Girl Power Omnibus (Gender Swap Superhero Fiction)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “I used to come here all the time to bust heads.”

  “Why didn’t you ever bring me here before?”

  “It didn’t seem like your scene.”

  “And what is my scene: the library?”

  “I can think of a few other places,” Robin said and kissed her on the cheek. The Junkyard was a liberal enough club where no one gave them a second glance. Then again with three-quarters of the population still women two girls kissing was far from uncommon.

  The Junkyard was also liberal enough that Garlak only drew a couple of stares as she stomped into the club. She was appropriately dressed in a cheetah-print top and shorts lined with fur. She clanked as she walked from all the shiny chains around her neck and rings in her ears.

  “Me here,” she announced as she sat down at their table. She grabbed hold of a waitress passing close by to yank her over to the table. “Bring me beer.”

  “Better make it a keg,” Robin said.

  The waitress scurried away. Melanie said, “That’s a pretty outfit.”

  “Me pretty.”

  “That’s right.” Melanie was relieved to see Garlak adapting to her female body. Of all of them she had been the easiest to convince. Melanie had brought Starla along in case things got violent, but it hadn’t come to that. Like the others Garlak had ended up making a tearful confession. In the cavewoman’s case it was that she was ashamed to be a woman because it left her tribe with no male representatives. Melanie had patiently explained that as a woman, Garlak could give birth to male heirs who could carry on the tribe’s legacy for years to come. Once she understood, Garlak embraced the idea.

  A pair of waitresses rolled over a keg. Garlak didn’t bother pouring any into a cup; she picked the keg up and then twisted off its top so she could drink straight out of it. Melanie wasn’t sure what effect the alcohol would have on the cavewoman; she didn’t want to think about how much damage Garlak could do if she got drunk.

  Amidst this scene, Tonya and Diane slipped over to the table. They were almost unrecognizable at the moment. They must have gone to the same stylist because they had identical perms, only Tonya’s was tinted blue. She wore a short, strapless dress of the same color with a pair of spike heels that added three inches to her height. Diane’s dress was black and far more conservative, as were the heels she wore. But the sight of Diane in a dress and heels was enough to give Melanie pause.

  They managed to cram themselves at the table with a little room to spare. Tonya patted her hair. “What do you think? Sort of a Katy Perry thing, right?”

  “It’s cute,” Melanie said.

  “I tried to get Di to color hers pink, but she wouldn’t do it.”

  “Not all of us are so fond of embarrassing ourselves,” Diane grumbled.

  “Who’s embarrassed? We’re young, we’re hot, and we’re available. Might as well have some fun with it. Even Garlak gets that and here you are dressing like we’re going to a funeral.”

  “Lay off,” Melanie said before Diane broke out a garrote or pistol or another of her assassin’s weapons. “Everyone has to go at their own pace.” She glanced over at Robin in her faded T-shirt and ripped jeans, her hair freshly shorn to a boyish length.

  “Sure, some people like to keep it in first. Me, I prefer overdrive,” Tonya said. She waved to a waitress. “Give us tequila all around.”

  “How old are you?” the waitress asked.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two—”

  “Really? Well, how about we go into the bathroom and you can count the rings in my va-jay-jay?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just bring my friends a Shirley Temple,” Melanie said.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Tonya grumbled. “Why’d you invite us if you were going to be such a buzzkill?”

  “Let’s try to relax and have a good time,” Melanie said. “We all need to unwind, I’m sure.”

  “I’d unwind better with a few tequila shots is all I’m saying.”

  The waitress returned with the alcohol-free drinks for Tonya and Diane. Melanie held up her half-empty glass of white wine. “I want to congratulate you all on a job well done. When this all started, we were enemies, but now look at us. You’ve come together in a way I never dreamed possible. We’ve been through so much—” Melanie’s voice faltered and tears came to her eyes.

  “Hey come on, boss, don’t cry. This is a party.”

  Melanie nodded. She wiped at her eyes. “We’ve been through a lot of really strange things, but in the end that’s only brought us closer together. Growing up I never had any sisters, but if anyone asks now, I can say I have three. To the Super Squad Auxiliary.”

  They touched their glasses—and keg—together. Melanie hadn’t intended to get so emotional, but the words had poured out of her. She had often heard about the lifetime bond soldiers would form during a war, but she hadn’t really understood it until now. Each of these women at the table had saved her life and she had saved theirs. None of them would be here right now if not for each other. No matter what else happened, they would always have their time together as the Super Squad Auxiliary to bind them.

  “This scene is getting as blue as my hair,” Tonya grumbled. “I don’t know about you gals, but I came here with my dancing shoes on. You coming, Di?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What about you, big stuff?”

  “Me dance.” Garlak got to her feet a bit unsteadily. Melanie didn’t envy whoever had to be near her on the dance floor.

  Robin kissed Melanie’s ear and then whispered, “I’ve got to hit the head.”

  Once they were alone at the table, Diane said, “That was right pretty what you said.”

  “I meant every word. I hope you feel the same way.”

  “I don’t know. I’m still a bit cross about being stuck like this.”

  “You look very nice, especially in that dress.”

  “I thought I’d give what you said a try. Maybe I’m going a little fast. I think these shoes will be the death of me.”

  “You’ll get used to them. Probably a lot sooner than I did. You’ve got a lot better sense of balance.”

  “I hope so.” Diane kneaded her tiny purse in her hands. She finally worked up the courage to say, “You haven’t told anyone, have you? What I said to you at the flat?”

  “No, of course not. It’s our secret.”

  “Thanks.”

  On the dance floor came a guttural roar followed by a man’s scream. Garlak had found one of the few men in the club and had him over her shoulder. Apparently she meant to start rebuilding her tribe tonight.

  “Do you think we should try to stop her?” Diane asked.

  “I don’t think we could.”

  They shared a laugh at this until Tonya stomped up to the table. “Garlak ruined everything! Di, can you please come dance with me before everyone thinks I’m a total loser?”

  Diane looked over at Melanie, who nodded slightly. “I suppose I could, so long as you don’t let me fall on my arse.”

  “No worries, mate.”

  “Do I look like a bloody Aussie to you?” Diane said with faux-rage as she followed Tonya out onto the dance floor.

  Melanie watched them awkwardly dance until Robin sat down beside her. “Is this the part where you ask why we can’t join them?”

  “I’d rather sit here,” Melanie said. She slid her chair closer to Robin’s. She ran her hand through Robin’s hair as she asked, “Have you come to a decision yet?”

  “About what?”

  “You know damn well what.”

  “Have you?”

  “You know I have.”

  “Well, I guess I have too.”

  “And?”

  “I think I’ve made the same decision,” Robin said.

  Melanie nearly jumped out of her chair with joy. She settled for throwing her arms around Robin’s shoulders and pulling her in for a long kiss. “I’m so glad,” she said afterward. “What made your d
ecision?”

  “I can’t say I always like this body. It’s short and it’s skinny and it leaks blood once a month. But when I thought about it, I like us. You and me, we have something special. Why fuck that up?”

  Melanie grinned. That was about as poetic as Robin ever got. She tousled Robin’s short hair. “Does that mean you’re going to try being girlier?”

  “Hell no. If anything you should try being a little more butch.”

  “I’ll work on it,” Melanie said and then kissed Robin again. She felt as if some of the weight had been lifted off her shoulders now that Robin had made her decision. Now they could be together forever.

  ***

  Lieutenant Jessica Murphy had followed her quarry for over a week, ever since the girl first showed up at the medical tent. Perhaps it had been that the girl had been dressed all in black or perhaps it was because of her short red hair; Jessica only knew the girl was somehow familiar. So she had kept her eyes open.

  The deep lacerations in the girl’s legs were also suspicious. The robots didn’t use stabbing weapons. The girl claimed she had impaled herself on some debris while running for a shelter. When Jessica volunteered to change the girl’s bandages, she noted the shape of the wounds. As a Navy SEAL, Jessica was familiar with harpoons and the like; the girl’s wounds were consistent with that kind of weapon.

  The girl limped away in the night, when she thought no one was watching. Jessica didn’t like to leave her post when there were so many people who needed her, but her instincts told her there was something wrong with this girl and that she should investigate. So she followed the girl through the dark streets of Focal City.

  Jessica’s current appearance helped her to remain inconspicuous as she trailed the girl. At the moment she was a scrawny teenager, fourteen or fifteen, with the straight, mousy brown hair of millions of white girls her age. Except for her height—even at this age she was close to six feet—there was nothing that would make her stand out.

  The more she watched the girl, the more her suspicion deepened. The girl raided a devastated pharmacy for medical supplies—and hair dye. The next morning the girl’s short red hair was even shorter and black. With all this chaos, who was she afraid of?

  It took a few more days until the girl finally revealed the secret she’d been hiding. It wasn’t anything she said. The reveal took place in an alley, where a half-dozen burly girls cornered her. Jessica watched from around the corner as the girl took care of her attackers in less than a minute. Even with her injured legs, she still leaped and kicked like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.

  The fighting prowess, the black clothes, the red hair all pointed to one person: Midnight Spectre. That was when Jessica knew her instincts had been right. All her work over these last few days had finally brought her the prize she’d been seeking.

  Jessica continued to follow Midnight Spectre around Focal City. The girl finally slunk into an abandoned apartment building to make camp. Jessica waited outside for a few minutes. She took advantage of this opportunity to psych herself up as she had before a mission. At the moment she didn’t look like a SEAL, but she still had the warrior’s heart.

  She slipped into the building. Midnight Spectre had made her camp on the ground floor, where she could easily escape if she needed to. Jessica feigned surprise to see the girl there. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jessica said in her shy little teenager’s voice. “I can go somewhere else.”

  “You can stay if you want,” Midnight Spectre said. “There’s plenty of room.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jessica sat across the fire so she could stare into the girl’s gray eyes. These were the remorseless eyes of a killer—a murderer. Jessica forced herself to remain calm as she said, “My name’s Jessie.”

  “Robin.”

  It was even harder for Jessica to make herself laugh. “I was supposed to be on a cruise when the shit hit the fan. Can you believe it? Now I’m stuck here, going through puberty again.”

  “That sucks,” Midnight Spectre said.

  “What about you? Are you from here?”

  “Yeah,” she lied. “Born and raised.”

  “It was probably a cool city before the disaster.”

  “It was.”

  “I can stop talking if you want. It’s been a while since I got the chance, especially with someone my own age.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” Midnight Spectre snapped.

  “I was twenty-six.”

  “I mean I’m twenty-one now.”

  “Oh. So you must have been what, forty, when it happened?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Were you a…a man?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess you got lucky with the name then, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’d be kind of lucky with my name too. Jessie is already a boy’s name if you take off the ‘i.’ Though it’d be kind of awkward since my birth certificate says, ‘Jessica Margaret Howe.”’

  With the last word, Jessica hurled the shuriken she’d slipped into her palm. Midnight Spectre was quick, but the shuriken still caught her in the shoulder. With her current scrawny body, Jessica couldn’t use a .45 like she usually carried. Instead she’d scrounged a smaller .25. There wasn’t nearly the same amount of kick as she fired.

  Perhaps owing to her teenage body or the skill of her opponent, Jessica missed with her first eight rounds. The ninth found its mark, right in Midnight Spectre’s abdomen. The girl cried out and then sunk onto the floor. The .25 bullet wasn’t enough to cause her guts to spill out; it just left a nasty, bloody hole.

  Jessica squatted down in front of Midnight Spectre. She yanked the girl’s head back by her dyed hair. “You bitch, you killed my father, the most honest cop in all of Redoubt City. Tell me why and you won’t have to wait to bleed out.”

  Midnight Spectre actually smiled at her. “Your father was a pawn. I needed to disappear and what could bring more heat than killing an honest cop?” The girl’s smile broadened. “He was nothing without me, just a guy with a badge. You think he’d ever have made captain if not for me feeding him crooks?” She coughed up a wad of blood into Jessica’s face. Then she began to cackle madly. “I made him and I ended him. You remember that, sweetheart.”

  Only her SEAL training kept Jessica from slamming Midnight Spectre’s head into the wall until it spewed open. Instead, she forced herself to return the girl’s smile. “I guess now it’s time to keep my promise.”

  The gun was too good for scum like Midnight Spectre. Jessica yanked the shuriken out of Midnight Spectre’s shoulder; she savored the bitch’s scream. Jessica held the shuriken in her hand, using it like a knife to tear open the girl’s throat. Jessica made sure to watch as her father’s murderer died. The girl’s breathing slowed and then stopped entirely. Her head lolled to the side, but there was still that horrible grin on her face, mocking Jessica.

  She clenched her fists. She had her revenge, but that wasn’t enough. Something told her it would never be enough.

  Girl Power Short Stories

  Midnight Spectre #1:

  The Outcast Returns

  Sometimes all you need is a good punch to the face. Despite what some people have written in the tabloids, I’m not a masochist, or a sadist either for that matter. But sometimes you need that punch to the face to make everything simple, collapse the whole world into a narrow, primal one.

  I spit out a wad of blood and part of a tooth. The guy in front of me has an advantage of at least eighteen inches in height and probably weighs twice as much as I do. Like all the others he thinks one chipped tooth and some blood in my mouth will turn me into a blubbering mess. That strategy has probably worked well enough on various girlfriends and maybe even a wife or two. “Was that your best shot?” I ask.

  “You want another—?” Before he finishes, I roll to the side, get to my feet, and then kick the back of his left knee. As it’s buckling, I kick the other knee too. The big man goes to the ground like a rott
en tree in a strong wind.

  It’s never about who’s bigger or stronger; it’s about who can exploit the other’s weaknesses. A guy like this might be taller and heavier, but that just means he’s slower. He’s still on the ground screaming when I pull the zip ties around his wrists. “The cops’ll be here soon,” I tell him. “Try to get comfortable.”

  I leave him in the alley like that. A cruiser should be by to pick him up in ten minutes; it’s a far cry from a couple years ago when everything had been running so smoothly the most serious crime was jaywalking and cops almost fought each other to pick up a perp to have something to do. Redoubt City, like the rest of the world, is still in a shambles, trying to get things into some kind of order.

  It’s the perfect time to be a vigilante. The only problem is I’ve spent most of my time in the last year inside a board room, trying to save my great-grandfather’s company. Holloway Corporation has assets all over the world, many of which were lost thanks to the catastrophe. On top of that, Holloway’s insurance division has gone bankrupt from paying out claims. I could have done like most of the sleazes and refused to pay on grounds of force majeure—there’s not much more of an act of God than a world-killing alien and its armada of robot minions. My refusal to take the easy way out is one of a host of reasons financial “experts” are calling for my head. Some have even suggested that I be declared mentally unfit.

  They’d have more ammunition if they caught me out here in my uniform, taking down a mob enforcer, but in a way this is therapy for me. Clownface killed my therapist, Dr. Hanover, so I’m on my own. And what my gut tells me I really need right now is to get back in the saddle as Midnight Spectre and bust some punks.

  I find my way back to the nondescript black Audi I’m using tonight. Despite how it looks on the outside, on the inside it has got more monitoring equipment than the NSA. That’s how I knew where to find Jimmy Randazzo, wanted on three counts of armed robbery and two of assault. Now that he’s down, I need to find another target.