A Common Weakness – Part 2
Written by Dumano1r :: [Friday, 07 February 2020 22:30] Last updated by :: [Saturday, 08 February 2020 11:39]
A Common Weakness – Part 2
The mortuary was silent.
To Dr Mortimer it was strange. He was accustomed to death, but normally the atmosphere within the mortuary was relaxed, at times even darkly jovial. Now it was oppressive.
An array of heavily armed soldiers surrounded the building, an obvious presence that screened the more subtle presence of a huge range of government operatives who filled the building. Men in dark suits surveyed his every move as he pulled on his surgical scrubs, though he could smile to himself as they awkwardly pulled on paper suits over their tailored finery.
The corpse in the mortuary was massive, a huge man by any standard. At a glance Mortimer estimated him to be almost seven feet tall and almost five feet wide. The mortuary table groaned beneath his weight. “Subject is a Caucasian male, approximately seven feet tall, with exceedingly well developed musculature,” said Mortimer into a dictaphone. “Cause of death appears to be massive trauma to the head, following similarly catastrophic trauma to the heart. Both appear to be consistent with gunshot wounds.”
Mortimer was suddenly aware of an additional presence in the room. Amidst the white clad agents and the blue clad agents was a figure, dressed in deep purple.
He took his scalpel and pressed it to the flesh. It was unyielding. “The kryptonite scalpel, please,” he said, holding out his hand to one of the mortuary technicians.
His new scalpel broke the flesh with surprising ease, and from that point on Mortimer was astonished with how easily the post mortem progressed. Piece by piece he was able to examine the corpse as he would any other. Finally a kryptonian tipped circular saw was produced to break through the skull, revealing the traumatised brain within. Mortimer carefully probed the mangled flesh with his scalpel, astonished by the similarity of the matter to that which he dealt with on a daily basis. “Wait!” he stuttered, “I have something!” With crude accuracy he drew the green remains of a bullet from inside the brain cavity. Alone in the room the figure in purple recoiled. “Located within the skull is a metal projectile, coated with what appears to be kryptonite lining. Item will be exhibited as RJM31.”
“May I see it?”
The figure in purple was suddenly right beside him, and Mortimer was aware of a massively powerful female presence. A delicate hand took the bullet from his. The woman raised it to her beautiful face, rolling the flattened projectile between her fingers. “Kryptonite is fatal to Kryptonians, but it is harmless to me.” She handed the metal back to the pathologist. “I am Cassandra, and I will find whoever killed my lover and I will make them pay.”
She stepped back, and Mortimer found himself staring helplessly at her incredibly curvaceous figure with wanton lust, despite his surroundings. Not for the first time in his life he was struck by the immense presence of the Superhumans, and how feeble mortals were before their unbelievable powers.
Claire arrived home, parking her battered old sedan on the driveway. She checked the mailbox, then walked up to the house, locking the door behind her. “Hey!” she called out. There was no reply. Alice was still out.
Claire went up to her room. She took a large sheet of paper and unrolled it across the floor, then stood in the centre of the paper and removed her coat, followed by the police uniform. Standing naked, she carefully folded the paper over the clothes to create a neat bundle before she went to her wardrobe and dressed in sweat pants and a baggy top. Then she gathered up the bundle of paper and clothing and went down into the basement to load it into the old house’s furnace. In moments it was burning nicely.
She went upstairs and poured a glass of wine, settled on the sofa and switched on the TV. The death of Ultraman dominated all of the news channels, together with speculation as to who was responsible and how they could have managed to kill him. His post-mortem was ongoing.
Claire heard a car on the drive. Alice was home.
She went to the front door and opened it. Alice was walking up the driveway, a large bag over her shoulder, the frustration of the day etched across her face. They kissed at the doorway. “Tough day?” asked Claire.
“The plant’s closing,” said Alice bitterly. “It’s these tariffs. They’re putting us out of business.”
Claire held her lover tight for a moment. “It’s okay, remember I’ve got plenty of money put by.”
“Yeah, but we have to be careful with that. If anyone finds out how you earned it…”
They went into the living room, and slumped on the sofa together. The TV was still on, still reporting on the death of Ultraman. Alice smiled. “You did it then. Was it difficult?”
Claire smiled. “If anything he was the easiest yet. He didn’t even try to dodge. Easy money.”
Alice lay a gentle hand on her neck. “You’re so talented.” They kissed, slowly, sensuously. “I love you.”
The news cut to a figure in purple, and Claire laid a restraining hand upon her lover’s shoulder.
“I will find whoever killed Ultraman and I will destroy him!” the purple clad figure declared.
“Who’s she?” Alison asked.
“Cassandra,” said Claire.
“She is hot!” Alison chuckled. Claire had to admit that Alison was right. Cassandra was undeniably hot. Impossibly hot in a human sense. Her face was perfect, her skin flawless, her hair radiant. Her body was incredible, wonderfully slender legs leading inexorably up to perfect wide hips, then narrowing to a tiny waist before spilling out to her massive, firm breasts that would be beyond the prolonged limit of any human spine. Her figure exuded superhuman power and primal sensuality.
Alison looked at Claire, who was still looking thoughtfully at the gorgeous figure on the TV screen. “Are you worried, Claire?”
Claire smiled. “No. You heard her, she’s looking for 'him'. She won’t be a problem.”
Alison looked at the screen where the gorgeous Cassandra was demonstrating her strength by slowly and mesmerizingly crushing a police car. “Have you got more Kryptonite bullets?”
Claire nodded. “I do, but they won’t work on her. She’s a High Centorian. Kryptonite isn’t good against them.”
“But you know what is?” Alison asked.
“Of course,” Claire smiled. “They all share a common weakness…”
Alison laughed, then leaned in to kiss Claire with a comfortable passion borne of enjoyable experience.
Cassandra stood in the alleyway, for a moment just allowing her superhuman senses to pick up on anything unusual. She could smell humans; human emotions, fear, weakness. And she could smell Ultraman, her lover, a fantastic and powerfully erotic scent. But nothing else. Who had killed him? What manner of superhuman had the powers to lay him low?
Her eyes scanned the alley. The forensic team watched her nervously from the heavily guarded cordon. She peered around the plain brick walls with intense focus. She could see where the human robber had caught himself on a fire escape, leaving behind a few tiny particles of fabric on the exposed metal. She could see three hairs caught on the brickwork where the robber had died. She could see a faint tracery of darkness where Ultraman’s life blood had spilled out upon the uncaring tarmac. But she couldn’t see anything else that didn’t belong.
“Fuck!” she roared in frustration, smashing her delicate fist through the brickwork as though it was made of tissue paper.
She turned to the forensic team, hands on her hips, utterly in control. “You have sterilised this area?”
“Yes, ma’am.” A voice fraught with nervousness.
“And you found nothing?”
“Some shoeprints in the dirt, tyre tracks, detritus.”
“Whoever did this is unbelievably powerful. I doubt if their feet ever even set foot upon the ground.” Cassandra looked around the alley for a final time. What kind of superhuman could move with the speed to take Ultraman down, even with a Kryptonian tipped bullet? That kind of power…
There had to be something. She had to be missing something.
And then it came to her. “We have a kryptonite tipped bullet from Ultraman’s skull. Where is the bullet from his chest?”
Alice and Claire lay together beneath a cosy blanket on the sofa. The TV was on, but neither of them were really watching it.
They had been a couple for several years now. Claire had taken a job as a secretary at the machine plant where Alison was a production supervisor. For some time the workers at the plant had vied for Claire’s affections, a pretty young blonde in a male dominated world. But Claire only had eyes for the brash and confident Alice. They had hooked up at a works Christmas party and neither had ever looked back.
For the third time that night the TV cut to a picture of Cassandra in that familiar alleyway. Even in that unprepossessing location she looked incredible, and Claire felt Alice’s hand tighten on hers as the goddess drove her fist so effortlessly through the solid brick wall. “She is so powerful. And so hot.”
“So are you,” laughed Claire, kissing Alice’s head.
“Don’t you ever wish you could be like them?” Alice asked.
Claire thought about this. “Sometimes, I suppose. But what would I do with that kind of power? I’d up with the same weakness they all have.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun though? Think what we could do together?” Alice giggled playfully.
Claire laughed. “That we don’t do already?” she squeezed her lover’s breast playfully, and for the second time that night the two of them lost themselves amongst each other.
It took Cassandra seconds to scan the alley, the walls and the fire escapes above. It was small wonder the forensics team had yet to find the bullet. It was caught on the underside of a windowsill three stories above. With a simple flick of her feet she leapt up, catching the wood with one hand and effortlessly prising it from the wall. She landed in the alley easily, and with the wooden panel in her hand went to the CIA officers who stood amongst the forensic team. “This bullet must have deflected off his rib on its way out of his body.” She casually ground the wood apart until just the bullet lay in the palm of her hand, emitting a faint brown glow. “We might be in serious trouble.”
The officers leaned in to peer at it. “Shouldn’t it be green?” one asked.
“It would be if it was only one type of Kryptonite…” Cassandra said thoughtfully. Her perfect brow furrowed in thought. Who, or what were they dealing with?