet in some Mobius loop of total male fantasy.

In truth, the 39-year balding, overweight clerk of Heavenly Desires Adult Emporium is keeping his eye on a salt and pepper team of teens who he’s fairly sure are trying to shoplift a free magazine or two...or six. It’s a quiet night for a Friday and there are only five other customers in the store. These browsers include two young men in business suits, two in casual wear and, disturbingly, one older gent in a long raincoat and sneakers with no socks.

Despite the sign over their heads that clearly advises them that shoplifters WILL be prosecuted, the white kid with the shifty eyes and the black kid with the fast, flapping hands are definitely looking to score free merchandise. They’re joking back and forth over the boxes of porn magazines and around the racks of sex-packed DVDs.

In this job, Gary has seen every shoplifting technique known to man, and he eyes the ceiling-mounted concave mirrors repeatedly between downward glances at breasts large enough to have their own area codes. He figures the teens are going to do the classic Q&A routine, where one partner asks him a Question while the other Acquires the stolen merchandise. They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

True to form, the white kid is now approaching him. The teen is doing his desperate best to try to be black and a ‘playa’ with his ball cap worn backwards, a ripped black T-shirt with a red death head grinning skull and cargo pants so low that his blue and green plaid boxers are boldly displayed from waist to his upper butt. Meanwhile his dark young cohort is flipping through the magazine box that Gary has labeled Sloppy Sluts. These skin magazines show off the collected charms of women giving blowjobs in less than neat fashion. Magazines with titles like “Faced!”, “Cum Slurpers” and “Gaggers Gone Wild” attest to the heights of classlessness and the depths of depravity that is the porn industry in the new millennium.

“Excuse me, sir,” the kid says, his fingers nervously tapping out a rhythm on the counter while his eyes are everywhere but looking at Gary. “I was wondering if the new issue of “Jism on Juggs” has come in this week.”

“How old are you, kid?”

“19.” The boy is looking off to the side, seemingly trying to memorize a poster promoting Christina Carter’s website.

“Right. You got ID? That’s real?”

“Uh, sure. Right here in my wallet. So, has it come In Or NOT?” The kid suddenly gets loud and his hand with his ID is now waving in the air in front of Gary’s face. The angry clerk reaches out and grabs the kid’s wrist and pins it hard to the counter.

“Oww!” The teen yelps as his head twists to the side in pain and his cap falls off revealing badly chopped dark brown hair.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doin’, you little twerp,” Gary snarls, then yells out. “HEY! YOU BACK THERE! CHRIS ROCK! You stick one more magazine under that jacket and I call the cops. I saw you slide that mother up your shirt. Come up front here. NOW!”

The young teen walks forward as his friend struggles to free his wrist from Gary’s iron grip. The black youth spins at the precise instant he is hidden from Gary’s view by a steel support column, lets the magazine under his T-shirt drop to the floor and kicks it under the table bowed with the weight of countless years holding up hundreds of pounds of slick magazine stock. He continues on to the counter, bringing lots of attitude.

“What you talking about? I ain’t took nuthin’ from you.”

“Lift your shirt, Shaft.”

“You one funny honkey. And I ain’t lifting my shirt so you can get your perv rocks off looking at my body.”

“Lift it or your friend spends the night in the emergency room before the cops cart him off to jail.”

For what?”

“Do it Jamal,” winces the white boy as Gary’s fingers dimple deep enough into his flesh to leave bruises later on.

Jamal lifts his shirt anyway. The pale blue shirt with a picture of the rapper 50 Cent comes up with a yank of his arms. The grand gesture, the big ‘oh no he didn’t’ comes dramatically. With the stolen magazine now pushed under the table twelve feet away, it’s a cold surprise he serves up to the startled clerk. The only thing showing is the boy’s skinny black hairless chest. No stolen magazine. Nothing.

“See? Nothing here. So let Jake’s wrist go or we can all talk to the cops about how you’re roughin’ up a kid half your weight.”

Gary was damn sure he’d seen the boy slide that mag up his shirt. Kid must have dumped it real quick. He was good. Gary doesn’t release the partner’s wrist just yet though. He’s contemplating his next move when the doormat buzzes to announce a new customer entering the premises. He turns his head to see a sight that drops his jaw open wide. Both kids match his look precisely as Wonder Woman steps into the establishment.

“Good evening,” she says to Gary, her eyebrow raised at the sight before her. The clerk is holding onto a squirming teenager while a black teenager is baring his chest and has his head turned, staring at her with his mouth yawning open like a dead mackerel.

“Fuck me, that’s Wonder Woman,” announces the Raincoat man from the middle of the store.

“Is there a problem here I can help with,” Wonder Woman says, ignoring the crude comment from a man in a tan raincoat and putting her hands on her hips. She relaxes somewhat from her hesitant manner, now that she’s into the store and sees a situation she’s dealt with countless times before.

“Just a little shoplifting. Nothing I can’t handle, Wonder Woman,” Gary replies, still holding onto the squirming Jake. “Uhh, you’re a little out of your natural habitat, aren’t you?”

“We weren’t doin’ nuthin’, lady,” Jamal declares, pulling down his t-shirt.

“Bullshit!” Gary says, holding Jake who’s stopped twisting and is now just staring at the incredible woman standing right before him like a goddess. He drinks in those amazing red and white ‘fuck-me’ boots; those tight-fitting, high-cut blue briefs with their famous white stars showing off endless legs; those world-class ta-tas barely contained by that gold eagle; that incredible face with its bright red lips made for.... And she even had a crowny thing in her hair. She was totally fuckable royalty! Everyone in the store is staring at this vision, more or less thinking the same things. And what they’d do with all of that beauty. Oh man, what they’d do...

“Why don’t you let the boy go, sir, and we can talk this out reasonably,” Diana says, taking control of the matter. Glancing around, she didn’t like the looks on the faces of anybody in the store. She was used to getting this awed reaction but this was more than awe, this was a rough hunger she didn’t like seeing in men’s eyes. And especially not in teenagers’ eyes. The place is officially back to creeping her out. “Look, you’re obviously hurting him,” she pushes on. “I’m sure he wouldn’t try to rush past Wonder Woman, would you, son?”

“N..Not in a million....” stammers Jake.

“Or you either,” asks the statuesque Amazon of Jamal.

“Not in two million,” smiles the cocky teen.

“Fine,” says the clerk, releasing his quarry reluctantly. Jake rubs his wrist while still mesmerized by the incredible set of knockers not five feet from his face.

“Good. Now were you trying to steal merchandise from this store? Either of you?” Diana looks at the two young faces who eye each other briefly. This was trouble on a whole different level than either had ever been in before.

“No!” Both kids are adamant, going for the big bluff.

Diana reaches to her waist and unhooks her lasso, then shakes it just a bit at the two kids.

“Do you know what this is and what it can do?”

“Sure, everyone knows what...” begins Jamal, who stops suddenly and bites his lip. “Oh!” He says and shuts up. He’s totally screwed now.

“Hey yeah,” says Gary. “That like makes people tell the truth. All right Wonder Woman. You’re alright!” The clerk slaps the counter top with delight. “Yeah!”

“So, do you two still maintain that you weren’t going to shoplift anything here tonight?” Diana is giving a half smile, encouraging the truth without the rope. She didn’t like using it if she didn’t have to and this was such a minor thing. She knew she was stalling a bit because she didn’t want to get to the real reason for her visit. From around the store, the other customers begin to edge toward the front to get a better look at the famous heroine up close.

Jake is the one to speak, knowing the jig is up. “Well, we were going to try to cop a couple of magazines. It’s no big deal. Look around, he’s got thousands here. What’s the big diff?”

“Because it’s stealing and its wrong, that’s the big diff, young man,” Wonder Woman says sternly. “Do you have money to pay for what you were going to take illegally?”

“They were gonna take a bunch of them. Five or six for sure. Make ‘em pay up, Wondie,” Gary urges stridently.

“What’s your name?” Wonder Woman gives the clerk a much harsher look than she’s just given the two teens. She didn’t like his demeanor at all. And she could smell rum on his breath.

“Uh, Gary,” he replies, taken aback. How did he get to be the bad guy here?

“Let me handle this from here on out, okay Gary?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Diana looks at the magazine that lays open on the counter that the clerk was reading. Big color pictures of naked womens’ breasts are splashed in a montage across the spread pages. God they were enormous. Many of them far larger than her own. Diana is a bit disconcerted by the reality of what this place catered to, it being so boldly thrown up in her face. She looks away from the magazine and back at the two teens.

“What did you take so far?”

“Nothing,” Jamal blurts.

Wonder Woman just calmly plays with the loops of her lasso in her hands a bit and gives Jamal a raised eyebrow.

“Well, okay. I did put one mag under my shirt, but that’s all.”

“You were gonna take more than that,” Gary barks.

“Where is that magazine?” Wonder Woman directs her comment to Jamal, ignoring the clerk. “It’s obviously not under your shirt.”

“It’s under that table over there.”

“Go get it and pay for it now. And don’t try this again on my turf or I will make an example of you,” the Amazon says gruffly, driving her point home so the teens will be shaken enough to turn away from such behavior.

As Jamal walks back to the table he kicked the magazine under, Gary speaks up, reiterating his earlier statement.

“Your turf? I never seen you in here before, Wondie. Are you also cruising through the skin parlors, looking for hot women to tie up with your lasso?” Gary laughs roughly at his crude humor and gets a blazingly angry stare from the Amazon that cuts his laugh off into a cough.

Jamal comes up to Wonder Woman and shows her the magazine cover. “This is the one I was going to take,” he says. The tall Amazon looks down at the proffered item. The picture of a wide-eyed redheaded woman lying on her back with her mouth crammed full of a man’s penis, her face lathered with a thick combination of sweat and cum stares up at the unwary heroine. The bold red title shouts out “Throat Fuckers” and Wonder Woman gasps in shock.

“Good lord!” The raven hair swishes in a swirl as the tall beauty twists her head away from the horrifying trash that had just confronted her. “Why on earth would you....I mean, how could you think so little of... Oh, this is just so wrong!”

Diana can feel the rising warmth of redness flush through her chest and face. The way men thought of women and treated them in this place, in this industry, it was appalling to her. She had already been in two other adult stores earlier this evening and had withstood the ogling stares as men clearly enjoyed their perverted imaginings as she questioned the clerks and managers of the stores about a man who may have purchased a cat suit from them recently. It was like crawling through a thick stagnant bog just walking into these temples built solely to lust. It disgusted her to the core. The way men thought of and debased women in these places is the polar opposite of every single thing she believes in. Grimacing, she takes Jamal’s arm and pulls him toward the counter, far more roughly than she intended. The black teenager sprawls onto the floor with a yelp of pain.

“Aaarghh! My arm!”

“Oh my! I’m so sorry,” Diana kneels beside the lad who’s holding his arm. “Are you okay?”

“You just twisted it a little funny. I think it’ll be okay. I was just surprised is all. It’s already getting better,” Jamal replies, not wanting to show weakness to a woman, especially this one.

She helps him to his feet and he puts the magazine on the counter and goes into his pocket for his wallet. A scowling Wonder Woman flips the disgusting magazine over so the cover is face down. Her eyes drift back to the magazine spread laid out between Gary’s elbows and he notices her pupils widening at the images there, her expression shifting to wonder.

“Oh, these gals might have bigger titties than yours, Wondie, but I wouldn’t worry. Yours are a lot nicer. No sag there at all. You got a support bra built into that costume?”

“You are human trash!” Wonder Woman seethes with fury at this man’s nerve. She would break him in two if it weren’t against her principles.

“I’m just saying I’ll bet those beauties would bounce around a lot if that top didn’t have some extra latex in the lining. So yes or no on the support structure for those boobies?”

“Mind your own business, you pervert,” she growls.

“Hey,” Gary spreads his arms wide, taking in the whole place, “this is my business. And knowin’ about women’s undergarments counts.” The balding clerk leans over toward the Princess of Themyscira and throws out a final comment in an obvious stage whisper, “You look like a black lace kind of girl. Am I right?”

Diana frowns darkly, giving away her secret. She had three different styles of black lace lingerie back home in her dresser drawer that she’d laundered just two nights before.

“I knew it!” Gary slaps the counter in victory.

“Pig!” Wonder Woman snaps, furious she has given him the satisfaction.

Jamal has finished counting out six singles onto the counter. He now follows that up with two dropped quarters. “Here,” he says gruffly to Gary, who reaches toward the cash. Wonder Woman spears her hand out, blocking Gary’s grasp.

“Oh no! Not so fast!” She gathers up the money and tucks it into the zippered pocket on the inner side of her power belt. “I’m going to take this and donate it to a homeless shelter nearby. Consider it your charity donation for the day, Gary,” Diana says icily.

“Whatever, Wonder Woman. Why exactly are you here anyway?” Gary is rankled at her attitude and gives her back some of his own. Besides everyone in the store is curious to hear her answer to this.

“I’m here to investigate the purchase of a high-end rubber cat suit.”

Suddenly, the only sound in the store is the air conditioner humming. The looks she’s getting from every male in the place are extremely dreamy. Each of them is suddenly off in some fantasy scenario. She just knows it.

“Not for me!” She declares loudly, going red again.

Before she can clarify, Raincoat man says grunts loudly and says, “Right! You’re just buying it for a close friend, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” says one of the young businessmen, “There’s no way Wonder Woman walks into a shop like this and admits to wanting to buy a skin-tight sex suit. We understand, Amazon. You’ve got a reputation to protect. You’re secret’s safe with us, right guys?”

“Absolutely,” the chorus of male voices combines together.

“I bet she even sends out some dyke friend to buy her tampons for her,” one of the casually-dressed men proclaims. “I mean Wonder Woman can’t admit that she needs max protection to stem her super flow now, can she?”

Diana looks down the aisle at the last speaker, glaring hotly at him. She does require the biggest pads. This is humiliating!

“Or that she needs someone to buy a dildo for her,” a man in dark blue shorts and a yellow knit polo shirt adds, “for times when Superman just can’t get it up.”

All the men in the store laugh at this and Wonder Woman is livid with rage. She can’t beat up all these men. Well, she could – and easily. But she really can’t do that and she knows it. She slams the counter top with the flat of her hand and the wood cracks with a boom. The split isn’t wide but it runs over a foot down the center of the counter.

“Hey! You gotta pay for that!”

“GARY!” Wonder Woman shouts at the clerk, powering through all the ridicule to get her answer and get out of this nasty place. “Listen to me, has anyone come in to purchase your most expensive cat suit model in the last couple of days?”

Staying calm despite the ferocious look on the Amazon’s face not even a foot away from his own, Gary nods slowly and says softly, “Ahh, I see. You sent in a front man to buy the suit for you. Very clever, Wondie. Does he get to sample the merchandise after you put it on?” The long lingering look he gives the Diana’s body makes her want to dash home and shower with lye soap.

She steps forward and reaches across the counter, gripping the clerk by the throat.

“I’m in the middle of an investigation here, little man. And you’re impeding it. Unless you want to end up in court, I suggest you...”

“Everybody seeing this?” Gary’s voice is thin and squeaky through the choke hold Wonder Woman has on his neck. “Superheroine harrassment. Thank you, sir. Thank you, I’ll pay you $100 right now for that cell phone video you just took of this.”

Wonder Woman turns her head and frowns at the man in the yellow polo shirt holding his phone out and capturing the moment digitally. She releases her hold and talks to Gary in a much less threatening manner.

“I apologize for that, Gary. But you have to understand something. There have been two murders of Superheroines in this city recently. Are you aware of that?”

“Sure, I read the papers. That still doesn’t give you the right to threaten normal upstanding citizens.”

“Upstanding cit....! You all have been insulting me ever since I walked into this store. I’m just trying to get a simple question answered. Has anybody bought a cat suit in the last few days here, yes or no, Gary?”

“It’s possible. I’d have to check the records. What’s it worth to you?”

“It’s worth a subpoena,” barks Diana. “And if you make me get one and that delay costs a woman her life, you will regret it for a long, long time.”

“Bodily threats now from the mighty Wonder Woman to an innocent man. You’re all witnesses! Please come forward and write down your names, addresses and phone numbers on this pad.” Gary grabs a white legal pad from under the counter and slaps it down loudly. “My attorney may have to be in touch with you.”

“I didn’t threaten your body. I was talking about your conscience for Hera’s sake!”

Everyone in the store moves forward and each person writes his name and other information on the top sheet of the pad. Wonder Woman fumes as the line moves slowly forward.

“This is absurd. Will you answer my question or not, you little weasel?”

“Let me say this. I did not sell a cat suit to anyone in the last few days. One of the other managers may have. Which model are we talking about so I can get a better idea of what you’re in the market for?” Gary leers at her body again. “What are you, a 44 or 45 double D, I’d say. A big girl. We may have one in your size. They do stretch but yours would have to stretch a hell of a lot there, Wondie.”

“I told you before, it’s not for me. It was bought for someone else.”

“Yeah, right, right,” Gary nods. “You said that before. So, are you asking about the ultra-thin poly-tex Virgin Defiler model with the double crotch flaps for easy access?”

“Oh! I...i...am not sure... it’s possible.” Wonder Woman isn’t sure if the suit found on Flare had multiple flaps. It was so badly fused to her, the report hadn’t said.

“Well, how am I going to help you find what you want, sweetheart, if you don’t know how many entry holes you need for your big hard man?”

“What?! Look, you moron, I told you it’s not... I need you to check right now to see if any suit of any kind has been sold here and if so, if it was paid for by credit card?”

“I can do that. While you’re waiting, would you like to sign up for membership in our Super Slut Savers Club. It’s super, just like you, Wondie. In fact, every $100 you spend on dildos, butt plugs, cock rings or anal gel earns you 20% off your next purchase. And, you know, those top end cat suits can go for up to two grand apiece. That could add up to real savings for you, Wonder Woman. Interested?” Gary smiles widely directly in her face. With her needing this information, he’s got her over a barrel and he’s making the most of it.

“I am not interested in your filthy discount plan. Check your records now or I go get a subpoena and we do things the hard way.”

“Relax, Wondie. Just trying to help.” He grins at her as he takes an account book out from under the counter and flips it open. “Hmmm. It appears we did sell a cat suit to your boyfriend just yesterday.”

“Will you listen to me! He isn’t my boyfriend. He could be the man who’s callously done in two heroines.”

“And you’re upset that he hasn’t “done” you yet.” Gary air-quotes the word ‘done’ and thrusts his hips forward in a crude gesture that punctuates his taunt. “So you figure that a nice body-clinging rubber play suit that shows off your world-class tits and tight Amazon trim will bring him to attention so you can ride him all day and get him hooked on you. Clever girl.”

Gritting her teeth and restraining herself with every ounce of willpower she has, Wonder Woman lets the man’s venomous words hang in the air like the stench of dead skunk, but persists with her line of questions. “One last time or I will forget myself and care not for the consequences of my actions: Was the purchase made with a credit card or not, Gary?”

“Let’s see what we have here. Hmmm, you’re killer boyfriend-to-be has got good taste. He bought the Cunt Hugger Xciter model...”

“Great Zeus, is there no bottom to the depravity of this place?” Wonder Woman curses softly and bows her head at the shocking and shameful words, but she’s faced suddenly with the two page spread of mammoth tits. She goes scarlet again and takes a step back, looking around at all the grinning male faces of all ages surrounding her, enjoying her discomfort immeasurably.

“Dear Hera, you are all nasty evil men. Even you two youngsters! I ought to... Did the man buying the cat suit pay with a credit card or not, Gary. I won’t ask again.”

“Don’t get your costume panties in a bunch, Wondie. I’m checking. I’m checking.”

As Gary takes out a storage tray from under the counter that’s filled with credit card receipts and begins flipping through them, Diana feels the heat of all the males surrounding her. She lifts her chin and strikes her heroic pose to show these vermin she’s not intimidated by their kind. Her wide stance and fists on hips feels natural to her and she feels empowered once again.

Then she feels a hand between her legs squeezing her crotch.


Wonder Woman has spun in place, her eyes wide, her fists still bunched as she studies the faces of every man behind her. They’re all looking directly at her, challenging her back with leering smirks. No one seems more guilty than another.

“Who did that? Answer me immediately or suffer my vengeance! I swear to you I will use my lasso to yank the hard truth out of you demons! Answer me!”

“Sorry, Wonder Woman,” Gary says behind her, “but it looks like whoever bought the suit paid cash for it. There’s no receipt here for the Cunt Hugger suit. Looks like you wasted your time here. But thanks for coming.”

The glaring Amazon turns back toward Gary, her face crestfallen. She is crushed by this news and disheartened by everything that has gone on in this vile establishment. All men are pigs. She’s about to leave and put this nightmare behind her, to ignore the abuse both physical and verbal and go home to try a different lead to the killer of the two heroines; to keep her mind on the bigger problem than her own minor debasements. Then she has a thought.

“You do know who sold this man the suit though, correct? Based on the time on the register tape for the item sold?”

“Yes, of course, Wondie,” the clerk’s patronizing tone grates on her final nerve.

“Let me know who that is and I can question him and get a description of the man.”

“You’re assuming it’s a man who purchased the....” Gary slowly draws out his pronunciation of the product’s name knowing how it digs into the Amazon’s sense of modesty to hear it. “C u n t H u g g e r X c i t e r suit, champ.” Gary gives her his most cloying sweet smile at this. “Fuck, for all you know, it could have been a woman coming in to buy it: a woman who wanted to get herself off wearing such a tight sensually arousing outfit but who didn’t want people to know her kinky side. Maybe a woman just like you, huh, Wonder Woman? So she paid cash and walked out happy. Sadly, you’re not going out of here the same way.”

“Give me the name of the clerk, Gary. And know this. I will not forget this day. Ever.”

“It wasn’t a clerk on this sale, smartass,” Gary taunts, not put off by the threatening gaze of those icy blue eyes boring into his. “It was the owner himself, Mr. Rockleigh.”

“Give me his address and I will be out of here,” Diana snaps.

“He lives over at the Watergate. Beautiful co-op on the sixth floor of Unit 2. Number 675. I’ve been over there myself delivering stuff. This business pays well.”

“Too well. By far,” Wonder Woman replies coldly. Turning to leave, she gives every man there his own private withering five-second stare. It isn’t until she has her hand on the door handle before Gary shouts across the store.

“Oh Wonder Woman, one final thing.”

She freezes in place and turns her upper torso, giving the hateful man an angry tight-lipped stare. “What?”

“That address won’t do you any good. At least for a while. Mr. Rockleigh is on vacation for the next two weeks.” Gary glances at the convex mirror above the front door and is rewarded with a prize view of Wonder Woman’s breasts right down to the dark hint of nipple. With the way she’s turned, her top is slightly twisted out of place. The cleavage is cavernous, the breasts are two floating dark vanilla scoops of heaven. Gary’s face bursts into his biggest smile of the day. He will have to check the security tapes to see if this view is captured for posterity.

“Oh, believe me, I won’t forget this day either, Wondie,” he tosses out his last caustic taunt. “In fact, I’ll always have the crack in this counter here to remind me of just how special your visit was to me and all the guys here. Am I right, fellas?”

The resounding cheer fills the store as Wonder Woman’s shoulders slump miserably. She pulls open the door and she walks out into the dark that descended while inside the hellish pit of dishonor. She is hugely disappointed in herself, in the wasted time and in the entire World of Men. She vows to herself that she will return to Paradise island as soon as conceivably possible for a non-male 2 week vacation just to detox from this horrific experience.

Inside the store, the men are high-fiving each other amid a hubbub of voices recalling every sparkling moment of shame for the famous heroine. Finally Gary whistles it all to a stop and says, “Okay, I gotta know! Which of you grabbed beaver?”

They all look at each other shaking their heads and disclaiming credit. All except Jamal who issues a small sly smirk.

“Okay, you got me,” he says, his smile now lighting up the store. Amid more loud cheering and back patting, especially from his beaming friend Jake, Gary whistles again to be heard.

“Jamal, my man. You are hereby entitled to ten magazines of your choosing...on the fuckin’ house!”

Rene Pascal and Battle Axe are moving stacks of empty wooden pallets around the brightly lit warehouse space to the sound of heavy grunts and screeching wood on concrete. Everything had to be ready for tomorrow. Pascal felt sure that Destiny would be here to track him down. With the information Wonder Woman had let slip, the resourceful heroine should be able to find his home address and he’d take it from there. Virtually everything was in place. He just had some final adjustments, some equipment testing here in the warehouse and back at his basement laboratory, and then one last review of the tactics he’d laid out already to Battle Axe that they would use when the naive blonde heroine came calling.

“Tres bien,” he says as the final stack is carefully situated. “We are nearly ready for our lovely young guest.”

The next morning finds Diana Prince at her office at IADC headquarters. Being Saturday, the place is quieter than normal. The dark-haired agent sips from her coffee mug and types yet another phrase into the search field of the department’s database. Diana is doing follow-up on that French scientist and his company, Pascal Research. The company doesn’t have a website and information on him is quite thin. She’s dug up a few papers he’s written on neural pathways and their conductivity tendencies. That’s why she needed the coffee. This was tremendously taxing stuff that brought her almost to a doze.

As it was she hadn’t gotten much sleep, tossing and turning most of the night with residual anger at the humiliations she had endured in that sex shop. Steve might have found it all so amusing to send her there but she was feeling extremely angry at him for delivering her into that lion’s den. The fact that the treatment she received there wasn’t his fault and that it was her decision to go there as Wonder Woman barely mitigated the displeasure she harbored toward her boss at the moment, despite knowing better.

The search she was now conducting had just brought up Dr. Pascal’s personal history. The Georgetown University connection she knew already. She couldn’t find anything about his family. He never referred to them. Diana suspected she might have to go into French files for that information. She was spending a fair amount of time on this one guy based on nothing more than a slight hunch from the time she talked to him. She trusted her judgement but there was so little to go on. The picture on the monitor before her of him accepting a grant award for yet more brain research was a grainy black and white photo from twenty years ago. It was a picture of Pascal and a woman with her arm around his shoulder along with the head of the chemistry department at American University, another college located in Washington DC. that Pascal had taught at years ago. The woman could be a colleague. The story, oddly enough, didn’t say. In fact the caption just listed her as an unnamed woman. There was something familiar about her but Diana couldn’t be sure. It was an old photo from an article dated 1992.

Sighing, Diana moves on, keying in another name into the search field from the client list of Elimanol buyers provided by Harvey Johns at DC Metro Labs. Doing this kind of work was never as rewarding as fighting foes as Wonder Woman Parrying bullets and matching judo moves beat surfing the net looking for key connections that would break a case. Both were important, but more often than not this lead-tracking stuff was downright boring.

Dressed in a dark brown suede skirt, a cream-colored silk scoop-necked blouse and brown leather sandals, Kasey Draper walks up a tree-lined street in Chevy Chase not far from the home of Dr. Rene Pascal. It is just after 2 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. The secretary at Georgetown had come through with the name just before closing time. After consulting a map and planning a simple strategy, Kasey is ready to conduct her surveillance of the French professor’s residence. She has her costume on underneath her street clothes as usual, except for the boots which are tightly compacted in a zippered compartment in the canvas carryall on her shoulder. If things get hairy, she’ll be ready.

Coming up to Pascal’s street, Kasey spots a four-story apartment building across the street from Pascal’s brick townhouse. Perfect! She can watch from that roof.

Breaking the lock to the roof proved no obstacle whatsoever for the powerful teen. She settles down on her rump, a little annoyed she’d chosen the suede skirt with the dirty roof and all. That was a rookie mistake. But that was good. She’d just learned something new to file away for later. From time to time she pops her head over the parapet and watches the front door of Pascal’s place. She’d already used her x-ray vision when she got to his street and saw that no one was home. Just a little dog was there, wandering around inside. Now, up on the roof, she knows that this could be a long day. But it couldn’t be too long. He had to come home at least and walk the dog sometime!

She understands that this is something of a long shot. Wonder Woman hadn’t definitely said this guy was their man. Otherwise, Kasey knew, if she were more certain, the Amazon would be here herself. Still, Battle Axe had said “Dr. Paah” and Wonder Woman hadn’t heard that. So this was a strong match in that sense. She felt it was a pretty good bet. All she had to do was watch the place and see if anything suspicious was going on. Besides, as Destiny, she didn’t have to start her patrol until around 6 or so when she usually took to the skies. It wasn’t that crime didn’t happen during the day, it’s just that the odds were higher she’d be needed at night. Bank robberies did usually happen in daylight but that was something the police could usually handle. Unless there was a hostage situation. They liked having meta-humans help out in those cases. Looking up at the clear blue sky, Kasey thought and waited and hoped. She wonders if she should have told Wonder Woman about the name Battle Axe had started to say while the Amazon was unconscious but Destiny didn’t want to appear foolish. For now, she would see what came up. She could handle it after all. She was invulnerable and that went a long way.

After following up several other names from various leads by IADC agents, surfing the many databases she had access to and still getting nowhere, Diana finally opens a file from the ME. It’s almost time to leave. This will have to be her last lead for the day. The opened ME file includes a list provided to Detective Abato yesterday afternoon around 4:30 pm from the Chesapeake Pharma Supply Corp. in Bethesda, Maryland. It was sent to the ME at 8:55 a.m. this morning. Diana fumes silently at the lackadaisical attitude by the DC cops. Scanning the list quickly, she is stopped short by a name near the bottom of the list. Pascal Research LLC. Checking the heading quickly, this is a list of companies who had ordered the barbiturates found in the cocktail used to sedate the murdered heroines. It also is a cross-matched list of clients who purchased the psychoactive drug used for the aphrodisiac component of the cocktail. Diana is stunned by this information. These drugs as well as the Elimanol were all used by Dr. Pascal in his work. Even though she’d read extensively about Pascal’s research, Diana didn’t know if all these drugs were used in his experiments. He couched his terms in heavy scientific jargon. She couldn’t be sure if they were regular parts of his experiments. Certainly psychoactive drugs must play a part in neural research. And Pascal had openly admitted to her on the phone himself that he used Elimanol. Still, the drugs in this cocktail seemed much more than a coincidence. Dr. Pascal had some serious questions to answer and Diana was going to do that the moment she finished her stint at the Justice League watchtower satellite. She had today’s 3 pm to 11 pm shift. She wished she could go to Pascal’s house now and question him but she was already running late as it was. Getting off at 11 pm meant she’d have to wait until tomorrow morning, Sunday, to confront him with the hard facts she’d just learned. She’s wondering if she should do it as Diana Prince or Wonder Woman as she picks up her purse and heads home to change and be transported to the satellite.

When she hears a car pull up, Kasey sticks her head over the parapet to see it park at the curb. When the car door opens, she scrunches down lower. She didn’t want to use her xray vision since she really didn’t see colors as well or facial expressions or any number of things that could help her judge what was going on. She sees a tall, good looking man with a beard that’s going gray climb out of the car. He’s holding a small brown paper bag and when he stands up straight, he looks all around, even up toward her position on the roof. Was this guy psychic? Worse yet, had he seen her? She didn’t think so. She watches as he climbs the stoop to the front door, pulls out a key and opens the lock. It was either Pascal or someone he trusted very much. It was a gorgeous house. Destiny wondered how neural research paid so well. She’d gotten his background information from Frances about the courses he taught and when he was hired by Georgetown.

Now what?

Just to be on the safe side, she uses her xray vision instead of raising her head over the roof line. She sees the little dog rush toward the tall man and take a flying leap up. The man catches the little thing in his arms and there’s licking galore by the dog of the man’s proffered face. This had to be Pascal. Using her super hearing, Destiny catches the conversation that Pascal is having with the dog.

“Who’s the doggy that wants to get dusted? Is that you? Yes it is. Yes it is. Let’s get rid of those bad old fleas right now. Yes, right now. Nobody likes pests. Nobody.” Taking a container from the small brown paper bag, he shakes a powdery substance over the dog and it drifts down to his fur. The dog snorts suddenly, his head jerking down. And then he looks up and then he dances around in a circle several times, enjoying this new game.

“More powder? More?” The dog clears two feet from a standing jump and yips happily. Pascal shakes out another small snowfalls worth over the now circling dog and then kneels down and rubs it all throughout the animal’s fur. “Good boy, good Nodie. Let’s get you fed and then we’ll go for a nice long walk. Sound good?” The dog, looking up, yips.

Taking this opportunity, Kasey makes her way down to street level and hides in the foyer of the building awaiting Pascal’s exit from his home with the dog. Ten minutes later, he appears at the front door with the small tan and white Nodie. The leashed dog pulls his master happily down the stoop and off to the right toward a small park. With super vision, Kasey is able to let Pascal and the pooch get all the way to the park before she has to step out of the building. It’s one of the advantages of being a superheroine and having to tail someone: Long distance tails are a breeze.

The dog sniffs everything in sight in the park and does all its business, lifting its tiny leg and marking everything important. But Pascal doesn’t turn to head back home. Instead, he crosses through the park into a more industrialized area. Kasey thinks they’re in Bethesda at this point. After six minutes, Pascal comes to a small two-story warehouse with a tiny brass sign mounted beside a steel door. The sign simply reads “PR Storage.” Surprisingly, Pascal takes out his keys and unlocks the front door. Bending over, he picks up Nodie and goes inside the warehouse, letting the door close behind him.

“Hmmm,” Kasey says to herself. “This is an unexpected development.” She uses her xray vision to peer inside and is repelled immediately. There must be copper sheeting everywhere. She sees only dark gray square planes and nothing more.

She waits ten minutes and nothing happens. Frowning, Kasey decides its time to switch identities. She’s going to have to let Destiny do her thing. Smiling at this little touch of dual personality syndrome, the brunette ducks into the shadow between two buildings and comes out it seconds later as a blonde beauty clad in gold, orange and blue. The stunning heroine that the world is coming to recognize as Destiny is standing there with her hands on her hips and looking at the door of the warehouse for any sign of action. There’s nothing going on.

“Guess I’ll just have to go in and see if the good professor is in any kind of trouble,” she says aloud.

Flying over to the front door, she tries the doorknob and is surprised to discover it’s unlocked. She twists it and enters the building, walking confidently into the darkness. Everything is dark planes and right angles, she can’t see more than five feet in any direction before she has to turn a corner and look another five feet. She makes her way through this maze steadily without any hesitation.

“Doctor? Doctor Pascal? Are you here? There was a call that someone thought this building might be broken into. I’m Destiny. I’m here to help if you need it.”

The clatter of doggie toenails on cement suddenly rushes from out of the dark. Destiny sees little Nodie coming at her in a rush, yipping steadily. As the dog did with Pascal, he leaps up toward her and Destiny catches him in mid-air, giggling at the ecstatic little pooch. He wriggles delightedly in her arms and strains to lick her face. Granting this, she bows her head slightly and the dog is all tongue and wagging tail. Some of the flea powder clouds up from the fur in all the excitement, dusting Destiny’s face and costume with a fine whiteness.

“Where is your owner, little guy? And why does everything have copper facing all over it? I’m not liking this at all.”

Destiny puts down the dog who runs back off into the dark with a final excited yip. The blonde heroine follows the dog’s lead and heads after him, annoyed at this maze. The ceiling is surprisingly low for a warehouse, unless this is just the front offices. Nevertheless, Destiny is feeling just a tad claustrophobic with no way to see her way through anything and no way to get any perspective. It also feels a little warm and that takes her by surprise. She doesn’t feel temperatures, either hot or cold, even at the most extreme ends of the spectrum. Absolute zero or sun surface, it was all the same to her. She’s contemplating this strange development when a strange sound emanates from the center of the building. It vibrates the walls with a tremendous heavy bass note that sounds like drumming. And then a speaker comes to life off to her left.

“You coming to save the Doctor, Destiny? I hope so, I am so looking forward to taking you on again.”

“Battle Axe!” Destiny smiles. This she knew how to handle. Being a superheroine. Taking on evil. That’s what she was all about. “I wonder what Battle Axe wants from professor Pascal,” she says aloud. “Well, no time like the present to find out.”

But the present takes her longer than she’d like. It’s another six minutes of winding past corners and long hallways and even some dead ends before Destiny finally comes to a large open space. The final corridor opens up to a yawning blackness that her xray vision shows to be about 30 feet high. But Destiny is downright alarmed now. She is sweating and feels a little nauseous. This is a first for her in her life. Not something she wants to be feeling when she’s got Battle Axe to contend with.

What is happening?

Suddenly a spotlight from the distant ceiling pierces the darkness and Battle Axe stands on a wide, short square pedestal with his arms behind his back and all weapons ready at hand.

“Ready to tango, bitch?”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little under the weather,” Destiny says as her stomach flip flops and she sways slightly in place. “Maybe another time, BA. I’ve got to fly.” Leaping into the air Destiny soars all of three feet high before coming to a jarring crash landing on two sprawled out arms.

“What the hell...?” She says, shocked but not hurt. Then she looks up to see Battle Axe pounding across the cement floor, coming straight for her, his titanium axe raised up high over his right shoulder, ready to swing for the fences.

“OMG. This is not good!”

The swing is low cutting upward. The woozy Destiny has only made it to her hands and knees when the blade of the titanium axe connects with her forehead.


The blonde isn’t cut but she is a bit stunned as her body arches up and backward. A second later she lands on her back with her knees up and with her head hitting the concrete floor.


Battle Axe is kind of stunned himself. His axe is titanium and she doesn’t have a mark on her forehead. Not even a redness. He’d been told she’d be a patsy, a plaything. Didn’t seem that way. He watches as Destiny brings herself to her feet, scowling angrily at him. She looked like she liked to play rough.

She rushes at him and he holds his axe handle straight out, trying to slow her advance. Her cocked right arm unloads and her fist heads straight for his face but he’s able to dodge it. Seems her reflexes are compromised. Something to remember. But the doc said that would be later. Nevertheless, he turns his upper torso halfway around and brings the axe head down and across Destiny’s face with nasty downward chop.

“UUNNHH!” The teen heroine is driven down to one knee, her head low, her body crouched over. Battle Axe yanks the axe back up, guiding the flat head of it directly against his young prey’s jaw.

“AAGHH!” Destiny is knocked flat on her back again, this time with the toes of her boots pointing in opposite directions. It’s only momentary. Raising herself up on her elbows, the Most Awesome Teen looks at Battle Axe and pouts at him.

“Anybody ever tell you that you don’t play fair?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fine, your rules,” the blonde youngster says drawing herself up to her full height. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if I try something sneaky.”

“Sneaky’s left the building, bitch. All you got now is desperate.”

“We’ll see about that. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”


“It’s a Mark Twain quote, numb-nuts. I didn’t expect you to get it anyway.” Once again, Destiny charges front on, right at Battle Axe.

“Yeah, well, get this, you chatty cunt.” Battle Axe raises his wrist and a sudden volley of ten 30-caliber bullets comes streaming at her face.

Thocka! Thocka! Thocka! Thocka! Thocka!

The fusillade slams into her forehead, cheek, nose, chin and eyelids. The force of it knocks Destiny’s head back, her legs slip out from under her and yet again the mighty blonde heroine has been beaten down so she’s on her back, looking up at the ceiling and fighting a wooziness that just won’t leave her. Raising herself on one arm and keeling sideways, the junior champion coughs loudly and then sneezes violently. She then collapses flat onto her back and moans. Not from the bullets but from whatever it is that is ravaging her system from within.

“Ohhh. What the hell did you to me?”

“The doc called it Zurick fever, I think,” Battle Axe says with a grin, seeing the girl suffering more and more now from its effects.

“Never heard of it.”

From a nearby speaker, a calm deep voice speaks out. “That’s Zhurigk Fever, Battle Axe, my friend. A nasty little space spore that is very toxic to girls like Destiny.”

“That one I’ve heard of,” says Destiny as once more she brings herself to a standing position. “But how was I exposed to it? I haven’t flown in space for weeks.”

“No, but you did get a nice reception by my cute little Pomeranian. So adorable. So irresistible. So covered in space spores that you contracted a very nasty dose,” the voice on the speaker sighs contentedly. Then continues, “After that, we just had to keep you busy for several minutes in our clever little maze and by the time you reached the end, you were deeply infected and here we are. Yes, this is a 24-hour bug that I’m afraid will prove fatal to you, mon cherie.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Pascal,” says the plucky young heroine as she circles the also circling Battle Ax, “but you should have done your homework. Zhurigk Fever isn’t a terminal disease in Bylangians like me.”

“Oh it’s not the Zhurigk Fever that will be fatal, my dear,” says the speaker with a dry chuckle. “It’s the fact that it reduces those amazing power of yours by a whopping 90% that I’m counting on. I’ve come up with some very effective ways to take care of another 9%. I figure the famous Destiny at a mere one percent of her powers shouldn’t be too hard to eradicate. Let’s find out shall we?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not at 90% yet, Doctor. I think you made your play too early.”

“I don’t,” the speaker in the ceiling replies.

From out of Battle Axe’s vest shoots his deadly green optical stunning ray. The blazing green light strikes the slowed teen straight in the face, stunning her optic nerve as before.

“AAGGGHHH!!” She clutches her palms to her face and doubles over. Last time the effects only lasted about eight seconds, but at her reduced powers, Destiny has no idea how long she’ll be sightless.

And then her ear drums seem to explode in pain

“AAAIEEEEEYAAHHH!” The shrieking blonde heroine is now unable to hear anything thanks to Battle Axe’s sonic stun blast. Driven to her knees in pain, the blind and deaf heroine has no defense against the oncoming Battle Axe.

She certainly can’t the huge smile he wears as he strides toward her with a vengeance.

Wavering in place, sick to her stomach with no way to protect herself, Destiny is scared to death for the first time in her short career.

End of Part 2

If you like this story or have feedback that you'd like to share, you can contact the author at drdominator9@live.com I try to respond to all emails in a timely manner and welcome your comments.