When night fell the worst criminal elements of Fortune City came out. The heroines of the city knew this and there were many that chose to patrol the city only under the cover of darkness to keep these nocturnal delinquents under control.
Little Mischief was one of these night loving heroines. During her training at The Academy (the superhero university) she had found that she worked best in the dark. Before her powers had activated she’d already considered herself a “child of the night” and had been deeply invested in the Goth subculture. She’d let that fascination influence her training as well as the creation of her superhero persona and as her training progressed she found that even her powers seemed fine-tuned to work at night.
Before the activation of her Power-Gene she’d been a short, petite, pale white girl with dark brown hair. After her P-Gene activated that hair had turned jet black and her skin had become so porcelain white that it almost seemed to glow in dim light. As her powers developed she found that her skin did glow, especially when the lighting around her was dim. But she also discovered that, when she wanted, she could will her skin to dim, a dark shroud seeming to extend out from her dark hair and allowing her to blend into shadows, becoming nearly invisible.
Her costume was designed to not just work with this power, but augment it. She wore a thick cloak that could wrap around her entire body. It was dark purple, but thanks to a few high tech “gems” that seemed to be simple flourishes in her costume (a large one that also functioned as a clip in the front of her cloak, and two more on the backs of her fingerless black gloves) the cloak would become black when her shroud powers were activated.
The cloak she wore had a purpose beyond working with her shadow blending. Her main power was not this blending ability, but rather the ability to throw “mischief bolts”. The blasts of shifting purple arcane energy “hexed” their targets. What happened when something, or someone, was hit with one of her mischief bolts was never the same. But generally something would go wrong for the target, something that benefited Little Mischief. Her bolts could make a criminal’s shoe come untied causing them to trip, it could cause a gun to jam, it could even lead to something falling over and slowing down or even knocking down a foe. The arcane energy of her power was unpredictable but that very unpredictability helped make it nearly impossible to counter.
It was an incredibly potent power but it had one drawback: to be able to throw a mischief bolt her breasts had to be fully exposed. It was because of this that under her cloak she wore only skin-tight black leggings and combat boots. Her cloak allowed her to hide the fact she was topless under it by keeping it wrapped around her body till she needed to throw a mischief bolt.
During her training at The Academy this had taken some getting used to, especially because along with all the other changes her body had gone through when her powers had activated her breasts had grown quite a bit. Before her P-Gene activated her small perky breasts had barely filled B cups. Her breasts were now so big that each was larger than her head, and although they were firm and well shaped for their size no one would call them “perky” anymore. She’d been unhappy with her breasts new size and shape and had struggled with having to expose them for her powers to work, by the time she’d graduated The Academy she had learned to live with it.
At least she thought she had. Now that she had been assigned to active duty in Fortune City and was out on patrol for the first time she was having doubts.
She moved through Low Park, the rundown industrial area of the city. The area had once made Fortune City an industrial hub for the region but the area had slowly been empties as the industry moved elsewhere, leaving plenty of abandoned lots and dilapidated and forgotten warehouses and factories behind. There was a large homeless population in this part of town and the majority of the costumed gangs that operated in the city had their hangouts and headquarters hidden here. The regular police had mostly abandoned patrolling the neighborhood, leaving it up to the city’s heroines to do all the work.
It was one of these gangs that Little Mischief was stalking on her first night on patrol. She knew the general area they hung out in and it assumed whatever functioned as their headquarters was somewhere nearby.
She’d trained for years for this moment but now that it approached she was growing more and more nervous. She kept her cloak wrapped tight around her body, manifesting her shadow blending more intensely than she ever had before. The same thought kept running through her head, an image of the inevitable future that she dreaded the closer it got. When she eventually found the gang and prepared to attack she would appear out of the shadows, her skin suddenly glowing with a dim white light. Then she’d have to throw her cloak open, revealing her large breasts so she could shoot off her mischief bolts. But doing that would only cause her pale white skin to glow brighter, making her breasts appear as fleshy beacons of light in the dark night.
I made my peace with having to show these over-sized monstrosities to my foes, she thought bitterly. There was a large part of her that still hated her breasts, hated how big they were, how heavy and how much they got in the way. Hated how they looked, hated how sensitive they were. And above all hated how people, especially men, looked at them.
And now that she was about to face her first real criminals the thought of the way they were going to look at her breasts filled her with… What? She thought, trying to understand her feelings. Fear? Disgust? Shame? Embarrassment? All of that at once?
I can’t let it stop me, she thought a moment later. Everything has led up to this moment, the moment I become a true superheroine and defeat my first foes! I’ve got to press pass these feelings and just get to it. I could stumble on the gang any moment now. I have to be ready. No, I AM ready!
* * *
She had found the gang as they were breaking into some cars and hot-wiring them. Defeating the small gang had been easy, although exposing her breasts to throw her mischief bolts had caused her immense embarrassment. But she found that the embarrassment was easy to ignore with foes armed with potentially deadly weapons standing before you, it was only after the fight was over she really started to feel how red her cheeks were.
While she waited for the police to come take the men into custody she decided to press them for any information they might have. Taking a gang down was good work for her first night but she wanted to do more to prove she would be an asset to the city.
She pressed them for information on who they were planning to sell the stolen cars too and they told her that they always sold stolen cars to “The Mechanic”. They explained that The Mechanic had powers that made running a chop shop easier and more profitable than it would be for a normal criminal, allowing the villain to pay top dollar. “They’ve put every other operation out of business,” one of them had added. Yet they all claimed they couldn’t actually remember meeting this mysterious figure known as The Mechanic nor did they know what their actual powers were.
Sensing there might be more to The Mechanic then it seemed she decided to head straight to their lair once the police arrived.
* * *
The Mechanic’s chop shop was well hidden in a part of town full of garages and car dealerships. From the outside it looked like a legitimate, although completely forgettable, business. But thanks to her training Little Mischief was able to recognize signs that the business being conducted inside was not as legal as it first seemed.
This has to be the right location but it’s strange that there is no sign of any kinds of guards, she thought as she watched the building from across the street. She was hidden in shadows and there was little chance that any guards would have been able to spot her, but their absence only deepened the mystery. An operation as big as this one was supposed to be, especially if it had put other criminals out of business, would normally need to be protected not just from police and superheroines but from other criminals as well.
Staying blended into the shadows she made a quick and stealthy advance. Approaching the building was all too easy and she found a side door not just unlocked but propped open, letting the cool night air waft into the building. Silently she slipped through the door, moving towards the central work area of the large garage where she could hear the sounds of at least one person working on a car.
The garage had space for multiple cars to be worked on at once. On one side of the room a car sat looking so new it was hard to believe it hadn’t just rolled out of the factory assembly line. But she knew that was impossible. She didn’t know a lot about cars, but she did know that the model hadn’t been made for over twenty years.
Looking at the other cars things started to make sense. Somehow this Mechanic was stripping these vehicles, removing almost all of their parts leaving only the frame of the vehicle intact, then renewing the pieces taken off. One of the cars was little more than a gutted metal frame with a pile of parts next to it. Some of them looked old and dirty and rusted while others sparkled and looked brand new.
This must be what this mysterious Mechanic can do. They must be able to use their powers to ‘renew’ vehicles one component at a time, she thought. But where are they? She looked around the garage, searching for The Mechanic. She could hear someone working on one of the vehicles but the strange acoustics in the room made pinpointing which car they were under hard.
A moment later someone rolled out from under one of the cars. They had been laying flat on a wheeled board that allowed them to lay and look up at the underside of the car. The figure used their legs to pull them self out from under the car, the wheeled device moving smoothly under them.
Little Mischief stared in silence as the figure was revealed. She was speechless. Was this really the Mechanic?
As the figure stood Little Mischief tried to make sense of what she saw. The Mechanic, it appeared, was a young woman who looked to be around the same age as her. She was a tall, thin white girl with long slender legs and bright blond hair. She had perfectly rounded perky breasts that looked overlarge on her small frame. Her blond hair looked like it might be long, but it was tucked up into a black baseball cap so it was hard to tell its true length. She had on a grease-stained tank top, tight jean shorts cut scandalously short, and clunky black boots. Much of her body was left exposed and most of it was covered in smudges of grease.
The woman stood up, stretching and yawning as she did. She looked tired but happy, the smile on her pretty face brightening the room so much that Little Mischief activated her shroud cloak harder to compensate, although a moment later she realized how foolish that was.
Deciding it was the best time for a dramatic appearance, Little Mischief “stepped” out of the shadows. “Are you The Mechanic?” she demanded, making her voice as menacing as she could.
The woman screamed and hopped, taking a few quick steps back away from Little Mischief in terror once she landed. She turned and saw the small superheroine wrapped in her cloak and glowering menacingly at her. A moment later she put a hand on her chest and started to laugh, the glowing smiling returning.
“You scared the tar out of me!” she said, still laughing. As she wiped a tear away from her eyes and struggled to stop laughing she looked Little Mischief up and down, seemingly appraising her and finding her lacking. “What are you supposed to be, some kind of superheroine?”
“Yes,” Little Mischief replied, taking a few steps closer while making shadows swirl around her to show off her powers and hopefully intimidate the woman. “And you need to answer my question or this is going to get nasty.”
The woman cocked her head to the side and smiled, chuckling slightly. “Oh, there’s no need for all that. And yes, I am The Mechanic. Some of those silly boys who are always bringing me cars probably told you where to find me, right?”
“Yes, after I handed them off to the cops.” Little Mischief was still trying to sound intimidating but was realizing she was failing. The Mechanic wasn’t intimidated at all, and that was starting to make her attempted intimidation feel foolish. Her menacing, dark brooding heroine of the night routine was being complexly ignored. And not by some lark hulking villain, but by a young woman that was a tall, leggy blond who was built like a supermodel and whose skimpy outfit made her look like she was modeling in some car themed pinup calendar. There was nothing about her that seemed to be a threat, nothing that made her feel like trying to intimidate her was even appropriate.
“I always told those silly boys they’d get themselves in trouble if they kept bringing me cars that weren’t theirs,” The Mechanic said with a shrug, sounding like she was a ditzy college coed talking about boys bringing her gifts. Then, totally changing her tone she cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Do you want a beer?”
“What?” Little Mischief said, not certain she had heard her right and thrown off by the sudden change in tone.
“A beer?” the woman asked again. She turned and walked to a nearby mini-fridge, opening it up and taking out to cold beers. “You know, one of these? Or do you heroines not drink?”
“No,” Little Mischief said, “generally we don’t. Alcohol doesn’t do anything if you have an active P-Gene.” At least that what she had always been told. If this woman had powers then the beer wouldn’t do anything for her and she’d know that, wouldn’t she? Confused and thrown off her game by the woman’s welcoming and happy attitude she cautiously asked, “Don’t… don’t you have powers?”
Before answering The Mechanic put the second beer back into the fridge then popped open the can still in her hand and took a long drink. “Oh, yes, I’ve got powers. I just… like the taste I guess? I drank a lot before my powers activated and I guess it just brings back memories of my old life. Before…” she paused, thinking hard about the right words to use. Eventually she just waved at the garage around her, “Before all of THIS.”
The Mechanic leaned back against a counter covered in tools and car parts and took another drink of her beer. She was completely relaxed and showed no sign of worry that a superheroine was standing in her chop shop. “What about you? Are there parts of your old life you continue out of habit? Or are you like every other woman who gets ground through The Academy, coming out with no real personality or drive to do more than the superhero thing?”
“That’s… not at all what happens to those of us who graduate from The Academy,” Little Mischief said, sounding like she doubted her own words.
Choose up to 6 options from this poll: