Loneliness
"Get the fuck off me, you bitch!"
His breath is a cesspool of confusion and pain. His stubbled chin bleeds from a scrape, where he fell on the darklit alley floor. His cape, rancid from sleepless nights and sexual binges, is thrown over his left shoulder, his legs splayed, spreadeagled. He trembles, thrashing, as I tighten my grip, his pleading choking on the bile of pain. I can hear his bones grinding as I lean on my foot, the adhesive sole firmly in middle of his back.
I twist the arm back even more, releasing his repressed scream. Bloody spittle flecks his rictus lips.
"Give me name," I whisper into his ear, powering the sound wave with a low charge beta band plasma spike.
"Please... you don't know...he'll kill me!"
"You're dead anyway," my words are pitched perfectly. I can see his dilated pupils widen even more, the effect of my plasma charged sursurations beginning to tell on his psyche. "But you have a choice."
"Ah ch-choice?" he asks, his voice now tinged with hope. He glances up at my masked visage, his eyes wide.
"You tell, and you get to live... a little worse for wear but then, villainy does that to you. And you go to the Dee-Aeh. You disappear."
"A-and the other...?"
"Well, I let you go. And he look for you. And he WILL find you." I shrug. He gasps as the motion pulls his arm tighter in the lock I have on him. "You don't have to tell ME anything... but will HE be as understanding?" His eyes are saucer round, his pupils dilated like a crack-whore.
"Okay.... okay! Take me to the D.A. I give." I smile, and tighten my grip on his arm, my other hand slipping free to depress my neck stud, a green button on the madarin collar of my tight fitting green and black monkey suit.
"The name of the one who has the nuclear warhead...?"
"Carl.... Carl Ranstig!"
"The Illuminati?"
"He's the one you want! Now get off me and let's head to the D.A." I say nothing. I want effect. I start filling the air with alpha band charges. I release the stud.
"Hey... let me up... I said I give, okay? I gave you the name!" He tries to turn and glances my way, but now all he sees is my hunter's smile.
"Cracker Jack, do you remember Emily?" His eyes, now clear as I pump my voice full of the alpha waves fill with excruciating realization.
"You... you wouldn't! You're a hero!"
He doesn't understand. But that's okay. That's human nature. That's the cannibal eating his own rotting flesh until he realizes he's dying from blood loss, the last gargling cry of a self-centred worm.
"Do you remember Carol?" He stares at me, incomprehending, the darkness looking back at the light. "How about Emily? Amanda, Stella, Corrine..."
He understands now, the litany of names.
"Please.... I... I'm sick, okay? I need help. You're a good guy, right?"
"I never said I was a good guy," I say with a feral grin.
The air fills with the sound of shattering bones, crackling plasma and high pitched screams.
"Shego! What are you doing?"
My annoyance factor suddenly rises exponentially. A blue buffoon appears at the mouth of the alley, his slab-like forehead and boulder shoulders heaving from his run.
"Finally caught up, didja?" I smirk as I walk away from the pathetic, writhing thing that was formerly Andrew Stanton, also known as Cracker Jack, for leaving behind a box of the gcaramel glazed popcorn snack. A Bee and Eee specialist with a penchant for rape and little girls. The big blue jerk staggers past, nudging me as I continue to walk away.
"Oh my... hang on there, citizen! Hang-, Shego, call... where are you going?"
"Got a name. Got the guy. Going home for the triple play."
"But... what have you...?" His eyes are narrowed in disbelieving suspicion.
"Putting food on the table, BROTHER."
"Shego... wait, Shego!"
I turn and walk down the street, smelling the pungent air of sin and self-destruction, only a block away from Go City's council chambers. I stop at the a dimly lit automated teller machine. I pull a card from inside my foot pouch, sliding the card into the slot and punching in my personal identification number. I take a manila envelope from larger slot beside the machine. Before putting a notarized check into the deposit envelope, I look at the amount. Two million, five hundred thousand. I nod at the figure and deposit it into the machine. I take back my card and the transaction slip.
I slip into the alley by the bank and weave my way up the fire-escape. I get to the top and sit on the lip of the building. The moon is a cold silver scar against the darkened sky. The stars are far and distant.
I stare into the sky, the twinkling flames in the sky.
My hands begin to glow, brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. The cement beneath my feet begins to bubble, even with my wave form shielding. I am incandescent. I am a living, breathing, star. The moonlight disappears as I blaze brighter and brighter. Before the building edge crumbles, I release the light and heat, throwing them into the air with a concussion wave that propels the flames past the sound barrier. Again. And again. And again. The night lights up with fiery green comets, rising through the mesophere.
Carmen.
Miranda.
Jennifer.
Liza.
Brianna.
Neira.
Allison.
Samantha.
Nancy.
Deidre.
Tracy.
Each blast, a name. Each name, a girl. Each girl, raped, dead.
I rub at my burning eyes as the last plasma comet leaves the suffocating embrace of atmosphere.
Sleep easy, angels. Rest and dream of the impossible.
I go home, alone once more.
