“Stripper clothes.”

“What?”

“How long does it take you to take off your sweatpants and sweatshirt to get down to your armor?”

“Um, I’ve never really timed-”

“Too long!  Get some stripper clothes, and bam, civilian to super heroine in two secs, flat.”

Superheroes: the unexpected demographic of the tear away clothing industry.  Lini had lent, or really given her some, since she wasn’t really expected to give them back, after suggesting it to her.  Now, her green scale body armor safely hidden under black and blue track pants and a windbreaker, her short red hair covered by a beanie, she got out of her car in the Baltimore ghetto.  Lini had even given her these peel-off black boot covers for her boots.  She looked perfectly nondescript and unremarkable, certainly not the super heroine and newest LC member Siren.

“Incognito, eh?”

Anna spun, already grabbing her windbreaker to rip it off, to see Barrage leaning against a wall at the mouth of an alley behind her.  She lowered her arms, narrowing her eyes.  “What are you doing here?”

Izzy, as usual, made no effort to go incognito or do anything other than dress in his usual attire; worn jeans, dusty old cowboy boots with spurs, white button down long sleeved shirt, brown vest, and his beat up old cowboy hat.  “I’m here to help.”

She’d barely even seen Izzy since joining the LC, at his demand of course, and he’d spoken to her even less.  “I don’t need your help.”  Her voice was cold.  His cocky swagger, once charming and more than a little attractive, just annoyed her now.  For him to just show up like this, on her first official job, swooping in to save the day after giving her the cold shoulder for weeks, was really irritating.  He had every right to be mad, after discovering that she’d turned Macy’s dead girlfriend into some kind of undead monster.   But she’d joined the LC, she hadn’t stepped out of line or done anything stupid, and all the while he’d treated her like some kind of monster herself.

“Probably not.  But Lady Sapphire told me to come along, so here I am.”

“Well, you can tell her I don’t need a babysitter.”

He raised an eyebrow.  If he told her that maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, given her track record, she was going to tell him to eat shit.  

Wisely, he didn’t.  “Still your job, you’re running point.  I’m just here to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” she repeated, slower, letting each word sink in.

He paused, the tension between them building.  “Look, I’ll hang back, but I’m here-”

“Israel.”

“Yes?”

“Go home,” she ordered.  “I’ve got this.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but his feet were already moving.  “Have fun,” he said, not looking back as he walked down the street.

She watched him until he disappeared around a corner down the block.  She unclenched her fists, realizing that there were deep scores in her palm from where she’d dug her fingernails in she was clenching them so tight.  Maybe Lady Sapphire had sent him to help her.  She’d uncovered very little hard fact in her research into the Silver Centurion, but the suit was dangerous, certainly enough to warrant backup, but someone should have told her before she just showed up there to find Izzy, who’d been nothing but a dick to her, not even giving her a chance to even try to apologize or explain herself.  It could have been anybody else.

She started walking, finally noticing she was starting to attract attention, curtains drawn back and eyes on her from the surrounding buildings.  She was incognito, but that was kind of pointless if she was acting weird, and staring angrily down the street was certainly out of the ordinary.  She had to get on with her plan anyways, and she pushed her anger down, focusing on the task at hand.  

A few conversations with some sketchy characters on street corners later, where she’d subtly ‘persuaded’ them to tell her what she wanted to know, and she was where she wanted to be.

The heroine took her windbreaker and pants off out back behind the building.  She took them off carefully, despite the urge to just rip them off.  Lini had told her that they make them with buttons so you can put them back together and reuse them too, but where was the fun in that?  Disposable income was a great thing, one she’d have to get used to.  She folded them up and set them on top of a trashcan, wondering briefly if they’d fall apart on their own if she tried to wash them, before she pulled on her gloves and mask, adjusted her belt, and ran her hands through her hair, her transformation complete.

Siren slid the telescoping rod out of her belt and with a flick of her wrist, extending it, wrapping on the heavy metal door.  A slot slid open in response.  “What’s the password?”

“Open the door.”

He did as he was told, and Siren threw the door open all the way.  The doorman, a heavyset man seated on an upturned bucket, stared up in surprise at the heroine.  She swung her baton, stopping it a hair’s breadth away from his temple.  He started to open his mouth, his eyes glued to the black fiberglass rod held next to his face.

“Shut up.”

His mouth snapped closed.

“Leave.  Take the night off.”

He nodded, his legs already pushing him up into a standing position, the baton sliding down his face and pressing into the crook of his neck before she removed it.  Siren stepped to the side, letting him pass her and he walked briskly off down the alley.  All things considered, a little breach of his free will was minor.  He was lucky, compared to what she’d have to do to the rest of the drug runners in the warehouse.

She strode down the hall, twirling the baton loosely in her right hand.

Voices drifted down the hall.  “…then I told’ my bitch ta find a new baby daddy…”

Good, they sounded like assholes.  His bitch would definitely be looking for a new baby daddy.

There were two of them, reaching behind them for the guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants they wore halfway down their asses when they saw the heroine turn the corner.  Guns or not, Siren had been getting smacked around by various members of the LC for the past two weeks.  Compared to them, these two drug dealers were moving in slow motion.

Siren’s booted foot swung up and caught the closest one in the chest, sending him flying backwards.  The other one got his gun out, and she batted it out of his hand easily, the pistol clattering across the floor.  He swung at her, but the heroine ducked under it easily, popping back up and grabbing his arm behind her head and pulling it back, throwing him forward.  She leaned forward and thrust her leg out behind her, tripping him.  She jumped up and kicked backwards as he fell, sending him crashing into the wall.  The other one was getting up and she flipped into him, bring her foot down hard into his temple before she landed.

She cracked her neck.  It felt really good.



Siren leaned against a table, catching her breath.  Blood dripped onto the table below her face, and as she ran her tongue across her upper lip she tasted blood, dripping from her nose.  She wiped it away with a gloved hand and stood up straight before spitting more blood on the floor.  It landed next to an unconscious drug dealer, one of the many strewn around the room.  She’d had to cheat, after getting shot almost immediately.  The heroine tugged her belt down and gingerly lifted up her scaled top, examining the already ugly bruise on her side originating from a dark purple circle, the point of impact.  Like Adam had warned her, the armor had stopped the bullet, but it felt like she got hit by a train, and hurt much more than getting shot in her old, heavier armor.  She’d had the presence of mind to tell them to drop their guns after being shot, fending them off with wild, frantic swings of her baton until she’d gotten the pain under control and could focus on fighting smart, keeping moving, getting up on the table for the higher ground, not letting herself get cornered or surrounded.

A massive crash came from the back door where she’d come in.  It sounded like the door had just been knocked in, and knowing what she did, it probably had.  She wiped her face again, wishing for a mirror so she could tell if she got all the blood off.  One of them had head-butted her in the face.  Luckily, he hadn’t broken her nose, but it had hurt like a bitch, and having her face all swollen and bloody hadn’t been the first impression she wanted to give.

Heavy footsteps of metal on concrete came from the hall.  She collapsed her baton and returned it to her belt as she turned to face the figure that came through the door.

“Silver Centurion?  The name’s Siren.”

The smooth, black facemask stared back at her, masking the suit’s occupant’s reaction.  If the wearer was surprised, startled, pleased, angry, displaying any emotion at the sudden appearance of the red headed heroine in the midst of the busted up drug dealer warehouse, they showed no outward sign.

“I know you can speak through that thing.  I just want to talk.”

“I’m not much for talking.”  The voice was synthesized, robotic, coming from hidden speakers in the neck.

“That’s too bad,” Siren said.  “This is a conversation you’re going to want to have.”

“Not interested.”  The Silver Centurion turned away.  “Thanks for taking care of these lowlifes.”

“Wait!” Siren said.  As she suspected, inside the suit, the occupant wasn’t hearing her actual voice, and as such wasn’t obligated to listen and kept walking.  “Doesn’t taking them out earn me at least five minutes?”  She followed after them down the hall.

“These trash?  I’d have had no problem taking them out on my own.”

“At least for the time I saved you?”

“I said thanks.”  The armored vigilante walked back into the alley, stepping over the door that had been knock inward off its hinges.  Seeing it, Anna pushed aside any thoughts of trying to physically overpower the suit of high tech armor before her.

“Hey.”

The Silver Centurion kept walking.

“Hey, asshole!”

That caused the armor to pause, looking back over one plated shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself.”  An armored hand was held up to her, and Siren took a tentative step back, her hand resting on the handle of her baton, as if that would help her.  It was only a cautionary warning to stay back, as the back of the armor adjusted, a backpack looking apparatus standing out of the armor, and with a roaring sound, the suit blasted off, rising slowly at first, and then taking off between the buildings towards the rooftops.

“Well, that’s more than a little cool,” she said as she watched the Silver Centurion disappear above the buildings.  She sighed, and grabbed her clothes, grateful for her restraint earlier.  She pulled the windbreaker and pants back on as she made her way back inside, grabbing the cell phone off the closest unconscious drug dealer.  She dialed 911 before setting the phone back down and leaving.  She could hear the police sirens arriving just as she got back in her car and drove off.

She drove down to the inner harbor and found herself a nice hotel.  Her per diem for the job was fairly generous, but she got herself an even nicer place than the stipend covered.  Despite her failure to actually have a conversation with her target, she was pumped up.  It had felt so damn good, better than anything in a long time.  That was more impressive than anything she’d done back in Bristol in the few months she’d been working on her own since coming out of retirement before the Sea Witch had wrecked her entire life.  It was like the stuff she used to do with Callie, the first time she’d been in the LC.  But even in those two years, she’d almost always been working alongside Callie, being overshadowed by the vastly superior fighter.  Now, working on her own, she was really able to stretch her wings, so to speak.  

That euphoric high was momentarily ruined as she got up her fancy hotel room and pulled out her cell phone, reflexively going to dial Macy, to share her victory with the person she’d always shared such moments with.  She stopped, staring at the phone in her hand, remembering that she couldn’t call Macy.  The little voice in her head that had been nagging her about this job, the one that currently sounded a lot like Macy as it whispered that trying to stop someone that was trying to be a hero was wrong, was something she shouldn’t be doing, started up again.  No.  Macy, who had always been the best moral compass she had, wouldn’t approve.  Not of what she was tasked with doing, not of rejoining the LC, and certainly not of why she had joined the LC.

Anna tossed her phone on the king sized bed and turned her attention to the one thing that would be happy to help her celebrate: the minibar.  She was always careful around alcohol; she always needed to be in total control of her faculties, and the judgment impairing effects of alcohol combined with her power could lead to disastrous results, but there was nothing wrong with drinking a little on her own.

And she was certainly by herself.

“Hello, Jackie D.  Let me tell you about how fucking awesome I am,” she said, staring at the amber liquid in the miniature plastic bottle.  “Call your friends, Jimmy Beam and Johnny Walker, and tell them we’re having a party.”