The rocket vehicle carrying the members of Triple Threat and their stolen loot descended quietly onto a residential street, and reshaped itself into a station wagon. Its headlights switched on, and it rolled inconspicuously through the Metroville neighborhood.
Impregnable Man, Anna Konda, and The Transfixer had automatically switched into civilian garb. The blond girl in what was now the back seat wore a blouse and ruffled miniskirt, and her flowing hair had been parted so that it completely covered the left side of her face. The woman in the passenger seat turned to her and smiled. "What do you plan to do with your share of the money, Chris?"
"Oh, I don't know," the girl said with gloomy indifference. "Clothes, I guess. Or maybe a stereo system."
They pulled into a driveway next to a modest, pastel blue house. Once concealed inside the garage, they started to move the bags of money from the trunk into a storage room. Anna Konda performed most of the labor with her super-strong snake arms.
Impregnable Man entered the living room to find a teenage girl with cropped black hair and braces, watching TV with an eighteen-month-old little boy. "Any visitors, Phoebe?" he inquired.
"None, Mr. Hamilton," replied the black-haired girl. "And Billy was a perfect little angel. He didn't levitate a single thing."
"Thanks, Phoebe," said Mr. Hamilton, a.k.a. Impregnable Man, as he drew a $100 bill from his pocket and handed it to the girl.
"Gee, thanks," said Phoebe delightedly. She picked up her purse and departed through the front door, still curious to know where the Hamiltons came up with so much money, yet not daring to ask.
In the bedroom of Chris Hamilton, a.k.a. The Transfixer, the girl was lying across her bed, staring at the boy band posters on the wall and sighing. Her mother, a.k.a. Anna Konda, found her in this state and asked, "What's wrong, honey?"
Chris looked up at her with doleful eyes. "I hate boy bands," she remarked.
"I understand, dear," said Mrs. Hamilton gently.
"And I hate having to wear my hair like this," Chris complained. "And I hate having to say 'like' all the time. In short, I'm tired of pretending to be an average girl."
"Yes, dear," said her mother, reaching down to massage the girl's shoulder blades. "But you know we can't afford to attract attention to ourselves. If the heroes ever find out that there's also a relocation program for villains..."
"I know, Mom," Chris acknowledged. "But there's more I haven't told you. The money we stole tonight brings us one step closer to finding a cure for my condition." She let out a sigh of embarrassment. "But I don't know if I'm ready to be cured."
"Don't you want to have a normal life?" asked her mother.
"Yes," the girl continued. "It's just that...after I'm cured, I won't be able to switch back and forth anymore. I've spent most of my life as a girl. I don't know what it's really like to live as a boy. If I could stay a boy for a year or two, I might find that I like it better."
"You'd still have to hide your face," Mrs. Hamilton told her. "You can't wear a mask everywhere you go, and boys don't part their hair to cover their faces."
"That's just it, Mom. I'm forced to stay a girl just because girls have more freedom when it comes to hairstyles. It doesn't seem right."
"Part of being normal is not being able to choose whether you're a girl or a boy," said her mother. "You'll have to get used to it."
"Okay," said Chris in a resigned tone.
Leaving her daughter, Mrs. Hamilton joined her husband in the kitchen and took baby Billy out of his hands. The toddler pointed his hand at a coffee mug, and squealed with amusement as it floated into the air.
"Stop that," scolded his mother, giving his hand a slap. "Bad Billy." She stretched her free arm into a tentacle, catching the mug before it fell and shattered.
"So," said Mr. Hamilton as he put on his night glasses, "what's eating Chris tonight?"
"Same old thing," his wife replied. "The poor girl. You'd think stopping people cold with your face would be a great power to have."
"I was thinking," the man of the house suggested, "now that we have some time to ourselves, we ought to go over and visit our new neighbors."
"Great idea," Mrs. Hamilton agreed. "It's been what now, a week since they moved in? Who knows what crazy theories they've developed about us?"
Half an hour later, the Hamilton family stood on the doorstep of the house next door. Chris rang the doorbell, and shortly a tall man with a broad, muscular chest answered.
"Good evening," said Mr. Hamilton. "We're the Hamiltons, your neighbors."
"Nice to meet you," said the muscle-bound man, shaking hands with the visitor. "I'm Robert Parr."
----
Do you want more? Should I continue?