/ Imagineer Index / Sapphire Index / Comments to imagineer47(a)yahoo*com
The young woman floated weightlessly, two hundred feet above the sodium-lamplit suburban landscape, her eyes searching for a familiar landmark made unfamiliar by altitude.
There -- the QuickMart.
As she descended, the warm summer night air caressed her bare skin, ruffling her cropped silk camisole top and matching flared miniskirt, threatening to expose her charms to any who cared to look up -- if there had been anyone out at this late hour in such a quiet neighborhood. Slit sleeves billowed like parachutes behind her. Unnaturally-large sapphire gemstones fastened to satin glovelets and high-heeled shoes glowed blue of their own accord; a similar crystalline orb dangled from her neck, and another hung from scarcely-concealed bikini panties. These unmodest adornments were more than baubles -- they cradled the fragile-looking nymph in an invisible aura that shielded her from harm and, together with the silver tiara nestled in her hair, seemed to bend the will of the Earth's pull to her whim.
Hovering now twenty feet above the convenience store, her eyes flickered suspiciously over the entrance. Within seconds, a ratty old Nova pulled up and two wiry-looking men got out. Each wore a dirty trenchcoat. Sapphire saw the shotguns they pulled off the seat between them and concealed under their coats. She waited until they went inside.
This was the moment that Angela Barrett became a superheroine.
This was the moment that Sapphire was born.
One might think that such a defining moment would give a hero pause. That the decision to finally commit to a life of battling the evil forces of the universe would only come after much soul-searching. That when the moment came, the profound import had been understood, and the life-change embraced and marked by mental ceremony.
Or at least a deep breath.
But Angela had no such great reflection. She was an eighteen-year-old girl, propelled to the edge by her own naive enthusiasm, who'd never given much thought to what a huge and weighty thing being a superheroine might be.
And when her moment came, she jumped off driven by pure instinct.
"Time to go to work," Sapphire said to herself as she glided gently downward.
No sooner had she touched down than one of the men came backpedaling out of the store and ran right into her. Sapphire fell backwards, landing hard on her rump, the man landing on top of her. She felt her forcefield tingling as it supported the man's weight, but flat on her back there wasn't much she could do.
He rolled off her and scrambled to his feet. "What the...?"
Sapphire climbed back up to her feet, a little more slowly in the tall heels.
"Outta the way, you crazy ho!" the man screamed and shoved her aside.
Sapphire went sprawling to the pavement, surprised that this man could toss her around so easily despite her forcefield. Then she realized that in her surprise she hadn't been directing it. She focused her mind, feeling her right hand tingle as she extended force from it, pushing herself back up on her feet with unexpected quickness. The man was jumping into the driver's side of the car.
Some unknown fighting instinct took over as she leaped/levitated onto the hood of the car, the stiletto heels crunching twin indentations in the sheetmetal. "Stop!" she yelled. From the driver's seat the man struggled with the shotgun for a moment until he realized he couldn't get it pointed at her in the confined space. So he slammed it into reverse and stabbed the throttle.
The car lurched backwards; Sapphire lost her footing and started to fall backwards but telekenetically caught herself in time to jump backwards and land solidly on her toes.
The driver slammed the car into Drive and stabbed the throttle again, coming for her. Already crouched, she lept up, easily landing on the roof. She pointed both arms straight down between her widespread feet and focused; a force kawhunged! the roof of the car as if a bowling ball had been dropped from a third-story window. The sound echoed in her ears as she studied the crumpled sheetmetal.
Before she could determine the impact on the driver, she heard an explosion followed by a rain of glass. She looked up to see the other man running through the store's front window, shotgun aimed at her. She instinctively raised her arms crossed in front of her to protect herself and closed her eyes as she heard another explosion rock from the weapon. She felt a spiky tingle but nothing more. She looked up. The man stood, weapon hanging at his side, mouth agape, just two feet from the passenger door of the old beater. Apparently he'd missed her.
Sapphire pointed at him angrily. "You are in big trouble, mister!" she shouted, adrenaline pumping so hard she failed to recognize just how corny it sounded. She "hit" him with a bolt of force right in the chest, knocking him back on his ass.
Then the car lurched out from under her as the driver made a bid for his escape. She flitted upward, waiting for the car to back into the street before landing. She immediately leaped back into the air toward the retreating vehicle, despite having no idea what she'd do once she caught it. On the downward arc of her flying leap she focused several hits to the side of the car which landed like hammer-blows, creating more noise than effective damage. She landed right next to the driver as he froze in disbelief. She force-shoved him across the bench seat, spinning him to face her as his feet caught in the pedals and cracking his head against the passenger door. He quickly passed out.
Sapphire heard another explosion as she felt herself shoved up against the car by dozens of tiny pinpricks. Her skin tingled as she regained her balance and spun around to size up the attacker. The other robber was on one knee, both hands on the smoking shotgun. Before she could react he pumped another round at her; it hit her face and chest in a flurry of fizzling light.
Furious and not yet fully realizing just what he'd done and what it should have done to her, Sapphire leapt toward him, covering the thirty feet in an instant and landing just inches from him. She force-shoved the weapon out of his grip; it went clattering to the pavement twenty feet away.
The crook's eyes fixated just below her chest; he was stunned at what he saw. Sure, at thirty feet the shotgun's stopping power was reduced, but aside from a few holes in her skimpy outfit she seemed unharmed. He didn't know what drug she was on but he wanted some.
His left hand shot for her throat, gripping tightly. But this girl's throat felt like iron as he squeezed. She just looked down at him quizzically for a moment. Then she struck at his chest with an open right palm, pulling up short of actually hitting him -- or so he thought before he went sprawling back another ten feet. The pain in his chest was crushing. He lay there, motionless.
Sapphire stood there in a crouch, frozen in a post-strike pose, catching her breath and mentally catching up to what had just happened.
"I did it."
She didn't see her bejeweled choker laying at her feet.
Angela Barrett was depressed. School was almost out, and soon she was going to be asked The Question.
What are you going to do after graduation?
Probably the same thing most kids did -- Go to junior college. Get a job. Move out. Stuff.
Put "Get a Boyfriend" on that list, she thought darkly.
Scott had been incommunicado for almost a week now. He hadn't been a boyfriend -- not exactly -- but he had made things exciting. After a couple of months chatting online, he'd finally said he was going to be in town. He'd even bought her a dress to wear for their big date.
Then he disappeared.
No meeting place. No time. No rescheduling. No excuses. No contact.
Just *poof*!
Their online romance was the only thing she'd had going on in her life, and now it was gone. Okay, maybe not "romance" exactly -- okay, mostly chatroom sex, but they'd still spent hours talking about other stuff and (she thought) making a real connection. Apparently it was all a smokescreen.
Maybe he chickened out because he's not really a communications expert who's sent all over the world to set up secure systems for big corporations and governments. Maybe he chickened out because he's not really 5'11" and 175 pounds of lean muscle. Maybe he chickened out because that's not really him in the picture he sent.
Angela had tried moving on, but everybody else online was just a big horndog. (Well, so was Scott.) And rude. And ugly. And old. And dorky. (Look who's calling other people "dorky.") Scott was... well, he understood her.
Last Friday was supposed to have been her Big Night. Her first date since... well, ever, if you didn't count late-night gropings at the drive-in with Josh, and she preferred not to. It could have been a first for something else too, if Josh hadn't gotten her so drunk... God, if only she'd been smarter, she could have saved herself for someone more deserving. More respectful. More experienced.
Angela's mom would kill her if she found out how old Scott was. (Not that it mattered now...) Angela didn't even know -- at least thirty, if the picture wasn't fake. He'd never answered the age question directly. "Old enough to know better than to let age matter," he'd said.
He's probably fifty. This is probably a picture of his son.
Angela tore it up and threw it in the trash.
I should throw away his stupid dress too, Angela fumed, regarding the still-unopened package peering out from behind her shoes in the closet. Probably some kinky fetish thing. I can't believe I played along with all of his games. Cheerleader in Trouble. Schoolgirl Needs a Ride.
Like you didn't enjoy it, her conscience chided. Small-Town Freshman Falls for Big University English Professor, wasn't that *your* favorite?
Shut up. It was harmless fun.
Well, now it's over. If he stood you up like this, you'll never hear from him again...
Angela sighed. It was a sigh too big for the simple lament of a fling ended. She would never admit it, but she'd pinned a lot more hopes on her mysterious stranger than a little harmless fun. Scott could have been her ticket out of this boring life. A whirlwind romance, trips to exotic lands, sharing an apartment, a big wedding...
Okay now you're just being silly.
What's wrong with dreaming big?
Big disappointment.
Angela sighed again.
The package seemed to be calling her.
Well, she might as well find out what that jerk sent her...
"Oh my God, it's beautiful!" Angela gasped. She pulled her hands back in surprise, allowing the tissue paper to fold back over the thing that had startled her so.
Her fingers crept back under the crinkly stuff, spreading it open like the petals of a flower. Her eyes again caught the impossible glittering brilliance of a large blue gemstone nestled within.
Angela noticed a dark strip of fabric to either side of the giant jewel and gingerly pulled them out to reveal a velvet choker. The blue crystal -- too big to be an actual sapphire -- dangled from a barely-visible setting of slender-but-sturdy dulled metal, giving the piece a mystic ancientness, reaching back far beyond the otherwise Victorian look.
Angela had to remember to breathe.
She'd never expected anything like this. It threw her ideas about the sender in disarray. What was it Scott had said? Something very special. Something I think you're ready for. Something no one can know about. He'd come right out and asked her sizes and measurements, so she thought it was going to be some weird fetish dress-up kit -- at least, that's what she'd thought after he stood her up. Perhaps her original thoughts had been a little more forgiving...
But this... this was extravagant. As the light of her bedroom danced over its many surfaces, the stone seemed to come alive with an inner radiance.
Much as Angela herself had done when she'd first met Scott. Smart, good-looking (she later learned), sophisticated yet playful, and boy did the man have a way with words! When she was online with him, she felt like a goddess.
Angela, you're only depressing yourself more. The guy's a jerk. He just happens to be a rich jerk. Or maybe it's just glass. Probably twenty bucks from some Ren Faire craft hut.
Well, it certainly didn't look cheap. Maybe she could sell it and get a new blouse or something.
Or keep it as a token of what might have been...
She nudged the box; it was still heavy. There was more? Angela set the choker down on her dresser, gently, as if it might shatter at the slightest contact, then dug back into the layers of tissue paper.
Moments later, the eighteen-year-old was even more impressed -- and more confused. Laid out on the bed was the choker, matching dangling earrings, black mesh fingerless gloves, a daring pair of black mesh panties, and an even more daring pair of high-heeled shoes -- stiletto mules, she thought, if her memories of her mom's lapsed subscription to Cosmo hadn't failed her.
Each item had its own large bright-blue crystal attached.
And to tie them all together, from the bottom of the box came a silver hairpiece that looked for all the world like a beauty queen's little crown, and an elegant and dramatically-cut black velvet dress -- the only piece without jewelry affixed, and the only bit of it she thought she could dare to wear outside the house -- or outside her locked bedroom, for that matter.
Hope was rekindled by the unexpected extravagance. Maybe something happened. Maybe he couldn't get away. Maybe he couldn't get email where he is. A guy who sets up that kind of stuff for a living? Come on.
But what was she supposed to think?
A little voice inside her said, "try it on."
And then things got *really* weird...
Angela Barrett, dressed to the nines, looking like some kind of princess, was standing on the roof.
And taking aim at her neighbor's garbage can in the street.
With an open palm.
She thrust her hand quickly forward...
Wham! The empty can went skidding up the opposite driveway and careened off the garage door.
Unbelieveable!
Lights came on in the house across the street.
Oh, shoot! That probably woke up the whole neighborhood! Better get down before anybody sees me...
With effortless grace the excited teen leaped from the top of the roof, clearing the rain gutter by several feet, then impossibly slowed to a hover and touched down silently on the back porch.
Her heart beat like a rabbit's. This was just too much. This was like out of a movie. She was like some kind of super-spy. No, more like a super-heroine.
Now Scott's note made sense. Something special -- Special didn't even begin to cover it. Something I think you're ready for -- as if somehow all the weird stuff he'd asked her and all the naughty stuff they'd done online was some kind of qualification test. Did the sapphires' power have something to do with sex? Something no one can know about. Well, duh...
Was he some kind of government agent? A recruiter for some super-secret program?
Why did he stand her up? Was that part of his plan? Was he going to contact her later? Was he waiting outside right now?
Angela crouched slightly and sprung up off the porch. She floated skyward, until she cleared the roof and could see the street beyond. Nope, nobody there.
The check wasn't really necessary, but... heck, she could *fly*!
Angela went back inside. Her mom would be getting off work soon, and Angela didn't think Gladys Barrett was quite ready for *this*...
To think if she hadn't tripped over the box the outfit came in, she might never have figured it out.
Of course, it would have been helpful if Scott had provided some kind of instructions. Maybe they would be coming soon. Maybe *he* would be coming soon. There had to be some kind of training program, right?
Maybe she was going to have to "disappear" and never see her mom again. Angela hoped not. She thought she'd have been given some kind of warning about stuff like that before delivering the package.
Oh well. Such things would work themselves out.
What mattered was that suddenly her life had a purpose. She didn't know what, exactly, but boy, was it big!
How was she going to get to sleep?
: : :
Weeks had gone by, and not a blip from Scott. What did it mean? Was she on her own? Was he some kind of ghost? Or an alien? Maybe he stole the outfit from somebody else. Maybe they found him and killed him. Maybe they were on their way here...
Woah, calm down now, Angela. You don't know anything.
But that wasn't true. She didn't know anything about where the outfit came from or who Scott was or what might happen next, but she'd learned a lot about how the sapphires worked.
Sapphires. She didn't know what they were, really, but they were more like sapphires than anything else. Harder than glass, perfectly translucent, shaped like multifaceted teardrops, all the same size, each one grasped by the same dull metal mounting.
She knew a lot more.
She wanted... whoever it was to know that she wasn't some screw-up. Maybe she could have worked a little harder in school, but she wasn't a slacker, and she wasn't going to let her country down. Well, she assumed she'd be working for the government. If it was something else, well, she'd just have to see about that. This kind of power couldn't just be given to anybody!
Whoever it was, she'd be ready. She'd been doing her homework. (Maybe that was part of the test, she thought. See if you have initiative. Well, there would be no doubts about that!)
Angela reflected on what she'd learned.
The tiara seemed to form a bond between her and the glowing gemstones. With the tiara on her head, it was almost like the sapphires could read her mind. Almost. More like they read her movements and interpreted what she wanted. She had to hop or step into the air to hover or fly, and to push things she had to make a pushing motion with her hand, but it was mostly mental.
Mostly. She had to be careful what she did with her arms and legs when she was airborne -- more than a few times she got to wobbling and came crashing to the ground. The first time it'd happened she swore she was going to die. But instead, she just kind of bounced. It knocked the wind out of her, but otherwise she was fine. Well, it ripped up her leotard pretty bad, but there wasn't a scratch on her, and no bruising later.
After a couple more rough landings she realized what was going on. The sapphires formed a protective shell over her. A forcefield. It was there whether she wore the tiara or not. She couldn't feel it unless she really concentrated, and even then it was just a vague numbness, like wearing rubber gloves or feeling yourself through your clothes. Most of the time the overall buzz the sapphires seemed to give her nervous system -- like full-body caffeine but without the shakes -- amplified her sense of touch and basically cancelled out the dulling sensation of the forcefield. But as soon as any force was applied, the forcefield suddenly stiffened up, and then you could see it, as a faint blue spitting glow right at the point of contact.
But the forcefield was more than a hard shell. Angela hadn't exactly absorbed the physics portion of her senior science class -- she'd gotten a lot of help from a sophomore neighbor, Ricky, and basically forgot all those confusing formulas and laws and stuff as soon as the test was over -- but she remembered dropping eggs from the roof. She knew that a fall from a hundred feet should have killed her, even if she was wearing armor. Somehow the forcefield provided a cushion. Deceleration, yeah, that's it. Maybe that's what the bright blue sparks were about when she crashed, like it was slowing her down in some kind of bubble. Angela was pretty sure the science went way beyond a high school class. She just knew she wasn't dead, and she probably should be. The Sapphires were protecting her from herself.
The forcefield never seemed to go away completely, but if she flew or pushed stuff too much the sapphires eventually ran out of gas. It took her a few days to figure that out. As it turned out, she'd been keeping them locked in her closet in the dark most of the time -- that seemed to be how they recharged. She hadn't quite worked out how long a "full charge" lasted. It seemed to depend on how much she used her powers. Surprisingly, flying didn't seem to take quite as much energy as pushing things.
Pushing things. She was going to have to figure out a better way to describe it. What was it called, telekenesis? It wasn't that, exactly. She couldn't *pull* things, or *lift* things. It was like she just extended her forcefield from her hands -- or her feet; she could kick things too, though not as accurately as using her hands -- until the forcefield bumped into something. It wasn't very precise -- more like a beach ball than a bullet -- but she packed quite a wallop. That first garbage can was nothing -- a couple nights later, she'd accidentally shoved a dumpster into somebody's car at the apartment complex a couple blocks over. The poor guy probably thought it was some middle school kids' prank.
Hmm. Forcefield. Force weapon? It certainly seemed like a weapon. She sure didn't want to hit anybody with it. Unless they were one of the bad guys...
Angela smiled. "Bad guys." Even with Scott MIA, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the sapphires were for. She could fly, she couldn't be hurt, and she could kick butt. The sapphires made her a crimefighter -- a superheroine.
But there was a problem. If she was going to battle evil in the streets, she was going to have to do it naked.
Right. The bad news.
The all-over buzzing sensation faded as soon as she put anything on. The more skin she covered, the less she felt -- and the less power she had. Basically, anything more than shorts and a baby-tee and she couldn't fly or project force at all. Even then, it was weak. The forcefield was always there, but it wasn't as effective.
At first she thought she'd broken the sapphires somehow, or used them all up -- or that she'd just dreamed that whole first night. Dressed for safety in a long-sleeve shirt, heavy jeans, and some old rollerblading pads and helmet, she thought she was being smart, but try as she might she couldn't duplicate any of her previous stunts. After changing for bed, she gave the shoes one last try. It didn't take long to work it out after that, though it was frustrating.
What kind of pervert built a forcefield that didn't work with your clothes on?
Well, maybe it made sense. The forcefield did seem to run right along the surface of her skin. Maybe the clothes kept it from hooking up.
Maybe that's what all the role-playing with Scott was about. To see if she was okay with exposing herself in skimpy outfits. She hoped she hadn't misled them. Whoever They were. They had to know that people did things online they wouldn't do in person, right?
Or maybe there was a uniform made of some special fabric they just hadn't sent yet. Maybe it got lost in the mail.
Well, whatever it took, she'd get used to it. Eventually. She hoped. If there was really no other way...
In the mean time, she'd make do with what she had.
The velvet dress hadn't lasted long. It wasn't too practical anyway, and even it damped a lot of her power. Maybe it was just some kind of piece for undercover work, or something for her first mission. She hoped it wasn't too expensive... Stop it Angela, you're getting ahead of yourself again.
After that first "fully padded" night had been a bust, she'd done all of her "research" (if anything as fun as *flying* could be called research) in a series of bathing suits and leotards.
A series, because she kept wearing them out. Whatever she wore just fell apart after a few hours, as if the forcefield was eating away at it like acid. It was embarassing. Especially since the parts that went first were the parts she'd most liked to keep covered, over her, um, private areas.
The accelerated wear worried her. She'd stopped wearing the bejeweled panties after the second night, when she noticed her two-piece bathing suit had become almost see-through. Seven stones seemed almost as good as eight, at least while she was learning how they worked, and although the "acid" problem didn't seem to affect the shoes or the gloves, the underwear seemed pretty flimsy already, even moreso after she'd washed them, and she didn't want to chance losing one of the stones to a "wardrobe malfunction."
That brought her to the shoes. Those impossible shoes. Actually, they weren't so bad. The same force that held her in the sky seemed to help her footing on the ground. She was as sure-footed in those killers as she was in her Sketchies. It was like she'd worn high heels all her life. (And she liked the extra height enough that she went out and bought three pairs of heels for school. In no time she really did feel comfortable in them.) Angela didn't know if she could exactly go running in them, but why run when you can fly?
Trouble was, they kept sliding off her feet. The little mesh strap across her toes wasn't the most secure arrangement. It was all right when she was walking, but in the air... as soon as her mind wandered, her foot would relax, and next thing she knew she was hurtling earthward. And hobbling down the street on one high heel, wearing next to nothing in the middle of the night, scrambling to pick up your other shoe before some graveyard-shift neighbor spotted you... not fun.
First Angela tried taking the sapphires off the ridiculous heels and affixing them to something more practical -- but she couldn't find a clasp, and what would happen if they stopped working? The shoes were made of the same strange dull metal as the sapphires' mounts -- they were probably more than just footwear.
Then she got the bright idea of tying them on. Spaghetti straps from an old camisole, wrapped around the ankle and crossed over the foot and tied off underneath -- that did the trick.
Now, if Scott would just hurry up and contact her. The waiting was driving her crazy!
: : :
Two more weeks, and still no contact. Angela was beginning to wonder about the government super-agent theory. A different one was winning favor.
Maybe there was no team. Maybe Scott wasn't part of some big well-funded operation. Maybe all this was a profound accident. Maybe nobody knew about the sapphires' power.
They probably didn't even belong to Scott -- if that was his real name. He probably stole them. Like a Tomb Raider thing. And it took a young woman to unlock their mysteries...
There you go again, getting all fantastic.
But it was fantastic. She had these amazing abilities, beyond what anyone could have imagined -- even if there some, um, *limitations*... she could handle it.
She couldn't just sit here waiting around forever for an email or a phone call or a visit that wasn't ever going to happen. She had to put her unique talents to good use.
She'd had enough practice. It was time to become a crimefighter for real.
: : :
"Damn earrings keep getting in the way," Angela fumed in frustration. She put down her blush brush and unhooked the earrings so she could finish.
Angela was so clever! She'd hit on a great idea. She didn't want people to know who she really was -- beyond the comic-book stereotype, she imagined what it would be like being on guard 24-7, especially considering the downtime the jewels needed to recharge. But a mask would look too cartoonish. On top of that it would almost certainly get in the way, and was easily removed by anyone who wished to expose her secret identity. (She had to giggle at the thought of a secret identity.)
Since Angela rarely wore any makeup at all, no one would recognize her now. Her eyes were made up rather artfully, with deep blue eyeshadow, black eyeliner, and impossibly long lashes. Her pouty lips were exaggerated with an ice-blue lipstick and mile-deep gloss. Her cheekbones needed little help, but the deep blush accentuated them nicely and gave her a dramatic, exotic look. That semester of Drama had been good for something after all. She barely recognized herself; once bathed in the blue light of her energy sapphires and shrouded by the darkness of night, even her mom wouldn't be able to tell it was her.
She stood up from the dresser, slipping into her stiletto mules. The rush of energy sent a chill up her spine. Being a superheroine didn't have to feel so good, but she was glad it did.
She turned to face the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door.
The bad guys aren't going to know what hit them. Damn, I look *good*!
She'd ditched the old leotards for something different. The last leotard she'd bought had finally given out, and she'd already bought out the store's stock in her size. Not that she could afford to buy a new leotard every day anyway. She was going to have to find a more economic approach.
She wasn't exactly an accomplished seamstress, so after a couple of aborted attempts at a bodysuit she'd come up with this: a loose silk cropped camisole and matching ruffle skirt she'd made on her mom's sewing machine. Cheap, quick and easy. It might last longer than a leotard too -- she'd already worn this combo once last night, and it hardly looked "eaten" at all. Maybe because it wasn't so close-fitting. She'd even crash-landed when she'd lost both shoes last night. (She was going to have to learn to tie better knots.) The skirt got a little scraped, but the waistband wasn't too stretched out, and the top was fine. A similar crash early on had completely ruined a leotard.
The look was dramatically different. But it wasn't just the top and skirt that made such a difference -- now she had wings.
They weren't actually wings, just a swatch of sheer cloth four feet long and one foot wide, tapered and gathered to attach to the wrist and neck. They'd started off as functional items to help stabilize her in the air -- the sapphires allowed her to turn on a dime, which was both good and bad. She'd needed something to slow her down just a bit. A cape had proved too heavy and uncontrollable; when it had split in two she'd come up with this concept. Like overgrown harem girl sleeves, they gave her freedom of movement on the ground and a subtle brake/rudder in the air. Though she'd since gotten pretty good at controlling herself up there, she liked the look and decided to keep them. They gave the illusion of more coverage -- important for a girl who was still shy about her body -- without impinging on her abilities.
Whether it was the wings or the top/skirt combo or both, it was a big improvement. The cut-practically-up-to-the-armpits style of the cheap leotards she'd found at the mall, stretched so tightly you could see every curve... that seemed a lot more risque than this. Besides, she didn't want to look like every other big-breasted comic book superheroine out there...
"Every other," she smirked. "You're it." Those "others" are just cartoons drawn by geeks who can't get any...
...even so, Angela had felt a little under-endowed with the tight leotard. Her B-cups looked better (and bigger) nudging out the lower edge of the shortie camisole.
Not that she was comfortable with the idea of ever letting anyone see her so exposed -- it took her a while to get used to seeing *herself* like this without blushing -- but it wasn't like she had a choice. Not if she was going to do the right thing.
And how could she not? Something so powerful shouldn't be wasted. It should be used carefully. It should be used to do good.
Maybe she'd never hear from Scott again. Maybe he'd show up on her doorstep tomorrow. It didn't matter -- the sapphires were hers now, and no one was going to take them away.
At least, not as long as her mom didn't catch her running around at night in her underwear...
Sapphire stood up slowly, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head is if to bring herself back to reality. These two goons tried to rob the QuickMart, then they tried to get away, and Sapphire stopped them cold. Amazing.
So what was supposed to happen now? Oh, right, check on the store. Sapphire walked confidently into the QuickMart. "Hello? Are you all right?" A middle-aged man popped up from behind the counter. "Hold it!" he shouted, his voice quivering. Sapphire instinctively stepped back, raising her hands. "Relax, I'm here to help you." When the cashier's brain finished processing what his eyes were reporting -- a beautiful near-naked girl standing in his store telling him to call the police, then absent-mindedly asking him if they'd taken anything -- his jaw dropped.
"Sir?" It took Sapphire a moment to realize what he was staring at; she blushed and shrunk a bit at the realization. "Sir? Please... are you all right?" The man shook the fog out of his eyes. "Oh, yes, thank you. What happened? Did they hurt you?"
"Oh no," Sapphire blurted out, "they tried to get away, but I stopped them." She beamed at the magnitude of that simple statement. She stopped them. "I think they're out cold, but you might want to call the police before they recover. Did they get anything?"
"No; they freaked out when I pulled out Betsy here." Sapphire took a second to realize he was speaking of the huge handgun.
"Well, you can put it down now. It's over." She struggled for something heroic to say. "Next time you might not be so lucky."
"Nor you, young lady," the cashier said as his eyes again began to travel her curves. "Walking around almost naked and jumping at two armed men is crazy."
Sapphire felt awkward. What now? Time to make her exit, she presumed. "Well, it looks like this situation is under control," she said, affecting an authoritative, experienced tone. "Have a good night." She turned and left, her skirt sashaying seductively over her ass.
The immediacy of the situation past, she now felt the adrenaline rush, augmented by the rush of energy from her sapphires. Her breathing was still quick, her heart still racing. She leapt into the air, speeding straight up in celebration.
The gems dimmed with the increased energy demand and further-reduced power from the missing choker.
After a few moments she settled down and glided gently downward, finding herself hovering over a quiet part of town. Her first scrap had been exhilirating, much more than she imagined. Her whole body buzzed with excitement. She was anxious for another go. She spotted the bright lights of downtown; Surely her talents could be put to use there. Sapphire focused and lit off in search of her next challenge.
Going out a few hours a night to learn and practice was one thing. Going out to fight real crime was another. Angela didn't know what kind of scraps she might get into, or how long it would take. She didn't want her mom to worry, so she'd cooked up an excuse. She was spending the night at Becky's. Becky was always happy to cover for Angela -- after all, the popular cheerleader had used Angela as an excuse enough times!
Then her mom insisted Angela take the car. How do you explain to your mom that you don't need a car because you can fly? It was easier just to humor her.
Angela parked the car on the side street around the corner from Becky's house. (That's where her mom would expect it -- you never know what might happen, and the less suspicious behavior Angela had to explain, the better.)
Well, let's get to it.
Angela clicked the seat belt latch. Nothing happened. Well, shoot. She tried again. Nothing. She tugged. It wouldn't budge.
This is not a good start, Angela.
If she had super-strength, she would have just ripped the belt open. As it was, she would have to wiggle out.
The trapped superheroine leaned the seat all the way back. The ancient car's separate lap belt was pulled tight, and the retractor was convinced thanks to all her tugging to cinch up and not let go. And there wasn't enough slack in the belt not to unstick it...
Angela slowly wiggled her way up the seatback. Much to her chagrin, the tight lap belt had a hold of her skirt; she would have to slide out of it and then put it back on in the back seat. She kept sliding back, using the rear handholds to pull herself along. As she did so, the delicate silk of her top and her flimsy panties raked across the cracked, prickly old vinyl seats, snagging and scraping many of the thin threads, and tugging at the poorly-sewn side seams of the short top.
She checked the dashboard clock -- 11pm. With a day's full charge, the sapphires had plenty of energy for a full night of activities. (Angela didn't realize that she'd activated the gems when she'd opened her closet doors for some time-killing reorganization that afternoon. The gems were over a third discharged already, and without the earrings -- left behind on her dresser -- they'd drain faster than usual.)
She opened the back door of the car and clambored over the reclined front seatback. The side seam of her skirt silently gave out the rest of the way up to the waistband before disentangling itself from the front headrest.
Driving was one skill she hadn't yet mastered in her sapphire shoes, so she reached over to the front passenger seat and grabbed them now, dragging her top across the prickly old vinyl surface of the seatback. The action further strained the side seam on her top. She quickly bent down and tied up her makeshift shoe straps.
Angela leaned back into the car and twisted around to fetch the last item, her tiara, from the bag between the front seats before getting up out of the car; the side seams on her camisole popped a few more stitches. She locked and closed the door after checking in the fenderwell for the hide-a-key. She gave herself one last quick inspection.
Angela regarded her skirt critically. It hung low on her right side, owing to the stretching last night's crash had given it, exposing her hip bone and the string-tie of her panties. And she didn't remember a side slit... But after swishing this way and that, the garment seemed to stay in place, and she kind of liked the rakish exotic look of it. It would do for now. She did a sapphire-check: shoes, panties, glovelets, choker, headband...
Damn. She'd forgotten the earrings. How could she be so careless? A lot of good they did sitting on her dresser at home. Oh well. She'd done seven sapphires often enough, and had plenty in reserve; six ought to be enough now. She wasn't going to go all the way back home -- she'd probably burn more energy flying there, and she didn't want to waste any more time driving. Angela slipped on the tiara, closing her eyes to shield them from the brilliant flash of blue light as her gemstones powered up. The rush was strong, but a little off what she was used to feeling.
She cut her inspection short; she had to go, now, before the bus came by. In the dark, still air, she noticed none of her uniform's deficiencies. As if on cue, headlights brightened in the distance.
She took to the air, feeling a rush of confidence. She was really doing it! But her flight was a little rough; she had to concentrate a little harder to keep herself steady; maybe the winds were a little gustier than usual. That would explain why she felt a little breezier tonight, especially the way the wind licked at her more sensitive places.
Okay, girl, you're off. Now what?
This naive suburban girl didn't know the first thing about finding crime, much less fighting it. Crime happened to other people, in other places. She could probably find trouble out in Twisted Oaks, but the city's old urban slum was probably not the best place for a scantily-clad heroine to get her start. Forcefield or not, she wasn't ready for that -- the only times she'd ever been through there, *everybody* looked scary -- how would she tell who the criminals were?
She struggled to think of the old cliches, the stuff that showed up on the news.
Bank robberies? Maybe once a year...
Carjackings? Did they happen at night?
Accounting scams? She was Sapphire, not Mechanical Pencil Man.
Duh. The QuickMart. That place was always being held up. It was about the only thing that ever happened in her part of town -- so often it was almost a joke. Not far from the freeway, far from the police station, and neighborhood kids were always throwing rocks and breaking the floodlights. Her mom would hassle her whenever she went there. Probably nothing happening there tonight, but it was close by, on the way to downtown, and maybe she could get a bottle of water...
Sapphire's chest swelled with the pride of a job well done. Flying through the summer night air, basking in the private glory of her first real action as a superheroine, Sapphire failed to notice the way the whipping winds had unraveled the stitching on the seams of her camisole and skirt and had begun to attack the quickly-fraying edges of the fabric itself. The gunshot-holes in the camisole, skirt, and her wings began to fray and run as well. While her costume slowly disintigrated, her energy grid continued to destabilize with the loss of three gems, the early drain, and the hard workout. The gems began to feed back more of their energy in a less useful but more pleasant way...
Sapphire had to work hard to remain in control of her flight; looking over her tattered wings she was briefly concerned that she'd relied on their stabilizing aerodynamics more than she'd realized, but reasoning that with the (actually non-existent) unusual gusts of wind a little turbulence was to be expected. But concerns were quickly forgotten as she reveled in the wonderful feeling washing over her. She chalked it up to the excitement of battle, even as the blood rushed to her energy-stimulated and -sensitized breasts and crotch.
And then she sighted her next challenge.
There in the alley behind the nightclub a trendy-looking couple was being cornered by three punks.
Sapphire decided on her first move. Dropping out of the sky, she landed softly behind the aggressors.
"Excuse me, are these punks bothering you two?" she called to the victim-couple over the punks' heads. They all spun to face her in unison. Wordlessly the hard-looking young men exchanged looks and fanned out in an attempt to surround her.
Knowing they couldn't actually touch her, Sapphire ignored the two flankers and focused on the one in the middle. "I think you need to leave now."
He scanned her luciously-disheveled form top to bottom. Even in the dim light of the alley he could tell she was hot. Shoulder-length black hair, beautiful face, nice tits, great legs, and probably a great ass to go with them.
She was undressed to thrill, too. He'd seen -- and robbed -- plenty of chicks in questionably-legal club clothing, but this Queen of the Castaways look was the skimpiest thing he'd seen since last Halloween's Erotic Ball. High heels, short ripped skirt hanging off one hip and slit all the way up the other hip, ripped half top showing the undersides of those firm, fleshy mounds... hands on her hips and feet apart like some kind of comic-book character.
"I'll go anywhere with you babe as long as I get to fuck you."
Sapphire was surprised at his cocky nature; didn't he know who he was dealing with?
Of course not; she would have to show him.
As she thought of the best way to do this, his cohorts each grabbed a hand.
Sapphire was indignant. Who were they to hold her down? She let loose a strong blast from each arm, sending the pair thudding against the alley walls.
As they lost conciousness, their grips loosened and from their hands fell the remains of Sapphire's glovelets...
...but she was too occupied with finishing off their mate to register the event. She leapt upward, boosting herself with force, her arc intended to take her just over his head. The last image he registered was of her bare breasts exposed by her fluttering ripped top. Just before reaching him she extended her right leg, catching him under the chin with a small force-blast that sent him reeling. She landed hard beyond his staggered form, crouching deeply to cushion the blow and regain her balance; apparently she'd misjudged the landing a bit. Sapphire spun around to face her fallen adversaries, but they showed no signs of further resistence. She turned back to the stunned couple.
This mysterious vigilante was quite a vision, straightening up to address them. Her firm tits jutted proudly from her small frame, capped by visibly-hard nipples. The lower curves of breast-flesh were clearly visible beneath the tattered and abbreviated remains of her camisole. Her mesh panties showed through the many gaps in her partially-shredded asymmetrical skirt. Her bare arms were framed by the ragged mesh fabric that had once been her "wings."
The spaghetti-strap on her right foot unraveled and fell in a puddle beneath her heel.
"You're all right now," she said, breathing hard from exertion and physical stimulation.
As the couple gathered their wits and took leave of this impossible sight, Sapphire paused to smooth out her uniform, her now-gloveless fingers subconciously lingering over certain areas. God she felt good. Maybe she'd done enough for one night and could go home to... reward herself. Her growing sexual fog altered her perception of the sorry state her clothing was now in. "Nothing a little time in front of the sewing machine won't fix," she thought to herself. "Unless I decide to keep this hotter look," she amended.
Her precious gems were strained to the max and had little left to give. Starting the evening's festivities partially drained after Angela accidentally exposed them to light that afternoon, then stretched to perform short-handed with the loss of the earrings and then the choker and now the glovelets, and being pushed harder than ever with two intense melees and more flight time at higher effort, Sapphire's crystal power source was headed for a meltdown. But Sapphire failed to recognize the warning signs; she had no idea how close to the edge she'd pushed herself. She continued to dismiss the trouble with her costume and her flagging energy as bad luck and weather, and she continued to mistake her own growing feedback-induced arousal as exhileration from her dramatic successes.
The new superheroine heard a scratching noise behind her. She turned to see the three punks getting up and dusting themselves off; shaken, but not finished after all. "Bobby, go bring the car around," one of them said huskily.
Sapphire didn't have time for this. These boys were... tempting, but... she shook her head to clear the stray thought. Where did she need to go, home? Why? Angela had never felt this *good* before, and even though the feelings were... *distracting*, she didn't want it to end. If she could just concentrate... she was ready for another scrap. Her uniform would surely hold up for just one more bout. She needed more... action, and these three were too easy. She pushed herself into the air, wobbling as she rose out of the alley, over the building, and toward the city park.
Completely amazed, the angry young men couldn't help but follow to investigate. They tore out of the alley around the front of the building.
There she was, standing on the sidewalk with a quizzical look on her face, just ten feet away.
"I really need to get home to get these wings taken care of," a sexually-drunk and weakened Sapphire said. She'd barely cleared the building before losing control and tumbling earthward. Then she noticed the three predators.
Didn't they know when to quit? She needed to put them down for the count. Sapphire raised her arms, pointing at them to deliver a force-blow, but nothing happened.
What?
Oh, no, her glovelets...
Her glovelets and the gems that empowered her were back in the alley. The gravity of the situation finally broke through the poor girl's sexual haze. Her skimpy clothes were in tatters, she had no weapon, her only means of escape seemed to be failing her, she had just brutally assaulted these three men -- virile young men, her subconcious interjected -- and there was no one on this dark street to rescue her. She froze in her tracks, paralyzed by fear. Her hands instinctively moved to cover her chest and her crotch. Fear, excitement, and sexual need clashed in her brain; unconciously her hand pressed hard into her crotch, eliciting a soft moan.
The three punks looked her up and down slowly, licking their lips. This was by far the hottest-looking piece of ass any of them had seen all night, and she definitely needed an attitude adjustment. With her shiny tiara, shredded outfit, and bright blue crystals on those impossibly-high heeled shoes, she looked like a spoiled princess whose night of comeuppance had just begun. And her look of fear was betrayed by the obvious excitement displayed by her nipples, twin pebbles poking out of what was left of the translucently-thin top. Their cocks swelled, quickly erasing any sense of danger her gravity-defying stunt or earlier ass-kicking had implied. The three moved as one toward her.
Shaken out of her fog by their approach, she jumped back, taking unsteady flight. The three remaining gems flickered a weak, sputtering light as they were taxed beyond their capacity. She tumbled through the air, barely ten feet off the ground as the stunned but motivated punks took chase across the street and into the park.
Sapphire lurched about, kicking and clawing for every inch of progress. Her wash-damaged, shrunken-tight, and snagged panties which had held up so valiantly to this point couldn't take any further gyrations; with each frantic kick more and more tears developed; she could feel them giving way as her mind filled with raw panic. In one jerky motion the sapphire on her disintegrating panties broke free as her unsecured right stiletto mule flew off her foot ahead of her. She fell to the ground in a heap, snapping the spaghetti strap which held her left shoe in place.
Sapphire felt weak, powerless; this feeling only turned her on more.
Why was her body reacting this way?
The punks reached her and hauled her to her feet. One of them roughly squeezed her tits through the tattered remains of her camisole. Sapphire knew she was in trouble when her body responded to his touch, arching her back to press herself deeper into his grasp as a low moan escaped her throat. Her reaction goaded him to pinch her nipples as he gripped more firmly.
This put her over the edge. The last remaining gem on her left shoe pumped its last spark into her as pure sexual energy. She screamed as a powerful orgasm rocketed through her.
Utterly defeated by her own arrogance, Angela passed out.
"Bobby, get the van now; Tim, grab the slut's shoe and anything else of hers you can find."