TULSA
Melinda Carson sat in misery on the bus ride back to Tulsa. She was only barely aware of her surroundings; partially aware of the unceasing pain in her ribcage; but fully aware of her humiliation. Since she was ten she was always faster and stronger than all the boys. By the time she was in high school, an upperclassman got a little too hands-on with her and she threw him through a plate glass window… twenty feet away.
As a pretty highschool girl with super powers, she always felt that she was too big a fish for this town. She performed stunts at carnivals, worked as a model and spokesgirl for some local businesses. When the open tryouts were announced by Commissioner X of the Superheroine Battle Arena she thought that this would be her ticket to the big time.
She quit her construction job and took a fifteen hour bus ride to Metrocity. She spent four hours standing in line, filling out forms, getting scanned and lifting heavy things. Finally she got into the ring with one of those giant SparBots. And in thirty seconds they triggered the emergency shutdown because she was getting beaten so badly. She spent the next twenty minutes sobbing while some medics finally determined she wasn’t concussed and could be released.
Melinda swatted away a tear with the back of her fist. The bus pulled into the station. Even though she could lift a motorcycle over her head, her duffel bag seemed incredibly heavy as she pulled it from the overhead racks.
Tulsa. Home crap home.
She was thinking of some of the bridges that she burned on her way out of town. She hadn’t even called her brother for a ride from the station. As she exited the bus she didn’t even notice the messenger.
“Miss Carson,” the woman said.
Melinda turned towards her. The woman stood out in a crowd. Her dress was shocking red and looked like it was painted on, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination. Melinda could see the curve of her abdominal muscles through the fabric. Her glasses, lips and a streak of her hair were all the same color. She was a tiny, petite woman but with obviously augmented breasts. She was very out of place in this bus station.
“Yes, I am. Who wants to know?” Melinda wondered if she was about to have a fight.
“I am no one of importance. But my employer is someone that is intrigued by your potential.”
“Oh please!” Melinda hissed. “Potential! What potential?? I got beat so hard I barely even remember it!” She began crying again.
“No, sweet child, your loss was not your fault,” the woman softened her voice and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. “You were rushed through some hoops and thrown into something that no one ever prepared you for.”
“But I… I…”
“You have powers,” the woman had her other hand on Melinda’s other shoulder and leaned her close to her. “But you’ve never been trained. You’ve never been in a fight before have you?”
Melinda shook her head and a tear fell.
“You’ve never felt what it’s like to get hit by someone as strong as you. You’ve never trained how to punch, or block, or grapple. You probably don’t even know your maximum bench press.”
Melinda just sobbed with her head down. It was all true.
“But with the proper guidance, you can become something great, Melinda. My employer would very much like to meet with you and discuss your future.”
“Really? Is this some kind of new wrestling league?”
“Something like that. Step into my car and let’s go meet my employer.”
Melinda glanced over the messenger’s shoulder and a stretched limousine was parked at the curb. A huge man crammed into a tuxedo stood poised to open the door.
“Right now?” Melinda suddenly very self-conscious. “Should I change my clothes? And my make-up has to be a mess. How should I act?”
The woman took her arm and guided Melinda effortlessly towards the limo. The driver opened the door with machine precision and stood at attention. “Just be yourself, darling. If you want to impress my employer, just be yourself.”
The door slammed shut. The limo sped away. One man noted the license plate as it pulled out of sight: “SUBMIT”
METROCITY
Commissioner X Office
“Eight of them??” Charles Black, known publicly as Commissioner X in the halls of the SBA, was astonished. It was roughly a week since the first round of open tryouts for the Superheroine Battle League. Ten of the women made it past the initial screening process after roughly four hundred interviews and rejections. They were all beaten badly by a quarter-strength SparBot used for training. In fact the video of them getting clobbered had gotten almost as many hits as the video of that new wrestler, Dark Dominatrix, nearly decapitating her SparBot. He felt that the video could be potentially embarrassing for the recruits; but they HAD signed the release. When his assistant sent the email that said that some of the participants were being reported as missing persons, he thought that maybe two or three had gone off on a self-pity binge or were sleeping off a mega dose of drugs or booze. But eight out of ten were now missing??
“Eight so far…” was Smith’s grim response. “Three were never seen shortly after leaving the arena. Most made it partially home along bus or train routes, but were last seen at some midpoint.” Smith was projecting holographic maps with flashing lights off his datapad to accentuate each statement. “Here’s the one that really captured the attention of one media whore, Sara Sloane. Jessica MacHolland boarded her flight to Detroit but never disembarked.”
Charles’ eyes narrowed. “Ok, this just moved out of the realm of normal police work. There’s obviously a super-villain in play here. Send word to the other two women and get a security detail to their homes. Call in some favors from The Tower if you need to.
“The other ONE woman, Commissioner. Elizabeth Banks was just reported missing by her mother in Buffalo Grove.”
“Oh man this is bad,” Charles paced back and forth. “I want one of our own security agents on a supersonic jet in ten minutes to get to the last woman. Who is she, where is she at?”
Smith pulled up some spinning displays and a picture of a young blonde woman. “Her name is Melinda Carson, last seen getting onto a bus for Tulsa.”
“What do you think is going on, Commish?” asked an intern.
“Young women. Low-level super powers. Little or no combat training. All collected for something… well Whatever it is, it’s something dark.”
“Yes, this has Super-Villain Rape Fantasy spelled all over it…” muttered Smith.
Commissioner X clenched his fist and an electromagnetic burst shorted out the datapad. “Shut up, Smith.”