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Wrench In The Plan

By Psion

An Aphrodite City Story

All Rights Reserved

What is the true measure of a heroine? Is it in the sum of her powers or the costume she wears? Or is it something deeper such as the strength of her convictions or her willingness to fight for what is right no matter how outmatched she may be?

Nearly three weeks into the Brothers' twisted little porn games, Aphrodite City was starting to show the strain of the "sudden metabeing siege." Those that could afford to leave were and those that couldn't leave struggled to fortify their homes. Businesses closed up and larger companies moved out of the city as property values plummeted and insurance rates skyrocketed. Curiously, the outside world continued to remain strangely ignorant of the city's plight and attempts to send a message were mired in all manner of horrific luck. Communication failures, bureaucratic black holes, and even more outlandish incidents of misfortune kept the mayor and the police commissioner from contacting the FBI or federal metabeing law enforcement. Some was the doing of the two masterminds but most of the setbacks were sadly a case of simple incompetence or rotten coincidence.

In a suburban home ironically not far from where the Brothers made their base, the owner's garage had become a flurry of activity. For the past two weeks since the robbery at the First National Bank of Aphrodite City, the tech-savvy Rachel Arsenel had been hard at work in her private workshop nonstop. Not like she had anywhere else to be, a mechanical engineer formerly employed by Allied Metals, the white-furred mink lost her job when the manufacturing concern packed up and left without any advanced notice after the first metabeing attacks in the city. So far she had been supplementing her limited savings with the odd handyman job but it couldn't last... something had to change the city and try to turn it around. Most of her neighbors fought to stay positive but Rachel wished she could be as blind to the truth. The police were all but completely beaten, the four heroines that emerged to challenge these roaming sociopaths seemed to be as effective as wet noodle, and almost a month without outside help; people had to step up. Never one to sit idle, Rachel was also one who believed in becoming the change she wanted to see in the world.

Gathering up all the scrap metal, spare parts, and seemingly random bits of junk she could find, the mink had been welding, grinding, and forging something. Exactly what, no one was willing to get close enough to the power tool-wielding mustelid to find out even though she frequently had her garage door open to keep her workshop from overheating, giving the perverse of her neighbors a good look at her as she worked.

Rachel was a white-furred mink female in her mid twenties, with her long black hair currently tied into a bun and pale blue eyes covered by a pair of polarized welding goggles as she held a white-hot welding torch over two joined pieces of metal. Even fully decked out in appropriate personal protection equipment, she managed to fill it out in a manner that would appease even the impractically juvenile Brothers responsible for much of the city's misery even without their body manipulation abilities. Beneath the leather apron, gloves, and steel-toed work boots that protected her from the dangers of working with hot metal; she wore a simple t-shirt and jeans over a body that was no stranger to hard work, a modern female blacksmith.

Toned muscles from repetitive labor held the metal in place as she fused it together, beads of sweat dripping down her face and onto her D-cup breasts as she worked under the oppressive heat of her workshop. Even with the garage door open to the outside, the space was like a sauna. Jeans were stretched tight as her plump bubble butt squished against a metal stool, even though she was a girl that positively loved building machines and pounding metal into a variety of useful shapes and had the muscle to show for it, she would occasionally joke that "a girl's gotta have her donuts."

Yet her latest project could hardly be called a joke. Thick metal plating salvaged from a wrecked police armored personnel carrier, the motors and hydraulics from nearly a dozen different drills and other fine machines, and a pair of brand new car batteries slowly came together to form a vaguely humanoid golem. A hollow humanoid golem with an interior space measured to Rachel's specific dimensions The mink smiled as the metal "statute" she was building was finally taking shape. Soon, very soon, it would be time to take her creation out for a test drive....

The next afternoon...

Another day marked by another piece of Boris's spirit slowly withering and dying like a magnificent tree that had been infested with a colony of termites. Today had been a good day for "business." The safe house had been moved to larger quarters, from a condemned subway station to an abandoned factory, and another bank had been successfully robbed. The police response was practically a joke; their fangs had been almost completely removed, and the Brothers' female sex puppets had yet to make an appearance. The Russian bear almost hoped that they wouldn't, there was only so many times the whims of fortune could deny the Brothers and Red Storm's fellow supervillains their twisted pleasures... and then the armored figure burst through the ceiling and jumped down onto the table as the villains gathered to split up their loot.

Rising up from the shower of wood splinters and strewn valuables, a glistening black and steel gray robot-like being rose up and regarded the villains with a baleful gaze. Screamer and Hypothermia were the first to recover enough of their wits to start attacking the metallic warrior however the shock of being attacked so flamboyantly caused them to instinctively reach for Screamer's scattered firearms and not use their powers. The Australian canine opened fire with his REC7 while the feline grabbed his partner's FN five-seven and started emptying the magazine into the steel stranger. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the being's metal shell as a pair of large caliber revolvers were drawn. Someone definitely did their homework, the girls could use someone with this amount of brains and gall, Red Storm realized as he raised an energy shield on reflex.

As her armor held up to the initial round of abuse, Rachel dared to be hopeful. Twin .357 magnum revolvers belched fire and metal as the hydraulic counterweights she installed in the gauntlets soaked up the recoil. Well Pa, you always said I'd never shoot half as good as a boy, guess you were wrong. The mink mused with a wry smile inside her armor as she took down Screamer and Hypothermia with one bullet apiece, so much for the mighty Australian and Canadian washouts.

Gonzales was the next to try and rush her, panic and disbelief had caused them to attack her in ones and twos, hardly the most effective way to take her down but the Latino mouse still had to be taken seriously despite his ridiculously stereotypical costume... whoever provided this wannabe League of Evil with their costumes had no sense of taste. His pyrokinesis was intense and she had yet to figure out how to build a proper cooling system in her armor without adding too much weight. Sweat dripped down her body as she took a gout of flame straight to the chest, the suit was going to quickly turn into her own personal oven if she took another hit like that.

Leveling both revolvers at him, she pulled the triggers and fired; blowing apart both of his shoulder blades and making him disappear in the same oozing black cloud of smoke as the others. _<Stupid cockblocking bitch, now we break your toys!> _ A voice screamed telepathically in her head as the remaining villains rallied and struck at once. Now the battle began to turn for the worse...

As an armor-monger herself, Rachel knew exactly where to hit Venom for the best effect. Joints were always a structural weak point on larger body armors, always have and always will be until engineers figure out how to armor them without cutting down on range of motion. The metal plating around his body cut down on the killing power of her revolvers but they did their job, crippling him and taking that damn P.A.I.N.E.D beam of his off the playing field.

Unfortunately that left Red Storm and Panzer Beast, the former being smart and accurate enough to realize where her armor was the thinnest and able to cripple her arms. Pain briefly seared through her limbs as she lost all feeling in her lower arms and automatically dropped both of her guns. That turned out to be the only opening the big bull needed, the still-hot metal chest plate crumpled as he punched her hard and sent the mink flying across the factory floor. The residual heat from the metal scalded her while the impact caused her to cough and sputter.

The smooth concrete vibrated as Panzer Beast stomped over to pick her up and grabbed her armored helmet. "Alright tin man... wait a minute." The mammoth mountain of muscle remarked as his thick fingers felt the latch in her armor and pressed it. Guess even Panzer wasn't stupid enough to not recognize a switch when he felt one. It took seconds for her helmet to come off and fall to the floor with a solid clang; it took a full minute for them to realize the truth.

"Damn, you're a woman?"

"Very observant of you sugah." She replied; her honeyed Southern accent tainted with the bitterness of her sarcasm. "I do indeed have all my plumbing on the inside."

"Fucking finally, we get to strip one of you spandex cunts and bring you down a notch... wait, don't the Brothers usually tell us when they created another heroine?" The bull replied, his expression changing from violent lust to concerned confusion in a span of seconds.

"What's the matter Panzer Beast, having second thoughts now that what you most desired is in your hands?" Red Storm asked cynically. Apparently there was a bit more to the bear then Rachel first thought.

"Oh hell no, bitch is still getting my third horn. It's just... if she's not one of the Bosses super sluts, then who is she? DSA? FBI? DAMN IT CUNT, WHO SENT YOU?"

<No one sent her.> A second telepathic voice, calmer then the first, interrupted suddenly. <She may get it in her head to tell you otherwise but she is a nobody... congratulations Red Storm, you managed to keep our fun from being ruined by a mechanic that MacGuyvered a suit of power armor in her garage.>

"What do you want us to do with her?" Panzer Beast asked with a malicious grin, his tone implying he already had an answer in mind.

"Knowing them, I expect the answer involves a threesome position where one of us plums the depths of her back acres while the other introduces her to a new taste sensation. Then they'll want you to break her neck like a dry twig." Red Storm replied with a blatant roll of his eyes. Clearly there was much more to him then she originally suspected. "But that seems like just such a waste of such a talented woman." He continued, clearly mulling over his words and choosing what he said carefully. "I mean just look at her audition. No powers and a suit of armor hammered out of scrap metal, yet she still horribly maimed three of us and seriously wounded a fourth. Yes, she is definitely dangerous, but perhaps she can be controlled? At the very least, I think they underestimate the appeal of a pair of Double-D's with a mustelid's flexibility, this lady must be a riot at parties and dance contests."

<I sometimes wonder why my brother picked you Boris, you can try to make yourself seem like the others as much as you want but even this wench can see the truth about you. Still, you make an intriguing argument...> The calmer voice intoned sinisterly.

And at that moment the canine heroine Shield kicked the fire escape door off its hinges and lead her costumed friends in behind her. Rachel could not imagine Red Storm was capable of smiling as broadly as he was. "Curses, the heroines of Aphrodite City have found us again!" The bear shouted with the hammy air of a "four color" supervillain. "Panzer Beast! We must retreat, the capitalist whores have won this day." Red Storm ordered.

Seconds later, after a fairly anti-climatic retreat, an injured Rachel was left standing inside her damaged suit of armor. For a moment no one spoke then finally an exceptionally busty she-bear dressed in a laughably stylized "Dress Blues" military parade uniform broke the ice. "So who the hell are you and what happened to the other guys that were with Super Commie and Tons of Bricks?"

"I killed three of them and wounded one more." The mink smiled, not caring what they thought of the idea of killing, three sociopathic villains was much more manageable then six.

"Killed them, with what?" Shield asked incredulously, seemingly more shocked that such a feat was actually pulled off then that the mink killed them in cold blood, vigilante-style.

"With my .357 magnums. Strangest thing though, made Screamer, Hypothermia, and Gonzales all fall over and disappear in a cloud of black smoke instead of just falling over dead."

At that, Shield almost did smile at. "Nice choice of weapons, better then someone else's first choice." The canine replied, shooting a glare at the she-bear before continuing. "But they're not dead..."

"What, but... the blood loss alone should have killed them by now."

"Yeah, and two days ago I took an opportunity to wipe almost all of them out with a grenade launcher, including Panzer Beast and Venom." The she-bear replied dejectedly. "Yet obviously that didn't work because you can't kill a guy twice."

"Miss, the black smoke means they were taken away before the trauma could kill them. Now, you did us a big favor because that means it's going to be a couple days before we'll see them again but no... you didn't kill them."

Rachel was silent for a moment as it slowly began to sink in. The rush of slaying three of them in almost as many seconds, the terror of nearly being killed, it was all for nothing. Despite all her exceptional efforts, through no fault of her own abilities, the new status quo remained unchanged. Except now she had the attentions of whoever the true puppet masters were behind this macabre nightmare. None of the masked heroines were surprised to hear her scream in frustration when reality finally set in...

Two days later...

Boris sucked in his breath as he found himself whisked away to the Brothers secret lair. The Russian baker had no idea where it was other then it was somewhere in the suburbs on the city's outskirts. The vengeful family man would have loved to know where these cretins hid, which is perhaps why they were always teleporting him into their secret lair in a rare demonstration of intelligence. In any case, time to see what these basement dwelling troglodytes wanted now.

The Brothers' "command center" was luxuriously furnished but virtually indistinguishable from any other man cave built around an overdeveloped home entertainment system. Three overstuffed leather-bound sofas formed a semi-circle around a polished glass coffee table and a massive flat screen television complete with one of the most lavish sound systems Boris had ever seen in a home on either side of the Atlantic, it begged the question where they got their resources? Did they merely create what they needed regardless of the consequences much like their current "entertainment" or did they have some seemingly bottomless slush fund fueled by perfectly mundane means? A trivial question but one that could go lengths towards helping him figure out exactly what he was dealing with.

Tall Fox looked up and regarded the bear with a surprisingly friendly smile while his shorter brother remained engrossed in the television. It was at that point that Boris noticed what was on the television; both Brothers were admiring the latest addition to their collection... an addition that had been made at his recommendation. "Hello Boris, my friend. How are you? What do you think of Wrench Wench?"

The bear politely nodded in approval as he sorted through a conflicting series of emotions. Better you live to hate me then die forgotten. He lamented, justifying the amputation of just one more piece of his soul. Her magnificent armor was gone, reduced to a pile of scrap metal shoved in the corner of her workshop or melted down to form the weapon that was the center piece of her new persona. The Wrench Wench alter ego was... typical of the Brothers. Brown work boots, short blue denim shorts worn tight over her ample bottom, gray leather gloves, and a plaid halter-top made up the core of the costume. A construction yellow domino mask was worn over her eyes and a large black tool belt carried all her gadgets. The pistols were retired alongside her armor; her new signature weapon was an oversized sledgehammer with a mean-looking head.

Right now, they were enjoying a show she was putting on outside of her costume. She wasn't doing anything particularly special at first glance, just being the "mild-mannered" Rachel Arsenel, one of his more frequent customers at the bakery Boris quietly realized, chopping firewood for friends with wood-burning furnaces. Raise the axe over her head, bring it smashing down on a piece of kindling, put a new piece of wood on the chopping block, then repeat. Her chest moved beautifully as she panted with exertion, plush bubble butt bouncing with each swing that connected with the chopping block. It took a moment for Boris to recognize the secret brilliance of the activity; this was training. She was exercising with the ax to improve her swing with Wrench Wench's sledgehammer.

"Yeah baby! Sweat those pounds away, melt that last bit of stubborn fat off your ass!" Short crowed, perhaps the longest, most coherent sentence he made since Boris first met him.

The bear kept his expression neutral, resisting the urge to smile. Yes this one was definitely brilliant, the kind of brilliance that called for being rewarded with a glazed treat. Short Fox could keep hoping that she would melt off the pounds that the Brothers' flesh manipulating magic somehow couldn't erase, Boris knew what donuts were Rachel's favorite....