by Cobalt Jade
Cinnabar walked slowly across the factory floor, Sabreglass held high before her. Her head was clearing from its fog. She glanced right and left: disused machinery, loading docks, mannequins. In the far distance was a brighter area lit with fluorescent lights. Her memories of the factory were vague, but she knew there was a work area, a warehouse, and a lab, and that had to be the lab. If Plastica was anywhere, she had to be there.
She began to walk towards it, keeping alert for Plastica's henchmen and women, but they were either hiding, or occupied elsewhere. But she had little advantage in surprise. Plastica in the open was as vulnerable as she ever was; her talents lay in manipulation and disguise. "Come on out, Plastica!" she shouted. "Don't be a coward like Polly Mehr was!"
Spotlights switched on above her. Cinnabar squinted, shielding her eyes; but her taunt had worked. Plastica was sensitive about her days as a mousy grad student. "I am no coward," she growled.
"Then let me see you!"
The spotlights dimmed to normal, revealing Plastica as she stood on a catwalk some twelve feet above. She looked at once determined and insane. Her hair was shoulder-length now and magenta-pink, and she wore a bright red vinyl jumpsuit with four-inch spike heels. The jumpsuit had been unzipped almost to her navel, exposing the inner halves of her taut, spherical breasts. In a photo shoot she might have looked stunning, but in real life the effect was freakish and cold.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you red and magenta don't go together?" Cinnabar said.
Plastica snarled. "Don't overestimate yourself because you escaped my Maze."
"And don't overestimate yourself, because you can't escape from this factory." Cinnabar raised her sword and pointed it at her. With its powers she could make short work of the former plastics expert, but she needed something she had. "I want the records on every mannequin you made, Plastica, who they were and what happened to them. And I want them now."
"A threat?" Plastica said amusedly. She feigned a yawn, fanning her open mouth with scarlet-tipped fingers. "Ho-hum. Where have I heard that before?" She quickly reached behind her for some large weapon. "I can use this, and very easily; I can also flood the whole of the factory floor with my mannequin gas. And I think I will." Her hand moved.
"Watch!" Cinnabar commanded. She whirled Sabreglass before her, letting it act like a spinning shield... in effect, a giant fan. Plastica danced back from the cool rush of air that blasted her, skittering on her heels. "You might not care about your lackies, but you care about yourself."
Plastica cursed, and by that Cinnabar knew she was not immune to her own creation. She glanced briefly at the computer laptop before her. But what her hand did, Cinnabar could not tell.
"Will you come down easily, or do I have to go up and get you?" Cinnabar said.
"Do you know my mannequins are recyclable?" Plastica said.
"Stop delaying, Plastica," Cinnabar said. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I wrote it into the formula," Plastica continued, as if she hadn't heard. "Like soda bottles and margarine tubs. Do you know what happens at a recycling center? Those objects are put in a machine that grinds them up very fine, into a sort of plastic flour that can later be melted. The colors don't matter, but the grade does. Most anything can be recycled these days. Telephone cases, toys, patio furniture. Even mannequins."
A horrible noise filled the air, like a thousand woodchippers going at once. Cinnabar spun around to see the machine Plastica was pointing at, a twenty-foot high monstrosity with its warning lights spinning... an industrial-strength plastic grinder. And her still-mannequinized friends, suspended on hooks from the ceiling, were headed straight towards it.
Cal ducked ARTIE through the opening on his right, into the main part of the factory. Chrystar followed, a grim expression on her transparent face; but as he watched she altered, her crystalline flesh becoming less shiny and more solid, until she was as tannish-pink as the factory's stockpiled mannequins were. "The better to hide here, my dear," she quipped. She did look very much like a mannequin.
Cal was about to go forward when a steady, throbbing shriek suddenly filled the air. "Uh oh, what's that?"
Whatever it was, it didn't sound good, but to their left was a more urgent situation. Darlene lay plastered against a tank, trapped in some kind of clear, gluelike substance as the black girl he remembered from the van trained a weapon on her. "That's Phanxine, if I'm not mistaken," Chrystar said. "But who's that with her?"
"Darlene -- Cosmic Girl. The team member ALOSH sent from the East Coast. She's been helping us."
Chrystar started forward. "I'm going to have a word with Phanxine."
"But the gas --" Cal said. He hovered in place, caught between the retreating crane and Darlene's plight.
"... has no effect on me. You follow the girls, see where they went. I'll take care of this."
Cal flitted ARTIE away, following the plasticized superheroines.
Darlene cringed against the side of the tank. Not again, she thought resignedly. She'd been plastered, petrified, paralyzed, gilded, and frozen... now she was going to be a human-shaped decoration for the factory floor, her plasticized body squashed there forever. The black girl's grin widened as she struggled. Some lackeys followed cruel orders without thinking, but she really seemed to relish them. Chuckling, she cocked her weapon, letting a fresh flow of gas hiss from the reservoir tank up into the barrel. "Any last words?"
"No so fast!" One of the mannequins came to life, leaping out at Darlene's captor and striking her in the side. The black girl crumbled with an uff, the rifle clattering loudly on the concrete floor. The mannequin stepped over her, grinning broadly. "You're in a bit of s sticky situation, aren't you?"
"Chrystar," Darlene breathed. "Lori told me about you. You must have met Cal."
Chrystar nodded. "But Plastica snagged the others before he could restore them. She used a crane to carry them away; he's following them now. He gave me the antidotes for safekeeping." The black girl started to stir, groaning, and groped for her rifle; Chrystar kicked it away from her without a backward glance. "Don't try it again, Phanxine, or next time it will be your head." She examined Darlene's bonds. "Hmm, looks like some kind of superglue."
"It's chrysteel. The antidote should be in the blue can. It's probably the same one he used on you." Chrystar opened the pouch she had slung around her neck and removed the dissolvant. She opened it and sniffed, making a face, then sprayed Darlene's encased shoulder. Darlene steeled herself as the chrysteel began to smoke, but all she felt was a slight warmth. The solid mass began to soften. "Where's Cinnabar?"
"She made it through the maze, but Plastica tried to trick her with a replica of herself. I couldn't hear because I was trapped in the chrysteel, but she seemed to be hypnotized. She snapped herself loose at the last minute just before an iron cage came down. It would have sprayed her, but she ran out into the factory. She's looking for Plastica now, I guess."
Darlene saw Phanxine rise behind Chrystar's back. "Careful! She's going for the hose!"
Chrystar whipped around to see Phanxine's hand on the nozzle, She made a feint for her, knocking her down as she lifted it, but Phanxine still managed to turn the valve. A weak stream gushed out, coming very close to Darlene's boots, but Chrystar already had closed her hand over Phanxine's, and Chrystar was stronger.
But Phanxine had other tricks in mind. With a yell she snatched the pouch from Chrystar's neck, breaking the cord, and took off across the factory floor. On the way she picked up her gas rifle, making for the shrink-wrapped mannequins where Plastica's other henchwoman had hidden. Darlene guessed an ammunition cache -- or a means of communication -- had been stashed there.
"Shit!" Chrystar swore, peeling off after her. With a herculean effort Darlene tore herself free from the dissolving chrysteel, noting parts of her costume tore free as well. The antidotes were the only ones they had; they'd taken all of them, leaving none behind at HQ. Pushing her left breast back into place, she followed.
Phanxine had been making for the mannequins, but soon changed her mind. She leapt up on the conveyer belt of a nearby machine, making to smash the bottles against its hull. Acting on instinct, Darlene brought her hand down on the nearest switch. The conveyer belt jerked into motion, sending Phanxine tumbling off her feet. She hit the belt flat on her face, the precious containers rolling from her grasp. Chrystar hurriedly rescued them before they could hit the floor. "Got 'em," she said.
Stunned, Phanxine blinked. She tried to raise herself up on her arms, but it was too late. Something within the machine had grabbed her legs and feet, pulling her inside. "No! No! Make it stop!" she pleaded, fingers clawing on the rubber. "It's got me. It's --" Her eyes went wide. Shrieking insanely, she was drawn inside. Muffled screams continued for a while as ratchets turned and pistons popped, then grew fainter, and stopped. Only the mechanical noises remained.
"Well, that was certainly spectacular," Chrystar said conversationally. "Should we go down to the other end, and see what's become of her?"
Darlene shrugged nonchalantly, even though she feared Phanxine had been really mangled. They walked around the machine to a small, square opening curtained by hanging black strips. They didn't have to wait long. In a few seconds the nude, shrink-wrapped body of Phanxine came head-first through the curtain, thumping helplessly down the short rollered bed like a chocolate-brown grub. Darlene was pleased to see she had been tightly packaged in dozens of yards of thin plastic sheeting, her arms trapped against her sides. Faint wheezing sounds came from within the transparent cocoon as she struggled, bound legs thrusting helplessly. What remained of her clothing sprayed out of a slot in the machine's side.
Chrystar grabbed a utility knife and sliced a small breathing slit under her nostrils. "Behave," she said lightly. "We'll be back for you shortly."
"Mmph! Mmph!" was all Phanxine could say in return. Her eyes rolled with dread toward the invoiced mannequins.
"Yes, we just might sell you with the rest," Chrystar said. She and Darlene ran in the direction Cal had gone in.
"Let's see if you can save them, Cinnabar!" Plastica laughed.
Cinnabar spun around, acting on instinct, and let Sabreglass pull her up and forward. Her friends' lives came first; Plastica would have to be dealt with later. The figures had been arranged in two rows, on two tracks approaching the funnel from opposite directions. It was clear they would meet in the middle and drop their victims then. She saw Noelani, Shana, Allison and Lori... but where was Gina? And how had Lori been released from the water-filled snowglobe?
Something exploded to her right in a puff of pink gas. She swerved, narrowly missing it. Plastica was firing at her! The rifle hadn't been a rifle at all, but a sort of bazooka that fired shells of the gas. She turned her head briefly to see Plastica firing off another shot, her perfect face contorted with a crazy hate. It was clear she would have to run the gauntlet to save her friends, and risk being turned into a mannequin herself.
She zipped back and forth as the shells exploded; the only way she could hope to avoid them was by facing Plastica and moving backwards. Meanwhile, the statues were approaching rapidly.
Then, movement from the floor. It was Cal, followed by and Darlene and Gina. "Up here!" she shouted. She sounded coarse and undignified, but she had to be loud to carry over the noise of the plastic grinder. There was no reason for anyone to be cool and collected right now.
ARTIE zipped up to the ceiling, Cal searching desperately for a way to stop the cranes. The little robot's laser fired repeatedly, trying to damage the mechanism. It hadn't been designed for assault, only repair. The gas grenades continued to fire, keeping Cinnabar from coming nearer. Plastica knew better than to waste her shots at a robot, however.
"I'll get her," Gina mouthed, running across the floor to search for a way onto the catwalk. Darlene, meanwhile, ripped off the grinder's mechanical panel and began to probe inside.
Cinnabar dodged another grenade, this one sending her moving backwards. To her relief she saw one crane mechanism halt with a jerk, blue sparks flying from its motor. The capture tong was half-open, leaving Lori swinging precariously at the funnel's edge, Cal hovering concernedly before her.
"Cal!" she shouted, lobbing the grenades off with her sword. "The other crane!"
But Cal still hesitated. "The antidote," he said at last. "I gave it to Chrystar... she has it!"
"Never mind," Cinnabar shouted. "Stop the others!"
Cal backed up and spun around as Shana's tong slowly opened. The plasticized superheroine began to fall, outstretched toes entering the funnel's mouth. Cal rammed her hard as she dropped, sending her bouncing onto the lip of the funnel. She tottered there for a heartrending second, arms and legs evenly balanced, and finally tumbled down... outside the edge, to the factory floor, where Darlene moved in to catch her. Looking into the mouth Cinnabar shuddered; she saw banks of rotating drums with interlocking teeth moved up and down the shaft like giant lawnmowers. At the bottom was a horizontal grinder, a spinning ring lined with more teeth. It was clear that anything... or anyone... that fell in would have been pulverized almost instantly.
"Got her!" Darlene said. She propped Shana against the machine and returned to her examination of the panel.
"Don't bother with a switch. Just stop it!" Cinnabar yelled. Allison was swinging up now, her plastic face composed in peaceful slumber, ignorant of the fate that awaited her. Cinnabar had been too busy to respond to her frantic mental calls, but she did now.
*What's happening? What's going on?*
*You don't want to know,* Cinnabar said diplomatically. With a cry she threw Sabreglass at the rolling track, jamming it to a standstill but leaving her flightless, and stranded on top of the grinder. Allison, Lori, and Noelani continued to dangle twelve feet above her, tempting targets if Plastica decided to change weapons.
"Get the antidote, Cal!" Cinnabar ordered. "And stop Plastica if you can!"
"All right," Cal said. He was still reluctant to leave Lori, but moved off. Plastica's mouth opened wide as the tiny robot dove straight at her, all its weapons... the drills, cutters and saw... extended. She gaped, then her eyes narrowed and she continued to pump out the grenades, the only weapon she had. One of the canisters shot past ARTIE to hit Lori., the impact swinging her backwards in an explosion of pink gas. The tong moved slightly, loosing its grip on her arm. With horrified eyes Cinnabar saw her begin to fall.
No! She dove through the cloud and caught Lori's left ankle as she tumbled headfirst into the grinder. She hung there, suspended, from Cinnabar's fist, head suspended a body's length above the rotating teeth. Cinnabar breathed hard; it had been close. Several gunshots came from below, but when she looked Plastica was gone, and so was ARTIE.
She tried to draw Lori up. Plastica's mannequins were designed to be light; they should have been no problem for her, a superheroine, to lift. But her arm was so sluggish. Her vision blurred and she couldn't even rise to her knees. What's happening to me? Why do I feel so... slow?
The truth dawned with awful clarity. The gas. I've been dosed.
Goddess, not that...but the chemical was fast taking affect, a rigid popping and tightening effect all over her body. She saw the skin of her hands began to grow hard and shiny, evening out in tone to a bland ivory beige. Her grip remained firm on Lori's ankle, but her other muscles were fast failing her. She was losing mass, and with her legs no longer acting as counterbalance, she began to slip forward, into the funnel. She tried to call for help, but her lips could no longer form the words.
*Hold on Cinn!* Allison's mental voice said, having sensed her plight *As long as have some control over your body you'll be all right.*
But she was fast losing it, her body becoming more and more rigid. Her head grew light and blackness fuzzed her vision. A strange erotic warmth made her tingle all over as her head slowly dipped over the edge.
Suddenly a utility hatch opened at the bottom of the shaft, and a head of brown curly hair poked through... Darlene! Her face registered surprise, then without hesitation, she climbed aside. She stretched herself up in the center of the bottommost tier, in the middle of the spinning ring. With her bare hands she grabbed one of the moving blades and, bracing her legs, held it back!
The machine made a horrible noise as the rotating drums slowed, jerking now and then in spasmic motions. She's strong, Cinnabar thought in wonder. Sparks flew inside the machine as its gears jammed. Cursing audibly now, Darlene pulled harder. The ring slowly moved out of alignment, sending the others out of balance. The machine was dying, but it was still capable of maiming. An orgasmic rush poured through Cinnabar's rigid body as she felt herself losing consciousness, and begin to fall...
Cinnabar opened her eyes. Her body was tingling again, but it wasn't erotic... rather it was the pins-and-needles sensation of an arm or a leg that had fallen asleep. Unpleasant, but bearable. Slowly she stretching, noting she had her normal skin color and range of motion once again.
Darlene lowered the antidote. "Thank you," Cinnabar said. "That was... close." Gratefully she rubbed her restored flesh.
Darlene grinned girlishly. Her costume was in tatters, but compared to the nude or near-nude state of everyone else, it didn't matter much. "I've stopped aircraft and trains before, but never a plastic grinder." She looked at her hands, which were still manicured and undamaged. "Hmm... seems like I've become stronger. I wonder if the Mok'tn had anything to do with it."
"Good thing if they did." Cinnabar gave her a hug. She still didn't believe they were all in one piece. Plastica had proved a deadlier foe than they had foreseen.
A series of high-pitched shrieks drew their attention. Gina had captured Plastica and was holding her prisoner, carrying her across the floor in a bearhug with her arms pinned at her waist. ARTIE followed, claws clutching the laptop Plastica had been so protective of. Her long, lean legs kicked the air helplessly, but she couldn't escape. She glared at Darlene and Cinnabar with white-hot rage.
"Shut up," Gina said simply.
Plastica spat out a torrent of curses, twisting like an oil-coated red cobra. Gina's only response was to hold her more tightly, so the model's face actually grew blue from lack of oxygen. "Want to trade places, Cosmic Girl?"
"With pleasure, " Darlene said, and put a similar hold on Plastica as Gina finished spraying the others. The shiny rigid flesh of Shana faded to normal skin; dead eyes became moist, blinked, and the superheroine erupted into full motion once again, stepping forward with a sigh of relief. For Lori, Allison, and Noelani the change manifested itself as cracks in their painted finishes. In seconds their shiny outer shells had splintered, falling from them in flakes as they stood and stretched. Everyone began talking all at once... Lori having a very emotional conversation with ARTIE, which spooked Cinnabar until she remembered who controlled him.
Most of them had only a vague idea of what had happened. "Last thing I remembered, I was in Polly Jean's -- Plastica's -- condo," Noelani said, shrugging off the rope that had bound her. "The gas came out of the doorframe and... everything was like a dream, after that."
"A nightmare," Lori said, shuddering. She looked around in vain for something to cover herself with.
"Not me," Gina said. "I was aware of every moment." She gave Plastica a look of sheer venom which was echoed by Shana, who out of all them had probably suffered the most.
Plastica continued to struggle and curse, trying to kick poke Darlene in the shins with her high spiked heels. Darlene loosed her grip and shifted her around, pinning the model's wrists at the small of her back with one hand while the other arm gripped her in a headlock. "Quiet," she said, and increased the pressure. Plastica sputtered into silence, her breath coming in strangled pants. Her eyes rolled with a mixture of defiance and fear.
"So what do we do with her?" Gina said, jerking her thumb.
The eyes of all went cold. Plastica and her henchmen and women would eventually be delivered to justice; it was due process of the law, after all. But somehow, that didn't seem enough for what she had done to them.
Cinnabar picked up her sword. She went over to stand before the former plastics expert, letting Plastica see she was in full control. "As I said, Plastica," Cinnabar said evenly, "You're going to give us the records on every mannequin you've made and where they've been sold, as well as where you've got your formulas locked up."
"No!" Plastica shrieked defiantly. "Why should !?"
Why should you indeed, Cinnabar thought grimly. Plastica knew she was going to prison, and the willing disclosure of her records wouldn't count for much in a plea bargain, if there could even be a plea bargain.
"She won't talk." Lori shook her head.
"I'll make her," Darlene said. To Cinnabar's shock she slipped her hand inside Plastica's jumpsuit, playing with the taut, shiny globe of her almost triple-D breast.
Plastica gasped, flushing the same color as her hair. "Stop it!"
"Just checking the quality of the silicon you've got in there," Darlene said in a playful, yet sinister tone.
"You can't do that! I'll..."
"You'll what?" Darlene continued to grin, now feeling up the other breast. Plastica grit her teeth and tossed her head, but Darlene held her arms pinioned behind her, the position keeping her chest thrust out and vulnerable. "Anyway, I think you like it."
There was no denying it. Plastica's nipples, now bared, were becoming painfully hard under the teasing, and so was her breathing. Darlene's lips brushed her neck and in a seductive tone she said, "Did anyone ever tell you about me? Darlene, Cosmic Girl, once the willing slave of the Mok'tn?"
"N-n-n no.." Plastica sputtered.
"They had a device called the molecular manipulator that was capable of transforming organic matter into inorganic matter, and back again," Darlene said. "Instant statues. Silver, glass, stone, you name it. To make a long story short, they eventually transferred its powers into me. I'm a living molecular manipulator now, Plastica, and I can change human flesh into any other substance I want. Especially when I get aroused."
Plastica gave a squeal as Darlene's fingers pinched her nipple. Then, before the horrified yet fascinated eyes of the Team, she shimmered and became transparent, her lips poised on shriek that dissolved into nothing as her face literally fell, blending into the ten or twelve gallons of water her body had become. And just as suddenly she lost bodily cohesion altogether, pouring out of her catsuit in a noisy splash...
... and was herself again, panting hard in mingled fear and shock. "Hmm, I didn't know I could do that," Darlene grinned.
"Careful," Cinnabar warned, knowing all about Darlene's strange power and how uncontrolled she said it could be. Yet she didn't protest Plastica's treatment too much.
"How'd you like being water, Plastica?" Darlene said. Plastica's look said she didn't like it all, her eyes begging for Darlene to let her go. She was naked and shivering now, her catsuit and boots lying empty on the floor.
"Your records," Cinnabar said firmly.
"Let me go and I'll get them together for you," Plastica said weakly, jerking her head in the direction of her lab.
"No; we'll do that honor," Cinnabar said, foreseeing another trick. "Just tell us where they are."
Plastica's mouth grew surly. "They're all over the place. How can I tell you every -- oh!" as Darlene began fondling her again. She thrashed mightily, but as before, she couldn't escape. "What are you doing!" she gasped. "My feet. I can't --" She looked down, her eyes going wide. The Team stared with her, at the lower parts of her legs. Her slim, shapely calves were darkening in color, becoming rough in texture... she was turning to stone from the feet up!
"NOOOO!" Plastica wailed, trying to run, but by now she was firmly fixed in place. From the knees down, she looked like she wore a pair of gray boots. Cursing, she clutched her thighs and tried to move her legs manually, but nothing happened. She was rooted to the floor as if glued there.
"Wait, that's not stone," Chrystar said. "That's..."
"... lead," Darlene finished. "Heavier than gold but not quite as fine. I don't think you deserve to be some glittering, gleaming art deco decoration, Plastica. Cold, ugly lead is more your nature."
"No, no," Plastica wailed as the transformation crept up her thighs. Her knees were frozen as a slight crouch but her hips still had mobility; she thrust them back and forth like a couch dancer's, seeking, uselessly, to escape. But there was little she could do. In another second the transformation had claimed her sex, making of it a cold metal slot that might have accepted coins, if she'd been positioned upside down.
"Where are your records, Plastica?" Cinnabar repeated.
Plastica's perfect lips worked helplessly as the transformation crept up her abdomen. Her eyes bugged out as her silicon breasts became cold metal domes, with battleship nipples that looked like they could fire heavy-armor projectiles. Cinnabar was reminded of the tiny figures of wizards and warriors her college friends used to play Dungeons and Dragons with. "The E drive on the laptop!" she shrieked. "The password's BH13W98A2F9. That's where they are. PLEASE!"
Noelani went to investigate. "I see them," she said, but glanced up suspiciously. "Are you sure these are the right ones? I saw them before in Sexateria, but these don't look as complete."
"They are, they are!" Plastica shrieked.
"Think she's telling the truth?" Cinnabar asked.
"Hmm, I don't know..." Darlene answered thoughtfully. She lifted her hands from the villainess's exposed flesh, halting the transformation. Plastica presented a bizarre picture as she stood there, a woman encased in a strapless, dull-colored jumpsuit. But she truly was lead. She sobbed loudly for some minutes. Not one of the superheroines was moved, however.
"Turn me back," she sobbed. "I can't... " Her eyes rolled in terror at her new body. "This is... UGLY!"
"You'd rather be plastic like your victims were?" Darlene said. "Or something worse?"
"Yeah! Like a dog turd," Gina shouted.
"A chewed up wad of gum that's been stepped on," Lori contributed.
"Paper," Shana said. "And I think I've got lighter fluid and a match..."
"No, no!" Plastica screeched, between mingled gulps and tears.
"Why the tears?" Darlene demanded. "Isn't this what you always wanted to be, a helpless inanimate object like your mannequins?"
"Not like this!" Plastica wailed.
"And you will stay like that until you tell us where your formulas are hidden," Cinnabar said firmly.
Plastica continued her hysterics, but it was clear to everyone she was stalling. "Let me give you more persuasion," Darlene said. She moved her hand to the back of Plastica's neck and seemed to concentrate. Plastica screeched as three-inch metal spikes erupted out of her lead body, looking for all the world like an iron maiden in reverse. If she'd been wearing clothing, it would have been ripped to shreds. Seemingly in shock, she felt one of the spikes with her thumb, drawing a bead of blood. She wailed. Before she had been unlovely, now she was hideous.
"There's more," Darlene said. She touched the villainess's arms. In another second they, too, were lead, frozen in a dramatic position before her, with more of the spikes erupting from her hands, popping out in sequence up her forearms to her shoulders.
"It's in the suitcase! There, by the door!" Plastica screamed. Cinnabar looked and did see a satchel packed and sitting where she had said it was... preparation for a quick getaway, perhaps.
Gina bounded over and opened it up, nodding as she shuffled through the papers. "They're here."
"Now make it stop!" Plastica begged. The lead was now lapping her chin, the sharp spikes forming a metal ring around her neck similar to a bulldog's collar.
Suddenly they heard a bang and felt a rush of hot air. If Plastica had been hysterical now, she was ballistic. Kylasha the Damned had arrived and stood in the middle of the floor, her entry vortex swirling behind her.
This story is copyrighted 2002 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). This work
may be freely distributed over electronic media provided no fee is charged for
its use. Charging a fee for this story, or publishing without author credit
or this notice violates my copyright.