Characters created by Obie Scott Wade and property of The Hub.

"She-atbelts?"

"They're fine."

"Wind-she-eld wipers?"

Kelly tapped her foot impatiently.

"Guy, is there a problem with the wind-she-eld wipers?"

"I don't even know where those are!" Guy moaned, kicking the floor mat in irritation.

"The button on the da-she-board."

"Which button?"

"The pink one."

"Oh, that narrows it down. Come on, Kelly, it's been sunny for about a million days in a row. And if it rains, I'll just use one of the other modes. I'm not exactly short on modes. There's like three!"

Kelly sighed. "Sheila, activate she-mote control, please." She leaned over the console and tapped a button.

Vwip, vwip, vwip. The wipers squeaked back and forth across the glass, polishing it to a crystal clarity.

"Whoa! You better not do that while I'm driving," Guy said. "I don't need you messing me up!"

"Well, if you won't take care of the She-hicle, somebody has to!" Kelly snapped. "Just look at it! The paint is scratched, you never change the oil, the floor is covered in Fizz Burp cans and Chipadilla bags-"

"It's fine."

"It's a precision instrument, Guy! You have to look after it and do regular maintenance."

"Wait, is this one of those SheZow rules?"

"Not exactly-"

"Like if I don't take good enough care of the She-hicle then I'll wake up tomorrow with headlights for eyes or something?"

"Well-well, no, but-"

"Paaaaaaass."

"Guy! In SheZow Annual #15, SheZow forgets to do regular maintenance on the An-She-Lock Brakes and she skids out on frozen pasta while fighting SpagYeti and gets in a really serious wreck! That could happen to you if-if you don't-"

She trailed off.

"What?" Guy asked.

"Oh my goddess, I totally just realized something. Remember that year Aunt Agnes couldn't come for Christmas because she broke her arm in a car accident? That's what that was!"

"Look, whatever," Guy said. "Doing all that maintenance and stuff is for girls. Who needs brakes when you've got skills?"

"Well, I hope you're ready to put those skills to good use," Sheila piped up, "because I'm detecting a she-mergency occurring in downtown Megadale."

The screen was filled with torn asphalt, bent fenders, and arguing pedestrians. Main Street had been transformed into a cross between a traffic jam and a demolition derby. The only cars still moving were a few oddly-built custom jobs bristling with shiny chrome, which ripped up and down the street, engines screaming as they jumped over other vehicles and skidded down sidewalks.

"Whoa! Talk about car-nage!" Guy said.

"Exactly," Sheila said, "and it's up to you to put the brakes on it, SheZow."

"Wait! Wait!" Maz dropped the DudePow comic he'd been engrossed in and dashed for the stairs. "Just give me one second!"

"Uh, it's a She-mergency-" Kelly began, but Maz had returned before she could complete the sentence, a stop sign hung around his neck.

"Wow, you really meant one second, didn't you? That was fast."

"I always take care of business fast!" He struck a pose. "Because I am... Pit Stop!"

"Okay, I get the stop part, but what's the-"

Maz raised his arms over his head.

"Oh, yuck! Forget I asked."

"Hey, you get sweaty running that fast!"

"You go, girl!" Guy shouted, transforming in a flash of pink. In seconds, SheZow and Pit Stop were in the She-hicle and speeding towards downtown.

The lawn of the Megadale Convention Center was usually a sparkling emerald green, a shade hard-won with a strict regimen of irrigation and toxic chemicals. Today, however, the lush turf was churned into a pulpy soup of sod and shredded grass as a cherry-red hot rod spun through it like a tornado, doing donut after donut.

"Do we have a positive ID on the perp?" Boxter barked to his partner.

"Uh...er... well, uh, we didn't actually run him through the database," the man admitted. "I mean, we don't need to! There's only really one guy it could be!"

He pointed to the driver, lounging on the plush zebra-striped driver's seat with one muscular hand wrapped around the wheel and his head thrown back in a guffaw of pure destructive joy. The man was easily six feet tall, dressed in leather and ripped denim, and tattooed all over, but that wasn't the most distinctive thing about him.

He had a hamburger for a head.

"Fast Food," Boxter said, his eyes narrowing. "Grease-fueled leader of the Meals on Wheels gang. He's been arrested a dozen times and each time he manages to slip right through the law's fingers and drip back onto the street. Well-not this time!"

He picked up a megaphone. "Food! You're a long way from your hometown! Your brother back in City Hall can't protect you here! Now bring the vehicle to a halt and step away from it with your hands in the air!"

"Or what?" Fast Food guffawed.

"Or I'll throw your sesame-seed buns into jail!"

The mad driver pulled up, splattering the police with mud. "Like ta see you try! You're not just tanglin' with me, you know. I've got my whole posse with me! Sundae Driver..."

An ice-cream truck pulled up, a snowplow blade mounted on the front, and a massive mountain of a man climbed out. It was hard to tell where he began and the ice cream ended.

"I've been plowing through cars all day," he chortled. "A few cop cruisers would be the cherry on top."

"...Vodka Chaser..."

A dented jalopy rolled up, and the driver poured out, an empty bottle in each hand. "I know whatcher gonna say, fellas," he slurred, "buh I ashure you there ish no liquor in theash boddles!"

"...Speedy Al K. Seltzer..."

An SUV appeared, looming over the other cars like a glacier, and a harried looking businessman, his face flecked with foam, leaned out of the window to see around the school bus lodged in his front bumper. "I can't believe I hit the whole thing," he complained.

"...and, from merry ol' England, Hasty Pudding."

A man wearing a festive frosted cake which seemed to be on fire pulled to a halt in an Aston Martin. "Dash it all," he complained. "Terribly bad drivers, these, all on the wrong side of the road, you know. Very nearly scratched all the colour off of my aluminium bumper. The whole business has me most put out!"

Engines roared. Wheels chewed the ground angrily. And Officer Hamdon realized he was completely surrounded.

"Well," his partner said, "at least things can't-"

"Don't say it!"

"I was just sayin' things couldn't possibly-"

"Don't!"

"-get any-"

"SHUT UP!" Boxter grabbed the other officer and clamped his hands over his mouth. "Now, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take my hand away, and then we're going to discreetly radio for backup. We don't need to get any superheroes involved in this. Okay?"

The other officer nodded.

"Good. I'm taking my hand off now."

"-worse."

And before Boxter's bellow of frustration bubbled all the way up from his throat, SheZow was on the scene to greet it.