So you’re pretty sure you’re cruising for a bruising right here, but let no one ever say you’re a coward. Stupid, nerdy, a lousy dresser, maybe, (God, some people are just mean,) but no coward!

“Look. That… that was totally out of line, there. I mean, I don’t know how things got all crazy out of hand the way they did, but… but it was stupid, and I’m sorry, and… and-”

She turns, glaring at you, her mouth set in a grim line. “What part? The part where you kissed me, or the part where you totally took advantage of my helpless and nubile young self?”

You wince. “Both. All of it. I… it should never have gone that far, and… I mean, it was just for laughs, but then-”

There’s a savage gleam in her eyes as she whirls on you, jabbing a finger into your chest, and the anger rolling off her is so fierce it actually drives you back on your heels. “I trusted you! I mean… I didn’t have any reason to, but… but you seemed like a nice guy, and… and God, I don’t even know your name but I… and then you… damn it!”

You wince again as the emotion twists its way across her face, turning her normally pretty features into something warped and ugly. You don’t know what to say, or even if you should say anything at all. Discretion turns out to be the better part of valor and you choose to play it safe: keep your trap shut and don’t move.

Except playing possum doesn’t work, and she stabs her finger into your chest again. You wouldn’t think a little poke like that would hurt, but somehow she’s got magic fingers, just like the nuns at your old grammar school whose bony old crone fingers could somehow pierce through even the thick uniform sweaters you all had to wear. Like hot knives through butter; armor-piercing bullets through Kevlar. Celine Dion through those “soundproof” earplugs you bought to fend off your neighbor's horrendous taste in music. All that poking is starting to sting a little, not to mention the ranting. “I fell for it! Hook line and sinker!” She’s shorter than you; shorter, slimmer, slighter – but with the head of steam she’s worked up, you’ve got as much chance of stopping her as you would stopping a runaway locomotive with your forehead. You’re on the ropes, and each time she jabs you in the chest, you get pushed back further and further until eventually you feel your heels drum up against the wall behind you.

You gulp. You got caught outdoors once when a tornado went rolling dangerously close by. So close by you thought you saw a cow get pulled up into the vortex. No, wait, that was a movie. Still, that was a scary moment. This is scarier. By far.

“I mean, you’ve got all the grace of a ten car pile-up, but still… I figured you couldn’t be all bad-”

The word’s out of your mouth before you can tell your gums to shut the hell up. “Thanks?”

Yeah. Bad move.

You know she’s got the skills for this, you know she’s got the training, but it’s another thing to be on the receiving end of it. You don’t even have time to breathe before her forearm is across your throat – not quite choking you, but keeping you in a solid pin against the wall. She’s in your face, hissing angrily at you. “I was wrong. Totally. Wrong.”

“But… but you weren’t!” You protest feebly, your hand trying in vain to pry her arm away from your neck. She’s got some freakish strength going on there. You got into a wrestling match once with some eight-year-old over the last Nintendo Wii at your local Best Buy. The kid won. That kind of freakish strength. “Honest! Look, it was a total misunderstanding.”

“You tickling the hell out of me was a misunderstanding?! Pray tell, HOW did I misinterpret that?!”

You find yourself suddenly wishing you could be back in that Best Buy, laid out on the floor gasping for air with that eight-year-old brat climbing up to the top of a pyramid of Lost DVD box-sets to get set up for a devastating elbow-drop. (Man, that hurt. Those ribs never did heal right.) The little snot was a teddy bear compared to this.

“Um.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Ok. Ok, fine. I’m sorry, ok? Totally my bad. But you can’t just… gack… need to breathe.” You flail your arms weakly as your head starts to go all spinny, but thankfully she decides air is a good thing and you can have some. The chokehold loosens even if it doesn’t go completely away.

“What am I going to do with you?” You hear her mutter softly to herself.

You meet her gaze for a few moments, see the angry snarl tugging at the corners of her mouth. You’ve got an idea; it’s not one she seems particularly inclined to go for at the moment, but it’s your only chance. “You could… you could send me home?”

She snorts incredulously and rolls her eyes. “Oh, just let you go? After the stunt you pulled?”

“Not ‘let me go,’” you clarify. “‘Send me home.’ Look. I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.” You think fast, dredging your head for all the comic book techspeak and doubletalk you’ll need to get your scrawny butt out of this situation. “I don’t know how or why or any of that. All I know is that there was this… um… strange… I guess… interdimensional vortex that appeared right in front of me. I walk through it, I end up here. And… and I really need to figure out how to get back. Like, as soon as possible, and I know you’re mad, but you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, you know, and, I figure that one of the good guys is going to want to help some poor, lost traveler get back home instead of… you know… torturing them? So, maybe instead of me spending the evening here at the not-so-tender mercies of a pissed off but admittedly really gorgeous vigilante crimefighter, you could, maybe, say…” You trail off and then smile hopefully. She doesn’t look like she’s buying it, even with that healthy dose of flattery you threw in. Maybe you should’ve tossed in “smart” in addition to “gorgeous.” Too late for that now.

But then she sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “Swirly blue thing? Flushes sideways?”

“You do believe me.” You gape, slack-jawed, at her.

“Yeah, I saw it. From a Star Labs Portable Quantum Tunneling Device. Have one like it back at The Firew- I mean, back at my super secret hero base.”

“Then… then I can go home.”

“Whoa. Hold your horses there, Skip. Just because I can send you home, doesn’t mean I should. There’s still that issue regarding you, me, and a little illicit groping?”

“Which I apologized for.”

“And I don’t think you’re sorry enough. Not yet.”

And just like that, whatever hopes you had for her seeing reason go sailing right out the window. “I… I thought you hero types didn’t do the whole revenge thing. You know, since it doesn’t quite jive with the whole ‘justice for all’ shtick.”

She shrugs a casual little shrug. “Justice. Vengeance. I’m easy that way. Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed, I zip-tied your hands to that metal pipe just above your head.”

You blink and look up. In all the ruckus you hadn’t even noticed that she’d… well, how about that: your hands have been zip-tied to the metal pipe just above your head. You gulp. “Oh, crap.”

A host of horrific nightmare scenarios assaults you from every direction: your skin being flayed from your bones in strips. Red-hot fireplace pokers being jammed into your eyes. Being forced to watch Jem reruns. You can’t even begin to imagine anything else that could be more truly outrageous than that, and your heart pounds just thinking about it. But you force yourself to take a deep breath. Ok, keep calm, keep calm. She’s not going to kill you. She’s not a murderer. You’ll be fine, you tell yourself. But you’re not sure you believe yourself. Your stomach quails and it takes every last shred of willpower you’ve got to keep your Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast from making an encore appearance. “Ok. I can handle this. I can… I can handle pain,” you say, puffing out your chest and trying to look brave.

“Pain? Who said anything about pain? I believe in ‘eye for an eye’ when it comes to my vengeance needs.”

Wait. What’s that mean?

“Wait. What’s that mean?”

There’s no answer – just a small, cruel smile: the kind of hungry, predatory smile you bet she saves for stubborn bank robbers and recalcitrant cupcakes: all teeth. You’d normally find it cute. It’s all sassy and sultry, and you’ve normally got a soft spot for that kind of thing – but right now it’s just downright frightening. There’s a spot of good news, though – a silver lining to this cloud: if she’s smiling, there probably isn’t going to be any death or dismemberment involved. Probably.

And then it hits you – what she meant by the “eye for an eye” thing. You gulp.

And her grin gets even wider.

“Took you long enough to figure that one out.”

“Sue me. Light bondage messes with my mental faculties a little. So… um… does this mean you’re not mad about that little kiss?”

She chuckles. “Hell no. I’m eminently kissable.”

“I knew it! I mean… you did kinda kiss me back, there.”

Her smile takes on a slightly sheepish tilt. “Well… maybe just a little. Anywho. We should probably move this along.” She cracks her knuckles, and you sigh.

“You’re really having fun with this, aren’t you?”

There's that grin again. You know it spells your "doom." “Not yet. But I’m gonna."