Written by WhitePaw :: [Wednesday, 19 October 2005 14:28] Last updated by :: [Wednesday, 19 December 2012 14:48]
WRITTEN FOR SGI WORKSHOP 2.2
She thrust through storm like an eagle's claw across mirrored waters, rolling angry sky around her like a tumbling amusement park ride, dew and tears leaping from her face into the slipstream. She zagged over and hit the mountaintop like thunder, scattering a hectare of ice from the stone peak like so much pond water from a cinderblock, a splash of blue sparks shedding from her body like jolted water. The mountain range murmured with the muffled retort, muffling her gentle weeping as she knelt, defeated on cold cracked stone.
A saber tooth tiger paused at the new scent, then returned to its meal.
Sky rolled … then spun in a blur.
Dawn's heartbeat in the sky, modified chopper's blades drifted nearby in the rarefied air. Snowboarders dove off the rail in a wispy kamikaze scream. Ice broke free and followed in their suicidal wake. The chopper hesitated a moment, pilot's gaze transfixed at an ice-bound vision before diving after the pair of avalanche-doomed snowboarders.
Dusk and dawn snapped over the peak.
Another chopper, red and white hovered nearby. Safety lines, pick axes, cutting torches and orange parkas picked over the peak like nesting ants. They extracted her in a block of stratified ice and gravel, frozen solid in her still satin-glossy ice-skater's skirt and top. The block of her spun like a figure skater in the winds beneath the chopper on the descent down the mountain's slopes to rest in the lodge's meat freezer for further investigation.
The cast of dusk's curtain call wore black fatigues, assault rifles and arrived in a trio of blackhawks, apaches, and matching humvees. They and all trace of her were gone by the stroke of midnight.
Area 51, Cheyenne Mountain: quaint and all too publicly comfortable. The block of her was spirited to a REAL clandestine base, none the wiser. Built in the days of Ma Bell and Big Brother to withstand all conceivable disasters, natural and nuclear, no one questioned the mountainous, windowless concrete and steel fortress of the metropolis telephone switching facility in the very heart of the city. Purposefully connected by its roots to every room in the county no one questioned the cavernous size of its basement or the workforce of 'maintenance' personnel working at this totally automated facility. Lights were kept blinking down the one row of antiquated switching racks in the lobby while "Whisper", the one barely purring mainframe in the back of a broom closet, now ran the entire city's tapped phones.
"That can't be right." The general scowled at data screens in the control room. Every particle of ice was color coded-but nothing but black at every cross section of her.
"Scanner's not meant to run that cold." A badged contractor wiped the frost from his glasses. "Lubricants are near solid, wiring's gone brittle. No surprise the data's frakked!"
Water dripped from the examination table.
"We'll buy you a new scanner." The general crossed his arms. "We can't risk – "
She stood out of the ice like posing from a pool, tossing shards of ice off her hair, letting it roll in sparkling drifts from her curves. She drew her arms over her head, her over-adequate breasts loudly cracking splintering through ice beneath her shining black top like wrecking balls through bone china, unfurling the crimson diamond 'S' stretched like a banner between them. Gale force wind ripped through the lab as she inhaled, her breasts rising volcanically as they watched from the control room, their hair and clothes whipping about their transfixed bodies. A sweltering hurricane of paperwork and ice washed around them as she exhaled.
Somebody hit the alarm.
Battleship-thick boilerplate crashed down over the walls of the examination room. Sirens blared. Vacuum pumps roared to life, transformers buzzed powering up the lab's microwave biohazard sterilization protocols. Troops double-timed it to defensive stations in a clatter.
"We're soooo screwed." The contractor popped the console's data drive and ran after the general.
The boilerplate moaned and rapidly heated. The shape of her pressed into it as she calmly walked through the softening metal. A wall of it imploded around her in a hail of microwave sparks and an ear-popping shockwave as the chamber collapsed behind her. She slipped out of the tank-heavy metal like so much satin bed sheet and paused to survey her surroundings.
She walked unconcerned down a hallway as the fifty-caliber pillbox at the end opened fire. Smashed lead skipped off her in splashes of ice and slush chipped from beneath her costume, but she seemed otherwise distracted.
She brushed aside a locked steel bulkhead door like a curtain and stepped through, leaving the poor soldier behind her wrapped in the twisted barrel of his weapon. Her crimson skirt flared from below in the streaming flames of the incineration chamber that awaited her.
Ceramic walls glowed white by the time she exited the far end of the hall, dried and fluffed. With a quick blown kiss shockwave over her shoulders she snuffed out the flames and left the hall iced over and wheezing fuel. Fist-sized arcs of plasma felt over her every curve as she stepped between the awaiting pair of Tesla coils through the next door. She paused long enough in a smirk to allow the locomotive-sized coils of the awaiting cutting laser to pulse and fade enough watts to thread a battleship bow-to-stern straight into her chest. Purring she pinched and snapped her top over her nipples, her breasts expanding half a cup size as they hardened and cooled from glowing orange.
The entire building cracked thunderously and split as she lifted it open, stepped out, and dropped it off-kilter behind her like a mountain of dishes.
"Well hello there." She flexed for Sumperman's eye. "Finally a worthwhile welcome."
"Hello, Xi." Supergirl scowled. "Please leave."