Like a Mask Removed, Volume 1: Erotic Tales of Superheroes

Excerpted from "Partners"
by
Michael M. Jones

The battle against the Scraptician and his seemingly-endless army of mindless robot drones had lasted the better part of an hour, and Lauren Livingston, better known as Lightning, was already sick of it. Robots were the worst. They couldn't be scared, intimidated, demoralized, or distracted from their mission. Break one, its fellows would keep on moving, often repairing themselves from their fallen comrade. Stop to fight one, and ten others would keep on moving. Ignore them, and they'd wreak havoc. It was like babysitting a herd of toddlers. Worse still, this wasn't even the real battle. The Scraptician was somewhere else in Iron City, leaving his forces to spread chaos and destruction as a diversionary tactic; sadly, it was working. Lightning was bruised, battered, and running low on juice, even though she'd already borrowed liberally from the city's power grid to keep herself going. The robots ran on some sort of shielded neutron conversion process that, she suspected, was designed solely to prevent her from just draining them dry. The Scraptician learned from his mistakes.

With an annoyed huff, Lightning gathered up her strength, flinging another barrage of electrical arc charges against her foes, seeking out weak joints and exposed sensors, hoping for more permanent damage than the last effort. She was rewarded by a series of electronic screeches and a few explosions, the closest wave of blocky marauders collapsing before her. The line behind them paused to salvage or help repair, giving Lightning a moment's respite, and enough room that she could look around, assessing the situation anew. A low, bone-shivering hum that suddenly rose into a high-pitched whine, followed by more explosions several blocks away marked the location of her partner, Tanya "Thunder" Turner, as bogged down by the annoying distraction as she was. This wasn't working. They had to fight the problem at its source. Take out the Scraptician, his army would crumble. But leaving now would leave the robot horde to advance down this route unchecked.

Being a superhero meant making the hard choices. Lightning wasn't even aware of the choice she'd made until she was airborne, riding the electrical currents of the city away from her flightless opponents. From her new vantage point, she could see—and wince at—the trails of destruction they'd left in their wake, with property damage galore. But it was also easy to spot the pattern now. The robots had deployed from anonymous delivery trucks at opposite ends of both Westside Avenue and 10th Street, two of downtown's major thoroughfares, and single-mindedly tromped down their respective paths, destined to meet at Marshall Square, right smack in the middle of the city. They'd demolished cars, thrown vending machines, shattered windows, and indiscriminately fired energy beams at random targets. There was no rhyme or reason to the assault; they just kept moving, leaving chaos, smoke, and wreckage in their path, as well as those pieces of their fallen comrades they couldn't recover or repurpose. As an attention-getter, it was certainly effective. Iron City's police, fire, and rescue were out in full force to handle the emergency, while the city's resident heroes had mobilized to do their part.

Besides Thunder, still wielding her sonic powers against the robots marching down Westside Avenue, Lightning could spot Mythological Max using his cadre of fairy tale gnomes to perform search and rescue, Junkheap battling the robotic forces with an pulse gun cobbled together from their own weapons, and even the Underdweller, emerged from the sewers with hundreds of rats and an albino alligator to do his bidding. Lightning smiled. They weren't exactly the greatest heroes the world had to offer, but Iron City was in good hands.

She turned her attention towards manipulating the electrical currents, skin tingling, long blonde hair wild with static, and swooped down towards her partner, who struggled to hold off the inexorable onslaught on her own. Thunder's normally dark skin had gone pale with exertion, and her light blue bodysuit was ripped and torn in numerous places, testimony to a hard-fought battle thus far. The robots were blocky, awkward, and slow, but deadly nonetheless. As Lightning drew in closer, Thunder threw out her arms, opened her mouth, and howled forth a sonic attack that switched frequencies with surprising rapidity, shaking the closest wave of her opponents to pieces. She was tiring, though, and in the time it took to gather strength for another blast, the next wave closed in, red streaks blazing from shoulder-mounted weaponry. The heroine was forced to abort her attack and throw herself to the ground rather than be hit. Despite that, a stray beam struck the pavement nearby, throwing up small chunks of debris, one of which bounced off Thunder's temple, dazing her. The robots continued their relentless procession, clearly intending to walk over the young woman in their path. Lightning's blood ran cold at the sight of her partner in danger.

"Tanya!" she exclaimed, momentary fear overriding years of training and the caution for secret identities ingrained in so many superheroes. Down below, Thunder looked up, instinctively responding to her real name, just in time to see her partner dive-bomb the robots, skin blazing with a sheen of electrical power. Bowling the mechanical menaces aside with sharp pulses of energy, Lightning barreled through the nearest cluster, scooping up Thunder in her arms and carrying her to the safety of a nearby roof. The landing was inelegant, both women sprawling as Lightning crash-landed, her powers not up to the task of carrying a passenger for long. Down on the street, the robots didn't even pause to consider the sudden lack of opposition. They just kept on tromping down the street.

"Ow," said Thunder, sitting up and rubbing the side of her head. "I'd thank you for the save, but you're almost as dangerous as they were." Though her voice was tinged with pain and hoarse from use of her powers, she still managed to inject some of her customary playfulness into the tone. Her brown eyes sparkled with tired humor, expression readable even behind the domino mask she wore while in this persona.

Lightning flushed, light skin going pink with momentary embarrassment, and she shrugged it off. "Couldn't let those metal feet get your suit dirty," she remarked, though it was clear neither of their outfits would pass muster without some serious repair work at the very least. Ripped, frayed, burned, stained with blood and oil and dirt, they were monuments to a long fight that wasn't over yet. Even utilizing a space-age fabric invented years ago by Professor Adventure and made available to the hero community (and to the villains as well, once samples hit the black market), their costumes could only withstand so much. They were designed to keep the wearers comfortable under normal weather conditions, and offer a measure of protection against minor attacks, but not much more. Even as she spoke, Lightning studied her partner, eyes drawn to where dark skin showed through holes and tears in the fabric, offering an unintentional peek-a-boo effect. When she realized Thunder was watching her in return, she blushed anew, aware that she looked just as bad... and felt oddly vulnerable as a result. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, even as Thunder did the same.

"Nothing indecent showing?" asked Thunder, full lips curling in a wicked smile. It was every superhero's nightmare, to suffer a wardrobe malfunction in mid-battle. Longfellow the Growing Man's career as a superhero came to an end after his own moment of infamy, though he'd since transitioned into a very successful porn actor. Warmaiden turned down an obscenely large offer from Playboy and vanished back to her hidden kingdom in the Balkans after a similar incident, disappointing millions of new fans.

"You're all clear," reported Lightning, after giving her friend another look, one which lasted a second longer than absolutely necessary, her gaze trailing over Thunder's lush curves and failing to see anything that would shock the neighbors, so to speak. Though one rip came dangerously close to exposing the side of a breast, the thought of which made her mouth briefly go dry. "Me?"

"Good to go," said Thunder with a low chuckle, voice rich with amusement. Her own gaze swept over Lightning, pausing to meet the other woman's eyes, expression impossible to decipher. "So what's the plan?" In the distance, sirens wailed in response to a series of explosions, reminding them both that the threat wasn't ended yet.

Lightning shook her head to clear it, trying to figure out why Thunder's look, seemingly routine, had nonetheless sent shivers through her. They'd known each other for half their lives, been superheroes and partners for years, and yet there'd never been any sign of this... whatever between them.

Or had there?