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Dark Omens Part III

By Psion

A Silicon City Story

All Rights Reserved

As the day drew to a close, the threat to Sunnyvale was taken care of but there was still the lengthy cleanup. Damage had to be repaired, the wounded cared for, and then there were those that did not survive… In light of this audacious attack, an emergency teleconference between the DSA regional directors and Washington was called. Pythia grumbled to no one in particular as the telepathic wheelchair-bound doe was wheeled into her office and sat in front of her desk. Pressing a few buttons on her keyboard with a withered hand, the DSA Director of the West Coast did her best to relax as her peers appeared on the massive flat screen monitor hung over the far wall and the teleconference began in earnest. This was not going to be a fun chat…

“What the devil is going on over there? We have reports of unregistered vigilantes in the Sunnyvale disaster area. What happened?” Regional Director Wilkenson of New England always did cut to the heart of the matter, that and his ability to zero in on the activities of those that refused to register with the government or join the DSA were two of his defining traits.

Pythia did her best to answer his question without directly addressing him. “At nine o’clock this morning, the Hedonist cult launched a large-scale attack on the community of Sunnyvale, inflicting casualties and amounts of property damage in the tens of millions. Until this point we had assumed no criminal entity would be so stupid as to attempt something so brazen without any fear of reprisal. Unfortunately, until this point we had never encountered a criminal organization like the Hedonists before. Regardless, the attack has been quelled and we are in the process of interrogating surviving cultists to figure out where Loco is hiding.”

“And the vigilante rabble?” Wilkenson repeated, earning a few groans from the other directors.

“Oh will you just let it go already? Isn’t stopping a rabid cult of lunatics willing to try and destroy an entire town to bring back those… things responsible for the Aphrodite City Crisis just a little more important?” Regional Director Deborah Vance of the Southwest interjected. Even those that normally didn’t care for the unregistered were not particularly pleased with Wilkenson’s role in the Aphrodite City Crisis or lack thereof. Yes, hunting defiant vigilantes was one of the department’s mandates but it did not override the DSA’s mission to bring down super powered criminals. The handful of vigilantes Wilkenson captured hardly compared to the lives lost by not investigating the relative communications blackout over a major city…

“Enough! Pythia, what is the status of Sunnyvale now?” Director McNeil interrupted from his office in Washington.

As if the disruption never happened, the telepathic doe continued on. “The total fatalities likely won’t be known for a few more days but property damage is already estimated to be well into the millions with half of the community outright destroyed. Reports of Mentalrix appearing during the chaos are unconfirmed; all credible witnesses were under an understandable amount of mental stress. However, Agent Black Vespa has successfully spotted several unregistered metas assisting with the clean-up including the Canadian ex-pat Power Tool, five females suspected of being the Aphrodite Five, as well as the suspected vigilante couple the Dewponds. Plant manipulators Agri-Motor and Demeter have been spotted on the outskirts, helping repair damage to orchards and vineyards the Hedonists tried burning to the ground during their attack on the community.”

“And…?” Wilkenson asked, motioning for her to continue.

“And that is her report. Afterwards Black Vespa was reassigned to the search for the remaining Hedonists and the unregistered metas are still presumably doing what they were last seen doing, rendering humanitarian aid. I see no reason to disrupt their activities, not while Loco and the majority of his cult are still unaccounted for.”

“Understood Pythia, the Hedonists take priority. I need to brief the President in an hour, what is your progress so far on finding the cult’s hideout?”

“We are still in the process of interrogating the prisoners for additional information but so far we’ve managed to narrow down Loco’s lair to eight possible locations based on remoteness and the estimated size of his cult. Out of them, Rook Island looks particularly promising.”

“I don’t think anyone here is familiar with the local geography, what is Rook Island?”

“An old abandoned supply base constructed by the Navy during WWII just of the coast of Northern California, the size and remoteness of the island makes it the most likely location. Black Vespa has been dispatched to perform initial reconnaissance; I should be receiving her report within the next half-hour. If it seems promising we will investigate it further before launching a raid on the island, if not then we will use what we glean from the interrogations to narrow down the possibilities.”

“Understood, McNeil out.” And like that he was gone. After a few sighs, the other regional directors followed suit. That was typical McNeil, almost entirely hands-off. While it meant she didn’t have him looking over her shoulder demanding hourly status updates, it also meant that she couldn’t expect any support from Washington with the Hedonist affair without begging for it. Even then… Pythia shook her head as the last screen went dark, this could not last. This organization could not function the way it was intended with the current system in place. Unfortunately it was the only one she had so she needed to make do….

Meanwhile on the heavily forested Rook Island, Loco had gathered his inner circle and took stock of the situation. By his expert strategic appraisal, everything seemed to be well in hand. The cult’s remaining membership had been safely relocated to the abandoned supply base, the town of Sunnyvale was in ruins and the DSA was undoubtedly chasing its own tail trying to find them. The two villains created by his most trusted henchmen were unorthodox to be certain but effective nonetheless, the robed hyena couldn’t deny that they were useful. The heroines on the other hand, they were perfect. Three out of the four at least, he would have to speak to Machine Wolf about Lullaby later but there was too much to do for now. So busy and so self-assured in his completely unjustified belief that he was infinitely cleverer then his foes that the cult’s magnificent leader didn’t bother to look up at the bright blue sky above him. Even if he did, it was unlikely that he would be able to pick out the faint shimmer of Black Vespa’s optical camouflage as the cybernetic heroine finished her reconnaissance flight and noted the cultists working none too subtly below her, her thermal vision allowing her to pick out the heat signatures hiding under the forest canopy. Even if by some miracle of metabeing perception did he notice that, Loco was still oblivious to the fact that two of the supers in his employ had their own plans…

“We got to get out of here, the DSA is going to find us sooner or later.” Devastator began once the two elastic supervillains were sure they were alone and out of earshot of their maroon-clad benefactors. That turned out to be easier then they expected, the old officers’ quarters were partially collapsed and relatively low on the Hedonists priority to refurbish. Meaning Devastator and Love Bites could squeeze through the rubble and sit down in the base commander’s musty old quarters to discuss how recent events had changed their plans.

Love Bites nodded in agreement. “Yeah, trying to level a whole town was beyond stupid. Then again so was burning a frat house to the ground genius, they’re going to trace that back to you.”

“Not as easily as you may think…” The inflatable wolf replied with a smile.

“But they’d only have to check your FaceSpace comments and-”

“And they’d find I deleted my profile at the recommendation of my public defender after those tramps got me kicked out of the frat. Yeah, I know that won’t stop the cops but it will slow them down. Besides, I’m hardly the first bad apple that frat’s kicked out. The National Association threatened to revoke their charter because they had so many. And of course the only four witnesses that could finger me for burning the place down are all accounted for.” He snickered evilly, giving his huge wobbly beer gut a proud pat as he relaxed in a ratty old chair that was much too small for the wolf it was currently holding.

“Okay Barrage Balloon, you got me there. But going back to what we were talking about, yes these guys have rocks in their head if they think the DSA is going to just let that go. I suppose the next question is how.” Love Bites continued as she relaxed on an equally busted sofa across from him, smiling as her broad hips were finally able to decompress.

“How as in how are we going to get out of here, ideally with the slush fund we didn’t tell the idiot brigade we have? We could always fight our way out, these guys don’t look that tough.” Devastator suggested. While he definitely loved a good fight, he wasn’t so stupid that he was going to dismiss his cohort in crime’s concerns about the DSA out of hand. One simply did not try to wipe out an entire town without consequences unless they were a dictator in a third world country. Retribution was coming; it was only a question of when.

“You might be able to muscle your way through them but what about me? Maybe we could distract them somehow and escape in the confusion.” Love Bites countered, not relishing the idea of fighting the Hedonists in direct combat.

“And how do you propose we do that Thunder Love? Only things I can think of that would keep them busy long enough are your tits or something important getting blown up. And I thought we agreed to help each other at least as far as double-crossing these assholes and surviving the experience goes?”

The sadistic vixen nodded in agreement and rubbed her chin in contemplation; a wicked smile crossing her lips as she finally had an idea. “Oh it’s so simple, why didn’t we think about it before? We have four perfectly good distractions currently sitting in a cell together, likely planning their escape. All we need to do is steal and slip the key to their cell under their door and…”

“Three good distractions, I mean have you seen the stats Mama’s Boy gave for that kangaroo doc we helped him kidnap? What a waste, roo girl was the most heroic out of all of them and that Aussie dingbat pissed away his chance to one-up the other guys by giving her jack shit for powers. Still three is better then none. When do you think we should do it?”

“Soon, we don’t know when the DSA are going to try and raid this island. They could be on their way already for all we know.”

“So we need to find a way to quietly start looking for the heroines, the key to their cell or cells, and a way off the island… wait a minute, this is an island. Can’t we just inflate ourselves and float or fly away?”

“Yes but they’re bound to see us unless we have a distraction; unless you like our chances of swimming to the mainland in the dark that is.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll do things your way then. But we better start right now or else we’re going to have Rivetgal’s nose up our asses.” Devastator relented; unaware of how right he was…

Black Vespa’s return flight to Silicon City was uneventful; the tormented flyer of the nanotech enhanced Delta Squad soared effortlessly over the countryside. The beautiful landscape of the Central Valley of California lay before the meerkat in her jet-black cybernetic carapace as she effortlessly flew across the sky. A lush patchwork of orchards, farms, and vineyards and yet she couldn’t experience any of it. The sun was shining yet were it not for the farmers in jeans and t-shirts below her, she wouldn’t be able to tell if it was warm. She could see a housewife hang her sheets on a clothesline to dry but Vespa’s face could not feel the breeze toying with the fabric. The most delectable citrus fruits grew by the metric ton below her but she could not eat them unless she ground them into a fine paste and even then the taste would be muted to nothingness. Subsequently the meerkat flier was not like other heroes on either side of the registration debate, they relished the uneventful; she found it a torture unlike any other. No, she wanted was the battle on Rook Island that would invariable happen once she returned and gave her report. She wanted a fight; she wanted to face the Hedonists and their horrifying acid weapons. For while her cybernetic armor was durable, it wasn’t indestructible; gradually the carapace would wear away or break and then she was free. Free to touch and taste until the armor regenerated again and the cycle began anew. Free until she had to crave the next brutal battle. Pain was the only release from her prison…

As the day drew to a close, Kimberly Dewpond sat down in the relief workers barracks and let out a conflicted sigh. The redheaded she-bear had spent the entire day discreetly applying her enhanced strength, tirelessly clearing wreckage and digging survivors out from under rubble after the fighting in Sunnyvale had subsided. Rewarding work but seeing the same sort of devastation that had wracked Aphrodite City had made her heart sink. Where the Hedonists had acquired some of their horrifying weapons was a mystery the stout super-strong builder didn’t think she wanted to know the answer to, the evidence of what they planned to do with them was terrifying enough. Chemical burns from acid weapons, thermal burns on people who didn’t escape burning buildings or vehicles fast enough, gunshot wounds caused by automatic weapons, the list just went on. Still, the list of deeds performed by those with masks and without in the shattered community was just as long. The Aphrodite Five appeared suddenly and without ceremony then started doing what they could, their masks and changes to their appearances had made them unrecognizable at first but once people realized the former Wrench Wench was among them, the others were quickly identified. The five survivors of Aphrodite City couldn’t do too much more that wasn’t already being done but just being there offered some comfort. People found peace in talking to others who knew their pain intimately. Shield and Wrench Wench joined the others in digging up the rubble while Amp was last seen hugging a crying child whose injured parents had been taken into a medical tent and have yet to come out… And the Hedonists did all this for the foolish belief that this will bring back a pair of monsters that only brought ruination wherever they went? What kind of crazy did it take for the Hedonists to think this was acceptable, that they could sweep the consequences of this away like nothing had happened? Fortunately for the rest of the world, the cult was about to realize that things didn’t work like they did in Aphrodite City…

Back home in Silicon City, Brittany Buckwheat sat down at her computer after another day managing the books for Shield Media and Graphics. It was not quite the time to roam the streets as Mentalrix just yet so instead the black-furred rabbit accountant turned on her computer and clicked the “Darksiders” icon tucked away by itself on the corner of her screen. Like that her computer activated the seven-cipher encryption key that allowed her to access the Darksiders website. Once a small weblog back when she was still operating in St. Louis, Darksiders has since grown into the largest vigilante resource in the world. In many regards it had become something similar to the professional networking site Linked, a social media website where vigilantes could share all manner of information. In many ways it was the main reason why vigilantes remained effective in the face of the Registration Initiative.

Shaking her head as the Darksiders homepage loaded her credentials, Buckwheat fought to put on her iconic stoic scowl as she saw the main page take up its infamous black banner. Every time the truly evil won in a big way, Darksiders put up a black background with a tribute to the people caught in the crossfire. A picture of the crest of the town of Sunnyvale filled the center of her screen, surrounded by a wreath of roses with the words “Never Forgotten, Never Unmourned” written in white lettering underneath was the subject of this memorial. Meanwhile the forums were alive with discussions concerning the Hedonists, who they were and how far they may have spread. Slowly a pretty clear picture was being painted of where the cult maybe hiding and where they would strike next once their current plans finally finished being realized. In spite of everything she had seen the cult do; it was encouraging to know that from Morocco to Moscow, people were outraged and worried about this madness spreading to their own shores. Foreign heroes swore to stand ready in case Loco fought to spread his influence while the American champions pledged it would never go that far…

Pythia kept her expression neutral as Black Vespa gave her report upon returning to the DSA offices in Silicon City. It was always unsettling being in the armored meerkat’s presence and her telepathy only made it worse. Pythia knew Black Vespa’s mind was almost completely consumed by a masochistic sense of martyrdom but the Department’s rules on telepathy were very clear, the doe could not use mind scans as evidence in an investigation into an agent’s mental competence. And what other evidence the director possessed was flimsy at best, a curious “accidental” sidearm discharge in the armory late one night that Vespa was suspiciously sullen on. Simply put, the shorter female looking up at the wheelchair bound doe needed to be in a hospital, not the DSA. Regretfully Pythia’s orders on the three super soldiers of Delta Squad were similarly clear. Meaning there was frustratingly only one solution to the problem that was Black Vespa.

“So that concludes your field report?” Pythia asked the cyborg super soldier.

“Yes ma’am, the Hedonists are operating out of Rook Island as suspected. They have managed to restore several buildings in the main compound and the cult appeared to be at regiment strength during my flyover, all equipped with small arms or crude hypertech weaponry like their acid throwers. No sign of the two metabeings suspected of being in their employ or the four prisoners though.” The bug-like cyborg reported dutifully, her voice accented by a raspy lisp owed to the mandible-like respirator over her face.

Pythia nodded as she tried to recall where an army regiment sat on the US military table of organization. “Very well then, we infiltrate the island first thing in the morning. Thank you Vespa, I suggest you get some rest and I have some phone calls to make.”

“Will I be on the assault team?” The petite female asked, her voice carrying an unspoken plea.

The telepath hesitated then nodded reluctantly. Later she would have to ask her chief doctor how his research into Black Vespa’s nanite cybernetics was coming along. It wasn’t much but it helped ease her guilty conscious. Seemingly oblivious to her superior’s inner turmoil, Vespa nodded and left the office. If her face wasn’t completely obscured by ablative armor plating, Pythia imagined she could see the tortured female smiling…

The next morning on Rook Island, the Hedonists still slumbered after a late night spent downloading and watching bootlegged pornography of the most deviant topics available. A handful of early-risers woke up and roused the manufactured heroines with a swift kick and a “shower” from a garden hose. Today was the day the cult started “educating” the costumed females in their role in the mock battles that were to come and finally figure out how exactly this was to appease The Brothers and bring about their return, a nagging little detail no one really stopped to address until now. Not that it mattered, today was also the day the DSA snuck onto their island by boat with a squad of FBI SWAT in tow.

As the two squads of lawmen slipped past the outer perimeter without raising an alarm, Kraken felt his muscles tense and his synthetic diamond claws slowly extend. Not a single sentry on watch, not one. The aquatic super-soldier could not believe the cult could possibly be this careless, Black Vespa had to have been mistaken and the Hedonists were somewhere else. There was no way anyone could be this sloppy, did they really think they could vanish without a trace after that stunt they pulled in Sunnyvale?

Just as the strike teams were about to breach the entrance to the bunker network where most of the Hedonists were supposed to be hiding, the first handful of sentries attempted to sneak out to their posts without being caught by their superiors. Initiates in purple robes and carrying assault rifles by the shoulder straps rubbed their eyes and stopped mid-yawn as they spotted the heavily armored group of intruders in front of them and froze. FBI and DSA similarly froze with their weapons drawn and raised.

“Put it down now.” The SWAT commander intoned with his voice carrying the threat of violence. At least some of these idiots had to be brought back to stand trial; the invading lawmen weren’t barbarians.

There were four Hedonist guards, three were appropriately cowed into laying down their weapons but the fourth, foolishly believing that he had a shot at the four captive heroines below, attempted to turn the tables to appease his masters. Already in arm’s reach, Kraken showed him the error of his ways by wrestling the rifle out of the mouse’s hands and slamming him to the ground in one fluid motion but not before the obstinate cultist screamed for help. Thinking quickly, the sea otter kicked him in the chest hard enough to bounce him against the bunker entrance, knocking him out cold.

It still wasn’t enough, coming what to see what the fuss was about; a late arrival saw the exchange through the open bulkhead door and promptly turned around to run back down the hallway. By the time any of them could catch up to him, the gerbil had slammed his fist into the button for the reactivated alarm system. In an instant, an air raid siren loud enough to awaken the dead from their graves echoed through the compound and cultists flooded out of the bunker entrances and the surface buildings as they scrambled to respond to the intruders, peppering the outsiders with weapons fire. The FBI SWAT operatives dug themselves into an ad hoc defensive position while the DSA supers went into action.

Retracting his claws and drawing a sidearm, Kraken had to admit he was coming up a little short in his fight compared to his teammates. Dozer, the waddling “living tank” donkey super soldier, held his ground with an AA12 automatic shotgun. With the augmented strength to deadlift a small truck and the body weight of at least two of his peers, recoil wasn’t much of a problem, particularly with targets being so plentiful. Yet it was Black Vespa flying above them that was doing the lion’s share of work.

“Come on you purple-clad freaks, hit me, HIT ME!” The flyer with a bug-like appearance screamed as she strafed the battlefield, peppering the ground below with force blasts. At least several of the opposition attempted to take her up on her offer, peppering her with automatic fire that had little visible effect on her cybernetic armor. Then someone on the cult’s side produced a missile launcher loaded with HEAT rounds, firing an anti-tank missile from the cover of a crumbling concrete emplacement before any of the attackers had a second to even wonder where the hell the Hedonists managed to get a surplus anti-tank rocket launcher. Fired with surprisingly competent accuracy, the missile impacted with Black Vespa in a spectacular fireball and blew her black armor to shreds. The instant the nanomatter covering her body shattered, the now largely nude meerkat crashed into the soft island dirt right smack in the middle of the twenty feet of fluid “no man’s land” between the two combatants, self-healing systems still providing BV with a high amount of survivability even with her armor gone. Rivetgal kept the pressure on with the two remaining commandos of Delta Squad, her rifle barking dutifully as the armored canine provided covering fire long enough for Dozer to lob a grenade into the enemy weapon emplacement. A comrade downed but not quite out, still just another day at the office for the Department of Superhero Affairs. The next few seconds however were something horrifically new…

It took a moment for the Hedonists to realize there was an unconscious nude female for the taking right in front of them, not even they were that easily distracted. But when one of them did, his shout was as unmistakable as it was bone chilling. “Holy smokes guys, there’s free pussy right in front of us!”

Dozer’s face was largely unreadable behind his sheet metal mask but the way his body briefly froze up upon hearing that, Kraken and Rivetgal could tell something snapped inside the donkey titan. Letting his spent AA12 hang by its shoulder straps, he drew a M240 machinegun with an oversized box magazine and started lumbering towards the crashed Black Vespa, chambering in a fresh belt and spraying his opponents with controlled bursts. Seeing that a heavily armed equine fatty was much less funny in practice then it sounded on paper, the smarter Hedonists threw down their weapons and promptly ran for the shoreline. Dozer ignored them; focusing on the cultists that were stupid enough to try and charge him thinking they could steal the wounded meerkat out from under him.

Ill-fitting polymer armors and his own reinforced flesh shrugging off small arms fire like it was a heavy rain, the overstuffed equine commando stood over his fallen cohort and started scuffling with the few surviving cultists in a fierce melee. Using his weight and size to his advantage and his now-empty MG like a club, he positioned himself just so that his foes couldn’t get at the wounded Black Vespa without moving him. The same augmented strength that allowed him to fire fully automatic weapons with very little recoil allowed him to hit Hedonists with the force of a truck, throwing back attackers as the battle on the surface finally subsided. As the last of the cult’s defenders fell, the attackers moved down into the underground portion of the compound. There, in the gloomy half-collapsed tunnels below the surface of Rook Island, they encountered evidence that a smaller but no less vicious series of battles had erupted between the cult’s inner circle, their two manufactured supervillains, and the four kidnapped women from Sunnyvale. Concrete walls were cracked by the impact of super strong fists or scorched by fire, the floor was torn up by some sort of energy field, and multiple cultists were sprawled about either dead or wishing they were. And then there was the lab…

Rivetgal felt her blood run cold as the team discovered the crude laboratory where the inner circle conducted most of their experiments. Leafing through a few notebooks left carelessly sprawled over a cluttered desk, the armored canine saw what sort of procedures were performed on each of the four captives from Sunnyvale and what they could now do. Annabel was super strong, Zelda was exceptionally agile, Susan had a pair of gravity field generators built into her gauntlets, and Cynthia was… Rivetgal wasn’t sure what to make of Cynthia’s apparent abilities. Yet despite discovering that the inner circle was successful in forcibly imbuing the Sunnyvale Four with superpowers by recovering their disturbingly detailed notes and searching the lower compound high and low, none of the DSA superheroes nor the FBI SWAT officers could find the six metabeings or any more of the cult’s rapidly dwindling membership. The battle was won but what became of the war?

Escaping from their torment, the newly minted heroines of Sunnyvale wandered back home without a sense of purpose. All four of them attempted to resume their normal lives but once they returned, a multitude of reasons manifested to foil their attempts to reclaim normality. Zelda, Susan, and Annabel’s businesses were all insured by the same company; a cheap company that provided the coverage they thought they needed but not the one they really needed when it counted. And then there were the other consequences of their captivity.

Despite being able to finally remove her gauntlets, the traumas inflicted upon Susan Smith’s mind by the Hedonists left her badly shaken and mentally unstable. Even if she could receive the money to rebuild her salon after it was destroyed during the massive Hedonist assault on Sunnyvale, it would be a long time before she could cut hair or paint nails again. Zelda “Juice” Clearwater quickly fell into a similarly shape, the Agil-X drug fed into her bloodstream by Voodoo’s apparatus had given her exceptional agility and mental focus but at the expense of becoming habit forming. And with her only supply almost certainly destroyed, Clearwater began to suffer the pains of withdrawal and similarly fell apart. With nothing left for any of them in Sunnyvale, all four of them made their own ways east to Silicon City…

Back in the command center of the DSA West Coast headquarters in Silicon City, Pythia did her best to keep from frowning as she listened to the debriefing from Rivetgal and Kraken. “So Loco and three of his inner circle are unaccounted for, the two metabeings believed to have been working for them are also MIA, and those four females are empowered, potentially mentally unstable, and last seen heading towards Silicon City?” The telepathic doe asked as she made a show of exhaling. “While I congratulate you for completely destabilizing the cult, those are far too many loose ends for our line of work. We need to find those people and get eyes on them. I’ll notify SCPD and make the other necessary arrangements. In the meantime…” The West Coast Regional Director paused for a moment as she considered their quarry. “The four females are all largely penniless and one is a confirmed med student at Saint Anthony’s, that one should be the easiest to track as she is probably eligible for dormitory status at the Hatfield Institute. The other three might end up homeless, turn to crime, or hire themselves out on… what was that online service for superpowered mercenaries that we discovered last month?”

“Metas of Fortune.” Rivetgal replied automatically.

“Yes, that website. Well then, it’s been a very trying last few days and you’ve all certainly earned some time off. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll discuss it and our next move tomorrow.” Pythia dismissed politely. As much as it frustrated her to have so many things left to resolve, there were only so many hours in the day and so much she could put her operatives through before they needed to relax and refresh themselves. If she was lucky, some of her problems would solve themselves but the telepathic DSA director knew better then to trust some things to luck….

Voodoo the canine chemist found himself waking up with a splitting headache. The last thing he remembered was being ambushed in Silicon City after being forced to run when the DSA raided the Hedonist’s island stronghold off the coast. Some street person dressed in rags had jumped him while he was hiding a dirty back alley from a pair of surprisingly astute police officers. Regaining consciousness, he found himself on a ratty card table in the middle of a positively filthy room somewhere beneath the city streets. Sitting on his chest and pinning him to the table was the homeless vagrant that jumped him. The laughable omniscient blinked as he finally looked beneath the ragged clothes and dirt-streaked fur and recognized the cheetah woman currently holding a sharpened piece of glass to his throat.

“Juice?” He asked with disbelief, choking slightly beneath the pressure of the improvised knife being held tightly against her throat.

“I want my Agil-X!” The former gym mistress snarled, withdrawal clearly making her mood unpredictable.

The Southern canine smiled despite his perilous situation. “Well sugah, perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.” He replied while reaching to give that toned rump of hers a squeeze.

With a furious scream only made by those left at their wit’s end, Zelda grabbed his wandering hand and stabbed it to the table with her glass dagger. Blood oozed from the palm of his pierced hand like a burst water pipe as the canine howled in pain. As the throbbing ache briefly stunned him, Zelda produced a sharpened piece of metal from beneath her rags and stabbed his other hand into the table. “I want a fucking life time supply! No sex, no money, no pretty promises, I want my fucking Agil-X!” She screamed and slammed her fist into the side of his face as hard as she could. Even living on the streets, Zelda was more then capable of throwing a mean right hook.

Canine blood splattered against the table as Voodoo was left reeling from the impact, having barely received enough time to recover some semblance of his wits after getting stabbed in both hands. “Like hell… like hell a crazy bitch like you is getting my formula notebook.” He panted, eyes narrowing as she held up a familiar spiral bound notebook in her hand. “So what if you stole it out of my bag, you’ll still never make heads or tails of it without me.” He insisted despite an ominous burning sensation starting to radiate through his hands.

“So you’re saying that my knowledge of high school chemistry isn’t enough to tell that you just wrote everything upside down? You goddamn moron, Silicon City has over a dozen drug chemists that can replicate this for me. None of you were ever as good as you thought you were.” She snarled and got up from pinning him to the table. Stuffing his wallet and notebooks into a ratty shoulder bag that contained the rest of her possessions, she started to walk out of the room.

“Guess we’ll see what kills you first, blood loss or a tetanus infection.” The homeless cheetah said over her shoulder before disappearing out of the room with a flick of her long spotted tail. It would be the last time anyone saw Voodoo alive before he finally died three days later… alone and in slow, throbbing, agony…

“I’m telling you this idea is perfect. This time we’ll go with machine guns for breasts, a hovercraft fortress, and GA-UCK!” Nocturnal gurgled violently as the large caliber round tore through his throat and forced him to choke on his own blood.

Seated atop his gaudy throne, Loco frowned as he held the smoking revolver in his hand. “THANK GOD HE FINALLY SHUT UP! ARROGANT PRICK NEVER HAD AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT IN HIS HEAD! GET RID OF HIM QUICKLY!” The leader of the Hedonists “projected” ironically as his underlings carried the bloody corpse away to the incinerator. And with that, the tech guru of the twisted cult was promptly disposed of.

Oblivious to some of the DSA’s work taking care of itself for him, Wade Lowe relaxed in a rented cabin tucked away in the Californian Rockies overlooking Silicon City. It was nice to have a few days away from being Dozer and try and forget things like Project PINNACLE ever happened, not like he was ever successful considering that program was the reason why the donkey was a fat brute with a set of superpowers that made him as tough as a cockroach. Still, even if he did have to seriously control what he ate less he ballooned out until he was as big as an Abrams tank he still made out better then Hannah O’Connor, it was hard not to make out better then Black Vespa did.

The shorter meerkat looked up at him timidly as the two of them sat on the couch drinking beer. After a manner of speaking at least, once Wade sat down there wasn’t much room left on the couch for Hannah so she had to settle for the donkey’s well-cushioned lap. Her armor had almost finished regenerating in the days since the battle on Rook Island, leaving her head the last place for the cybernetic carapace to grow over. After what nearly happened to her, Lowe didn’t see much reason to hold back on his feelings for her, gently running his fingers through her dark brown hair as he looked down into those tear-streaked green eyes of hers.

“I don’t want to go back, it’s not fair. I’m supposed get more time then this.” Hannah sobbed into Wade’s shoulder.

“I know Hannah… I also know about the night you tried to kill yourself.” He replied, confronting her about as his fingers toyed with the “lip” where meerkat fur met radar and light-absorbent polymer. If constant enemy fire caused her to shed her armor like a snake’s skin then there had to be a way to get underneath her shell…

The meerkat stopped mid-sob and looked up at the large donkey. “What are you talking about Wade?”

“Hannah… you got the worst deal out of the two of us and you throw yourself into heavy enemy fire every chance you get; so when I hear that you were alone in the armory late at night and a large caliber gun goes off and almost puts a bullet in your head, of course I’m suspicious. Pythia too though I don’t think she can do anything about it. I don’t blame you but damn it Hannah, my life would be miserable without you. You know that.” The donkey continued as his fingers continued to search for some sort of space. Wait, was that…?

“I know, I just can’t do this anymore.” The meerkat flyer cried, still oblivious to her compatriot’s studious probing.

“I know, I understand.” He comforted, smiling as his fingers finally found purchase. Giving her armor an experimental tug, the encouraging gentle cracking of her carapace giving under the strain of Wade’s strength stopped the female’s blubbering. “But if you had just talked to me I would have tried to help you.” The donkey replied, this time she returned his smile.

Breaking off a small piece of her armor from around her neck, he tested the black material with his thumb before popping it into his mouth. From what he read, Hannah’s shell was some sort of highly advanced carbon-based polymer and he was augmented to digest virtually all carbon-based objects with near-perfect efficiency, most of the reason why he was so fat. “Hmmm, not bad. Granted I prefer real food but my gut should handle it all the same. Now you see Hannah, we not only discovered how to break you out of your shell, pun not intended, but we discovered how a fun way to do it if you’re up for it. See what happens when you just talk to people about your problems?” He chided with a smile and a playful lick of his lips.

Quickly picking up on the implications of what he was saying, Hannah blushed then motioned for them to try and get into a better position. Shifting his weight around so he was laying on his back, O’Connor crawled up against his face and kissed him on the cheek before letting her cohort go to work. The next half-hour was one Hannah would never forget; Wade’s tongue felt heavenly against her untouched fur and the donkey wouldn’t stop until he ate every last scrap of her armor. Absolutely. Every. Last. Scrap…

Machine Wolf panicked as he futilely attempted to hide in the dark, sparsely furnished basement. He was supposed to be home free, literally. The renegade cyberneticist had escaped the United States with a false ID and found the Hedonists’ largely abandoned safe house in Sidney, Australia. Hiding there, he could finally stop running and figure out his next move before the manhunt for his arrest went international. At least that was how it was supposed to work. Somehow he had been found, someone had invested a considerable amount of resources in tracking him down and sending someone after him. But who they sent…

A locked door was no barrier to the intruder as he slid in under the doorway and rolled himself into a ball before bouncing down the stairs. Devastator smiled as he came to a rolling stop and stood up into his normal big-bellied figure, the rubbery wolf sniffed the air as he searched for his mark. He had been paid well to make sure Machine Wolf got his, the fact that the Hedonist was the one responsible for his powers didn’t even factor into his mind. “Come out, come out where ever you are Mama’s Boy.” The fratboy villain cackled as he followed his canine nose towards the scent of the other wolf. Thinking he had an advantage over the lumbering metamorph blob in speed, the black-haired Aussie tried to run past him and only served to get pinned between a wall and Devastator’s bulging beer belly. Squished beneath the elastic flab, the cyberneticist squirmed as his captor tied his hands behind his back and dragged him upstairs.

Slapping his bound captive flat on the wooden kitchen table in front an open laptop, Devastator held up the other wolf’s head and brought up a video chat. The captured Hedonist blinked as he recognized the matronly badger that suddenly appeared on the screen. Even before she spoke in a thick Italian accent he who she was, the current matron of the Martorana mob family. And mother of a badger girl he… melted while perfecting the process that created Lullaby.

The rotund American super-thug was cordial with his client as he sat his fat butt down on a chair behind the prone cultist, his smile broadening evilly as the wooden chair creaked ever so slightly. “Hey Lorena, sorry if it’s late back home, still haven’t gotten this whole time zone thing down pat yet. But hey, remember when you said you’d pay me a million dollars US to kill this asshole?” He leaned forward and pulled up Machine Wolf’s head by his hair. “Is that deal still on the table?” Devastator chuckled at his own unfunny joke.

Lorena Martorana returned his smile with one of her own, a sadistic one devoid of any warmth or sympathy for the captive cultist. “It is late, very late, normally I would have something very creative in mind for someone stupid enough to keep me up at this hour but you have more then made up for this inconvenience. I can have the money transferred to your account first thing in the morning provided you deliver on your half of the deal.”

The normally boisterous Devastator was suspiciously silent for a second, doing something Machine Wolf couldn’t quite see but Lorena quite clearly could judging by how the veteran mobster’s green eyes suddenly went wide. And then Momma’s Boy felt the unmistakable feeling of a tongue licking his ankles before his creation started swallowing him feet first. Squirming on reflex, the nanotechnician struggled with his bindings as Devastator grabbed a hold of his hips and started pulling him further down the table and further into the elastic wolf’s stretched maw. By the time he undid his poorly tied restraints, it was still too late, the voracious thug had gotten up to his waist and was now quite determined to finish his meal. Tilting his head back and lifting up the half-swallowed cultist, the ballooning supervillain decided to let gravity help him finish his meal. Machine Wolf struggled to pull himself out but lost his grip as his hands became slick with saliva, slipping down until his head rested neatly inside of the fatter wolf’s maw. His last look at the world before Devastator gulped him down was of Lorena’s face, the vengeful mafia mother watching the display with a mix of shock and something that looked frighteningly like arousal…

Finishing off his creator with one final gulp, Devastator suppressed a belch and pulled the laptop closer to him before leaning back into his chair. “So… satisfied?” He asked his stomach curled Machine Wolf up into a ball, the devoured cultist forming a distinct imprint against his stretched stomach.

“Very, the money will definitely be sent first thing in the morning. Plus a little extra if…” She began, clearly unable to figure out how to best phrase her request.

Devastator laughed approvingly and adjusted the camera so Lorena had a better look at his swollen stomach. Usually he demanded that it would be the other way around but what the hell? He would be crazy to turn down some extra coin while being on the run. So, after stretching his arm and yanking over a beer keg that the Hedonists had kept stashed in the safe house, he began to leisurely rub and pat his engorged stomach. His fingers sank into his doughy abdomen as prey jostled and struggled inside of him, hands making slow circular patterns around his navel before he lifted up the beer keg and made a big show of audibly chugging its contents down. Already stretched down to his knees by Machine Wolf, his stomach bulged and rounded out as the stretchy glutton let himself swell up like a giant balloon. Lifting his bloated stomach up and setting it on the sturdy wooden table with a dramatic thud, he let his swollen midsection fill up Lorena’s entire screen as the swallowed Hedonist’s face made a visible imprint against Devastator’s elastic stomach, handprints forming on either side in a feeble pleading gesture as the metamorphic wolf’s stomach audibly continued to break him.

On the other side of the screen half a world away, the middle-aged badger looked to be clearly enjoying herself. “Oh thank you Devastator, yes you will find the amount we agreed on plus a little extra in your account when the banks open again. A pleasure doing business with you.” She affirmed before signing off.

The superpowered lupine thug smiled as his stomach audibly churned and gurgled happily away. Not exactly how he planned on earning his first payday as a supervillain but money was money and the meal plan certainly wasn’t too bad either. Maybe tomorrow once he slept this meal off he’d go back to playing tourist for a bit before hopping on a plane for somewhere else. Maybe he could find some Aussie girls curious to see how a big, fat American did it…

Love Bites smiled as she successfully snuck into the sorority where her old rival lived. The elastic vixen squished and flattened herself, resembling a fat pink slug as she squeezed underneath her prey’s bed and waited patiently. Soon, so very soon, the blond equine airhead would return from a night of clubbing and then the fledgling supervillain would have her revenge.

Paper-thin vulpine ears twitched as she heard the sorority sister finally return home to her dorm, opening the door with a giggle. Gloria the towering, blond equine was back from a night at the club. Love Bites felt her hackles rise ever so slightly; the Californian bimbo had gotten over the mysterious disappearance of her two best friends surprisingly quickly. All that work to trap them… at least the satisfying memory of them squirming all the way down into the vixen’s gullet was one that would stay with her forever.

Gloria got ready for bed oblivious to the intruder hiding out of sight, stripping down to her underwear before crawling under the covers and turning off the lights. Nuzzling her head against her pillow, she didn’t see the ominous shadow rise up from under her bed and return to the shape of the former sorority sister the equine tramp sabotaged and drove out of the sisterhood. Vulpine teeth glistened in the pale light of the full moon as Love Bites finished regaining her shape then “stopped sucking it in” and let her body expand into its full fat glory, oh how the vixen loved her new hips and butt. Particularly when she got to sit on someone’s face like she was right now, smothering the horse’s face underneath her padded rump.

“Hello Gloria, did you have a good night?” Love Bites cackled as she asked her pinned victim. Beneath her door-clogging hips, Gloria let out a muffled cry as her arms flailed about harmlessly yet there was no doubt the mare could hear and recognize the sound of her voice. Unable to hear or even care about what her prey was saying, the vixen continued on with her monolog. “So tell me Gloria, how are you enjoying your position as queen bitch of the sorority? No, no, you don’t have to tell me right away. I know you want to say hello to Drina and Kuwanna first.” She laughed sinisterly while rhythmically rubbing Gloria’s face in between her voluminous rump cheeks. “I know you probably don’t recognize them anymore but I really wanted to reintroduce them in their new roles as my right and left ass cheek.”

Leaning forward and pushing back to completely smother the mare’s head between the headboard and the vixen’s mighty posterior, Love Bites slipped her fingers beneath Gloria’s panties and gently teased her privates with a delicate pair of fingers. Below her, the mare struggled and slammed her fists into the elastic sadist’s thunder thighs. Love Bites sighed and continued to rub the mare’s face deeper into her rear but removed her fingers from her victim’s crotch. This was much more fun with the other two; with them there was a sense of lust but try as she might, Love Bites couldn’t feel anything but hate and envy for Gloria. Time to stop toying with her food and just get it over with already.

Lifting the mare’s legs up, the vixen stretched her mouth open and started swallowing Gloria feet first. Her throat bulged as the draft horse’s kicking legs slid down into her gullet, the vorephilic supervillain using her body’s supernatural ability to stretch and contort as she snaked underneath herself and continued to slowly gulp her prey down. Finally, with a teasing lick of her sorority sister’s throat, Love Bite’s gulped the blond bimbo down and flexed back into shape before lying down in Gloria’s bed and triumphantly massaging her swollen belly. The equine female left a visible impression inside of the vixen’s stretched gut as she squirmed and struggled against her fleshy prison, her cries muffled by the vulpine’s well-padded figure. The elastic vixen merely smiled as her rival slowly began to digest and join the other devoured sorority girls reduced to butt blubber. Later she would figure out what to do with the rest of her villainous career, probably invent a new identity for herself and reel in her activities so she could hide amongst the rumored “D-list” supervillains she was always hearing about like that one mouse lady with the pudding guns. But for now, for now she was going to just savor her current victories….