Summary: A series of burglaries hit San Francisco, but nothing’s been stolen. Yet. Who’s the thief and what are they looking for?
Ben Park, a California-based comic book artist, hunches over the desk in his studio, muttering to himself as he quickly sketches out the first few panels of his new comic: LoveHacker. “Six friends endowed with super abilities face love, laughter, and wild shenanigans all while fighting the good fight and trying to keep the city of San Francisco safe from dangers seen and unseen.”
Horatio sits across from Arielle, eyes closed, and palms spread flat against his crossed legs. Arielle mimics his position, mouth in a tight frown. “Now…even your breathing. Deep inhale, slow exhale…” Horatio demonstrates, and Arielle tries her best. Her restless mind flits from thought to thought, and she frantically tries to reel them all in, lest her abilities get the upper hand. She refuses to let them. Arielle is hardly recognizable from the scrawny, scuffed up teen the League took in over a month ago. With the help of Serena, her hair is completely midnight blue, a short pixie cut that falls into her eyes.
“Your…hair!” Brooke had nearly dropped the bag of groceries in her arms when Serena showed off her handiwork, daring anyone to say anything. “She wanted a change,” Serena jutted her chin at Arielle who’d already felt slightly self-conscious with most of her hair gone. She couldn’t imagine it being any other length now.
“Arielle.” Horatio’s stern voice cut through the clutter of her mind, bringing her back to the present. His usually welcoming eyes, a contrast from Serena’s fiery ones, bore into her, and she blushes. “Something troubling you?” he asks, but Arielle can only shrug, her gaze cast down. Before Horatio can try again, the door to the hideout slides open, and Sergeant Techie and HeartRate’s voice carry in what was peaceful silence before. Arielle is grateful for the distraction. “Admit it Mark, you miss her,” HeartRate laughs, shaking her head at the Sergeant who glares back. “We spent eight years apart, I think I can handle six days, Brooke.” Horatio turns to Arielle, apologizing. “I believe this ends our session for the day,” he stands, offering a hand to her. Mark steps on a platform, and it removes his suit piece by piece. Arielle watches in awe. She spends much of her time here, either hanging out with the League or tucked in the corner, catching up on her online courses. For safety reasons Devi decided that she not be physically enrolled, and Arielle hadn’t been more grateful.
Mark grabs a beer from the refrigerator, hardly giving her a glance before plopping down at the conference table and sulking. Brooke, still in costume, gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Horatio tells him, but when it’s clear Mark won’t speak, he turns to Brooke. “How did it go?” Horatio asks. Arielle hasn’t known Devi for long, but it’s easy to see why Mark misses her. The time Arielle doesn’t spend at the hideout, or at Brooke and Keo’s in their spare room, is spent with her. Arielle considers Horatio to be a great mentor, but there’s a magnetic force that draws her to the steadfast leader. They’d bonded over melting butter pecan ice cream, and the rest was history. Sometime after the League brought Arielle on, Devi was called to London to spy on the American buyer, a Mr. Thomas F. Madison, with his eye on some Mansingh Transglobal tech prototypes. Blaire Hall wasn’t pleased to know Arielle had been taken under Devi’s wing, insisting tests be run on her. But details unknown to Arielle, right before Devi was off the grid as to not jeopardize her mission, Devi said it was taken care of. “You just focus on training, and you’ll be out in the field in no time,” she’d beamed. Arielle plastered on a fake smile and nodded. That was the last thing she wanted.
“Well…we got there,” Brooke begins, “and nothing was stolen.” Arielle’s attention snaps to the conversation between the League. “That’s quite strange,” Horatio furrows his brow, lost in thought. “But we’ll keep at it.,” Brooke continues. “Figure it out,” she smiles, turning to Arielle. “We always do.”
Later that evening, with the others retired for the day, Mark stands in front of a holographic suit, maneuvering the image with her hands, jotting down notes on the touch screen tablet tucked under one arm. Every night since Devi’s been gone and left him in charge, Mark finds himself tinkering away at a new suit for Night Terror, staying later and later each night. The lack of sleep makes him grumpier than usual, but the others blame Devi’s absence and how well he takes it. Mark trusts her, but it’s hard not to worry about her safety from miles away when he has no way to communicate with her, and is forbidden to do so. Rather than go home to an empty bed, Mark stays up all hours of the night perfecting his new pet project. What begins as a nice gesture to welcome the newest member of the team morphs into an obsession. Anything that keeps thoughts of Devi at bay is a welcomed distraction.
Mark runs tired hands through his hair as he switches back and forth between colors: a dark-blue almost black color, and a shade of purple that Cole insists looks good on anyone. Suddenly he remembers the day when he made the LoveHacker suit. Devi preferred a more robust material that would protect her, as well as one that would accommodate her ability to turn invisible and summon force fields at will. The two spent many hours in the hideout, not unlike what Mark does now, and with an ache in his chest, Mark shuts the whole program down before he falls down the rabbit hole of memories.
In her bed at Keo and Brooke’s, Arielle can’t sleep either. She faces the window, the street light poring through the closed blinds. As far as she knows, there hasn’t been a cure for her…curse, and while the effects eventually wear off, people describe themselves as stuck between a dreamlike state and reality. At least, that’s what reports from Mansingh have informed the League. Mediation with Horatio has lead Arielle to better control her powers of slumber, but with the inverse effect that the energy has nowhere to go. It sits on her chest, heavy, and she fears that letting it out might lead to bigger issues. As kind as her new friends are, Arielle refuses to burden them with an issue she feels she should have figured out by now. She almost feels undeserving of Horatio’s endless patience. With a sigh, Arielle flips over, shuts her eyes, and tries to get some sleep. She wishes Devi was there.
“Nothing has been tampered with,” Mixologist frowns, walking the length of the Museum of Natural Jewels and Gemstones, his eyes closed in concentration. Captain Hustle ignores his teammate, flirting with the security guard. She’s a solid woman who can easily crush Hustle with one hand, yet she’s putty in his hands. “Are you sure we can’t peek at the tapes? You’d be helping us a lot, Miranda,” he grins, and the security guard returns his smile, revealing a lone dimple in her left cheek.
“There’s no need, Captain Hustle,” Mixologist interrupts, fingers pressed against his pulsating temple. The two look at him, Miranda’s hard edge from before returning in full force. “What’s up?” Hustle asks. Mixologist’s eyes find a point on the wall, not really seeing.
“The cameras were disabled as Ms. Miranda said-”
“It’s Garcia to you,” the security officer growls, but he presses on.
“And it seems that the Kitten is more resourceful that we thought.” Captain Hustle throws his head back, laughing. “Kitten? Not very resourceful if she keeps breaking in places only to leave empty handed. I say she’s bored and finds it amusing to send us on these wild goose chases,” he crosses his arms. Smiling sweetly for Miranda, he throws an arm around Mixologist and leads him out. “On behalf of the League, we apologize for taking up your time. The police actually did their job for once.” The corners of Miranda Garcia’s eyes crinkle as she follows them out. “It was no trouble at all, Captain,” she grins. Mixologist fights the urge to roll his eyes, lest his partner find a way to be obnoxious about that as well.
The two report back to Keo at the hideout. Arielle sits in her corner, a laptop resting lazily across her knees as she finishes a quiz. “It must be something of value,” she hears Keo tell the boys, and submits her examination, sighing with relief when she sees the 89% flash across the screen. The entrance opens, and in walks Mark, bags under his eyes and a box in his arms as he yawns. “Mark, you look awful!” Keo shakes his head, ending the video call with Mixologist and Captain Hustle. Arielle looks up to see that Mark does in fact, look awful. He spots Arielle and offers a weary smile. “I have a something for you,” he tells her, and Arielle wanders to Keo side, curious.
“There’s still so many things we don’t understand about your abilities, and it’s not my best work, but,” Mark opens the box and pulls out a stretchy, gorgeous blue and purple suit and matching black ankle boots. Arielle’s heart sinks when she realizes what it is. “Using the same polymer fibers from Devi… LoveHacker’s suit, I was able to construct something that regulates your temperature, protecting you from extreme heat and cold, as well as conforms to your body so you have full range of motion.” Keo claps excitedly. “Man, I wish I had powers. Everyone else gets the cool gadgets and gizmos.” Mark hands Arielle her new suit, but she takes a step back, vigorously shaking her head. “I-I need some air!” She runs from the room, tumbling onto the dirt just outside the secure building. The little patches of grass wilt and die under her knees and palms as her distress leaches out. Remembering her breathing techniques, Arielle sucks in a shaky breath, attempting to regulate her heartbeat and steady her frantic mind. She can’t accept that suit. Finally her head clears. She stands, brushing the dirt from her pants.
“Arielle? Arielle!” She turns to see Keo rushing out, concern etched on his face. She gives a small wave once he spots her and walks over. Mark comes shortly after. “Sorry for freaking out. I’m okay,” she says, hoping it’s the truth. The two guys share a look. “Well, I’m headed back to my place to crash,” Mark finally says to her. “But I’ve left the suit in the box for you.” Arielle nods. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” But I can’t except it, she thinks, as Mark gives her shoulder a friendly pat. When he walks away, Keo studies her with his searching gaze. “I’m fine, really,” Arielle nods again, doing her best to conceal what bubbles just beneath the surface of her mind.
Rather than return to him and Cole’s apartment, Mark dons his super suit and meets Mixologist at their spot at Twin Peaks, staring out across the night scenery. “Perhaps we should call Captain Hustle?” Mix suggest, but the Sergeant frowns, fiddling with his communicator. “No, wouldn’t want to ruin his date.” Amir is at his apartment, and it hadn’t seemed to cross Cole’s mind to mention the extra guest. “I never say anything when Devi’s here!” His friend snapped then paused, realizing what he’d said.
“I see,” Mix replies, sensing the tension. He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his cloak and hands it to Sergeant Techie.
“What’s this?
“Seems our dear friend Kitten left us a note.” Techie unravels the paper and frowns. “‘I’m quite enjoying this game of cat and mouse’. She’s toying with us!” He crushes the paper in his fist, but his teammate’s thoughtful gaze catches his attention. “Sergeant, this is far more than a game to her. Why go through the trouble of disarming cameras and bypassing security measures in the securest places only to leave empty handed? She’s looking for something, and whatever it is, we must find it first.” Techies considers his friend’s words.
“You think she could be getting outside help?”
“This is Kitten we’re talking about, she isn’t incompetent.”
“Maybe so, but Mad-Man hasn’t resurfaced…” But the two know the villain won’t. Not while LoveHacker isn’t around. “Alright, Mix, I’ll indulge you. Say we keep in mind her eye for expensive, flashy bling. She has a buyer, somewhere, willing to send her out…” Techie taps the side of his mask and pulls up a virtual database. “What precious metal in San Fran would catch the eye of the highest bidder…” Mixologist shakes his head in the Sergeant’s peripheral. “Not a monetary value, Sergeant, but an intrinsic one.”
*
Arielle can smell the takeout through the bathroom door and hear Brooke and Keo’s muffled voices as they talk in hushed tones. Though any conversation about her will cease the minute she walks into the kitchen to join them, a new conversation will surely start over her outfit choice. Arielle looks at Night Terror in the mirror, not completely horrified by what she sees. The thin material covers every inch of her body, and where it stops at her ankles, the shoes cover the rest. Even with her striking blue hair, she looks like she fits in right with the League, but that only serves to upset her. Night Terror was the name the Commander of Madness gave her, seeing her only for the destruction she could cause. Arielle isn’t her real name either, but when she’d confessed to Devi, her past hadn’t mattered to her. “If you want to go by Arielle, then you’re Arielle. And we can always come up with another super name,” Devi grinned.
Arielle fiddles absently with the diamond earing stud in her ear, its twin gone long before she was Night Terror. There is something about the identity she can’t give up. There’s a certain strength gathered from knowing where you are now in relation to where you’ve come from. Crunch! “Ahh!” The earing snaps between her fingers, the small noise loud in her ear. The diamond is cut clean in half. Arielle inspects it. Diamonds don’t shatter like this, and especially not thanks to her puny finger strength. Suddenly the two halves glow, dark tendrils snaking around the gem. Before she knows it, the diamond has fused together again and transformed into something new. For the first time in a long time, Arielle can breathe easy. The pain and fear still linger, but no longer does she feel like she’s crushing under the sheer weight of it all.
She cradles what was once the diamond in the palm of her hand, now a blackened slab.
*
“We had a deal!” A woman yells, fiery eyes matching the intensity of her bright red hair. “Killer, baby,” Mad-Man tries, but the woman marches toward him, fury in each step. “What does she have that I don’t?” Butterflies swarm around Killer Queen suddenly, throwing off her balance. They materialize into Metamorphis, her eyes cold like steel. “I got your precious niece and that slimy sidekick of yours out.” Killer holds her sharp claw like nails out, poison oozing from the tips. “Camilla has a certain finesse and subtly to her that you obviously lack,” Metamorphis smirks, and Killer’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Camilla didn’t do the dirty work! I did!” Killer Queen screeches, lunging for Mad-Man’s neck before Metamorphis can run interference. “I’ll end your life right now and make it look like an accident. That subtle enough for you?” Fear in his eyes, Mad-Man shifts his features until he bears a strong resemblance to Sergeant Techie. Killer releases him at once, gulping deep lungful’s of air as if she was the one choking moments before.
Metamorphis glares at her trembling body. “You’ll only slow us down.” To add salt to the wound, Metamorphis shifts her from into LoveHacker, taking her uncle by the arm, still in his disguise. Killer Queen watches their retreating forms, her lips curled in a deep scowl. “No one crosses me,” she whispers. “I’ll rip every single, stupid wing off if it’s the last thing I do.”