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[Lucianna]

"My name is Heather McCormick and I'm here tonight with the Astral Rascal, a local hero here in Myrtle Beach."

The young man dressed all in black with a blindfold-style mask smiled, "Just called me Rascal."

"Okay, Rascal. You're pretty well known here in Myrtle Beach, but people don't know too much about you personally. Why give an interview now?"

"Truthfully Heather it's a little of damage control. Like a lot of vigilante’s I have a secret. My sister is a super villain."

"That's quite a revelation. Anyone we would know?"

"She's laid low for a while but recently, she was in the middle of a very public and very horrible attack. Right before Halloween a mall in Providence Rhode Island was the site of a biological attack. Thousands of people were lured there by the promise of a free concert and then turned into zombies."

Heather's expression was appalled. "The attack where the corpses danced to Thriller?"

Rascal nodded. "Sadly, yes. The woman behind it all is my sister. She calls herself Tronqiue but her name is Esther Arello. My name is Joseph Arello."

It took Heather a moment to get her compose herself. "You heard it hear first: Joseph Arello is the Astral Rascal. So what now, Rascal?"

"I'm going after my sister. I've been talking with Longbow and they've located her. The thing is my sister used to be a good person. She's changed...but I think I can save her. Esther is really brilliant. Right before she disappeared she started modifying herself with cybernetics. It changed her. By the time this interview airs, she should be in custody. I'm going to give her her life back."




"Y-y-y-you're stealing brains?" stuttered the security guard.

Tronique held up a jar with a human brain in it. "A mind is a terrible to thing to pickle and keep in a jar."

"Are you going to use those for experiments?"

Tronique looked down at the bound guard. "No, I'm making a xylophone."

"A xylophone?"

"Is there a fucking echo?" She pointed a glowing hand at his head. "I think I'll blow your brains out Chochese."

"That would be a waste," said another voice from the storage room doorway. Tronique glanced up at woman dressed in a doctor's scrubs complete with mask. At first glance the scrubs appeared to be smeared with blood but a closer examination revealed the blood was painted on in complex swirls.

"Splattered brains all around," Tronique growled.

"Don't do that. Mind the minds. They're works of art." The blood-stained doctor reached for the jar Tronique was holding.

"Brain art?" Tronqiue asked.

"Yeesss..."

Troniique handed the doctor the jar of brains. "I'm intrigued. Let's talk about this over...pickled brain juice?"

The doctor took the jar gingerly. "That would be acceptable."

"You're both crazy!' screamed the guard.

"Of course we're crazy. We're wearing Halloween costumes in November and fighting over used brains. Say," Tronqiue said to the doctor, "would you like his brain?"

"Yes, please."



Genevieve laced up her gloves. I'm coming for you bitch. I've been studying up on you and your friends. Blow me up!. She winced at the memory. Tronique's smug voice over the intercom of the submersible. Oh, had she said people were free to leave the Council? She had lied. Genevieve wasn't aware of the extent of her powers at the time. She was surprised her energy shield had protected her when the submersible exploded. Everyone thought she was dead, which worked out pretty well. Well, Sunday Punch isn't dead. She was just waiting for an opening.



In the medical bay of the Nemesis Council Tronique and the doctor, Cassidy Winters although she preferred the name Neurosculptor, sat and talked. Tronique drank an orange Bang and the doctor drank a Coke. "So tell me about this brain art you do."

“Brain beautification,” the doctor corrected.

“You make brains beautiful?” Tronqiue laughed. “The Rogue Isles are the only place I know where you can offer that as a service.”

“Service?” The doctor seemed almost offended. “No, no, no, no! I don’t charge. I do it because I’m seeking perfection. The perfect brain.” Her voice became softer as she went on. “Yours is very unusual. I’d like to see what I can do with it.”

“You want to make my brain more beautiful?”

“Yes, please.”

“No so fast. My brain is a highly specialized meatware/hardware composite with an A.I. jacked into my neural network. I spent years…” Tronique stopped. “I sound like a bitch. Fuck my brain, let’s do this.”



In one of the base’s holding cells, a Korean man with a strong resemblance to the ‘Dear Leader’ sat slumped against the wall. “Mercy please,” he said weakly. No one heard him.



“So sick of this place,” Avielle grumbled to herself. “You’re going to work for us. Here’s a suitcase full of money. You’ll get to steal all kinds of things.” The little thief looked at her boots; they needed polishing. “I got to steal Johnny Sonata’s soul but they made me give it back. The Nemesis Council sucks. I have to get out of here. So used to breaking into places, I haven’t thought too much about breaking out.” She took off her boots and started rummaging through her very small room for the polish. “If I’m going anywhere I can’t go out looking like crap. I might get arrested by a cute hero or something. Right, like I’ll be that lucky. I’m going to be stuck here talking to myself, surrounded by wackos.”

She polished the boots until she could see herself in them.




(Translated from Arbaic)

“Sir. There is someone here to see you.”

Mayd Nassar looked up at his subordinate. “Well, who is it?”

“A Russian businessman. He wants to speak with you about the arms dealer MacLaren.”

“Does he? Send him in.”

A tall, muscular man with close cut hair was ushered in at gunpoint. He was wearing a slightly dusty business suit, custom made to accommodate his biceps. “Greetings. You are quite bold coming an Iranian military base unannounced. What is your name?”

“Ilya Rakhlin.”

“And why are you here?”

“I have a business proposition.”

“That is not what I heard. I heard you wanted to speak with me about another business partner.”

“That is true,” Rakhlin said. “It’s part of the proposal. May I sit?”

“I insist.”

“Thank you. I’ve heard you’ve had dealings with two women: MacLaren and Tronique. The weapons they’ve been providing to you are prototypes stolen from my company Bartlett Armaments. If you tell me how to contact them, I can see that the Iranian government is provided with arms at a very reasonable rate.”

“And why would I do this Mr. Rahklin? They current arrangement works well for me.”

“For one thing I’ve heard you don’t like dealing with women who are so bold. I hate uppity women, myself. They don’t know their place.”

“Mr. Rahklin? Do not take offense, but you do not look like a businessman. You look like a solider.”

Rahklin grinned. “I told the boys at Langley you won’t buy it. You got me. The deal’s still good. We have no interest in interfering with your country. In fact I brought a sample of the weapons you can purchase from us. I just need two things.”

“Two things?”

“How to contact the women I mentioned and for your government to rescind the offer to back the Ilha da Liberdade’s bid for statehood.”

“Intriguing. I’ll need some time to consider and talk to my superiors.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

[Lucianna]

“Here, my new found brainy friend is our secure location.” Tronique pushed open the doors of a very small and very clean surgery room.”

Neurosculptor pushed in behind her. “Yess! It’s just like the one I use to use. But…”

“Butt what?”

“It didn’t need to be so specialized. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”

“I killed two meat doctors to get this place. And to add to my buzz saw collection.” Tronique made buzz saw noises as she lay on the operating table. “I’m not having my brain chopped up somewhere dirty. I’m not that crazy.”

“Of course you’re not dear,” the doctor replied gently. “But with my special abilities I don’t need to open your skull. I just need you to relax.”

Tronique stared at the ceiling. “That’s disappointing. Rarely have I made a modification that didn’t involve a little blood.”

“There’s a chance you might bite your tongue hard enough to bleed.”

“Excellent! I’m shutting down my companion A.I. now. Shut up Herbie. It’s only for a little while.”

Neurosculptor moved to cradle Tronique’s head in her hands. “Such an unusual brain. This will be quite unlike my other work.

Images flashed through Tronique’s mind-colors, lights, formulas, the scent of ash and apple pie. Something by John Phillip Sousa seemed to move in and out of hearing range. Her mouth tasted green. Children’s laughter floated into view then faded away. The smell of metal striking metal filled her nostrils.

Some time later:

She was moving the axons that carried fear impulses when she heard a noise. It occurred to Neurosculptor that the noise had been going on for some time. She turned to look and saw a large bulge in the steel door. The hinges cracked and the door fell inward. A young man dressed in all black entered, followed by a small contingent of Longbow troops.

“You. Are. Interrupting.” The doctor said sharply. The troops were pointing guns at her; that wouldn’t do. She sent an impulse to their minds-Sleep. All the Longbow troops fell asleep; falling into what she later decided was an amusing heap on the floor. The young man in black did not fall asleep. Annoying. “Get out of here. This is a very delicate procedure.”

A wave of his hand caused shadowy tentacles to rise from the ground and entangle the doctor. “What are you doing to my sister?” the young man asked.

“Your sister.”

“My sister.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the Astral Rascal.” Using his codename was force of habit. “Joseph Arello. And this is my sister Esther.”

“Now that is all very nice, but you must let me go. I’m not done.”

The tentacles tightened. “You’re done.” The Astral Rascal looked down at his sister. “Esther? You awake?” When she didn’t respond he walked over to the operating table and sighed. “Okay. Just remember Es, you’re the one who told me to do this. Alfred Hitchcock presents Perry Mason versus Godzilla.”

“Excuse me?” Neurosculptor asked.

Rascal glanced over at the doctor. “This has nothing to do with you.” Turning his attention back to Tronique he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. “Es? Es, its Joey. Can you hear me?”

Tronique’s lips didn’t move but a childlike voice spoke. “You used the failsafe.”

“Yes I did.”

“Unfortunately,” the child-voice continued, “the original personality of Esther is no longer available.”

“No longer available?”

“Of course not,” the doctor interjected. “I was rearranging her neural pathways. It always alters the personality…when they survive.”

The Rascal turned on the doctor. “You did this?!”

“She asked me too. Which is exceedingly rare. But exciting.”

“She is…very sick. And you should have never done whatever you did.” He looked back at his sister. She was staring up at the ceiling blankly. “Es? Es are you there?”

The child-voice answered again. “Esther is gone. Esther can not be retrieved. It maybe possible to reconstruct the Esther personality but it will require bringing the A.I. designation Herbie back online.”

“Do it.”

“Bringing A.I. designation Herbie back online. Goodbye.” The voice faded away on the last word. The Astral Rascal waited. One of the Longbow troops lot out a loud snore. Rascal looked around and realized that Neurosculptor had snuck while he talked to his sister, or what was left of her. It didn’t matter. The doctor wasn’t important.

Tronique’s eyes opened slowly. She blinked, looked at Rascal without moving her head, and then said in a dry voice, “Joey?”

“Yeah, Es. It’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to rescue you.”

“You’re like looking into a black hole…”

“What?”

“Or maybe,” Tronique said thoughtfully, “like falling into one…” Her movement was too quick to follow as she grabbed Rascal’s face, the servos in her fingers whining as her grip tightened. “I’m the ship still on the edge of the black hole. Doing the impossible while oblivion watches.”

Rascal struggled. He tried to pull her hand away; her cybernetic strength was too much. A beam of blue-white light encompassed his face. Rascal fell to ground screaming. The smell of burnt flesh and fabric floated around the room. Tronique looked at her brother. “I smell coffee,” she said. There was a flash of light and she was gone.



Something else had survived the explosion. Not only had Sunday Punch lived, but her comm device was also intact. Only one of those was by design. She chuckled. It was a going be a good day. The speed boat she had rented bounced across the waves on the way to the island, the weather was wonderful, and soon she be enjoying her revenge. In a bikini top and matching sarong, an outfit she purchasing back when she lived in South Beach as girlfriend to a drug lord, she looked ready to soak up the sun of Rogue Isles, not prepared kill one or perhaps several people. There was a chance she’d be killed or captured but she’d make them pay for every drop of blood.

She was nearly there. The island’s defenses were ignoring her. She hoped Tronique was home.



Something was not quite right at Dark Thorn’s penthouse. There was an uninvited guest. Thorn turned casually, an aura of calm around her despite the intruder. Nate shambled to sweep some leaves out of the way before Thorn stepped on them. Her visitor was dirty and smelled strange, wearing a once splendid tuxedo, now in tatters. A pink Mohawk fizzed out wildly in all directions, some strands matted to the top of the head. Tronique looked a wreck; and yet she was smiling, manically.

It didn’t surprise Thorn to see her. If anyone could circumnavigate her security the leader of the Nemesis Council was surely that person. “Hello dear,’ purred Thorn. “What can I do for you?”

Despite her sorry state Tronique immediately invoked the grandiose personality she used when communicating something important. “Thorn. Your name smells of blood and tastes like roses. I think that will please you. My voice is silver,” she added in a tone of wonder.

Thorn eyebrows went up. “I know this may be a silly question: Are you feeling like yourself?”

As Thorn spoke Tronique looked at her face then away to left with each word. “I’m feeling like a new self. Different self. Zombie footsteps sound of bitterness.”

Thorn looked at Nate. “Go away.”

“Yes mistress,” the zombie said mournfully.

She watched him shuffled away, and then turned her attention back to Tronique. The other woman was snapping her fingers. “Four point six,” she mumbled. “Always four point six.”

“Tronique? Why are you here?”

“Here? Here. I’m here because the world is orange. Sick orange-like an oompa loompa or Jersey Guido. I don’t like it. It needs to be fixed. Fixed. Fixed.” She cupped her hands in front of her face and said again, “Fixed.”

“Did something happen?”

“Your words are green like the branch of a sapling. Not appropriate. Did. Something. Happen. Yes! Oh, that was fun,” she said in delight. “Yes! I had my senses re-wired. Cross-wired. Remapped, regurgitated, reconstituted, recycled, reused, remade. Numbers have sounds. Sounds have colors and shapes. Smells have distance. And I think I can see the entire spectrum of invisible light. Your friends absorb ultraviolet in a most unnatural way.”

Seeing Tronique becoming somewhat more lucid Thorn tried to keep her talking. “Why did you come to me?”

“I need to tell youuuuuuu…” She snapped her fingers again, “Four point six. I came to tell you I’m leaving. The Council of nemesis…nemeses…it’s no good to me anymore. Change has come. Is coming. Will come. I can see the future. Not orange, but gold. I will make it happen, but the island, the country is no good to me anymore. Stagnant. Hibernating. Maybe one day the giant will wake up. Maybe not. My voice is silver and the world will be gold. One day I’ll find you again.”

“Wait, what are you planning?” Tronique was slowly backing away. Thorn spoke with her arms crossed, “Where are you going Tronique?”

Tronique stepped back onto the edge of the roof. “Inward.” She fell backward; a second later there was a thump.

Thorn glanced over the side. Tronique lay on the ground unmoving. Then she sprang to her feet and scurried away. Well, this was more unusual than…usual. Thorn decided to check in and see if everything was okay.



Sunday Punch hopped out off the boat, onto the dock. Hands on her hips she waited for a welcoming party. Seeing none forthcoming she headed inland to the one passage that led down into the base.

She was met on the path by Shatter Spike. “You,’ said the big woman. She was wearing an electrical red bodysuit; harsh on the eyes and blending with the electricity that arced around her body. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi Mercy. I’m here to see the boss,” Sunday said nonchalantly.

“She is not here. And soon you will not be here.” Shatter Spike grabbed Sunday Punch by the shoulder, flinging the much smaller woman into a nearby tree.

“I’m disappointed she’s not around,” Sunday said as she got to her feet. “Now, unfortunately for you, I not leaving until I kill someone.”

“Ha! You could never kill me!” Mercy charged, swinging her fist. Sunday dodged and a tree took the blow, splintering into tiny pieces.

“Usually I’d agree. But I had a surprise for Tronique that should work on you too.” Concealed in Sunday’s hand was a small metal box. She danced around Shatter Spike’s next attack, and then flung the box at her. Shatter Spike screamed and fell to the ground.

“Like that? It interferes with electrical fields. It was meant to short circuit Tronique’s brain, but since you’re a big electrical field I bet this is pretty unpleasant, huh? Bonjour, mon ennemi,” Sunday said as she knelt over Mercy. “I wonder how long it will take to beat you to death.”



Sunday washed her bloody hands in the ocean. It had taken a while. She had searched Shatter Spike’s corpse for valuables, then thrown her into the ocean. This time she made her way up the trail with no problems. A large rock, seemingly like all the others, concealed a switch. The switch raised a platform and the platform descended into the Nemesis Council base.

Inside no one was around. They had remodeled since she had been here and as Sunday try to decide which way to go, the view screen in front of her came on. Tronique's grinning face filled the screen, but her eyes stared ahead like the eyes of a blind woman. "Hello Nemeses and Nemesettes. It is I Tronique! Sorry if I seem a little awkward. I've had to shut off all of my senses, but hearing. But I have an important message for you. You've all out lived your usefulness.”

Avielle looked up as all the screens in the room came on. Something about Tronique wasn’t right. “Oh shit,” the thief said to herself as Tronique rambled on.

“We had some good times, but never accomplished much. I tried to give you purpose. Were you not entertained! I tried to give you a home. Didn't you like our little country! I tried to build something here. Are you grateful!? No. You. Are. Not! “

Sunday tried to listen as she walked cautiously down the halls. She found the detention area where an Asian man was huddled behind shatterproof glass.

“Did you hear that?” Tronique screamed from the monitors. “That was the weapons I sold to the Iraqis blowing themselves up. Now they'll never recognize us as a country. Oops! Did you hear that? That was the sound of our Kim Jung Il impersonator being teleported back to North Korea. Whoopsie; I beat he'll tell them everything! Oh no!”

The man behind the glass vanished. Sunday smirked. Maybe she didn’t need to be here after all. It seemed the Council would take care of itself.

Tronique’s ranting continued. “But 'Nique we never did everything to you. True but you never did anything for me either! One lousy nanite sample Concordant! One! But you’re all happy to just sit on your asses! The Doctor would be ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of you! Sorry, listless bunch of villains. You might as well be heroes. I'm done with you. And I'm taking my toys with me.”

Avielle had gotten to her feet, ready for she-wasn’t-sure-what. The walls started to ripple and move. She looked closer, the walls, the floors, the ceiling, were sprouting hundreds, thousands, of tiny metallic spiders. “Oh shit! Oh shit!’ Avielle took off running.

Sunday noticed something was wrong. An odd noise filled the halls and walls seemed to be moving. No they were covered with robots. On the screen Tronique’s smiled happily, her eyes normal again, her voice was almost wistful, “Oh, one last thing. The world is orange and I'm going to make it gold."

Avielle barreled down the hall. “Get the hell out of the way!” she shouted as she bounded off the wall and around Sunday Punch. “And you might want to get the hell out of here!”

Sunday looked at the young thief, then at the writhing mass of robots covering every surface. They were starting to come up her leg. She decided to follow after Avielle.

[Lucianna]

Tronique waved her hands through the air listening to the rustling sounds that accompanied the movements. The clouds sang to her in twinkling voices. It was enough to distract her from the sickly orange cast of world for the moment. She sat on a hill in the Pit overlooking the bay, taking in the variety of sights, sounds, tastes, and smells her cross-wired sense offered her. Her speech to the Nemesis Council completely forgotten, the former freak was totally absorbed in the moment.

"Oh dear," said a voice that smelled of sawdust. "This won't do at all." A shining golden hand touched on the shoulder. "Dr. Winter is here, dear. I think you need to let me finish what I started."

One at a time Tronique turned her senses down, leaving herself nearly blind and unable to feel anything. Something told her this was important. "Dr. Winters? The brain surgeon."

"Yes, that's me. We were interrupted before I could finish my work." The doctor frowned looking at Tronique's head. "You can't leave a work of art partially unfinished. It's improper. Will you come with me?"

Tronique stood up and managed a nod. "Doc. I don't want to go back to the way I was."

"No worries about that. When it's all over you'll be better." The doctor put an arm around Tronique's shoulders. "I'll teleport us to my old lab. Then you can get back your business, whatever that is."

"Change. My business is change."



"Is she dead?"

Fortunata Sparks looked at the scientist in disgust. "If I knew would I be asking you? She's an alien. There's no sign of life, but no signs of decomposition either. For all intents and purpose the woman on the table here is an inanimate object. You're job is figure out if she's alive or not and how her abilities work. Or did work."

"Can you atleast tell me where she's from?"

"Some smugglers found her. The electrical charge she generates was killing fish in the area and they investigated. Then they decided to sell the body to Facemaker. That sick surgeon recognized Shatterspike and did the smart thing by bringing her to us."

The scientist sighed and choose his next words carefully. "You said she's an alien. Where is she from?"

"A planet called Demoshet," the Fortunata said impatiently.

"I've never even heard it of."

"No, I doubt you would have. She's the only specimen. So don't screw up. And if turns out she's not dead call me immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," the scientist said. He watched for Sparks to leave then slumped down in his chair. The body on the examination table was arcing electricity. An electric alien. Nothing with Arachnos was ever normal or safe.



"This operation is over," Warden Rakhlin said sharply. "We could have all been killed. We got lucky and I'm not risking my men on your again."

The Astral Rascal looked out from between the bandages wrapped around his face. "I almost had her. It's not my fault your men couldn't handle a psychic. If they had been able to back me up, this would be over. Instead Esther is running around out doing who knows what."

"No argument from that she's a dangerous lunatic. But we're still done here. You're in no condition to chase after her, if she knew where she was. And your mindset is a liability."

"What's that's supposed to mean?"

"Your sister is a very dangerous criminal and frankly no one else is very interested in saving her. Considering the company she's keeping at the moment, there's no room for being...soft. So when we have authorization to bring her, it will be done by professionals. You just need to rest and heal up." Rakhlin looked at the younger man's bandage face and added, "For a long while."

"I don't need Longbow's help."

"You stay in this business long enough Arello and you'll learn that eventually everyone needs Longbow's help. Anyway, word from the grapevine is that your sister in a shitload of trouble. You better hope we get to her first."

Warden Rahklin left. The Rascal turned on the television to take his mind off Esther and the pain from his burns. A potato chip commercial was interrupted by a news flash.

"This Heather McCormick with a special News Channel 11 update. The town was Asmeda, Iran is the site of a huge explosion. Early reports indicate that the explosion took place inside a military supply depot. The only response from the Iranian government is that they do not believe this to be any sort of attack. So far only military causalities have been reported, but the town is danger from fire and there is a fear additional explosions as the fire spreads. Stay tuned to News Channel 11 for more updates."



The young woman in the mask had jumped aboard the speedboat as Genevieve fled the island. She remembered Avielle from before and the kid seemed okay. The priority now was getting the hell away from Ilha de Liberdade and if the kid wasn't shooting her int he back that would do for now.

"I'm so glad to be out of there," Avielle said.

"You didn't want to be?" Genevieve asked. She voice was surprisingly steady.

"No way in hell. I was practically a prisoner. I'm hoping now that Tronique's gone...more crazy, she'll leave me the hell alone."

"Huh. So what are you going to do now?"

"I'll do what I was doing before I got caught up with these assholes. Figure out how to break my dad out of jail. You?"

Genevieve looked at the young thief. "I still have a score to settle."

"With Tronique?"

"With Tronique."

"Yeah, good luck with that shit."

"Good luck to you too."