A Superheroine Defiled (w/The Loving One)

[Morathor]

"Eyewitnesses claim to have seen a flying woman in the downtown area--

"--true that your 'anonymous informant' is this so-called superhero--"

"--reported that she burst through the wall--"

"--attempted robbery prevented today by a costumed vigilante--"

"--just swooped down, grabbed the car, lifted it right off the highway--"

"--thanks to this city's own guardian angel."

"Our hero."

He had seen all of the footage a hundred times before. Every scrap of information collected by the press or police, he had poured over for months. At first he was gathering tactical information; even as powerful as he had become, it didn't hurt to have every advantage. But now he watched the videos again and again in anticipation, of the prize he was about to claim.

At the same time he had been studying his prey, he had been honing his skills as a predator. He was cautious at first, secretive, but little by little he had become bolder. At first he had left messages at the scene of his crimes, nothing that could trace back to him, but enough to impress a single word on the city's consciousness: Apex. It was the name he had chosen for himself, and over the past year he had made it synonymous with fear and death, but he had still never left a trace until now.

Now that he was ready, he had left more than a trace--he had left a trail, although it was still not something the police would ever find, not with their hands tied by procedure and rules. Only someone with as little regard for the law as himself would find his base. That's how Apex knew it would be her. And he could hardly wait...

 

[The Loving One]

Apex. A name on police white boards, strings running between a thousand different pictures and evidence baggies. Of course the police didn't have everything. Not enough to start seeing the same clues. Sam couldn't blame them - solely - for incompetence when she'd been plucking her own evidence from the scenes before police cruisers and heavy handed detectives could come along to wreck everything in a rampant crusade to declare things unrelated incidents. They hadn't seen the truth for the longest time. Maybe they hadn't wanted to.

One being beyond their controls was bad enough. Even after three years there were people certain that Sam Traynor, or the Crow as she was known, did her best to remain outside the law. That because she was different, a metahuman, that she secretly wanted to use her powers to rule over them all. When in reality Sam wanted nothing more than to keep the people of the city safe. It was just that - collateral damage could be hard to limit.

Why had she pulled up the draw bridge, rending supports beyond repair? She could have just sunk the ship into the harbor - hijackers, hostages, and all. Why had she swooped down to save cars - and then place them admittedly haphazardly on rooftops? She could have punched the semi hard enough to cave in the cab and jack-knifed it on a crowded overpass instead of ten miles further out where she stopped it instead. And it was a good thing she'd managed to reign herself in - it had been two solid weeks before she felt comfortable with glassware again after her powers first emerged.

And restraint, or what little she'd learned, had proven helpful over the last year. Evidence that would have been lost was instead recovered. In the lighthouse island-turned-lair off the coast where "Crow" had established her resources there was a growing treasure trove of details and clues. What had once been a few hints here and there had grown over months of careful collection and deduction had made an ever growing file on the mysterious Apex figure that had been plauging the city - her city.

Oh she could have made a million comments on the name. On how the person who went by it clearly considered themselves to be an apex human predator. They'd been leaving bread crumbs and before too long it had become obvious that the clues were purposefully too obscure for the police to pick up. To protected by their red tape and rules. They were obvious anymore. Goading her.

And telling her precisely where she needed to go.

She'd thrown on her suit, the two piece metal mask with downturned mouth cover that had given her a distinctive visage and name, and had taken off into the air. First out over the sea at a low altitude to hide in the dark of the night frlm observors, then gaining altitude and banking back to the city - heading for where all the accumulated clues had been pointing her so far.

She'd find this Apex, or get closer still. Either way she'd win.

 

[Morathor]

A small beep came from the console, alerting Apex of an aerial approach. He reviewed the data quickly; judging by the size, speed, and altitude of the blip on the radar, he could safely assume it was the Crow. He turned off all the videos he had been watching and instead activated his advanced security systems. This subway station had been abandoned for years, so normally there wasn't much need for security. A few padlocks and some motion sensitive cameras had been enough to keep things under control. But as he had prepared to finally meet the Crow for the first time, he had set up a nice welcome for her. Blast doors, electrified barriers, a sealed room that could be filled with gas... he very much doubted any of it would do much more than wear her out a little, but a little was not nothing. As with the research, he would take every advantage he could get.

Besides, if he didn't put up some show of resistance, she would probably leave. She would either assume the place really was as abandoned as it appeared at first glance, or conclude that it was a trap. Which it was, but he didn't need to put up neon signs declaring "TRAP THIS WAY." She would get the message, in due time.

While he waited for the Crow to overcome his defenses, he finished donning his costume. He typically wore the black bodysuit while relaxing (its texture was surprisingly silky for such sturdy fabric, truly worth the fortune he had stolen to afford it), but there were a few accessories that he didn't bother with unless he had company. There was armor, vambraces and pauldrons--sleek and chrome-plated, more for style than function, although they did offer just a touch more protection without compromising his mobility. The belt was far more practical, although its similarly shiny appearance might distract from its use. The metal plates and hoops that formed it could be rearranged and reconnected in so many ways..

Finally there was the mask, a rather small thing, just enough to break up the outline of his face and cover his gray eyes with slits of mirrored glass. He wasn't quite ready to completely discard his civilian identity, so the mask was still imperative. He would only show his face to those he knew couldn't do anything about it. That included all of his victims so far, and before long it would include the heroine who should be showing up momentarily.

 

[The Loving One]

While in an undeniable way it had its own - visual appeal - there were certain practical benefits to the Crow's outfit. The thigh-high boots she wore had blades in the toes that were coated in a powerful muscle relaxant for when she felt the need to bring a thug in alive and the leather of the boots themselves was backed with a bullet-proof weave on the inside. The matte-black one-piece that she wore was skin-tight and actually had an internal tourniquet system inside the sleeves and main body - just in case she found something or somebody that could actually wound her badly enough to need one, and was backed with the exact same bullet-proof material as the boots. Even the gloves she wore to avoid leaving fingerprints everywhere had that. And the mask, which was her real claim to fame as far as image went, was a heavy-duty metal with the bottom segment looking almost like the beak of a crow when looked at from head-on. But doubled as a rebreather for underwater or in a poisonous environment. And while she normally left them uncovered by the reflective glass panels, pale green eyes surrounded by kohl could be hidden away if necessary or preferred.

Just about the only thing she didn't have on her normally was any sort of fancy gadgetry or devices. She wore a belt with pouches, of course, but more often than not it held a communicator used to talk with the other more morally-inclined heroines she worked alongside and anything she might need to carry away such as small pieces of evidence from a scene. And to top it all off, raven-black hair was tied back into a French braid that went nearly to the middle of her back, decorated with bows as black and glossy as the one piece and boots she wore. Some claimed that particular style-choice was begging to hinder her - but so far the last person who'd tried to pull her around by her hair was still breathing and eating through tubes.

When she'd touched down outside the old subway station on the outskirts of what had once been an urban expansion project, it was those boots that met the old gate marking the area off from trespassers. Cameras could have tracked her stalking across the lot and down and old and cracking sidewalk. Her eyes were always taking in her surroundings and she'd spied what was an otherwise well-concealed radar antenna long before she'd touched down. This Apex likely knew she was coming and she had no desire to waste time hiding from the black lenses she could see glinting in the foliage and nearby old building projects, following her movements. This Apex fellow had shown he wasn't scared of violence and if he was really as tough as he had obviously been trying to sell himself for the past year, he'd be relishing the chance to meet face-to-face as much as she was. And the traps and obstacles she soon started to come across were indicators that if this wasn't his hidey-hole, then it had to be something damn important.

The first blast door she came across was wrenched open - forced wide just in time to dive to the side as motion-tracking turrets had locked onto the intruder. But a mistake in the design of that particular trap was that both turrets were firing at about the same rate - and needed to reload at about the same time. The electrified floor got a growling anger as she'd stomped across it, panel by panel, until she'd gotten to the control box at the other end of the room, and summarily smashed it to get the floors to stop. The room filled with gas got a laugh as her mask had kicked on to filter it away and the stinging in her eyes quickly faded with the mask's protective covers. The electrified blast doors caught her off guard to the point that she'd nearly slammed her hand between them the first time they shocked her but some "creative" remodeling of the walls found some important-looking wiring - and after losing lights, local AC, and possibly cameras she'd finally found the wiring to the doors to get them open without electroshock therapy.

Tiring work, yes, but more tiring in the sense of irritation and rising annoyance than some crippling way that would prevent her from fighting. As the final blast door was repeatedly kicked until it decided it was in the best interests of structural integrity to open, the Crow came storming inside with a righteous sort of anger that wanted to pummel whoever had brought a sheen of sweat to mocha skin.

"Apex!" She bellowed, speakers within the mask amplifying the voice for effect, "Where are you, you son of a bitch?!"

 

[Morathor]

At some point during her rampage, the power went out, and Apex shook his head with a slight grin. He'd anticipated quite a bit of damage to his base, considering the Crow's strength, and had done his best to make preparations. Eventually a backup generator would start up and provide at least some dim light; until then, he had a much better idea of his surroundings than she did. That would be to his advantage. Honestly the lack of AC was more frustrating. He would probably get a bit sweaty... but he consoled himself with the thought of the Crow's flesh glistening with her own exertion.

When she broke down the final barrier, he smiled wide. Her path of destruction had let a little light trickle in behind her--enough where he could make out her silhouette. It wasn't much, but he could have some fun while he waited for the lights to come back on. He grabbed the back of the chair he'd just been sitting in.

"You don't need to shout, I'm right here." Despite what he said, Apex's condescending voice could have been coming from anywhere; the echoes in the subway station obscured the point of origin. But the object that came flying from the darkness, a chair hurled with inhuman force, might have given her an idea. He walked away from that spot as he continued talking, making his location even harder to pinpoint. "And what's that language, Crow? Shouldn't a hero be setting a better example for all the kiddies?" Something else came hurtling at her--a chunk of loose concrete his foot had fallen upon.

"Anyway, if you're afraid of the dark, you should have thought of that before tearing up the wiring, don't you think?"

 

[The Loving One]

She'd expected something more dramatic from the safehouse of somebody who'd so quickly established himself as a terror for law enforcement and trouble for heroines such as herself. Maybe Sam had grown too used to dealing with the extravagant and showy villains of the world. But even if she'd expected something other than darkness and a voice chastising her like a fifth grade school teacher for foul language, she had expected to get attacked one way or another. She kept her back to the door and listened to her surroundings while tracking the voice through the darkness. Sam wasn't nearly foolish enough to go charging into the darkness and expose herself when she didn't know what was waiting for her.

And that had probably been why she was able to counter the chair - a jumping roundhouse kick carrying the same sort of unnatural beyond-human strength as had tossed the chair met it and splintered the metal frame. And after a few moments of Apex's insulting trash-talk she heard the whistle of the concrete heading for her, met with one leg firmly planted and the other raised up to let it simply meet the heel of her boot, where it could shatter.

"Kids aren't my thing." She retorted, gritting her teeth as she listened to his foot-steps, "Neither is taking it easy for shit-stains causing trouble for my city."

Foot-steps. Moving. Pacing. Echoing. She did what she could to track but in total darkness she could only rely on her hearing. At times he seemed to be coming closer, at others he was stepping further away. Gloved hands clenched in anger as she focused all the harder. He - was - beside her. She leaped into action and gave a wide swinging kick for where she'd deduced him to be, delivering a kick powerful enough that she'd have shattered a normal human's bones. And in that final moment of impact when her foot met its target - she realized she was wrong. Where she'd expected her heel to meet the jaw of an overconfident-sounding enemy, she instead met cold and unforgiving concrete of a subway station wall. It left a gouge in the wall and she could hear piece of loose concrete falling to the floor. However, while the strike itself had been pointless she found that she now no longer silhouetted herself in the doorway.

She was in the darkness as well, physically just as hidden as Apex as far as she could tell. So now she listened. Poised to strike out again at a moment's notice.

 

[Morathor]

Apex laughed as she attacked what appeared to be the wall. "A tantrum, Crow? No wonder you're no good with children, if you're still a child yourself." Of course, now she was out of the light; had she planned that? It didn't matter, he supposed, as the lights would come on soon. He took a few cautious steps towards the opening where she had entered, wanting to close the distance between them a bit without attempting to engage her in the dark. He hadn't gotten very far before the lights started coming back on. The backups illuminated the station in a dull red, not enough to make out fine details but more than enough to recognize shapes and structures. She was near the wall, not terribly far from him. Apex looked her up and down with a smile.

"Well, perhaps I've spoken too soon. You really are a hell of a woman... now, what can I do for you tonight?"

 

[The Loving One]

The Crow scowled beneath her mask, "Yeah - but I don't suppose you're just going to give up, huh? Fucking creep."

As the light shad come on she found herself face to face with the man that she'd spent the last year trying to track down and stop. The meeting so far hadn't been nearly as climactic and explosive as she'd hoped for with all the work and energy sunk into the little "game" they'd been playing up until now. Lights had come back and everything was cast in a pale red light as Sam heard what she could assume to be a back-up generator finally kicking on after she'd so delicately redone the wiring in the walls. It was hardly the best lighting in the world and the kids studying interior design would have cried at the hue of color it gave everything but it was well enough that she wasn't totally blind anymore - but of course neither was Apex but at least that left them on a more even footing than before.

Speaking of . . . turn-about was fair play.

The concrete chunk still at her feet was kicked up, rocketing straight and true with an aim for Apex's head. The kick led into a spinning side-move towards a nearby discarded chair that was grabbed with both hands and given a violent toss towards Apex by the end of the spin. And was followed by the Crow herself at a dead sprint, already eager to see Apex put into a wall.

 

[Morathor]

Apex swatted aside the concrete, which shattered on his arm guard, and then caught the chair. That was a bit harder than he'd expected; he understood in theory how strong the Crow was, having studied her superhuman feats in detail, but it was hard to gauge what that felt like, without having had the opportunity to go head to head with her. But that opportunity was coming right at him, at a speed he already knew he couldn't match. As she smashed through the chair, Apex let go of it and reached for her shoulders.

As she plowed into him, Apex reached two conclusions--things he had already suspected, but could now confirm. The first was that the Crow was stronger than him. Even digging his feet into the floor, he couldn't stand his ground against her, merely slow her advance. He'd replicated many of her achievements during his experiments, but ultimately he'd more or less known he would fall short in raw power.

The second conclusion was that it didn't matter. He was strong enough to fight back, to defend himself until she tired. And she would tire, faster than he would and faster than she could have anticipated. She was already his prey, having marched confidently into his trap. When she was this close, Apex could feel the Crow, and all her power. And he could feed on it, burning through her stamina instead of his own. No matter how hard he strained himself, she would be the one to feel it... and that was on top of the effort she expended all on her own.

With that assurance, he pushed against her charge with all his might, a mocking smile on his lips even as his feet tore furrows in the concrete and he was pushed back towards the wall. The wall... could have been a problem. Apex was pretty tough but the Crow was very strong, and a serious injury might end the game early. But it was alright. Grappling like this was a good way to wear her down, and had other benefits against such a lovely woman, but it wasn't the only way to fight. Before they reached the wall, Apex let his straining limbs and back go limp, although he kept his grip on her shoulders as he began to fall backwards. Before he was completely overrun, though, he dug his heels into the ground once more and attempted to throw the Crow over him.