A long time ago, a statue was built on an island near what would come to be called Champion City. A gift from France to the United States, the woman and her torch had become a monument to liberty - and monuments were like catnip to supervillains. In the same battle that razed NYC and claimed the first Champion's life, Lady Liberty had been utterly destroyed.
Instead of rebuilding her, the site had been used for a new structure: the Champion Center, a massive building/statue made in the image of a caped hero taking flight. Not only did it serve as a memorial to the original Champion, but it was the headquarters for the city's licensed superheroes, some of whom even lived on the site. Ferries ran out to the island everyday, carrying tourists from all over the globe, but it was nighttime now, so the waters were empty.
The head of the building was home to a vast, circular computer lab, owned by System (most of the Center was). Rows and rows of expensive computers, each on their own black desk, filled the room in round tiers.
Bryan Masters tapped at one of the holographic consoles, loading detailed 3D schematics of Futureman's suit which only he was able to decrypt. On the other side of the lab, Luiza Lopez sat at another, more simple computer which was still booting up. It was pretty old, but it had a port for the SD card. She'd changed out of her pink-and-yellow superhero outfit by now, wearing a loose tank top and tight black leggings.
"So, where's Warmaiden?" she called out to System, taking a bite out of her Big Mac - she'd run by McDonald's on the way to the Center. She spoke through chews. "Why wasn't she at the bank?"
"Regina's still in recovery." System folded his hands together behind his back as he studied the models, ocasionally stretching out a finger to rotate them or zoom in on a section to get better detail. "Tomorrow she'll be in a press conference about her fight with Black Tornado."
"Black Tornado, heh. Girl needs a better costume, am I right? Boooring." she noisily sipped her cherry Coke, brushing french fry crumbs off her lap. "Speaking of which, I'm thinking I'm not big on the old suit, could you maybe get me a new costume? I want a two piecer this time, maybe with like cool shades and a jacket-"
"I'll see what I can do." System said curtly. "For now, can you do what I asked you to, please?"
"Sorry, Mr. Masters, sir..."
The computer was on now, so she logged in, slid the SD cart into the slot, and clicked through its contents. There were a slew of photos, along with a handful of videos. The titles were strings of numbers, but Luiza could tell that the first few digits made up the date and time. She went for the ones from today, starting with the videos over the pictures and clicking the latest one. At the sight of the first frame, she paused it.
"Mr. Masters!" she called out. He looked over. "We've got footage from inside the bank!"
Closing the holographic blueprints with a wave of his hand, he walked up to Luiza's side, staring down at the screen.
"Go on, play it."
In the first few seconds, he could see Bombshell standing in the middle of the bank. Judging by the shaky recording, whoever was filming was incredibly unnerved, possibly being forced. The villainess unzipped her latex bodysuit, pulling a burlap sack from her cleavage. Luiza whistled as if she was impressed, making System cock an eyebrow.
The elderly woman - Mavis - they had found in the back was clearly visible in the footage, bonded to the counter by some of Bombshell's sticky bio-explosive. The video went on to show Bombshell forcing her to gather money while she waited on the countertop, and System found it strange how bored the villainess looked. She started bantering with the unseen cameraman, who was seemingly a young male.
Given his shaky voice, his earlier idea about the kid being forced to film seemed be holding water. Thinking back to the crime scene, he remembered the positioning of the orange residue with the footprints in it. Everything seemed to line up in his head.
"Where's this lady from?" Luiza asked, noting her accent. "Sounds like a cowgirl or something."
"Shh..."
Suddenly, the footage got twenty times shakier, and an abrupt loud sound blasted through the computer speakers. Luiza covered her ears, thankful she hadn't been wearing headphones.
It was Futureman. Both of the heroes leaned in, watching far more closely now. It looked like any other confrontation with a villain they'd ever had - trading quips and threats. Futureman looked perfectly relaxed, and since he was a seasoned hero, that was no surprise. But when Futureman was pointed out who the kid behind the camera was, his face contorted first into confusion, then realization, then anger.
"Are you Scott? Scott... Sha, Shuster? You write for HeroHub?"
"Pause it." System ordered. Luiza did as told. "Go back and play that again."
"Are you Scott? Scott... Sha, Shuster? You write for HeroHub?"
"Scott Shuster." Luiza said. "Have you heard of him?"
System initially shook his head no, but then went back on that. "Wait, actually... I do remember Futureman talking about some pictures of him being sent around online."
Luiza hit play again, letting the next few seconds play out.
"Y-you know who I am?" the cameraman stammered. "This is amazing, you're my favo-"
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Futureman's stern voice cut in. "Of course I do. You're the kid who posted my cold sores on that trashy website."
Streak laughed. "Oh, the herpes pics?"
"Luiza." his voice sharp, System gave her a stern glare. "Have some respect."
The video soon ended anticlimactically, with the camera rocketing out of the young man's hands. System quickly identified it as telekinesis being used, one of Futureman's many powers. For the split second between Futureman grabbing the camera and crushing it to pieces, the camera was turned towards its original owner. With a scroll back on the video's timeline and a precise, super-reflex pause, Luiza caught him.
"White male, teenager maybe?" she said, swiveling her chair aside to let System take a look. "Bit older?"
"HeroHub shirt." System noted. "Is that all the footage from the bank?"
"It's the last video on the card, and the others are from earlier in the day." Luiza said. "There's some pictures."
"Look through those." he said, stalking off towards another computer that was already on. He opened up two windows - one of their ID database, and one of HeroHub.com.
Finding the kid's name and address wasn't hard: he lived in an apartment complex not too far from the bank. HeroHub had a list of all its contributors, each with their own page that scrolled down into previews of their articles. Whoever Scott Shuster was, he seemed to have the same sleazy sensibilities as the other writers on the site, with his writings and pictures having a heavy focus on female heroes and their bodies: Lightning Lady, Crash Girl, Miss Mystic. If he had to wager a guess, the kid was somewhere between a casual misogynist and a full-blown pervert.
"Wow!"
From behind, he heard Luiza whistle again. He glanced over his shoulder to see her gawking at a provocative picture of Bombshell. As it seemed, it had been taken in the bank by Scott.
"Perhaps that's why she forced him to film the crime." System said. Luiza clicked through more of them, excitement on her face.
"I don't know, she seems pretty into the photoshoot." she said, pausing to zoom in on one where the villainess had spun around and posed with her round ass stuck out. System rolled his eyes, then noticed Luiza clicking on the image options...
"Why are you saving a copy of that?!" he snapped at her in frustration. Quickly, Luiza tabbed out of the window.
"Don't know what you're talking about." she said, looking back at him and running a hand through her choppy dyed-pink haircut sheepishly. The older man was clearly unimpressed with her. "Just, ah, it's evidence, that's all."
"Well, whatever you're doing, wrap it up." he got out of his chair and walked towards the middle of the circular room. In the exact center, the floor gave way to a metal aperture, which dilated open with a hiss. Up from the shadows rose a sleek set of mechanical armor, jet black like a stealth aircraft.
"Get your suit on. We're gonna go pay Scott a visit."
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Scott pushed open the door to his cramped apartment, shut it behind him, and flopped down onto his unmade bed.
It had been quite the day.
For a long while, he just laid there face down with the lights off. But then his stomach started to rumble. He sat up slowly.
Might as well order a pizza.
As he called up the local Dominos, he started to take off his socks and sneakers. Some of that sticky glowing orange stuff was still on the soles of them, so he fetched a knife from the kitchen. Well, it was just the counter with the sink and the hotplate where he was supposed to cook things, but he called it the kitchen.
"Pepperoni... uh, medium... no, small." he said, chipping the orange gunk away. It was strange, the goop came off effortlessly even though it had trapped him tightly before. "Do you guys still deliver right to the door for apartments?... okay, nice... yeah, can I do stuffed crust? Wait, two dollars extra?"
Even as he had the most mundane, everyday interaction in history, Scott still felt weird as hell. Something was off about him, and he couldn't pinpoint what.
On his way home, all the aches in his body had suddenly gone away. In fact, he'd biked faster than he ever had before, flying down the street like a pro cyclist. He reached around to his back and pressed down on where his bruise had been, finding that it didn't hurt one bit. It wasn't even tender any more. What was going on?
Scott finished up his call, then paced over to his mirror, staring hard at himself.
That's when he noticed the silvery white line around his neck. Scott was fairly pale, so the change in color was subtle, espcially in the dark.
He flicked on the light, then took off his jacket - his arms were silvery white, too.
Scrambling, he took off his tee shirt - his whole chest shone like bright, pearly metal.
And finally, he slipped down his pants and kicked them away - to find that this strange new skin somehow went over his underwear, stopping right above his ankles.
"What the hell?!"
Somehow, beneath his clothing but above his boxer briefs, a silvery bodysuit had slipped its way onto him. It looked like something a superhero would wear... not just any hero, Futureman!
He looked around his room in a daze. One of his walls was dedicated to posters of heroes, some of which he'd had since he was a kid. Running up, he pulled one of Futureman down and went back to the mirror. Except for the missing cape, visor, boots, and gloves, it was an exact match!
Scott laid his hands on his chest, patting the sleek metal that covered it. The silver surface was cold to the touch, but it didn't feel like he was wearing anything. When Bombshell had hit Futureman with that TV remote thing, it had made his costume turn to liquid... but maybe it had always been like that, the whole time? Other superheroes had suits sort of like that, nanotech sutff.
Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. He glanced over to it. Jesus, Dominos did not fuck around with "thirty minutes or it's free."
"I'll be out in a minute!" Scott called out. He couldn't let anyone see him like this. If he was caught wearing Futureman's suit the same day he died... well, that was not a good look.
He looked down at himself. Alright, how to get out of this thing?
It didn't have a zipper, or anywhere he could pull it off... he pinched down on the neck and pulled back. Nope, it stretched like elastic, but snapped right back in place when he let go. Not in a natural way, though. The metal just swam, like it had a mind of its own, like it was reconfiguring itself into an intended shape.
The person at the door began to knock harder.
"Just a second!"
He looked around his room, stepping up to the sink. Water didn't wash it off, neither did soap, and his sponge was absolutely useless. He tried to rip it off, pulling harder on the neck, but whatever the silver stuff was, it was not gonna tear. Finally, he turned to his knife, which he had laid down on his bed after cleaning his shoes off with it.
"Am I really gonna do this?" he thought as he pressed the blade down on his arm. "Well, here goes..."
He pressed down, and the knife shattered into tiny metal fragments.
The knocking had turned into a banging. In frustration he whipped around, screaming at the door.
"I'm gonna get the fucking pizza, just calm down!!" he raised his voice as loud as he could, but they just didn't stop.
He wrung his sweaty hands together, his mind a blur. Desparate now, he started trying to tear it off again, grabbing entire handfuls of the stretchy metal. "Just. Get. Off!" he thought.
At that moment, the metal melted off of him into a puddle, leaving him in his black boxer briefs. Too relieved to even think about his state of dress, he leapt for the door and pulled it open.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, shapely woman in a wide brimmed hat and trench coat. Though she hid her face well, Scott recognized her at a glance.
"Hey, puddin'." said Bombshell, propping her hands on her hips as she looked him up and down. "Lovin' the view."