chapter 6.2

The next day, Oriana was startled out of her work flow when her fourth phone, which she had purchased for the express purpose of communicating with the councilwoman, rang on her desk, a tinny ringtone rendition of the National Anthem. "What have you got for me?" she asked as she picked up.

"How do you expect me to disarm the police if you're going to go live on Fredo Flores and blatantly encourage crime?!"

Oriana had never in their talks so far heard Jasmine get angry. She was beginning to wonder if she lacked the capacity. There was a lot she had to say, and not much time to get to the private restroom. She dismissed herself from her desk, ducked into the nearest supply closet instead, and closed the door; it would have to do.

"Hang on, Councilwoman. I never said people should go out and do crimes. Just that if they were going to, they shouldn't leave themselves undefended. This is shit they should know already." Of course, she knew not every thief could afford robot armor...but that was why you kept on your grind, and you know, she respected that. She considered it a blessing that she had a regular job, but everyone making a living out there in those streets was just as valid to her.

"How is that not the same thing?"

"Look, Councilwoman. I don't know if you checked Twitter, but me going on the show been surprisingly good for you."

"...Really?"

&q uot;I did a little research on my own time, and it looks like until you teamed up with me, you was a one-issue candidate. People thought you was a centrist, or at best, a left-leaning moderate who cared about police brutality...but then what? People want someone in office who's gonna do something about community outreach. About homelessness. You been completely silent about all that. But with my endorsement, you might as well be the champion of all the folks who gotta steal to eat, and a good number of them still got a residential address for their voter registration card. You go online right now and see what I just got you as of yesterday: the inner city vote. The radical vote. The ex-con vote. I mean, polite society mad as fuck right now, but they also a statistical minority. There's power in numbers."

There was a pause on the line. Then: "Mother of God, you're right."

"You see? Now I'm glad we got to the same page. And you might want to consider the whole homelessness thing on your ticket, while we're at it."

"You know, I think I can work that in."

Once the call ended, she rushed back to her desk to catch up on her code. Who knew being the mind behind a politician could cut so much into workplace productivity?

It was a boring day at the office. Nothing urgent on the police radio, but that was all very well. It gave Oriana a chance to work on a side project she had started alongside her usual white-hat hacking. At five on the dot, she rushed home, intent on continuing her research.

Between the parking lot and her unit, she heard a commotion between two of the buildings. Glancing quickly into the alley showed her a woman pinned helplessly facing the wall, her arm held behind her by a tall man in an overcoat who looked a second away from pulling out a glock.

"Where's my fucking money, bitch?"

"Is it your fucking money? What business I do on my time without you is mine."

"What the fuck did you just say to me, you skank?"

Oriana ducked out of view. She was pretty sure the pimp hadn't spotted her. She called out, "Hey!" into the falling night. It must have had the desired effect of startling that scumbag into letting the girl go, because she quickly ran out of the alleyway.

It was risky, using her powers without a direct line of sight to her target, but not as risky as compromising her identity. She concentrated on the task at hand as best she could…

There was a scream from the alleyway. The telltale sound of fabric splitting along seams. She chanced a quick poke of her head into the alleyway to find an expanse of pale flesh wedged stuck between the buildings, fat quivering as the man kicked and struggled, ass facing out. On the ground by his feet lay a pistol--Oriana had been right.

She ducked out and returned to the girl, who she recognized as her neighbor from across the parking lot. "You might not want to look in there," she said. "You might also want to look into getting a new manager."

"What--?"

& quot;I can't explain, but that guy won't be roughing you up no more," said Oriana. "Do you want a walk back to your unit?"

"I'll be fine," said the girl, and she ran obediently back to her own apartment without looking back. Security would find the fattened pimp before the night was over, but by then, Bombshell could be anywhere. She did, after all, have a hotline. She had probably been answering a distress call. There was no proof she lived here. If the story made news and her neighbor put two and two together, her knowing wouldn't be a problem. After all, the girl had her own secrets to keep. But it probably wouldn't make news outside of some obscure feminist publication. Polite society wanted to read about the Bombshell who stopped violent robberies and kept the public feeling safe, if in a rather unconventional way, not the Bombshell who protected prostitutes. They loved her as the People's Superhero, so long as those people were heavy-air-quotes 'worthy' of being saved. Most days, she wished things were different. She wished everyone could just think with their heads and live by a few simple rules. Don't hurt others. Don't do things to them they don't want done. Doesn't matter who they are.

But tonight, things worked out for her.

She made the rest of the walk to her unit and breathed a sigh of relief as she crossed the threshold and let the door fall shut behind her.

What a day.

She had planned to dive right into her research upon coming home from work, but after that nasty business outside, she needed a little culinary therapy. Plus, she was hungry, having mindlessly worked through her lunch break without leaving the office. (DeAndre had noticed the lack of donuts; he didn't say anything, but she could tell by the disappointed look on his face when he returned from a trip to the break room.)

She pulled some butter, garlic, celery, carrots, onions and bell peppers out of the fridge, chopped everything up, and threw it in a stockpot over medium heat. Pinch of salt. Pinch of sugar to get the onions and peppers those nice brown edges. Pinch of flour to thicken the mix. Fifteen seconds. Stir, stir, stir. Just before the flour could start to burn, she threw in a cup of water, then some stock she'd prepared the day before. Then she started chopping beef and tossing that in, too.

While the stew was going, she put some rice on to boil over another burner. Once it reached that nice rolling boil, she lowered the heat to a simmer, put on the lid, and returned to the stew, seasoning it with a hearty shake of paprika, cumin, basil, and rosemary. Some black pepper. A bay leaf. Just for fun, a dash of cinnamon, a star anise, and ground cloves. Unconventional, she knew. But it worked for her dad in his cooking, the last time she had bothered to visit home. She really ought to go see her parents again soon, she thought to herself. She had just been so busy lately.

While she was waiting for dinner to finish, she broke out her handwritten notes, saved news clippings, and a map of the city marked with the locations of incidents over the kitchen table.

She knew much more than she let on on Fredo Flores in the Morning about the man stylizing himself as the villain Big Tech.

Ever since he had dropped in on her in traffic, she had been following his story and had him pinned down to a certain radius in town, which had a significant overlap with her own block. She had scoured the county's criminal record database for anyone who matched his approximate physical description and had priors in corporate burglary. So far, she had a few leads, but none felt right.

She had shared none of this on Twitter. Normally one to keep her followers in the loop with regards to her activity, she had decided early on to keep her investigation a tightly kept secret. If Big Tech got word that she was watching every one of his moves that she could, he might try to slip under her radar.

She didn't know why she was so obsessed with someone who she had seen exactly once, and just yesterday had told all of America she was content to leave alone. Actually, that was a lie. She had a suspicious, morbid fascination. Who in the world turned up to commit a run-of-the-mill burglary decked out in a rocket belt with a laser gun? Big Tech hadn't done anything that warranted her attention...yet. But the measures that he took indicated that he might. He definitely had a vain side. He wanted people to know who he was. But why? What did he want? Besides money, even if she was pretty sure he wasn't keeping any of it. But money wasn't hard to come by. You could get a job, or turn a trick, or walk into any store with one gun, although that last one in particular was the kind of crime she aimed to stop. Part of her wished this fledgeling villain would just do that, so she'd have an excuse to pick him off quick. And yet, she knew she should wish the opposite: that he kept to his victimless crimes against corporations who could afford the setback, aided along by his inexplicable arsenal of gadgets, and that no innocents find themselves caught in his crosshairs…

And another part of her still imagined what she'd be at liberty to do if he ever used that robot suit as a true and present threat...

She had never fought a supervillain before. All the big names had been taken out by heroes with more experience before she'd had a chance to come into her name. Biocide sprung to mind; she didn't even know how she would have handled that one. How exciting would it be to take on an opponent who could match her for power?

Maybe she'd even play with him, let him get a couple licks in to see what she was dealing with. The anticipation would be delicious when she finally threw down her winning hand. She'd do it slow, too. Ten or twenty pounds around the middle, not enough for the crowd around them to notice at first, but enough to send a message. A warm, heavy push of fat to put him slightly off balance. 'Consider this your warning…'

But of course, he wouldn't listen. He'd turn the laser gun on her and she would have no choice but to unleash the full force of her power, blowing him up so enormous and so quickly that not even NASA could keep him airborne. He'd fall out of the sky and crash-land, fattened clean out of his costume a good two hundred pounds ago, limbs splayed, but mostly unharmed--the soft, jiggly expanse of his ass would have cushioned the impact. And he'd still be swelling, naked and vulnerable, staring up at her with a glint of not-quite-horror in his eyes that at first she would only be able to imagine behind the mask. And something else, too. She wouldn't be able to see his cock jump to attention against the flabby underside of his spilling belly hang, but she'd know by the flutter in his labored breathing that he was enjoying this, too...

She'd place the toe of one boot under his chin where it had doubled to tilt his head up so he had to look at her, face to face, mask to mask...

'That's it. Don't struggle. It doesn't hurt, does it?

'Feels kinda good, don't it?

'Mama's gonna take good care of you.

'If anything, I'm saving you from getting into any more trouble.'

Then with a flick of her toe, she'd unmask him, just in time to see the look of pure orgasmic bliss overtake his features...

God, why was she getting so into this?

She needed to get this out of her system, stat.

The rice still had about ten minutes to go. So, she busted out her laptop and opened YouTube.

'Stuffed by my Curvy GF Until I Can't Breathe' was an oldie but a goodie, a 40-minute video from eight years ago featuring a plump, shirtless man groaning and whimpering about how achingly full he was while his voluptuous lady friend straddled his hips and spoon-fed him a pot of macaroni and half a sheet cake, alternatively teasing him, marveling at how round his gut was getting as she filled him up, and kneading his plush middle to coax out a deep, wet belch. Oriana had a hand in her panties, rocking her hips against it in her kitchen chair, when a loud rapping sounded from her front door.

"FBI, OPEN UP!"

Oh, she was so not in the mood.

She snapped her laptop shut and shouted back, "I recognize your voice, D'von!"

Sighing, she rose to go and wash her hands in the kitchen sink before answering the door.

D'von had brought Ben along with him, and both boys looked concerned at the sight of her. "Ori, are...are you okay?" asked Ben. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"Yeah, well…crime never sleeps, either."

She'd been doing some midnight patrolling on foot lately, trying to see if she would run into a certain someone. She hadn't, but she had managed to save three innocent pedestrians from would-be muggings. That, and incurred a couple thousand dollars worth of damage to city property, but she already gave ten percent of her income back to the government for things like that, so she didn't feel bad.

"Anyway, D'von, d'you know how bad it woulda been for all of us if I'd have fell for your little prank?"

"How bad, pray tell?"

Oriana gave the front patio of her third-story apartment a demonstrative stomp, causing the railings to shake.

"Well, for one thing, I'd have lost my whole security deposit. But come inside and tell me, to what I owe the pleasure?"

"We was worried about you!" said D'von as he and his brother followed her inside. "Family poker night at my place, you never showed up!"

"I didn't RSVP."

"You never RSVP! But you always show up!"

"I just didn't want to deal with Aunt B." In truth, she had completely forgotten about poker night, but she didn't want to hurt D'von's feelings. He always went all out when the party was at his house and took such pride in showing everybody a good time. Being forgotten about would destroy him.

"You think we invited Mom after what happened at the cookout?" said D'von.

"She and Dad are really on the rocks right now, we're letting them figure it out," added Ben. "Dad keeps bringing up the D word, then going back on it because he's worried about what'll happen to Mom if she's left alone and her alcoholism gets worse."

"I know you two came out of her, but I say, just throw that whole woman out," said Oriana. "Anyway, I wasn't expecting company, but now that you're here, you may well stay for dinner." She had been planning on taking leftovers to work for the next few days, but she was probably going to get tired of beef stew before she ran out.

"Bet! Whatever that is, it smells delicious!" said D'von.

"Let me just clear the table. Ben, should I set you a place?"

"It's aight, your vibe right now is pretty filling enough. It's like you're on edge, but like, not in a bad way?"

"Ugh, don't talk to me about 'edge' right now." If only the boys had been two minutes later to arrive…

Oriana set her papers down on her home bar counter so she could set the table. D'von picked them up. "What's all this now? I thought you just said on Fredo Flores in the Mo--"

"Put yourself in my shoes, here," said Oriana, putting down a plate and silverware for her cousin. "You're a vigilante crimefighter active on social media, and all the sudden some guy decides to be a supervillain and shows up on your block. Do you really want him to have his guard up, even if he might not be a real threat?"

"Good point," D'von conceded. "This an awful lot of paper, though, Ori. You sure this amount of stalking this dude is healthy?"

"I'm not stalking him! I'm just keeping myself in the loop."

"Uh-huh. Sure." D'von looked to Ben, who narrowed his eyes in contemplation.

"Let's see here...there's apprehension for sure. Inner conflict. An antsy anticipation towards action," he rattled off as if he was tasting a wine. "And...oh. Oh. Well, you know what, Ori, this the first time you've let yourself have a crush in years. Happy for you!"

"I do NOT have a crush on Big Tech! I just think it's weird! If all he wants is to steal from big companies, why is he so conspicuous? Why the name? Why the robot equipment? Why the fucking tuxedo? I'm a problem-solver, Ben. When things don't make sense, I need to make them make sense. And right now, nothing makes sense!"

Least of all her maybe feeder crush on a man she'd never met.

"D'von, did you take him here just so he could try and taste my feelings?"

"He wanted to come. He was concerned. Rightfully so."

"You're stressed. Here, lemme get the food."

Ben served dinner family style, rice and stew in the middle of the table. He brought a plate for Oriana and she loaded it up with a hearty portion of each, her overtaxed body relaxing in relief as she took her first few bites and finally quelled the appetite she'd been working up with all of her extracurricular activities lately. D'von fixed himself a smaller plate than hers, but enjoyed the food immensely nonetheless. "Damn, Ori! You ever get bored of computers, I can set you up as a chef at the restaurant!"

"No offense, but Antonio's Mex-Italian Cantina don't deserve me." If she could toot her own horn, the stew was Michelin star quality. The beef, though cooked through, was tender, the broth hearty but smooth, the whole thing seasoned to perfection, and the white rice was the perfect accompaniment, fluffy and moist but not wet.

"Fair enough. Listen, though, Ori," said D'von. "This part time stalker thing obviously taking its toll."

"For the last time--"

"I could help you with it, if you want. Ask around the city, see what intel I can squeeze out of people."

"And I might be able to find out where he's getting all his stuff," Ben offered. "If we can find out who he knows, maybe we can find out who he is."

"For a price," D'von was quick to add.

"That being?" asked Oriana.

"A little quality time. Come bowling with us. We were gonna go Saturday before Ben starts up school again, and God knows you need to do something fun. You always let this hero stuff eat you up, but it's never been this bad."

"That's a lie! Last Sunday I went out with my friend Brittney."

"What's her last name?"

Oriana sighed. She didn't like crowds and she didn't like mindless self indulgence when she could be doing something useful. But she supposed having the boys help her with her research would help take a load off. Maybe she'd catch a few hours of sleep.

"Fine. But don't whine when I kick your ass like I always do."