Fish of Oblivion
RPM
Stryder BC
PrinceAlexus
rush99999
xVampire3go
Stargazer6225
Jinxxed
PalmerEldritch
“No capes.” A tousled blonde ponytail swayed with a single firm shake of the head it adorned, a slender hand stilled it as though afraid it might betray excess emotion.
“No flashy symbol.” The voice droned evenly from the woman’s lips, static like an AI prompt being read aloud.
The tailor sighed, eyeing the tall young woman wearily, his old baggy eyes casting a quiet plea at the equally tall man behind her - who shook his bespectacled head bemused. “Sorry Art, told you she wouldn’t budge.”
The old man huffed, scraping calloused fingers along his baldening head to slick leftover white strands in a desperate attempt to remain composed. “Right, good thing I came prepared.”
He shoved the mannequin aside with more force than intended that echoed his frustration, the extravagant tightsuit adorning the plastic doll glinting in all its blue and white splendour under the brief exposure to stagelight before its wheels squeaked off into the shadowy corner. Glittery cape fluttering once apologetically.
“It’s too revealing. Ugly.” The young woman droned, brow quirked from behind square-rimmed glasses. Her body tensed and untensed as a warm hand pressed lovingly on her shoulder. The fabric bunched awkwardly, making her aware of the warmth radiating from the limb lingering there; Her father’s steady connection.
“Ann, hun, be nice. Can’t blame Art for trying.” The baritone rumbled with latent amusement. He knew his daughter was terribly specific and wouldn’t be caught wearing something akin to a stripper’s night out.
“I gave him details, padded outfit. Grey. Tinted glasses, plus two correction left, plus two point fifteen for the right. Space for holsters and backpack slightly angled ten degrees on my left shoulder.” Annika stood rigid, adjusting her glasses with pinpoint precision as her pale blue eyes glanced over Art who was dragging an outfit with the exact specifications she’d mailed to him one month ago. Her head dipped, a curt nod she allowed herself in thanks.
“This is preferred.” Her gratitude slipped out wrong, sideways as hands methodically inspected the outfit as if assessing a soldering in a motherboard. “Thank you, Art.” She stepped back, appreciative of the suit in the same way someone smiled at an unwanted Christmas gift.
Art rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway. He knew the girl for as long as he’d known her father, just never knew the correct response. “You’ll look the proper hero in this kid, took the liberty of sowing that small logo on the breast pocket. Although," He scratched his chin. “You’re the first superhero I’ve met who goes out of their way to not look conspicuous. You sure? The league thrives on public image, can’t promise people won’t recognize you.”
Annike laughed, breathily. Clipped like she caught herself early and crushed it. “I am aware, I will try to endure.” She nodded again, watching as Art prepared the suit, undressing the mannequin, folding the outfit and sliding it into an incognito bag.
Annika’s father hummed, smiling as she gave a gentle squeeze on his daughter’s shoulder as they left the underground tailor shop.
Annika had just finished cataloguing the seating arrangement.
Not for any social reason - simply noting sightlines, exit paths, reflective surfaces, the odd property of the glass that allowed vision in one direction only. The coffee machine hummed at an inconsistent frequency. She logged that too.
She’d dressed in her suit. Grey padded vest, equally muted slacks with pockets. Belts with holsters housing tech slung on waist and her torso. Backpack slung over her left shoulder that felt heavy with her companion drones buzzing on standby. She stood rigid in the middle of the waiting room, blue eyes - now tinted an off-green due to the tinted visor - scanned the other heroes. A flashy influencer who she never admitted to following, Spotlight. Her lips twitched in an admiring smile for half a second. She clocked the girl with the grimoire clasped to her chest. Interesting, occult magic wasn’t something you could see every day.
Then another girl who Annika connected to that brief rumble of a motorbike just outside. Not a typical biker-look, but appearances weren’t always what they seemed. Her eyes then darted to the woman slumped against the off-white wall. Already dressed in a black-and-white outfit, looking like she was about to vibrate through the building. It wasn’t overt, but subtle enough that Annika registered it. The twitch of a finger, the subtle tap of a foot.
The young woman sighed, folding hands into the open pockets she’d requested be added. Essential, a grounding gesture.
And then reality folded and warped…
There was no sensation of motion. No pressure change. One instant she was in a well-lit lobby with tasteful furniture, the next she was standing ankle-deep in soot and gravel, the air heavy with smoke and heat.
Annika did not stumble. She looked around instead.
Old industrial sector. Structural collapse, the rubble was still warm. Chemical residue in the air, unpleasant but non-lethal. She clocked the other heroes automatically, tagging them as assets, unknown parameters. The dragon registered last; large, airborne, serpentine, biologically implausible but very present. “Dragon,” she said aloud, more to anchor the word than to inform anyone.
Ike and Omar lifted out of her backpack on reflex, their housings unfolding as they powered up. Diagnostic lights blinked once. Green across the board. She noticed the man filming at the same time she noticed the dragon’s posture change.
“Recording civilian,” Annika said calmly, raising her voice just enough to be heard. “Recommend containment perimeter. Target is airborne, high mass, unknown breath weapon. Likely heat-based.”
The dragon roared. Annika’s shoulders tightened, not in fear, but in response to the sound pressure. She exhaled slowly and stepped half a pace back, positioning herself behind the nearest piece of intact cover without looking away from the threat. “Deploying recon,” she added, already moving.
Ike shot upward, arcing wide to gain altitude and visual coverage. Omar skimmed low over the rubble, grappling arm flexing as it latched briefly to a twisted beam and flung it aside to clear Annika’s line of sight. She didn’t look at the other heroes as she spoke again. “If you can ground it, do so. Wings appear vulnerable at the membrane. Avoid clustering.”
A beat.
“This is not an onboarding exercise,” Annika finished, tone flat. “Assume lethal force capability.”
The dragon surged forward. Annika planted her feet, tablet already in hand, eyes tracking vectors and movement patterns rather than teeth and fire.
Today had started out nice.
