Switched Ch. 07 - Power Trio

A low-slung rollergirl in green spat between two cars and carved a tight hairpin before heading back toward him. A disc launched toward her and she bent backward as it skimmed over her, fingertips trailing on the pavement behind her, before she snapped forward again and dove over a sedan. The disc tried to correct to catch her from behind but embedded in the side of a delivery truck.

Farther back, I saw a pink rollergirl launch into the air, having hit a tilted disc side-on. Her incredible reaction time didn't help her in midair, and a trio of smaller discs hit her side, making her curl up and fall behind the cars.

I became aware of a stream of invective pouring from Tawney's mouth. The driver of the SUV in front of us had gotten vapor lock of the brain and stopped, and we were trapped. The R8's horn beetled, but that was just another aspect of the chaos and noise.

"Move!" I shouted at the vehicle, and shot out the upper corner of their back windshield, where no one inside would be hit by the bullet, and the driver stomped it.

Space opened up and Tawney launched us forward just as a pair of big sawblades slammed into the asphalt behind us.

Our opponent had figured out what he had to do. He gained altitude, above the reach of the rollergirls' whips, and followed at a rapid pace. They'd done what they could, now it was up to Tawney to drive and me to shoot him, if I could.

I shoved the pistol into its holster and got the assault rifle out of the footwell, checking the action. Framing Sawblade in a brilliant shot, I squeezed the trigger, but just as I did, Tawney jinked around a taxi and made my rounds go wide.

I lined up another, but a sudden braking maneuver made that burst miss, too.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and answered. It was Jessica, spitting out a string of instructions.

"Bring us around the block!" I called, then held on as Tawney cut between a pair of motorcycles. She made a right, then another one, bringing the wheels half onto the curb for a moment. I winced at the damage she was doing to the suspension, but then she clipped a street sign and the broken part nearly took my head off.

The streets were starting to clear up as people figured out what was up. We made it back to the hotel in record time.

Sawblade was just too damned mobile. We were angled toward the front of the hotel, where a Suburban mercifully blocked our view of that poor horse—I could still hear it screaming—and a blade flashed down from the sky to thunk into the ground in front of us, edge toward us and taller than the car. It was maybe three feet away.

Tawney had a split second to react, and she turned toward it.

If she hadn't done that, one of us would be messily dead now. It hit the middle of the car and split it all the way down to the center console. There was an awful crashing, tinkling noise and a vicious deceleration into a soft cloud of airbags, and then I was fumbling the door open and rolling out.

"Bryan!" she hollered.

"Here," I replied, getting to my feet. I immediately ducked again as another sawblade passed through the space where my neck had been.

"Inside!" I ordered, bringing the rifle to my shoulder. I emptied the entire thing into him.

He was staggered. The disc upon which he stood disappeared the moment his weight shifted and another appeared beneath him, which he landed on back-first. He was likely unhurt thanks to his armor, but the drop had brought him low enough to be within reach.

A whip wrapped around his ankle. He clung to the edge of the disc-evidently he didn't have to make them sharp-and the purple rollergirl with the whip passed beneath. It yanked him in a circle, and a line of blades shot out from his hand and wrecked a row of mirrored glass on the building across the street. He looked back at his ankle and another blade severed the whip.

The rollergirl went flying. There was a scream, then a crash and a chorus of car horns. I ran for the inside of the hotel.

There would be no cat and mouse through the back hallways now. He knew the layout and could block us quite effectively with his blades. We'd have to go out the back.

Blades slammed down before we could reach the doors. More slammed down on the side entrances. A few even covered even the vents too small for us to squeeze through.

Sawblade floated down on a disc, glowering at us.

"I hope you motherfuckers are ready to die," he growled.

"Ahem," said a voice.

"Jessica?!" squawked Tawney.

"You will never hurt them," she snarled.

*

Object Lesson

Jessica

When I use my power, I have to see the subject's face. If I can't, I have to be able to picture it clearly.

I'd gotten a good look at Sawblade, yes, but there was one face that I couldn't get out of my head.

I Possessed my subject, my body collapsing empty to the floor, and fell into a world of hurt. It was hell by anyone's definition, the kind of thing to wake you up screaming for years to come. I could feel the horse's psyche in here with me and that was maybe worse than the original pain.

I thought of the face of the man who'd caused this, and I held on to my purpose.

We Switched.

Now I was standing in front of Tawney and Bryan, in Sawblade's body, gesturing threateningly while blades dissolved in the air around us. I fell a few feet to the floor when the one I was standing on went.

Sawblade's mind was now sharing space with the horse, spending his last few moments on Earth experiencing every bit of the pain he'd caused it.

"It's Jess," I announced.

Bryan and Tawney put their guns on the floor, carefully unloaded, and Bryan helped me try to find the catch to remove the helmet. After a while Tawney had to come over and show us how it was done.

I lifted my girl-body in my arms. I was strong, but I had injuries all over, especially my leg and the opposite ankle. I had powers, right? I concentrated, picturing what I wanted, and a stretcher-sized disc of softly glowing white material appeared. I laid her gently on it. The edges weren't sharp, so Bryan gently pushed the floating thing into a corner where it wouldn't be jostled.

There was a commotion outside so I quickly laid on my belly and laced my fingers behind my head. I'd be here awhile, but after Jenny got shot in that prison transport, I wasn't taking chances.

I'd never been arrested by a dozen angry, hyped-up cops before. It was absolutely terrifying. I wanted so badly to do what they ordered. Hands on the head. Yes Sir. Ankles crossed. Yes, Sir. Face on the dirt. Hands behind your back. Thumb up your ass. Yes Sir, yes Sir, yes Sir.

They trussed me up in a variety of ways, gagged, finger-cuffed, ankles shackled, culminating with a cloth bag over my head.

"Secure the area," ordered one. "And get this piece of shit into the next—"

All of a sudden, the cops got quiet.

I heard footsteps. Clunk-shh-clank, clunk-shh-clank. Then a voice said, "I wonder if you might indulge me in a teachable moment." I knew that voice! Everybody knew that voice, but most of us had only heard it on TV. It was way stranger and deeper in person.

"Of course, Sir," answered one of the cops.

"I wasn't talking to you guys." I could practically hear him smile in the shocked silence. "How 'bout it, Paper Doll? These flatfoots, they gotta learn how to deal with Variant prisoners. Show us, harmlessly please, what you'd do if you was a black hat, and I weren't here."

"Mmm mmm," I said into my muzzle.

"She says 'why not'," translated the newcomer.

"Sir," said one, "that's a 'he' in there. See?"

Pain exploded through my crotch region as he kicked me, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. I didn't throw up or pass out, at least. Thank goodness for body armor.

"You shouldn'ta oughta done that," said the celebrity visitor. I heard the smile in his voice.

I Switched with a random cop. Immediately the guy kneeling at my feet in the body I'd just occupied screamed into his gag. I spotted the cop who'd kicked me, then Switched so the first cop was back in his body while the second was enjoying the aftereffects of a good kick to the balls in Sawblade's. "Huh," I said in the second cop's body. "I guess he didn't do nothing." He was screaming and crying into his muzzle, totally wigging out. I kicked him in the nuts again.

We laughed at the stupid, ineffective, squealing guy with the bag on his head, and I got my first look, in person, at Frank N Stein.

His feet were these oversized contraptions, said to be from two different Mecha-heroes, and his hands were likewise a mismatched pair, one rough and three-fingered, the other thick and glossy, with nails like chips of obsidian trimmed to an almond shape. His friendly piecemeal face and his tattered threads belied the potency of one of the most formidable supers in the country.

The cop in Sawblade's body was pleading with us now.

Choosing my moment, I slapped my holster, then pointed a finger gun at the nearest cop's face. "Bang," I said. "Bang bang bang bang bang." Each one was aimed at another surprised cop's face.

I got a good look at one I hadn't 'shot' and Switched back to Sawblade and then to him. Again I slapped leather, this time putting a pretend bullet in the rest of their heads while they tackled their colleague whose body I'd just been in, the one who'd just gotten out of Sawblade after kicking him in the nuts.

Yeah. Fuck that guy in particular.

I walked over and yanked the bag off Sawblade's head. He looked up at me in confusion and terror, and I smiled nastily at him while I worked on the straps around his head.

Cops yelled and threatened me, but Frankie held them back, saying, "Shaddap, you're dead, alla youse."

After I finished removing the muzzle, I Switched back to the perpetrator's body.

"Thank you, Jesus!" hollered the cop when he got back into himself. My nuts still kind of hurt, but my revenge had been so worth it. The cop cupped his balls gratefully for a moment, then glared at me and wound up a punch.

A sharp whistle from Frankie put that idea to bed.

"Now," said Frankie, loudly enough to quiet everyone, "who can tell me what happened here?"

"He swapped places," said one, the first I'd Switched. He shuddered.

"Wrong," asserted Frankie. "It was mind control and illusion. She just made you think that, and you mooks fell for it. She is now mind controlling our perpetrator, here, so you can untie him."

They hesitated.

"I got this," he assured them, and they got to work unlatching me from their devil devices.

Frank flashed his trademark grin and said, "I'll take it from here, boys."

Nodding respectfully, the cops made way as the newcomer stepped forward with his peculiar gait.

He stopped, seeming to realize the law enforcers were still here, and said, "Beat gravel, wouldja?"

At that, they filed out.

I tried not to stare, but not hard enough. "You're..." I couldn't believe it. I sure couldn't say it!

He spread his arms. "Frankie. At your service, Doll-face."

I giggled. "Right. The head of Division Zero, here to talk to me."

He ran his thumbs down his lapels. "Really. The real thing. In the various flesh."

"Guh," I drooled.

"Hey, snap out of it. We got beeswax to jaw on."

"Right." It took a minute, but I shook myself, then smiled and extended a hand. "I'm Paper Doll, a hero currently residing in this miscreant's body."

He didn't accept my hand. "We don't touch paws in the biz, sorry." He gave a little bow instead, and I returned it.

"Nice to meet you," I said, just trying the first inanity to come to mind while in my head I was like, 'I can't believe it's Frankie!' over and over.

The world-class cape Frank N Stein smiled slowly and said, "I know who you are, Chasey my boy. We've been watching you since you showed up at our digs."

I felt like someone had turned on a spotlight pointed at me. "Is that so?"

"You got our attention with that bus caper. And those rollergirls? Choice style, real choice. And hey, sorry about bamfoozlin' the flatfoots like that. It's better to keep your kicky tricks a trade secret, dig?"

Before I could answer, there was a commotion by the front door and without changing expression he said in a very large voice, "Let him in!"

A fellow in a sweater vest, thirtyish and a mite pudgy, pushed apologetically past the police cordon, entered the atrium and walked toward us.

Frankie gestured to him, "I hope you don't mind, I invited this little sweetheart to meet you. Myron, Jessica. Jessica, Myron. He's our resident Poindexter on the subject of capes and suchlike."

The nerdy fellow stepped forward and extended his hand.

I said, "We don't touch paws in the business." Frankie smiled.

Myron nodded and retracted his hand, sticking it in his pocket. "Where is the original occupant of that body?" he asked. He was all curiosity and no judgement. He talked about this as if we were building a birdhouse.

I looked over at the horse, quiet now.

Myron scratched his chin, considering Sawblade. "This is a hollow body, then. And the, ah, the horse?"

"It's in there, too," I said. I looked guiltily at Frankie and said, "I guess I could have put him in my body. I just was disgusted at the thought, and the horse was screaming, and..."

"I get it, Paper Doll. We'll teach you better, if you join us."

I looked up in shock.

"Your ability is a real paradigm shift," burbled Myron. "It's really quite exciting!"

"I'll want to talk to my partners first, but yes."

They were quite amused to see the long coat-clad, bloody-handed, burly killer jumping up and down squealing like a little girl.

I was going to be a superhero!

*

Digger

Jessica

They'd built a big fire in the backyard of the prefab compound. They were eating and drinking while their dogs ran around trying to steal sausages off their plates.

Erin said, "After Margot's brother died, we were all so pissed off. He'd been unarmed, but the cops just... shot him down. Everything seemed so corrupt and cynical. We lived in an ugly world.

"But Jennifer was just too... Say what you want about her personality, but she never quit. She had so much energy, she just pulled us along with her." She looked up at me. "As strange as it sounds, her insanity was just what we needed."

Her eyes were distant as she continued the story. "We scraped ourselves together, sort of, tried to get our lives back on track. It was hard, though. The job market? Shit. Then one day Jennifer came home all excited. Said she'd met someone who had a line on something special. Cape stuff." She shrugged, "How could we say no?"

Lisa picked up the story, "We got these cool high-tech crates, right? But the instructions are just... written with a pen. And it's all weird. Stuff like 'put the spine neck to butt.' But we figured it out." She turned and pulled up her shirt and I could see the angled metal legs of the thing marching up her back, a real cybernetic centipede. The skin was puckered but smooth and dry where it penetrated. She arched her back, and it clicked softly as it flexed with her. "It makes you so fast, Jessica. You don't even know."

"I do know," I pointed out.

"Oh. Right."

"It included skates," added Margot. "And body armor with those whips built into the arms."

Dazed, I said, "He didn't have to tell you to use them. When all you've got is a hammer, your problems all look like nails."

"And we never asked why."

"We asked why, dammit," said Erin.

"But not hard enough." Margot stared her down. "But they didn't answer our questions and so we went on anyway. Don't look a gift horse, eh? We were gonna change the fucking world."

She glared around the fire. "And now look at us. We're all going to prison. And I killed someone."

No one had anything to say for that.

"They hurt your boo," I said, "it was temporary insanity."

She turned red-rimmed eyes on me. "And how many years does that cut off my sentence, eh?"

"I made contact with Div Zero," I said sadly. "My stupid plan worked after all."

"You expect us to be happy for you?" challenged Margot.

"I'm happy for her," supplied Robbie, and Erin nodded agreement.

"The point is," I pushed on, "they have influence in cases like yours. Mister Stein says you can get a reduced sentence and credit for your good deeds. They've got a real personnel shortage. If you're redeemable, they won't let you rot in jail."

I could almost feel the relief coming off them. Months of anxiety was now evaporating. I went on, "He's got ideas about a superhero auxiliary. You'd make great scouts and patrol units, especially when they improve your gear."

Erin jumped on this, "How would that work, exactly?"

"You'd stay in a secure facility at the Div Zero headquarters."

"Stronghold Atlanta?" asked Lisa.

"The very one. On lockdown, basically, though it's gotta be better than state facilities. You only get to leave when you're on duty, patrolling or whatever, and then you come back and take off your gear and act like model prisoners. He says a few years, tops, and then you're offered a full-time position when you go free."

"Do we get to keep the gear?" asked Lisa.

"He said it depended on good behavior."

"You talked to Frankie," deadpanned Margot.

"I got a selfie, wanna see?" I held up my phone.

"But there's an exception, isn't there?" Margot asked. Her voice cut through the excited chatter that started to build at my celebrity photo.

She hmphed when she saw it on my face.

I said, "You, uh... Margot, Baby, they said..." I swallowed. "They said it would be best if you turned yourself in."

She nodded as if she'd been expecting it. She just kept rubbing Digger's neck and staring at the fire. Then she kissed the dog tenderly, and standing up, she launched herself forward, into the flames.

It was only everyone's crazy reflexes that saved her. She actually went into the fire, but only for a split second before she was hauled back out and cinders slapped off her body with inhuman speed. She was a mess of tears. "I just want to die!" she cried.

*

We gathered weeks later at Margot's memorial. It took that long for the whole legal mess to be ironed out.

It was a clear, cold day. We looked incongruously fancy getting out of the armored transport in our nice mourning clothes. Even more strange was the fact that ASSOC troopers with body armor and rifles watched the whole thing to make sure no one escaped.

The memorial was solemn but joyful. We celebrated her life and took turns saying a few words. Everyone was there.

Even Margot was there, in flagrant violation of cemetery rules.

She was especially affectionate to Robbie, rubbing up against her legs until Robbie scratched behind her ears. The trans woman carried herself so much differently than Margot had in that body. So cheerful and bright.

We don't remember who came up with this bizarre idea. We just knew Margot chose it over ending her own life, and we'd take what we could get.

Digger couldn't have been happier to have his beloved Margot on board. We'd done a whole trial basis before the final Switch and discovered that dogs don't have preconceived notions to make them uncomfortable with strangeness, or much sense of self at all, really. Having someone else in their head with them meant never being alone. After one of our trial runs, Margot said it was like being in a happy dream.

I got the paperwork run through with Div Zero and made the Switch for good. Now Robbie resided in Margot's old body, as per her friend's wishes, while Margot ran free and chased frisbees and stole sausages off people's plates at barbecues. And jammed her nose deep into the crotch of newcomers, one and all.

Jennifer recovered and joined her sisters from different misters in Stronghold Atlanta custody. She had very little in her tiny cell, but she was allowed to keep her beloved dog.