CHAPTER 1
BLOSSOM
The news helicopter swung across the sky, its cameraman trained on the fiery event below. The commotion was on Fifth, near the heart of Townsville's financial district. Fire had engulfed a brick building, and the smoke rose in dense, pitch-black plumes from the windows. Cars near the scene had been abandoned. Citizens fled the danger in a frenzy, their scattered movements like panicked ants from up high.
Down on the ground, a pair of knee-high boots, shiny and blue, took confident steps through the debris. The boots were connected to the thighs of a woman, bound in white spandex. Her thighs led up to a torso in blue, with a white star stretched across her bust. Her arms were bare, but her wrists wore broad golden cuffs that glinted in the sunlight. She wore a cape; a sheening river of wine that wrapped—not pinned—around her neck in thick waves, flowing over her shoulders and rippling down to her feet. And then, there was her hair, luscious, long, and carrot-hued, with a golden crown in the likeness of an eagle nestled on her head. Her hair billowed behind her as she walked through the broken wall of the building.
She was not the one who had started the mayhem, but she was certainly about to end it.
The perpetrator of said mayhem was the hyper-intelligent ape in the twelve-foot mecha she had just punched through the front of accountancy firm Rothman and Peters. Or was it an investment firm? Either way, she hoped their insurance covered Acts of God. That was how they classified these actions. Specifically, her actions. Other powered beings were grouped under 'super-human insurance'. Under some policies, 'Acts of a Meta-being'. But not hers. She was classified under the same category as earthquakes and hurricanes. Like she herself was walking, talking chaos. Like she alone was the left hand of God.
The ape crawled out of the mangled head of the mecha, and glared up at the woman standing over him.
"Someday, Liberty Belle," he croaked, "you will rue the day of your birth. You will cast your eyes to the stars and gnash your teeth, begging for the sweet release of Death!"
Liberty Belle's eyes were cold and unflinching. "Your father must be so proud of you."
He shrieked, "The Mojo clan with rule the Earth with an iron—!"
A swift blow to the head, and the Son of Mojo went silent. By the time he regained consciousness, he would be in a jail cell.
When she walked out into the sunshine, Townsville PD was waiting for her go-ahead. She nodded, and they proceeded into the building for the arrest.
Ken stood on the sidewalk with a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. And suddenly, she was no longer Liberty Belle. Not in front of her baby brother. Now, she was just Blossom. "You strut like you're perpetually on a runway in Milan," he said. "I love it, and I hate you."
Blossom received the cup. "Thank you?" She sipped and sighed. "Oh that hits the spot."
"You have a photoshoot for Glamz at 10 am," he said, glancing over his tablet. "A PSA recording for teen girls at 2 pm. A meeting with the board of Dollars for Toddlers at 4 pm—"
"I'm still not sure I understand what that charity does," said Blossom.
"Honey, no one does."
"Do they give actual cash to little kids? That doesn't sound right."
"And you have a charity ball at 7."
"Nooooo," Blossom whined. "No more charity balls."
Ken made a face, blinking like he'd just been slapped. "It's for cleft palate surgeries. For little children in Burkina Faso. In Africa."
"Fine, fine. But I don't get why we can't just make a donation and stay home."
"First of all, you're the only one who's going to be staying home. I have a life. And secondly, you know people only go to those things because they want to stand in your general vicinity and watch you eat shrimp."
Blossom rolled her eyes. "Ew."
"And speaking of fandoms, your adoring subjects approach."
People had stopped running away, and were now striding towards Blossom and Ken, phones and cameras out, an incoming tide of autograph and selfie requests.
Blossom eyed them tiredly. "I can go, right? I'm probably already late for the photoshoot."
Ken smirked. "No, you can spare five minutes for fan service, you woman-child. Now go make them happy."
Blossom sighed and broke out a wide, forced grin. "Hey guys," she said in an extra cheery voice, as the first fan reached her and asked for a selfie.
"My uh, daughter is a huge fan," he said, as they posed for the shot.
"Mm-hm. Sure."
"Remember people," Ken yelled over the crowd. "Hashtag 'LibertyBelle' or 'LibertySaves'."
Blossom was there for half an hour.
000
The photoshoot took place in a high-rise apartment in Upper East VoMo, one of the fancier neighbourhoods in Townsville. The living room had been cleared out, its furniture replaced with a backdrop, studio lights, and a snack table with too many cantaloupe slices. There was a staff of about ten. They made the otherwise sizeable apartment feel a bit claustrophobic.
The shoot was being run by a young prodigy by the name of Blue Cheese. Blossom could not imagine that his mother had punished him with this moniker, and so she asked him what his real name was as the makeup girl applied bronzer along her cheekbones.
"I cannot say," he said, in an accent that was a bizarre mix of British and South African.
"Why not?"
"Jean is not who I am anymore."
Blossom blinked. "So…your first name is Jean then?"
Blue Cheese gasped. "I have said too much." And with a flip of his scarf, he marched off to oversee the lighting set up.
Mr. Cheese fancied himself a new age Mario Testino, and he wanted to capture something high-fashion for the magazine. He had Blossom wearing nothing but a red cape, not unlike the one she wore with her costume. Here, it was draped around her body, with a replica of her golden eagle crown on her head—a reference to the original lady of liberty herself. Her body was covered in silver and gold glitter.
"Yes, yes, let your eyes do the talking," he said, as he snapped. "Give me defiance. But sexy defiance. Like a lioness. But a sexy lioness."
Blossom tried her best to oblige. He kept trying to get her to arch her back, but some of the things he wanted were not things her body naturally did. And whatever it was he wanted her eyes to say, it was in a language her eyes clearly did not speak. But she tried, and eventually, he seemed satisfied.
"Wonderful job, Liberty," he said, as he swiped through the photos on his camera's display screen. "You're a star."
I'm just glad it's over, Blossom wanted to say. Instead, she said, "You're the real star. It was an honour." Just like Ken had taught her.
Blue placed a hand over his chest and sighed. "You truly are made of sugar and spice, aren't you?"
"And everything nice."
"Hm?"
"Oh, you know, like the children's rhyme. Sugar, spice, and everything nice?"
Blue stared blankly at her.
"Also the ingredients famously used to create—um, never mind."
Blue had already began walking away. "I'll forward you my favourites from the editing room. Buh-bye."
Blossom waved weakly after him as Ken came to stand beside her.
"So, the PSA next right?" she said.
"Actually, before we do that, you have to give a quick interview. I forgot to tell you, but it was a package deal with the shoot."
"Okay," Blossom said. "But I'm not prepped for an interview."
"Just stick to the usual shtick and you'll be fine. Keep it nice and light and super chill, okay?"
Seats had been set up by the full-length windows, with soft reflectors to bounce the sunlight back and prevent silhouetting. The interviewer was a black lady with short relaxed hair and she flashed a pearly white smile fit for Hollywood when Blossom went over.
"Maliya Williams," she said, shaking Blossom's hand. "I'm a huge fan."
"Thank you."
"I know everybody says that, but I mean it like you wouldn't believe. I've been a fan since there were three of you."
Blossom glanced over her shoulder to give Ken a look. Ken ignored her.
"Growing up, I had all the merchandise. I had the lunch boxes, the backpacks, the stationery, the dinner plates, the night lights, the action figures. You name it, and I had your face on it."
"Aww. That's…that's cute." Blossom noticed one of the crew mounting a flat device on a stand. "We're shooting on an iPhone?"
"Streaming," Maliya clarified. "It's for the Glamz Instagram. Real-time content is hot now."
Blossom threw another glance at Ken, and this time, even he looked a little hesitant. But then after a beat, he waved off her concern.
"Everything okay?" said Maliya.
"Um, yeah." Blossom straightened her back and tucked a strand behind her ear. "Go ahead."
"And we're live," said the guy behind the phone.
Maliya turned to grin at the camera. "Hey guys and greetings from the heart of Townsville. I'm your girl, Maliya, and this is Glamz Five Minute Gabs. Today we're catching up with America's sweetheart Blossom Utonium, or as pretty much everyone on the face of the planet knows her: Liberty Belle!"
Blossom waved, her cheeks already on fire from fake-smiling all day. "Hi guys!"
"What were you doing when we found you, Blossom?"
"Um, a photoshoot for Glamz, directed by the very talented Blue Cheese."
"Yum!" Maliya said. "I love blue cheese. Especially on sweet potato fries? Talk about sugar and spice, am I right?"
"Wait, what? Sorry, I was talking about the—"
"The photographer, I know." Maliya laughed. "Just kidding around, Liberty Belle."
"Oh yeah. I…I knew that. Ha ha." Blossom widened her smile.
"Can't wait for you guys to see the pictures." Maliya winked at the camera. "Very hot stuff. Do you usually do such risqué shoots?"
"I wouldn't exactly call what we shot risqué—"
"Well damn! You were almost naked, girl! If that's not risqué, we can't wait to see what you call risqué." She laughed.
Blossom tried to laugh too. "This is fun."
Maliya stopped laughing suddenly. "But enough with the small talk. Let's get deep."
Ah shit, Blossom thought.
Maliya's voice was low and sombre now. "We're one week away from the tenth anniversary of the tragedy that forever changed the face of Townsville: the death of Professor Utonium at the hands of a still as-yet unidentified, potentially extra-terrestrial being. Blossom, how does that make you feel?"
Blossom blinked. "Um…sad?"
"Mm, mm, I can only imagine. For those of you watching who're too young to remember, Liberty Belle was once a member—nay, the leader—of a trio of crime-fighting little girls called the Powerpuff Girls. The team announced its disbanding barely six months after Professor Utonium's passing. Now your sisters. Can we talk about your sisters? Can we get real for a second?"
Blossom squirmed in her seat and eyed the camera. The crew was watching with rapt attention too. "Honestly, I'd rather not."
"Of course, of course," said Maliya, nodding slowly. "The confession of a hurting soul." She paused. "Now the longstanding rumour is that Bubbles, the youngest—"
"Well, we're all the same age," said Blossom with a sigh. "But yeah, I guess we did treat her like the baby of the group."
"So she was the only one who went after your father's killer. She disappeared when you were eighteen, presumably to the stars in a stolen SpaceX ship."
Blossom almost laughed at that one. "Wait, what?"
"And as for Buttercup, the hot-headed middle child—"
"Again: triplets. Same age." Blossom was struggling to hide her irritation now.
"There are disturbing theories in Reddit threads and 4chan forums that your sister Buttercup turned to the occult. There are reports of her seeking dark spells and forbidden magic; I can only imagine to find some way to resurrect your beloved father. Can you confirm or deny any of these rumours?"
Blossom rolled her eyes. "They are exactly what they sound like, Maliya. Silly rumours. Bubbles moved to a small remote village in Japan, where she spends her days wading in rice paddies and sends me hastily scribbled postcards every other month or so. And Buttercup is in Montana. Or Mississippi. Or Maine. I know, or maybe I don't, but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. She's changed her hair and her legal name, so don't even bother trying to find her. She just wants to be left alone. My sisters never contact me directly anymore. I haven't heard their voices in almost a decade. And with this very painful anniversary coming up, the last thing they need is everyone up in their business, asking them how they feel, or telling them how they should feel, or ambushing them during a live-streaming interview."
The silence in the room was deafening.
Blossom released a derisive laugh and wiped away a slow-forming tear. "You guys are vultures. They couldn't stand this circus. None of us really could. This is why they didn't stay."
Another stretch of silence.
"Then I guess the only question left is," said Maliya. "Why did you?"
000
The elevator door slid closed.
"You had one job," Blossom said through gritted teeth.
She and Ken were riding the lift, away from the disaster of an interview some 800,000+ Instagram users had streamed live.
"Um, first of all, I have several jobs when it comes to you," said Ken with a frown. "And also, how was I supposed to know she was going to go all Guru-Murthy on your ass? They're not the Times, they're Glamz magazine! Isn't the only thing they're good at giving 15-year-old high school girls body image issues?"
"Jesus, the fact that we can so casually admit that is gross."
"You don't hear me laughing."
"We need to rethink our branding and for whom the hell we model and interview."
"Glamz is dead to us. I hear you."
The elevator opened onto the top floor, and they found their way onto the rooftop. Blossom welcomed the cool afternoon breeze. It played with her hair, her bright orange strands dancing on the current, as she whirled around to face Ken.
"I don't want to do the rest of my day," she said.
"I figured."
"Send the Dollars for Toddlers board my apologies, and a larger donation than usual to the cleft palate foundation."
"Already did it during the interview. I saw that face you made."
"What would I do without you?"
"Sign your own cheques, apparently."
"We should do something tonight," said Blossom. "Just you and me."
"Didn't we do this already? I have plans remember?"
Blossom shrugged. "You could cancel them. Or I could tag along. I love gay clubs and they love me."
"They love you a little too much if you ask me. Every outing becomes about you-you-you."
"Then I'll wear a wig and a hat. Come on! I promise not to dance on the bar this time."
"Also, I resent that you think my only option for a night out is the club. I have options."
"Oh? Where?" Blossom asked innocently.
"Ugh." Ken rolled his eyes. "Fine. I lied about going out tonight. I'm going to see Mom."
That stopped Blossom in her tracks.
"She's missed you, you know. She always says so. She doesn't get to see you enough, except on 'the Youtube' as she calls it."
"I miss her too," Blossom said softly, and then she nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment. "I just…don't want to deal with that look in her eyes."
"What look?"
Blossom scowled at him. "You know what look."
"I think you imagine that look."
"Nope. No, I don't. I know she blames me for the way the Professor died."
"I hate when you say dumb shit like that. She doesn't blame you. Nobody blames you."
"I like that you genuinely believe that," said Blossom, and she pulled her brother into an embrace and held him for a minute.
"He was my father," Ken whispered. "And I have never blamed you."
Blossom kissed him on the cheek. "Never change."
Ken watched as she rose into the sky and blasted away.
