Justice League of Literotica®

[Tibxo]

Literopolis©, sprawling urban paradise on the Literotican east coast supporting 10 million people. By day, they go about their daily business. By night, they indulge in their various pleasures, innocent and not so innocent.

But whatever they are doing, whenever they are doing it, each and every citizen of Literopolis® feels safe with the knowledge that they are protected by the world's premier superhero team - The Justice League of Literotica!®

Now enjoy...


OOC: This tongue-in-cheek thread is open to all but please read the Justice League of Literotica - OOC ROLL CALL thread for guidelines.



"Justice League of Literotica", "JLL", "Literopolis" and all other names in this thread are registered trademarks of Literotica Comics Inc.

 

[Tibxo]

Stanley Snodgrass©

"Good morning, honey." Sings his wife as Stanley Snodgrass® enters the kitchen and takes his seat at the table. Picking up this morning's copy of the Literopolis Lite. On it, the headline reads:

"TIBVO® NABS THE RASCALLER©! Despite giving Police Chief Yoc O'Dubhthaigh© a wedgy, the police had no trouble taking the rascally crook Downtown after he was caught by that crimefighting crusader, Tibvo©, in the early hours of this morning...."

"Here's your breakfast, snookums." Sophie Snodgrass© says to him as she bends over and straightens up his tie.

"Thanks, darling." He smiles at her as he sees his breakfast waiting for him on the table. Sophie returns to the washing up sink.

"You were late in again last night, honey. More trouble at work?" She asks him as she drains the plates.

"You could say that." He smiles affectionately at her. She looks always so perfect with her immaculate hairdo, bright-white blouse and knee-height skirt.

If only she wasn't so dim.

"You know, darling. I never knew being a postman would be so demanding." She continues.

"Someone has to do it." He returns. Little does his dim-witted wife (and the rest of the world) knows that Stanley Snodgrass© has not been working late posting but is, in reality, the ace crimefighting genius, Tibvo®.

"I am so proud." She beams.

Finishing his breakfast, Stanley gets up to leave, finding Sophie waiting for him at the front door with his postman's cap in her hand.

"Don't forget, I am helping Mrs Rambetti with the Election Campaign today." She tells him as they perform their ritual kiss.

"I almost forgot that." Says Stanley as he heads out to get his bicycle. "Good luck and I will see you tonight."...

 

[stalwartone]

OOC- This little bit is based upon a story found in an anthology about a certain brooding caped crusader owned and respected by DC comics. I'm borrowing the theme of the story, just for a bit of fun. S.

The storefront was absolutely unremarkable. Hidden away in one of the failing sections of town, it offered no reason for anyone passing by to give it more than a moment's notice. Trash had piled up along the sidewalk, dirt obscured the mortar of the brickwork, and the windows were an assortment of taped-over cracks, mottled flyspecks, and the remains of butcher paper tacked to the inside of the glass. An ancient sign swung over the doorway, faded letters spelling out "Liebguttkopf - Tailor By Appointment Only". Perhaps the only thing that might have caught an observer's attention was the lack of a "For Rent" sign in the window. Or, if they happened to be particularly sharp eyed, they might have seen the carefully disquised thermal cameras that oversaw the street and sidewalk, or the judiciously placed motion sensors on the windows, which themselves might possibly have appeared thicker than they should for a mere storefront.

Within, the old man went about his work, his fingers unerringly tying off a stitch as his eyes swept back and forth between the work before him, and the monitors that were continually covering the externals of the building. As the hands of his watch closed upon the desired hour, he carefully folded away the project, and slipped it into a locking drawer. With calm, unhurried motions, he opened different drawer on the massive work table, and removed several gaudy outfits, all carefully arranged in neat bundles. A final bundle was unrolled, revealing accessories to the outfits, including gloves, an antique cigarette holder, an opulent sash, and a pair of domino masks in hunter green. As he finished arranging them on the display, the monitor showed the arrival of an unlikely vehicle. He watched as the car circled the block, then eased it's way into the alley.

Originally, the vehicle had been a cheap Yugoslavian import, meant to corner the market on the buyers that couldn't afford better vehicles. Then, this particular car had been subjected to the twisted minds of vivisectionist mechanic, and a surrealist with an airbrush. Chrome gleamed at improbable points around the car's body, and the hood and sides now sported oversized exhaust pipes and a blower. The tires had been replaced with performance grade models, making a substandard vehicle into an envy machine. However, any glory that chrome and the testosterone driving thrum of a well tuned engine might garner were dashed by a paint job reminiscent of a jester's motley overlaid with a line of flames and a shark's nose along the sides.

The man that exited the car was an unusual speciman in and of himself. Physically unremarkable, with shoulder length vividly orange hair, he was dressed in flaring trousers, a loose shirt similar to the old Errol Flynn outfits, calf-high boots, a short cape, a monocle, and a crystal tipped walking stick. With an air of self importance, he stepped away from the car, then drew a cigarette lighter from his pocket. Thumbing the spark wheel, he elicited not a flame, but the chirping of a car alarm. Whistling to himself, he cautiously exited the alley, approached the dismal little shop, and touched his walking stick to the doorbell. A moment later the door swung open of it's own accord, and the visitor entered.

"Ah, my good man, what have you for me today?" The visitor's voice was almost a whine, touched with a faint accent. The old man had noted long ago that the voice and accent were never quite the same visit to visit, as were the outfits, hair, and facial features. Not that it mattered. They had a gentleman's agreement that cemented by the numerous unmentionable surprises that had been known to appear in the outfits of people that broke the agreement. And the service here was too valuable for anyone to risk harming the availability of the needed items.

The old man laid out the outfits, and pointed out minor details. Reinforced stitching, hidden compartments for gadgets and surprises, Kevlar/Nomex blending in the inner linings, Scotchguarding on the outer layers. The odd man from the street growled slightly at the tags sewn strategically within the outfits, the labels revealing information about his blood type and food allergies, but he did have to admit that they had come in handy in previous engagements.

Next were the accessories, including the gadgets carefully hidden away. The masks were tested, and the tacky adhesive on the backs of them were declared more than adequate. He passed on testing the "Dorothys", but agreed that the pressure switches within the boot heels were properly set, and and the inner settings of 2500 fps were adequate to do the needed job. He was repeatedly reminded about the properties of the "Slick Willy", and faithfully repeated his understanding. The old man apologised for work requests that he had been unable to follow up on, most notably the whoopi cushion cape, but did offer a discount on some specialty items, most notably several pairs of Carhartt thong underwear.

As he was inspecting an aluminum foil fencing foil, the fop noted several items on a bench behind the counter. "Ahh, bowler hats! Just what I need for the caper I'm planning at the Eng.."

The old man swiftly rolled everything up and pulled it away. "Nein! You know the arrangement. You only are allowed those items that you request, or that I offer you. Those are for someone else!" The flamboyant man calmed, nodded, and returned to the maximum strength undergarments.

Once the agreements had been reached, the old man removed his glasses, rubbed them briefly on his shirt front, then named a sum of money. Cash was removed from a hidden cummerbund, and arranged upon the counter. Once counted, the two men nodded to each other, smiled to themselves, and went their separate ways. The younger man roared away in his unusual vehicle, and the older man went back to stitching spandex maid outfits.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Sophie Snodgrass©

Sophie stood in the doorway watching until Stanley was out of sight before returning to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. He was a good man and she loved him dearly, but he was a bit dim -- not to mention overworked and underpaid. All of that (and his late nights) had to be a contributing factor to his erm... lack of enthusiasm in the bedroom for the past couple of years. But Sophie had faith in her man, and that's why she didn't stray. One day -- sooner than he realized -- Stanley Snodgrass was going to revert back to the studly sex machine she'd married almost twenty years before.

Today was going to be a busy day. The Women's League was gearing up for the coming elections and she had contracted to cater a benefit at the Mayor's mansion on the following weekend. The menu was still tentative, but a phone call from the office she kept in the city and a quick drop by to speak with the Mayor's wife would finalize the details. In the meantime, she had a gazillion other things to do -- including picking up the new uniforms for the women she employed.

 

[snowkitten]

Kitty Blanche© sipped from her second double-latte so far that morning, as she proof-read her latest column. After just a couple of years working on the Literopolis Lite her name was already well known in the city, and she was intent on keeping up her growing reputation as one of the cities prominent reporters and columnists. 'Martian Shapechanger Wins Elvis Impersonator Contest' had nearly won her last years reporters award. Her easygoing manner and attractive appearance, a latin-american with crystal-blue eyes, full lips and long dark, wavey hair and long, toned legs that were quite a distraction made it quite easy to tease information out of others. A knack for being in the right (or wrong, depending on your viewpoint) place at the right time also contributed to her success.

Saving the column on her desktop publisher, she settled back in her chair. Jelley donut's. Who in the world would want to hijack a truckload of jelley donut's? The Rascaller©, her first guess, had just been put back behind bars by Tibvo©, so he was off the list. If her information was correct, it would be going down soon, maybe this very evening.

Finishing her latte, she stood up and took her coat from the hanger. A couple of other people she could check up on, who might be able to fill in some blanks.

 

[Arioso]

Flo Sweetly©

In the Cafe Literopolitan (the C.Lit for short) the morning breakfast crowd chowed down on starchy pancakes, greasy bacon and sausage, eggs, and other various and sundry foodstuffs while being serenaded to the strains of 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' by the Andrews Sisters from the jukebox in the corner.

At the counter, a bespectacled man in a bow tie and argyle vest was chatting with a burly, middle-aged policeman about headlines in the local newspaper, the Literopolis Lite.

"So you don't think the challenger has a chance to oust the incumbent?" the bespectacled man prompted.

"Nah, not in this town," the policeman shrugged, sipping his coffee.

Flo Sweetly© , long-time waitress at the C.Lit, wandered over to check on her customers, nodding to the policeman (one of her regulars) before turning to the bespectacled man and asking, "What can I get you, hon?"

"I'll have the cheese omlet, miss, and a cup of coffee," he said. As he watched her jot the order down on her pad, he added, "Say, what do you think about the upcoming elections?"

Blinking in mild astonishment and arching an eyebrow, Flo Sweetly© paused and pursed her lips -- red lips such as one only saw in film noir posters any more.

"Well...I guess first they're up, and then they're coming," she replied at last. "Look, mister, I just work here -- I don't really spend my time thinking about erections, at least not on the job. Your food'll be right up."

"But no, that's not what I--" the bespectacled man sputtered in embarassment as he watched Flo sashay away on her sensible heels.

"Let it go, son," the policeman advised him, chuckling. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The bespectacled man furrowed his brow, still dumbfounded as he watched the apparently addle-minded waitress give his order to the cook. She was an odd bird. The fishnet stockings on her legs matched the hair net she wore, and her waitress's uniform -- yellow with white polka dots -- looked like something out of a cheesy song. And those arms....did she moonlight down at the shipyards to get arms like that?

After a few dazed moments, the bespectacled man answered somewhat distractedly, "Erm, no. I'm just in town to make a sales pitch for a new, synthetic jelly to the Chairman of the Board of Dinky Donuts."

The policeman nodded approvingly, "Ahh....a donut man. I like 'em myself."

Not too long afterward, Flo Sweetly© returned to the counter with a plate of scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, and thick, juicy sausage links which she set before the bespectacled gentleman.

He frowned. "Excuse me, miss, but this isn't what I ordered."

But Flo was already walking away.

With a grin, the policeman merely shook his head and advised, "Trust me, just eat it. You don't know Flo."

Looking down at his plate, the bespectacled man grimaced in exasperation.

"But I'm a vegetarian!"

Meanwhile, Flo meandered through the restaurant, checking on her other customers and humming softly to herself along with the jukebox. He makes the comp'ny jump...when he plays reveille...

Life was good.

 

[prometheus 2]

Tony Bono, not exactly a local legend much less even a striking figure of a man, yawned and slipped on his baggy jeans faded sweatshirt and rubber boots and slid down the firepole he had installed behind his upstairs appartment above Murphy’s Pizza parlor Mains St.. downtown Literopolis U.S.A.

His tight dark curly hair and his piercing Mediterranean blue eyes and rather equine roman nose tell us of his Greek or Italian ancestry, but his small frame 5’6” 145 lbs soaking wet in no way reminds us of a Greek or Roman god. At 27 he has yet to decide on a economic or matrimonial endeavor mostly because he's just having too damned much fun. most days you’ll find him hanging out at the local cafe or the local fire department, where he is a volunteer fireman. This is where he shines the most and has become known of his deeds which go unnoticed by most are remembered as a rescuer of tree’d cats, kite retriever, locked bathroom doors with screaming toddlers trapped behind,. responder to faux heart attack victims, ect. Occasionally he gets to actually respond to a fire or two, where he performs his duties admirably. A quiet mild manner gets him little attention which works for him.

"Too bad Murphy's isn't open." He said with a sigh He had developed a sudden urge for a jar of Jalepeeno peppers.

He headed instead down mainstreet towards one of his other favorite haunts, C.Lit. for breakfast.

Sure ,it was a greassy spoon and an virtual fire trap and he often got the willies just looking around when he ate there. The food wasn't that hot and the ventilation poor, in fact he often wondered why he went there at all. " Must be the ambience." he muttered as he took a stool as close to the emergency exit as possible.

Flo Sweetly was waitressing this morning and he hollered in her direction. "Hey Flo, what's the special this morning... besides you."

 

[Arioso]

Flo Sweetly©

Hearing the familiar voice of one of her regulars, Flo Sweetly© turned, smiled and sauntered over to Tony Bono.

"Well hi, sugar," she greeted him warmly. "What brings you in here? Don't tell me -- Murphy's is closed, eh?"

Grinning, Tony shrugged affirmatively.

"That's okay, you know we can take good care of you here," Flo Sweetly© assured him. "As for the specials, this morning it's eggs benedict."

Used to Flo's eccentric way of taking orders, and thus much better prepared to handle her than was the bespectacled stranger, Tony glanced at the specials listed on the dry-erase board on the wall just behind her.

Instead of eggs benedict, it read "Jalapeno-stuffed southwestern omlet". Tony suppressed a chuckle.

"Yeah, the eggs benedict sound great, Flo. I'll have that," he said.

"Oh, and bring me some ovaltine, too," Tony added, knowing that if he asked for ovaltine, she'd bring him coffee.

Flo gave him an affectionate pat on the cheek and replied, "Comin' right up, hon."

She made her way to the kitchen, a spring in her step as she bounced just a little to the music and hummed along with the Andrews sisters. "One special, Murph," she hollered back to the short-order cook, before pivoting to pour Tony a cup of coffee.

See, unbeknownst to Flo Sweetly©, her brain converted many of the things she heard, by means of a strange alchemy, into something completely different. There was no logic to it...or, none that was immediately obvious. But she heard ovaltine...immediately thought of a hot drink before beddy-bye...then thought of nighttime....the dark....then dark coffee...and voila, her brain was there.

Still humming, Flo carried the coffee back to Tony and set it before him on the counter.

"There you go, sugar, and your breakfast'll be right up."

Right in the middle of a cheerful, friendly smile for her favorite volunteer fireman, Flo's expression darkened as she spied a woman about to light a cigarette in the No-Smoking section. Pursing her red lips in displeasure, Flo muttered, "Of all the nerve. She really shouldn't light up in here..."

Eyes narrowed on the flame from the cigarette lighter, Flo was poised to march over and tell the woman to put it out...

 

[tragicomicnight]

Marcus Mercurial

The Cappucino Pirate coffee shop down the street had yet to open. There were no villains to fight at this time of day either. Marcus sighed as he submitted to the rut that brought him back to the cafe every day. There must be something out there to do. The Rascaller was behind bars thanks to Tibvo. It made him wish he'd checked his voicemail more often and not missed the dramatic showdown at the Rascaller's secret hideout. Now what was there to do? He could only hope that the day would grow more eventful, although he did love the morose, slow feeling the boredom instilled in him. He was a writer, a poet and a drama junkie. He took his notebook and red permanent marker and sat down a few tables away from Tony. Tony seemed nice enough, but Marcus wasn't a particular social guy.
He sat and waited for the waitress. Cute enough, but the fact that she could probably benchpress a rhino was a little unnerving. Thus, it was his decision to be as peaceful, quiet and congenial. He could be moody and histrionic other times. Nothing to really write about today, but the morning was young. He looked over at Flo as she provided a confused young man who had clearly ordered a two omelet with an cherry pie. Same number of e's in each word. It distantly made sense. He looked down and noticed that someone had left some stupid tabloid rag lying around. Might be amusing.
Opening it, above one column he was greeted by a tiny little picture of a real angel. Girls like this were had to come by. Kitty Blanche. What a looker. And the writing wasn't bad for tabloid journalism either. He closed the tabloid and scribbled a ghost of a poem that got cut short when he realised that it was a big city and the odds of meeting her were slim to none. She was as much a fantasy as the photo of the superheroic snowkitten that adorned his desk to his embarassment. But, hey, everybody has a superhero crush...

 

[stalwartone]

For the most part, the evening had gone as planned. Okay, they hadn't taken into account that the city street department would be rewiring traffic lights at the intersection where their plan had been going to be implemented, thus rerouting the truck away from the carefully prepared trap. (Now he had to make a decision. Should he take the time to disarm, disassemble, and redeploy the trap, or could he change the master plan to use a city cherry picker instead? Cherry picker, cherry jelly, hmm, decisions decisions.)

This had forced him to go to Plan C. He would probably have considered Plan B, but that plan would require a particle accelerator, three pounds of alphabet pasta, and a spatula, and the convenience store on the corner only had angel hair pasta, not alphabet. Ergo, Plan C. Simpler, less needed technology, and the fact that the Museum of Miscellaneous Scientific Esoterica was open late tonight made gaining entrance that much easier.

The Hyperion MkIV Death Laser was simple to find and even easier to steal. In fact, it was just lying out on a display case, where anyone could pick it up. And it was certainly smaller than it had appeared in the brochure.

"This is," StalwartOne© mused, "almost too easy." And, with those prophetic words, it proved too easy. The laser itself was conveniently sized and available, but the powerpack for it was hidden away. It took another hour of searching to get them to the point where they decided to ask the museum tour guide for information. The helpful young man pointed the threesome to the basement mop closet, where the pack was being used to power one of the floor buffers.

And, just to prove that the universe was testing his resolve, the powerpack was huge. Definitely too big for StalwartOne© to carry on his own, too cumbersome for Sticky and Lou (no copyrights needed) to carry inconspicuously out the front door, and the three of them carrying it would just be silly, as well as going against the moral code of villanous masterminds.

In the end, they chose to simply drive the buffer out. A quick hot wire, down the hall, into the freight elevator, tap the button for the loading dock level, and zoom away to the waiting rental trailer. Simple.

He had failed to take into account that the Museum of Miscellaneous Scientific Esoterica would take their floor buffers so seriously, and they tripped the alarm as soon as they removed the boot from the wheel. Thus, they were forced to flee the security forces at the buffer's top speed, shielding themselves from the vicious guards' cries of, "Halt, or we'll be forced to yell halt again!". Sticky had been so rattled by the rent-a-cops that he pressed the wrong button, and they found themselves perambulating across the rooftop overlook. StalwartOne© smiled to himself. Wrong turn or not, he still had a plan.
First, the buffer was loaded onto the window washing assembly, and slowly lowered to the street. Next, Sticky and Lou loaded the smokepots and prepped the soundsystem, then shimmied their way down the cable to the outside freight elevator. (Luckily for them, the car was on this level, and the keys were in it, otherwise someone might have attempted to call for it while they were working their way down that greasy cable.)

StalwartOne© took his mark, and smiled as the doors opened, allowing the guards to arrive. A touch of his finger on the proper control on his belt, and his theme music blared forth.

At least, it was supposed to. Instead of the Errol Flynn martial theme, 101 Greatest Polka Hits sounded clearly. With a faint grimace, he tapped the second control, and smokepots exploded on cue. Of course, they exploded, rather than simply spewing forth smoke and a few pyrotechnics. StalwartOne© allowed himself a wry smile, and tried to make one last attempt at a grand exit.

"Feel the wrath of my power! None can stop.. StalwartOne© !" Flipping away his trenchcoat, he stepped to the edge of the roof, whispered "Lemming" into his concealed microphone, and paused long enough to hear the telltale sound of the emergency egress airbag deploying in the dumpster below. (Of course, it was hard to hear the deployment over whatever it was that Sticky and Lou were arguing over down there.) Assuming a heroic pose, he spun, and performed a graceful swan dive over the edge, determined to enjoy the view as he fell the six floors to his safety system.

The guards on the roof were dumbfounded. The polka music, the fires raging across the rooftop, the figure vanishing over the ledge, the triumphant shout as he disappeared..

The sudden shriek of surprise...

The wet smack..

The voice of Dermot "Sticky" Allen filtering up from the alley..

"See? I told you that he needed to account to the wind."

 

[prometheus 2]

As Tony took his first sip of morning coffee his nose wrinkled, no it wasn’t the coffee that caught his attention it was a distinct smell that his delicate olfactory nerve endings detected as either rotten eggs or ESCAPING NATURAL GAS! He looked around, no one was sitting near him and he hadn’t heard any suspicious or odoriferous sounds. He started to dismiss it as fumes from last weeks garbage in the alley wafting up through the ventilation system. he heard Flo mutter with displeasure and following her gaze to the object of her displeasure. He leapt to his feet, not one to take chances he grabbed the lighter from the startled woman and threw it, intending for it to land in the kitchen sink, beyond the open door. His aim was a bit off perhaps he hadn’t allowed for the breeze from a fan located in the open window. “Oh shit!” he realized when there was no resulting explosion from suspected gasses and that now they had a real fire as the lighter had landed in a pile of empty Jelly Doughnut boxes and was quickly climbing up the grease spattered wall towards a shelf piled high with cleaning fluids and other flammable supplies.

He turned to a rather startled crowd and was about to make his usual “Don’t panic folks, we have the situation under control” speeches when Flo stepped up alongside of him and took over

“Keep your asses glued to your seats folks and there won’t be no trouble.” she barked and then turned to her favorite fire fighter to save the day.

“Got any CO 2? “ Tony asked.

“No but we got A-1... and Heinz 57.” Flo shrugged her shoulders.

“I mean the foamy stuff in a can. honey .” Tony was trying to be patient, he knew Flo would get it sooner or later.

Flo’s eyes lit up. Oh you mean dream-whip ....or maybe cheeze whiz,?” The question in her voice made Tony realize that now she might even be thinking.

Sure enough she was and the next thing he knew she had grabbed a 50 pound fire extinguisher from under the counter and it was hurting though the air in his direction. Both him and the canister ended up in the fire and he realized it was time he took some serious action. Fortunately the force of the tank against his chest caused him to exhale in the fashion he usually employed to set up a wall of flame between him and the gaping crowd. By the time the flames died down he had transformed himself into Prometheus. fire fighter extrordinaire. Despite his atire he was an imposing figure Damned Zeus! had stipuated that he remain true to his ancestry and His white satin (fireproofed of course) Robe gently shrouded his very masculine tanned flawless body (zeus had consented to cosmeticsurgery to remove any signs of scaring.) Sandals on his feet and a garland of ivy on his head rounded out his offical uniform and for the most part didn't interfere with his duties.

Aa quick exhale in the grease fires direction, this time an icy cold blast, extinguished all but a few traces of flame.

Flo rushed to his side. “My hero,!" she exclaimed as she reached up to hug him. Prometheus bent down to get his thank you kiss and as his hand reached around to cup her ample ass and bring her closer he had a burning sensation.

"By Zeus! your a hot one, he said as he blew gently on his singed hand and then realized she was indeed on fire, flames issuing from her yellow dress with white polka dots.

“Drop and roll!” he shouted. When she didn’t move he pushed her to the floor. Falling on top her and holding her tight he rolled her to the door where he turned and somersaulted with her into the street. “ Is the fire out?" he said to Flo was he cautiously released her.

“No, Prometheus its just started.” she sighed.

“No time for that, Ms. Sweetly, get back to that crowd, we don’t want any riots.”

“Later then, hot Lips.”

“Yeah, Later Kid, now get you butt inside.” He gave her a swat with his unburned hand. When she was gone Prometheus transformed back into Tony and stumbled back inside pretending he had been overcome by smoke. He smiled apologetically and sat down to finish his coffee. ”Them eggs ready.” he asked Flo. “Oh I saw Prometheus heading down the alley, he said something about going to a fire somewhere.

He looked up to where the fire had started and seeing a half burned doughnut box he slowly got up and walked into the h=kitchen Picking up the box and turning it upside down he read on the bottom

"Another box of Jelly doughnuts baked and delivered to you fresh daily from Ling Chow's family bakery, Hong Kong, China."

"Theres something fishy going on here maybe this fire was no accident." Youubetter bring this to the Justice league asap. He handed it to flo and sat down to finish his coffee.

 

[Arioso]

Flo Sweetly©

As Prometheus® prodded her back to the C.Lit, his powerful hand sending shivers down her spine as he cupped her ass, Flo Sweetly© could only sigh to herself in giddy, girlish contentment.

She stepped inside the restaurant, fluttered her eyelashes a little, and murmured to herself, "He's sooooo dreamy!"

The restaurant was still abuzz with the recent excitement over the grease fire, but it was a frequent enough occurence (hey, the C.Lit was a greasy place, after all) that most of the regulars were calming down the other patrons and everyone was going back to their breakfasts.

Flo was just about to make her rounds through the tables to see if anyone's coffee needed warming up when Tony reappeared -- oddly, right after Prometheus® had disappeared -- and handed her a half-burned box of donuts.

Poor kid. Such a nice guy, and he has to deal with a hunk like Prometheus® showing up all the time and stealing his thunder. Or stealing his fire. Whatever...it must get frustrating though...

"Take this to the Justice Leauge?," Flo repeated, furrowing her brow as she stared at the suspicious box of pastries. "Hmm...well, I'm due for my break in a few minutes. I suppose I could run an errand."

She set the box beneath the counter by her purse, planning to trot off to the Justice League right after she checked on a customer who seemed like he'd been waiting a while for someone to serve him. Although he didn't seem too troubled by the wait...he was staring in a rather star-struck way at this morning's Literopolis Lite. As Flo took his order, she spied the picture of the glamorous Kitty Blanche©. Ahh, yes...Kitty was a looker. The kind of dame that turned men's heads. Flo sighed a little wistfully, jotted down the man's order, took it to the kitchen and then let another waitress know she was going on break.

"Be a doll and take that guy his breakfast when it's up, wouldja Thelma? I have to take these suspicious burned donuts down the block to the J.L."

Once outside, she followed the familiar route to the grand, hallowed halls of the greatest heroes in Literopolis®. It was kinda funny, but here she was, just a plain, ordinary workin' gal, and somehow she ended up visiting the Justice League of Literotica® an awful lot.

Of course, what Flo's addled brain failed to register...indeed, what most people didn't know...was that she had superpowers of her own. Only a very few of the superheroes at the Justice League of Literotica® had any suspicions that her characteristic way of misunderstanding and bumbling through crises gave her unique skills for foiling villainous plots. Flo certainly wasn't aware of it.

All she knew was that she was pretty good with a bottle of ketchup.

When she reached the J.L., she peered around for one of those fine superheroes.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

 

[Tibxo]

Tibvo®

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Looking away from the stack of wall mounted monitors and huge whirring gadgets, a very smartly dressed London city gentleman with traditional bowler sees through his patented entryviewer the familiar sight of Flo Sweetly© standing at the main doors. He punches one of the many buttons on the whopping great big control board.

"Just a moment, Flo. I will send Wilfred© down to let you in." Tibvo® tells her in his crisp British accent.

He quickly instructs the JLL®'s robot butler to trundle down and let her in. The robot obeys immediately.

Hmmm. So far so good. Looks like my new upgrade on him is working.

Our masked crusader then returns to his task which is monitoring all the news and police broadcasts for the day. A job that is performed on a rota basis by each member of the League and today is his turn. In his place, he had sent his Stanley Snodgrass© MK 2 android to work. (The MK 1 had been destroyed after his wife planned a 'little' surprise for him one night.)

RED ALERT! RED ALERT! INTRUDER ATTACK! INTRUDER ATTACK!

Suddenly the whole room is filled with flashing red lights and howling sirens. Reacting instantly, the bowler-hatted hero jumps to his feet, umbrella in hand and ready for action. In front of him, the myriad images of the multiple screens merge to form one huge picture of Flo and Wilfred™.

"By Jove! The robot's attacking her!!!"

Instantly, he is off and running, his umbrella fully primed...

 

[Arioso]

Flo Sweetly©

"All right, thank you Mister Tibvo,®" Flo acknowledged into the intercom, feeling compelled (as she always did) to be polite just at the sound of his classy, British accent.

Humming to herself, Flo waited for this Wilfred© fella to show up. When she saw him approaching, she arched an eyebrow at his unusual gait...goodness, he seemed to be arthritic, he walked so stiffly. Like a robot, even.

Wilfred© seemed innocuous enough as he opened the high-security door to let her in. He even said, "Good day, Miss," in a delightfully genteel way that made Flo's cheeks blush.

However, as soon as she crossed the threshold, his demeanor underwent an abrupt change. Wilfred's© eyes suddenly zeroed in on the box of donuts under her arm and he made a grab for it.

Too bad his aim was a little off. Despite the recent modifications and improvements, his sense of direction and depth-perception were just a tad off-kilter. End result? He planted his hands on Flo's boobies and copped a feel. Squeezed her tits but good.

Eyes wide in alarm, Flo cried out, "Oooh! You MASHER!"

She tried to push Wilfred© away, but he seemed determined to get his hands on those sweet...donuts. Finding herself in a very embarrassing predicament, Flo struggled and tried to summon the aid of one of the Justice League of Literotica's® many heroes.

"Help! Help! I'm being molested by a butler! Please, won't a superhero help me?" she cried out.

And Flo did indeed manage to summon the nearest superhero. Thing was, she didn't really realize it was herself. But her quirky, addled brain went into action, and at the plea for help, she began to transform. Not terribly noticeably. Her arms grew just a little bit more muscular, she straightened up taller, her eyes gleamed with a "We Can Do It" fire (and she had the strange urge to go rivet something), and she didn't suddenly appear in costume, but a few buttons did pop off the front of her waitress's uniform. Oh, and her fishnet stockings tore a little as her legs also grew powerful and muscular.

Where poor Flo had struggled in vain to get the butler off her, the newly emerged Arioso® effortlessly yanked his hands from her tits and scolded, "What's the big idea, wise guy? What kinda broad do you think I am? Huh? Well, I'll show YOU how to treat a lady. Take that!" She swatted Wilfred© with the donut box. "And that!" She smacked him across the face with the rapidly deteriorating donut box, unable as it was to survive being used as a defensive weapon. "And THAT!" She whapped him against the chest with her purse, completely giving up on the donut box as a blunt instrument (which it really wasn't).

By the time the amazing yet calmly collected Tibvo® made it down to the scene of the fracas, Wilfred© had somehow found himself beneath a large, oriental rug, with his hind end sticking out, and Arioso® was spanking him vigorously.

"Bad butler! Very, very BAD BUTLER!"

 

[snowkitten]

Kitty tapped her capped pen against her pursed red lips in thought, as she read back through the notes in her slender notepad in the driving seat of her car, a VW New Beetle cabriolet in a sundown orange, parked in the visitor lot of Dinky Donuts.

Dinky Donuts, one of the largest suppliers on this coast of jelly donuts, was considering a new, synthetic jelly filling for the favoured snack of the typical LPD officer and detective. Such a change from their long-held traditional recipe would surely prove to be controversial.

The director she had managed to get a 20-minute interview with had proved quite tight-lipped on the whole affair, at least until she had shown him another interpretation of 'reporters leg work' - Sharon Stone eat your heart out - and he had let a few things slip. She had even managed to get him to let her take a taste test for herself, and she had a small sample of the new strawberry-flavoured filling smuggled out of their building inside her hankerchief.

Corporate epsionage? she mused, considering again the rumoured heist. Another jelly donut firm wanting to get hold of some of Dinky Donut's new product for analysis? No, my instincts tell me there is something more to it than that. Hmmmm, getting an analysis might be a good idea.

There were no laboratories in the city who might be able to get an analysis and the results back to her before the next edition of Literopolis Lite was due to be put on the presses. Except one - the Headquarters of the Justice League of Literotica® had an extensive lab, to assist in forensics and other neccesseties in the battle against the ner-do-wells of Literopolis.

A short drive later, parking in a quiet street a couple of blocks away from the JLL® HQ, Kitty Pride© checked about that no-one would see her transformation, then locked away her everyday clothes in the trunk of her car and donned the trademark tight-fitting pink satin leotard and neckband of her alter-ego.

After a several minutes of meticulous preening, Snowkitten® slinked her way over to the building of Literopolis's premier crime-fighting team, hankerchief in hand - or opposable-thumbed paw, at least - and long furry tail waving behind her.

 

[stalwartone]

The escape wasn't anything that he remembered. Sticky and Lou had managed to pull his battered form off of the street, drape it across the back of the buffer, and take off in a low speed pursuit that left the police confused as they attempted to intercept the cleaning device. Luckily the powerpack was at optimal power, and the buffing pads were new, providing a freshly scrubbed trail of briefly frictionless region behind them. With Lou turning every corner that he could, the streets were soon littered with police vehicles that had suddenly skidded out of control.

Back at the lair (also known as the Lair© ), Sticky and Lou busied themselves with attaching the laser itself to the powerpack, while Stalwartone© was left to his own on the stage. By the time they had finished with microwaving their celebratory beef, bean, and green chile burritos, their boss had recovered, changed outfits, and retouched his cosmetics. (Landing face first on the pavement of an alley is hell on a good foundation.) When they came out to check on him, Stalwartone© was working his way through one of Puck's scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream , including various minor stage effects to check that his body and his equipment was working correctly. His outfit was now reminiscent of the old van Helsing costume, complete, with floppy hat and voluminous cloak. (His previous costume, complete with hose and doublet, had been regretably consigned to the trash bin.)

Once finished, he decided to return to the greater aspects of Plan A. Spinning the concealed panels around, he went back to detailing the highlights of his secret weapon.

"Behold, the article of true power in this city. The.. jelly donut! So simple in appearance, so insidious in design. Sweet dough, formed and dropped in boiling grease, cooled, dipped in sugar or a sweet glaze, then forcibly injected with a gelatinous fruit byproduct and sugar mixture. What single morning meal and snack product has any more individual power over mankind? Forget the bagel, forget the bran muffin, forget the croissant! Here, is the true item of control over the city! With this, we can take everyone hostage, and force our demands to be met!"

Lou looked up, and narrowed his eyes. "Umm, boss? If we take the city hostage, who's going to meet our demands?"

Stalwartone© stopped his pacing for a moment, then gave a theatrical toss of his cloak. "Bah! We'll find someone to submit to our demands. But first, we need to get on to hijacking the donut trucks."

He paused, then pulled the infamous Slick Willy from his belt pouch. "And, we need a parade float! Or, preferably, a parade's worth of them. Something that won't arouse attention in the city streets. A parade that no one will notice as it winds it's way around." He considered for a moment, then began scribbling on a blank corner of one of the display boards. "We'll need it to have a strong theme. Something that no one can protest, but won't be likely to come watch for any length of time. That's it! Make it.. a Kama Sutra themed parade!"

 

[tragicomicnight]

Marcus slinked out of the cafe leaving the money for the cherry pie and such. He took a little while to don his dark green emergency shades and muss up his hair a little to look more defiant. He was, after all Tragicomicnight. The remarkable artslut avenger languidly strolled down the alleyways, stopped and put a quarter in a street musician's guitar case and finally made his way to the JLL headquarters. He stopped on the step for a second, reclining until he heard the end of the scuffle inside. He walked in, morose but sexy and greeted Tibvo who he had worked with on a few occasions. He was known to be the subversive, maverick element, the misunderstood stranger who treads the path of the dark iconoclast alone, untameable by any woman...well, almost any...well, there was the...and then...and then...he realized he needed to stop thinking about his image for a second and get to business.
"Tibvo. A pleasure. Prometheus..." he noticed Flo from the cafe had arrived, thoroughly spanking the poor robot butler. "Umm...hold on, I know...you must be new...Giant Waitress Girl? Amazonia? Strong...Beating things Lady..." his head hung even lower, "screw it. I'm outta steam."
But then...he saw her approaching. The pink satin leotard, the tail...he took a deep breath. Okay, think of baseball, think of plumbing, think of...sweet curves, fluffy pink goodness...heart pounding...baseball, baseball, BASEBALL! Damn you, think of baseball...
"It's a pleasure to see you, miss kitten, miss snow...miss kitty cat...I mean, it's an honor, a real, honest-to-goodness honor, I knew you were...skilled at fighting crime...I like to fight crime too. I mean if there's one thing I like it's fighting crime. Yeah...umm...uh, we should get together and fight crime..." he reached into his pocket and found a few stray pieces of tissue paper which he awkwardly fashioned into a rose.
"I made you a flower. I'm dark and brooding. I'm Tragicomicnight, maybe you've umm...heard of me...I'm kind of indie. I'm like the group's Lou Reed. Did I mention I'm dark and brooding?" His pale face flushes red as he backs right away after handing her the flower. I am dark and brooding, I am dark and brooding...he found himself frequently moping in her direction.

 

[Tibxo]

Tibvo™

The gentlemany hero is quite bemused at seeing the now hulkan waitress spanking his robot creation as if it is a small child.

"Bad butler! Very, very BAD BUTLER!" She is telling it.

"I see that you have everything in hand." He says smoothly as he readjusts his tie. "Just give him back when you are finished."

Seeing that he is not needed, he turns to return to the Console Room© and sees Tragicomicnight®.

"Tibvo©. A pleasure...Umm...hold on, I know...you must be new...Giant Waitress Girl? Amazonia?"

Tibvo™ gives a small sigh as he sees the young hero starting to fawn over Arioso©. Then he notices Snowkitten™ entering.

Tragicomicnight© is going to be blabbering for hours now.

Not wanting to witness such a scene, the immaculately dressed Englishman says a polite 'good morning' to Snowkitten© as he walks away.

Suddenly Klaxons™ burst into life as the JLL Supercomputer©'s voice fills the air.

ATTENTION! ATTENTION! KNOWN FELON SIGHTED! KNOWN FELON SIGHTED!

"Fiddlesticks! Everyone to the Console Room™!" Tibvo© shouts over the blare of the alarm as he breaks into a run. The others follow suit, each knowing that such an alarm would only be given if the supervillain is a Class A threat.

Reaching the Console Room™, they see that the bank of TV screens have combined to show a single image of Literopolis©'s leading celeb reporter talking to the camera.

"And here she comes, everyone. The just announced newcomer to this city's elections..."

The camera pans away from the reporter and moves to a crowd of people coming down the steps of City Hall. Slowly the crowd parts, allowing the camera to focus on the figure in its centre.

"Thank you! Thank you! It heartens me how everyone here has taken me to their bosom..."

Tibvo® feels his blood turn cold as he looks at one of the most feared foes that the Justice League of Literotica© has ever faced...

MAID OF MARVELS™!!!!...

 

[Nub]

The armoured security truck went about its business making pick ups and drop offs throughout the city. It was getting on for lunch when a musclebound grotesque appeared from nowhere and pulverised the trucks engine with his meaty fists. One after another the thunderous strikes hit, until the monster of a man locked his hands and made a final mortal strike to the engine block. The front tires burst under the strain leaving the truck leaning forward and the two men inside staring out in terror.

Nub grinned, beneath the cheeky expression he ground his teeth, god damn his knuckles were going to be sore tomorrow. Traffic had ground to a halt, a few irate drivers sounded their horn, the nearest found his car turned over as Nub made his way to the back of the truck. A metal rending screech pierced the air as nub tore the doors from their hinges. In the back of the van he found money, lots of money, and other crap he didn't really understand but he took it anyway.

The blare of sirens could be heard in the distance. Nub took it as his cue to depart, he climbed out of truck that seemed so tiny for his body and stepped away with footfalls that pounded the terse concrete. At the first intersection he was met by a cop car, he stepped up onto the hood and walked over it, stamping his feet and flattening the car to sheet metal.

It hadn't always been like this, there was a time when Nub had fought for justice. Using his incredible mega-strength to bash the forces of bigotry and wickedness. But that was in the past, if only they'd believed him, his superhero name had nothing to do with having a small penis. What man could stand such prolonged questioning of his size without turning...evil.

"RAARGH" Nub roared and turned over a Ford Ka, he hated those little cars. More sirens were closing, Nub buckled down and launched himself into a titanic leap away from the scene. Before landing a couple of miles across the city he adjusted his hair, he turned a tangled brown mess into a fairly neat side parting and the impenetrable disguise that was Nick Night was complete.

He landed in a park, the setting was quiet and pleasant, calm and serene Nick Night carried his large money bag toward the perfectly manicured pathway.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Maid of Marvels™

"Ladies! Ladies! Let's have a little bit of order here! I know you're all excited but... "

The guest of honor at today's Women's League luncheon entered from a side door and crossed the room brusquely. Leaning in close to whisper in Chairwoman Gracie Piffle's ear over the enthusiastic huzzah of the attendees, she assured her that everything was quite all right and that she would handle everything now that she was here.

"As you wish, Ms. Marvels," Gracie acceded. "I do want you to know that I am absolutely thrilled to have you here."

Maid of Marvels patted the lovely Literopolan on the hand. "We'll get to know each other much, much better before the election comes around, dear. And please... Call me Maid."

Gracie fairly swooned at the honor of it. Imagine, Maid of Marvels™ giving permission to call her Maid! So excited by the prospect of perhaps trading beauty secrets one afternoon with the gorgeous new candidate for Mayor of Literopolis®, she rapped the gavel on the small podium so hard that the handle broke in two. But it didn't matter. She was already contemplating the forthcoming huge success she was going to have with her Georgie. With Maid's help, of course.

"What a lovely welcome!" Maid exclaimed into the microphone. "I am so very pleased to be here." This encouraged another round of cheering and clapping and she was delighted to hear even a whistle or two. She'd have them eating out of her hand before the afternoon was over. Arching her eyebrow, she motioned for them to be silent as her thoughts continued. ...And more.

 

[Tibxo]

Tibvo©

No-one says a word as the channel they are watching returns to the News service's main studios.

Finally, Tibvo™ slumps down on a convenient chair.

"I don't believe it." Says Arioso® incredulously. "How can Maid of Marvels© be running for Mayor?"

Tibvo© just shakes his head.

"I don't know. We haven't seen her since we foiled her attempt to make every man in Literopolis™ impotent with that virus her scientist chappie cooked up. Dash it all, it nearly worked too." He feels himself grimacing at the prospect of never ever using his manhood that way again. He can hear the nervous gulps from the other men in the room.

"Thank God she didn't succeed." Says the sultry Snowkitten™. "But what is she up to now?"

Before Tibvo® can answer (if he knows an answer), the sirens start up again.

"Now what???"

ATTENTION! ATTENTION! KNOWN FELON SIGHTED! KNOWN FELON SIGHTED!

Again, the screens in front of them become one as they show a familiar musclebound grotesque palverizing a security truck.

"It's Nub™!"

Quickly, the small team rush out of the Console Room© and tear down the corridor to the Hanger Room® where the JLL®'s jet, the Phoenix Star™ is waiting for them. Jumping into it, they quickly launch via their cleverly concealed take off ramp and speed their way to the crime scene...only to find that Nub© has long gone.

"Damn!" Says Tibvo©...

 

[snowkitten]

Snowkitten© frowned, brushing a few stray strands of white curly hair back behind one of her pointed ears.

"When it rrrrrains it pourrrs... knew it had been too quiet of late around the city," she exclaimed, habitually rolling her r's. "With Maid of Marrrrvels® rrrunning for office, Nub© on the loose, and who knows what other villainous schemes that may be underfoot we'rrre going to have ourrr worrrrk cut out."

Grumbled agreements from her fellow team-mates followed.

The best the JLL™ could do was to move the totalled security van from the road, and help the Literopolian emergency crews that arrived shortly after the Phoenix Star® landed to clear up the mess left behind by the musclebound menace.

Thankfully no-one had been seriously hurt, though one gentleman had taken quite a nasty bump on the head when her car had been flipped over. The policemen who had been in the pancaked panda had had the common sense to bail out before being trampled into the tarmac with it.

Snowkitten® curled her legs beneath her seat onboard the teams jet, and preened her tail, before remembering why she had gone to their headquaters in the first place.

"Oh! In the hubbub I forgot! I got given this from a friend, who thought it might be important somehow," she said, pulling the neatly-folded hankerchief she had absent-mindedly tucked into her costume. "She would like an analysis of it."

"An analysis of a lacey white hankerchief?" Arioso© queried, brow furrowing.

"Um, no," Snowkitten™ smiled back at her team-mate, "the sample she would like analyzed is in the hankerrchief... its a new syntheric strrrrawberry-flavourrred jelly filling, which will be in Dinky Donut's, new donuts, which have just gone into prrrroduction and will shorrrrtly be available to rrretailers and the public."

"Howeverrrr, with Nub© and Maid of Marvels® we do have morrrre pressing and aparrrrrent concerrns. Should we tackle all of these problems togetherrrr, orrrr?" she asks, raising a slender eyebrow.

 

[tragicomicnight]

Wow, beautiful, resourceful...intelligent. The artslut avenger had to focus his will on the task of not choking on his tongue. Blast! The dark, brooding angsty hero was reduced to foot scuffling awkwardness with the merest presence of this feline femme. He crossed his arms and sat back, making sure not to let the green tinted shades that concealed his identity fall as he spoke. "Amazing! Your investigative prowess has me positively floored. If this filling has indeed been tampered with, it should be examined post haste. It might have something to do with whatever dastardly scheme Maid of Marvels is up to. On our 24th, 37th and 53rd adventures* she proved to be quite the hazard. I wouldn't put donut tampering above her. If the donuts are indeed being tampered with, the repercussions could be quite serious. Still, we should leave no criminals to roam free. I propose we split up, if you think it would be a good idea, Tibvo. Not that I care, for I tread the path of the dark iconoclast alone and take orders from no man. I think Snowkitten and I should take a look over these leads. People open up when they need a shoulder to cry on.
As for Nub, I think force is necessary. Seems like it would be a good idea to take him down with martial prowess and raw brute strength. Things that I am too dark and iconoclastic to cultivate. Violence is so banal. So, what do you think of the idea, Tibvo, not that I care, since I tread the path of the dark iconoclast alone." As he says this, he tries to avoid looking over at Snowkitten too often and losing his dark, edgy exterior.

* now available in trade paperback

 

[Nub]

Nick Night© stepped out of the park onto a tranquil city street. The carnage wrought downtown was a world away. He was among the affluent now, where power and corruption found a home.

"Got a minute mister?" Some kid asked, Nick was about to continue by but for some reason let him have that minute.

"What do you want kid?" Nick grumbled, the kid was holding a clipboard and judging by what it said on his jacket was campaigning for the World Wildlife Fund.

"Do you know almost half the planet's original forests have disappeared - and, of those remaining only around 10 per cent are protected?" The kid spoke with energetic belief.

"That...that's terrible." Nick murmured.

"The problem is everyone wants timber, and not many forests are managed sustainably. Then there's clearance for agriculture..." The kid went on, and on, they spoke about all sorts of endangered spaces and species. "With a small monthly donation you can help us continue our work." Nick leant down and reached into the large sack of money that rested at his feet and gripped a tight bundle of cash.

"Here." On the verge of handing him the money Nick stopped, and thought, instead he pocketed the wad and handed the sack to the kid. "Save the world kid." Before the kid realised the magnitude of the donation Nick Night© was on his way.

Later...

Nick Night© meandered about his place, the news was on in the background, an attractive young woman conveyed an account of his earlier exploits.

"...the police urge anybody that sees Nub© to think of their safety and not try to apprehend him. And in other news protests outside Haxis Chemicals have continued into a third day, with protestors demanding the old chemical plant be closed due to environmental concerns." Nick Night© stopped dead and took note, a surge of anger rose up from his gut, it was time for Nub© to join the protest.

 

[poohlive]

Tanner walked straight out of the forest. Quite literally from cold soil to cold pavement in a matter of a few miles. Country turned to country roads, which turned to paved roads and hiways, that gave way to Literopolis in a seasoned tidepool of urban business that shocked and awed the mind.
Thomas had been here before, when he was a child. Growing up, his school had taken a few fieldtrips to this huge city, museums, theatre's, the Zoo. They had always been fond memories of going to the city that always fascinated and boggled the mind of a young boy.
He looked on it with a different wonderment now. His eyes focused on the desolation and decay, the sidewalks littered with the trash of the earth, of the people, and of the mind.
A hobo asked him for some change. Thomas reached into his pockets, but nothing more than a few clods of dirt and a small pinecone came out.
"Sorry," He said, shaking his head, "I can't help you today."
The hobo had already walked off though, asking another man for change, and then a woman, than another man. He went on and on like that, maddening, before Thomas lost him in a sea of disrupted humanity.
He looked back, trying to find the man, and bumped chest first into a police officer. Thomas, unphased by the event, just stopped in his tracks. The policeman, unaffected by radioactive animal D.N.A. fell flat on his ass, screaming in pain.
"What in the hell is your problem," Thomas frowned, looking at the fallen officer.
"There was a hobo back there..."
"Are you drunk, sir?" The man grabbed for his hat, which had been stepped on, a huge shoe print embedded in the middle, creasing the hat downwards. When he put it on, it looked quite humorous.
"No, no, not at all. I'm trying to..."
"Sir, hands behind your back." The policeman got up, his face flushed with what looked like both anger and embaressment. Thomas already backed up, his hands up, trying to get out of this situation.
"I think we have a misunderstanding. I'm not here to..."
The cop though, didn't seem to like playing whatever games he thought Thomas was playing at this time, and pulled his gun.
Thomas saw it, the glint of cold hard steel in the mid morning day. It seemed disjointed here in the city, out of place for some reason. Like a Thanksgiving day parade float in the middle of June.
A flash of steel came from Tanner, as his claws came out, and he lashed at the gun. It fell to pieces, three chunks in almost a perfect incision, fell to the ground. the cop held the fourth in his hands, useless now.
"What the fuck?"
His claws shown now, outstretching from his hands, attachment that neither completed, nor disfigured him. In a way they were just there, but they were his, and he couldn't get away from that fact.
Droplets of blood fell to the ground, rinsing from the claws as they had jutted out from between his knuckles. Raw pain surged through him, and added to his own anger that now matched the officers.
The guy was dumb, and had only worn his badge for a few months, but he wasn't that dumb. He reached for his radio, calling for help.
"We have a perp, terrible threat out on 37th and Longman. He has knives, and attacked an offier. Armed and dangerous."
Tanner didn't consider himself a dumb man either, and he took a step back, looking at the street he had come in on, not finding the forest that had thrown him out, and instead ran into a deserted alleyway.
The officer followed, at a distance.
"We're going along Deter Street. Pick this up, it's an all points bulletin. He attack a fellow officer. Get someone on this now."