Secrets of the Guardians

Chapter 1

I guess I should start at the beginning. My name is Polly. I grew up in Fresno, California, with my Mom. Mom and Dad got divorced when I was twelve, and Dad moved to Sacramento, but he stayed close to me. Like kids everywhere, I thought there was nothing interesting about my hometown. All I wanted to do was go somewhere more interesting.

When I graduated from high school, Dad told me, “I’ve saved for years to put you through college, Pumpkin, but I didn’t do very well. I only have enough for maybe a year.” He looked really sad about it, so I thanked him and told him it was okay. My grades were good enough to get me into college, but not good enough to get a scholarship, so I knew I’d have to work for the money.

I went to college in San Francisco, at a little college you probably haven’t heard of, majoring in business administration. Even though I had money for the first year already, I figured I needed to get an early start, so I got a job working at a coffee shop. I got to know several of the regulars pretty well… a coffee shop is almost like a bar that way. One was a girl about my age named Sarah; she came in at all sorts of odd hours. I got more and more curious, and finally one evening when we weren’t real busy, I asked her what she did.

She laughed. “I’m a porn star,” she said, grinning. “The pay is pretty decent, but the crew I work for has odd hours sometimes.”

“A porn star? Seriously?”

“Yeah. You should try it yourself. Nothing like getting paid to have some fun.”

“Nah,” I said, handing her the latte she had ordered. “I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” she said, turning away. “See ya.”

I thought about what she’d said as I closed up that night. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was a regular, and coffee-shop coffee is expensive. She was always dressed well, and I knew she had all the latest gadgets. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to make enough selling coffee to pay for my sophomore year.

The next time I saw her, I told her I was interested. She set me up with the company she’d been working for; if you are familiar with my work, you’ll know we did several shoots together, sometimes girl-girl, sometimes girl-girl-guy. I guess I should mention that I’m straight. No, really… I like guys. Men. But I’m not, like, disgusted by lesbians; I can do it with a girl and at least look like I’m enjoying it. I’ve been known to have fun with it when there are men watching, and I can see they’re turned on by us.

The man who ran the company treated us fairly, I guess, and paid pretty well, but he obviously didn’t think we were very smart. What he didn’t realize is that, the whole time I worked for him, I was paying attention to the business end of things. (No, not THAT business end.) By the time I was a junior, I was running my own shop. Sarah worked with me, as my webmistress… I’m okay with computers, but she’s a real genius. Word got around, and pretty soon I had several girls and a couple of guys working regular. Porn stars come and go; some are just in it for a quick buck while going to school or whatever, some get married and quit, some just seem to disappear. And of course, except for certain niche fetish groups, young is better; at some point or another, a porn star is just old news. I knew that would happen to me too, even though I work out and take care of myself. It’s why I decided to move into management.

Things were going pretty well for me… then my life took a sudden left turn.

Chapter 2

It was a regular day at work. We were planning to do a solo bedroom shoot with Connie, a tall, leggy blonde with nice curves. Sheri, an athletic brunette, had come in to pick up a check I owed her, and she and Connie had gotten into some silly fight. Frank, my personal assistant and part-time photographer, just stood back and smiled as they went from sniping at each other to yelling. I don’t even know what it was about, but before they could start hitting each other (or pulling hair, or whatever), I stepped in. Pretty shortly, we had a girl-girl shoot going. That kind of anger, it makes for some interesting photos.

Things were going great. Frank and Bill, my other photographer, were both working hard. Bill was doing video, Frank was shooting stills; it’s a technique that works real well for us. I was directing, of course. Bill was really enjoying it, I could tell; Frank is a bit more technical about it, which isn’t surprising since he’s gay. Sarah walked in, quietly of course since we were doing video. “Wow, this is going to be hot,” she whispered.

“It’s pretty hot now,” I replied quietly, grinning.

“No, silly, on the website,” she said, looking at me. “Hey, you don’t look so good.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’ve been so wrapped up in the shoot that I didn’t notice, but now that you say it, no, I don’t feel so good either. Kinda achy, throat’s scratchy.” I tapped Frank on the shoulder, and told him, “I’m feeling a little under the weather, so I’m going home. Take over for me.”

I went straight home, took a quick shower, and sat down on the couch with a tall glass of juice to watch TV. I had forgotten what day it was… the news was all about the ceremony at Ground Zero.

“These men were gifted with extraordinary powers,” said the President, indicating the heroes standing on the platform behind him (except for Thunder, who of course was in a wheelchair). “It’s easy to forget that they, too, are mortal. On September 11th, 2001, these men you see before you took extraordinary risks to stop Flight 175. One made an extraordinary sacrifice. Thanks to their actions, more than two thousand lives were saved. We are here this day to honor them.” The President turned toward the three best-known heroes of 9/11, the Doorman, Lightning, and Thunder. “Gentlemen, these medals are long overdue, for which I must apologize.” He put a medal on the Doorman first; I liked how the gold glittered against his dark blue uniform. The gold went less well with Lightning’s yellow and orange. Thunder’s uniform was, of course, the same colors in an opposite pattern. The cameraman dropped back for a dramatic shot of the remaining tower as the President stooped to put the medal on him.

I watched the whole thing, even though it wasn’t very interesting to me. I hate to admit that, but it was true. I just was too tired to pick up the remote and change the channel. But I was very interested when, after the ceremony was over, the reporter interviewed Thunder and Lightning.

“Is it true, Thunder, that you and your brother will be moving to San Francisco?” she asked.

“Yes, Monica, that’s right,” he answered. I was surprised that he looked so good, having been in a wheelchair for so many years. “I’ll be receiving experimental treatments there. They hope to restore my spinal cord enough that I might be able to walk.”

“Maybe even run?” she continued. I didn’t like the rude question, or the predatory look she had on her face. The poor man had been able to run faster than the speed of sound before the terrorist shot him; the least she could do would be to pretend she cared.

Lightning evidently felt the same way, because he broke in. “It’s a lot to hope for, but then we’ve never let ourselves lose hope.”

“But do you think it’s wise to allow yourself to be experimented on by a self-proclaimed mad scientist?” she asked Thunder, ignoring his brother.

“Doctor Hyde’s therapists all agree that he is well enough to continue his research,” replied Thunder, forcefully. “He hopes that my unique metabolism will teach him things about neural regeneration that might benefit all mankind. Whatever risks I might be taking, I’m happy to take.”

I finally found the strength to turn off the TV, so I didn’t have to hear Monica’s snarky reply. After a while I drank the last of the juice, dragged myself to the bathroom, got into my pajamas, and then fell into bed.

Sometime in the night I woke up from some horrible dream I can’t recall now. I was burning up, so terribly sick, and I knew I had to call someone. 911. I just needed my phone… which was across the room on my dresser. It was all I could do to stand up, and I made it maybe halfway before I fell down. I was so terrified… I couldn’t even raise my hand. Then I passed out, and mercifully I didn’t dream anymore.

I woke up to the sound of someone pounding on my door and yelling. I was still lying on the floor, and I felt weak; my vision was blurry. But I was strong enough to stand up. I was naked… I decided I must have taken my pajamas off in the night. I grabbed my bathrobe and put it on, rubbing my bleary eyes, and went to the door.

It was Frank. When I opened the door, he just stood there, staring. “Good Lord, girl, what happened to you?”

“I was sick,” I said, “but I feel better now.” In fact, every moment I felt better and better, stronger and clearer and like everything was wonderful.

“Did it fall out, or what?” he said, pointing at my head. I raised my hand and discovered my hair was all gone. Eyebrows too.

I think I screamed.

Frank said, “Shh, dear, it’ll be alright.”

“Frank, what am I going to DO?” I said.

“Well, for a start, you could let me in.” I hadn’t even thought about it… I wondered if any of my neighbors were home to hear me screaming.

I stepped back and waved him in. “Maybe my hair is with my pajamas,” I said, hoping a little humor would make me feel better. He followed me back to the bedroom, and for a moment we both stood there speechless.

There on the floor was my silhouette, scorched and melted into the carpet.

“Did you do that?” he said, finally.

“I guess,” I replied, a little shaky. “Last night I felt like I was burning up. Maybe I was.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Fine. Strong. Ready to take on the world,” I replied. “Except that I’m bald. Aaah! I can’t be bald!”

“Relax, dear, I know a good wigmaker.”

“You’re a good friend,” I said. “I think I need a shower.”

“Yes, you do smell like burning carpet,” he replied. I dropped my bathrobe on the bed and headed for the bathroom. Modesty is silly for someone like me, and anyway I wasn’t his type. I guess I tended to treat Frank like one of the girls.

I like my showers hot, so I always start the water running full hot and hold my hand under it, then turn it back when it gets too hot. This time, it didn’t get too hot, so I left it on full. But I got in and got clean, faster than usual since I didn’t have all that blonde hair to wash. While I showered, Frank was talking. “We got worried when it was past noon and nobody had heard from you,” he said. “I tried to call you several times, and Sarah and I both sent you texts. When nobody could get ahold of you, I got worried, so I came over.”

“Well, I guess I’m alright,” I said, turning off the water. The knob twisted off in my hand. “I guess I need a plumber,” I continued, “since the water heater isn’t working right and I just broke the faucet.” I stepped out and tossed the knob to him.

“Ow, that’s hot,” he said, dropping it in the sink.

“Wimp,” I said, slapping him gently on the cheek.

“You’re hot too,” he said.

“I didn’t think you liked girls,” I said, giving him a sidelong look.

“No, dear, I mean you’re really hot. Your skin is hot.”

“Really?” I said, rubbing my arm. “I don’t feel hot to me.”

He looked at me, puzzled, then turned the hot water on in the sink. He stuck his hand under it, then pulled it out quickly. “Ouch, that’s hot. See what you think of it.”

I put my hand under it. It felt warm to me, and I said so, turning it off.

“Well, it felt hot to me,” he said. It was my turn to look puzzled. I know I did, because I could see myself in the mirror.

I threw the towel over the rod and walked past him, a little irritated I think; I stubbed my bare toes on the doorframe trying to pass him in the confined space, but it didn’t hurt. That surprised me, and I stopped. I wiggled my toes, and they felt fine.

“Polly, I felt that through the floor,” Frank said. “You kicked that hard. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I replied. I pinched my arm, hard, but it just stung a little. The spot wasn’t even red when I quit. I looked at Frank. “Slap me.” He looked uncertain, so I said it again, and that time he did it. I felt it, but it didn’t hurt. “No, slap me hard,” I said, and he slapped a little harder. Still no pain. “Slap me like you mean it,” I said.

Frowning, he drew back and hit me. I saw him put his whole arm into it; my head rocked sideways just a little bit, and my face stung for just a moment. No real pain, though.

“Ow!” he yelled, shaking his hand. After a moment he said, “I think that hurt me more than you.”

I smiled. “I guess so.”

“You know what this means, don’t you? You’re a superhero.” After a moment’s thought, he said, “Well, I guess you’re a hero. You’re not going to go bad on us and be a villain or something, are you?”

I laughed. “Me, a superhero? I don’t think so. What would the Metahuman League say if a porn producer showed up and wanted to join? D’you think the Western Titans want someone like me on the team? No, Frank, I’m going to get dressed, get a wig, and go to work like every other day, and you’re going to keep my secret like the good friend you are. I’m no hero.”

Chapter 3

I called Frank the next morning, and asked him to pick up some doughnuts and come to my place for breakfast.

“Hey,” he said when I let him in, “your hair!”

“Yeah, it’s growing back pretty fast.” In fact, it had grown in more than an inch, and my eyebrows were almost normal.

“But… it’s red!” he exclaimed.

“I can live with it, or I can have it colored if I decide I can’t,” I replied. “I just hope it slows down so I don’t turn into a red-headed Rapunzel.”

“Or go broke at the salon,” he replied, smiling.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I can get in for an emergency styling tomorrow; if I get another inch or so before then, I’ll be alright. I haven’t had short hair since I was a kid.”

“The change will do you good,” he said.

Things went on more or less like normal for a couple of weeks. My hair looked fine, and slowed down after about a week; I had to get it cut three times, at three different salons, so nobody would notice how fast it was growing. Frank kept quiet, which I appreciated. The hardest thing to learn was how much stronger I was… I had been the girl who always had to ask someone else to open the pickle jar. Now I could lift my couch one-handed. I had to be careful not to break things.

I kept myself on the schedule for a photo shoot about every other week; when I showed up at the rental house for a solo shoot the second week, Bill was pretty enthusiastic. “You look great with red hair,” he said. “You should have done it a long time ago.”

I planned to do a solo shoot. I didn’t want to accidentally hurt someone, y’know? But we were also shooting Zoe, a blonde, and Brooke, a brunette, and Bill said, “Hey, you should get in there too. It’ll be really hot with a redhead!” I tried to beg off, but Zoe jumped up from the bed and grabbed my hand. I couldn’t let her know how much stronger I was, so I let her pull me in. The next thing I knew, I was naked in a pile of girls.

When you are pleasuring someone else, you have to hold back. I mean, usually you don’t want to really hurt your partner when you bite her. Or him, whatever. So this wasn’t new to me, though I had to hold back more than before. But when someone is pleasuring you, you want to cut loose. I couldn’t, though… I might really hurt someone. It wasn’t as enjoyable a session as usual.

Later on back at the office, we had Chinese take-out in the employee lounge… kind of a late lunch. I guess I should explain that my office used to be a doctor’s office; it was a little run-down when I rented it, but we renovated it one room at a time. Each room is done to look like a different kind of room (bedroom, sauna, living room, etc.) and we change the rooms from time to time. Or, like I said, sometimes we rent a house for a day, just to change things up.

Anyway, like I said, we were having lunch, and Tom (one of the models that day) had turned on the news, though we were mostly ignoring it. That is, until they broke in with a special report.

“This just in… a man dressed as a fireman has set fire to some vehicles outside an office building in the downtown area. We go now to Clark Henshaw, now on the scene.”

“Thanks, Connie,” said Clark. “Behind me you can see the burning vehicles outside Zanetech, ignited by a man in a fireman’s suit. Witnesses say he was carrying some sort of large flamethrower, and that he went inside the Zanetech offices after setting these fires. The police have cordoned off the building, but I think our cameraman can give us a look inside.”

Clark stepped aside, and the camera zoomed in on the glass-fronted office building. You could just make out a man in a high-visibility suit standing in the middle of the reception area. Just then, he pointed the large-barreled weapon in his left hand at something and a burst of flame came out of it.

Zoe, the other model working that day, cried out. “My Uncle Brian works at Zanetech!” She started getting hysterical, and Tom and Bill turned to her, trying to calm her down. “Where’s the Eagle? Or the Troll? Don’t they take care of freaks like him?”

I looked at Frank, and he looked back at me for a long moment. I knew what he was thinking.

My personal office was clear in the back, across the hall from our prop room. I hit the prop room first, grabbing a fetish mask (a black, head-covering mask with slits for the eyes and mouth), a pair of long black gloves, a pair of high black boots that I thought would fit me, and a black leotard. (No, those aren’t the strangest things in my prop room.) Checking the hallway first, I dashed across into my office, where I quickly changed clothes. My new short hair made putting the mask on easier. I stashed my regular clothes under my desk, checked the hallway again, then went out the back door.

Zanetech was several blocks away, and I didn’t want to drive my car; besides the fact that it might give my identity away, I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to get through traffic in time. Fortunately, Bill came to work every day on a bicycle; I broke the cheap padlock one-handed and jumped on. I made pretty good time, and didn’t hit any pedestrians either.

I ditched the bike well back from the police line and walked up. A police officer raised his hand to stop me, then took note of my rather unusual style of dress. Of course, in San Francisco, I might have been just another citizen.

“Officer, I have to get in there,” I said, trying to make my voice sound deeper and more forceful.

“Miss, I think you need to leave this to the police,” he said.

I pushed past him, obviously surprising him with my strength. “Police aren’t fireproof. I am.”

I walked in the front door with all the confidence I could fake. The man in the fireproof suit was facing away from me, and two potted trees on either end of the reception desk were on fire; I could see several people, men and women both, cowering behind the various pieces of furniture in the room. The arsonist was ranting, “NOW are you paying attention? Get Mister Zane down here right now, or I’ll have to go up to his office, and I swear, anyone who gets in my way will get burned.”

“Why do you want to see him?” I asked, as boldly as I could. He turned suddenly, waving the scary large barrel of the gun at me.

“He took my inventions, then he fired me. He fired me! Well, I’m going to return the favor!” He laughed, harshly. “Get it? Fired!”

I took a step toward him. “I don’t think so. I’ll be taking that little gun of yours, and you’ll be visiting with the police.”

I took another step, and he unloaded on me. Instinctively, I raised my hands to protect my face; the fire stung, but it didn’t really hurt. After a moment the fire stopped.

Oops, I thought. I’m fireproof, but my outfit wasn’t. The fire had burned away my gloves, my leotard, and the tops of my boots; I was naked from mid-calf to neck. Raising my hands did protect my mask, at least.

But I’ve been naked before, I thought. I lowered my hands and saw him fiddling with the gun; it must have malfunctioned. Before he could get it working again, I ran the rest of the way to him, put my left hand on his chest and grabbed the gun with my right. He was nowhere near as strong as me, so I didn’t have any trouble taking it from him. I was careful not to break it… I didn’t want it to explode or something. I pushed him down for good measure. “Stay down, firebug, so I don’t have to hurt you.” Surprisingly, he did stay down… losing his gun seemed to take the fire out of him, so to speak.

Just then, I heard the door open. Glancing behind me, I saw the Eagle walking in. Blue and white uniform, red and white cape, blonde buzzcut and goggles, and that gold pinky ring on his left hand. He smiled broadly at me. “I came as soon as I could, but I guess you’ve taken care of things here.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling a little out-of-place.

He came closer. “First time, eh? Invulnerable, and strong, but the costume was just what you could pick up on the street. Only in San Francisco.” His smile seemed a little oily, and though I couldn’t see his eyes behind the goggles, somehow I knew he was leering at me.

Policemen started coming in; one took the gun from me, while trying not to stare. I wanted to smile at him, but he wouldn’t have been able to see it… stupid mask. Another said, “Miss, you might want to put something on, the reporters are already taking pictures of you.”

I couldn’t tell him that there were already all sorts of naked pictures of me on the Internet. In fact, though, I didn’t want pictures of me getting out; the fire had left me sooty and oily, not at all attractive. For a moment my mind raced, and then the Eagle came to my rescue. “Here, put this around you,” he said, handing me his cape. I wrapped it around me like a towel.

“Thanks,” I said. He nodded, still smiling.

Leaning close, he said quietly, “Do you have a plan for leaving here?” My blood ran cold… how was I going to get away with all those reporters outside? “Don’t worry,” he continued, “just trust me and I’ll get you clear of those vultures.” Before I could reply, he swept me up into his arms like a baby and carried me outside; as soon as he was clear of the building, he took off flying.

He carried me up into the clouds. “I’m going to take you to my hideout,” he said over the sound of the wind. “I need to blindfold you… you understand, don’t you?”

I didn’t like the idea, but I could see his point, and I told him so. “Glad you see it my way,” he said. He dropped my legs, holding me under my arms, and pulled me close to him; this left him a hand free to cover my eyes. It took a few minutes for him to fly us to his place. We were inside what looked like a pretty average apartment when he uncovered my eyes.

“Thanks,” I said again.

“You’ll probably want a shower,” he said. “Down the hall on the right. Just throw the cape in the hamper.”

As secret hideouts go, the Eagle’s was pretty plain. It looked like any bachelor pad I’d ever been in (and I’ve been in a few). Clothes, ordinary clothes, strewn around the hamper in his bathroom; more clothes spread around his unmade bed, which I saw through the open door opposite the bathroom.

I locked the bathroom door, dropped the cape in the hamper, and took off my mask and boots. The shower did feel good, though I still felt like I couldn’t get it hot. As I turned off the water, the Eagle called from the hallway, “I’ve got something for you.”

I opened the door a crack and held out a hand, and he handed me a coat. A trenchcoat, to be exact, a little big for me but obviously too small for him. “Nice coat,” I said, closing the door. “It’s not yours, is it?”

“It belonged to my ex-wife,” he replied. “She left it when she left me.”

I put it on, then put on the mask and boots. I wasn’t exactly dressed, but I was covered; with the mask off, I’d pass for normal. Heck, in San Francisco, I’d pass for normal WITH the mask.

“Thank you again,” I said, stepping out into the hallway. He seemed to fill up the small space, and something in his pose seemed almost predatory. “Can you drop me off in town? There’s an alley behind a department store where you could put me down.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “Say, you haven’t said… what do you call yourself?”

“I don’t,” I said. “I haven’t thought of a name yet. I didn’t plan to be a superhero. But I have a… friend… with an interest in Zanetech. I had to do something.”

“I see,” he said. “You did pretty good, for a beginner. You just need a seasoned hero to train you. Someone who’s been fighting supervillains for a while.”

“You?” I said, getting the rather obvious hint.

“Well, I’m pretty busy,” he said, “but hey, you’ve got promise. I’d be happy to do it for you, work closely with you, show you the ropes. Maybe even help you with the name thing. ‘Fireproof Girl?’”

“I don’t think so,” I replied, thinking that I knew what he meant by “working closely” with me. It was strange… the Eagle was a big hero in a little pond, since at that time the only superheros in San Francisco were himself and the Troll. He shouldn’t have had a problem getting a date. But here he was, practically drooling over me. I mean, sure, I’m sexy, but I know pretty well that I’m not the only sexy thing around. How could he be so desperate?

One thing is universally true: Even for a superhero, desperate isn’t sexy. He was trying to say something else, but I interrupted him. “Really, thanks for the help, but now I’d like to go.” I grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom. “You can use this as a blindfold.” I told him where I wanted to be dropped, and he put the towel around my head and led me out. He was muttering something, but I couldn’t quite hear it, and I didn’t really care to ask.

I handed him back the towel in the alleyway. “Thanks for the lift,” I said, without much enthusiasm.

“You’re welcome, really. If you change your mind, I’m available.”

I waved at him once, and walked in the back door. In the elevator, out of the range of the camera, I took off the mask and put it in my pocket; I dawdled in the ladies’ underwear department for a while before I went down an escalator and left by the front door.

Back at the office, I managed to slip in without being noticed. Just as I got myself dressed again, someone knocked at the door. It turned out to be Frank.

“Not a great first time,” I said as he came in. He closed the door behind him.

“The first time is never as good as we’d like,” he said, grinning. “You stopped him before he could hurt anyone,” he continued. “I think that’s good enough.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Whenever you are ready to get back to work, Sarah says she’d like to talk to you.”

I went to Sarah’s office; it was as big as mine, but she had so much computer equipment that there was hardly room for both of us to sit. “What’s up?” I asked.

She turned to face me. “How long have you been a superhero?” she asked.

I was dumbfounded. “How did you recognize me?” I asked.

“Recognize you? Girlfriend, I’ve been looking at cellphone pictures from the scene. Yeah, they’re on the Internet already. Practically all of you is showing… I don’t need to see your face, Polly. I swear I could identify you from a closeup picture of your…”

“Enough, you!” I said. “Point taken.” I sat down. “You remember a couple of weeks ago, when I was sick? It started then. But today is the first time I used my powers for good.” That sounded, I don’t know, lame, but it was true.

I told her the whole story. Frank came in partway through, standing by the door since there wasn’t room for him to sit, and he helped fill in some details.

“Wow, the Eagle doesn’t sound anything like I’d expect,” she said.

“To think I lusted after him,” replied Frank.

I laughed. “You know, working in this business, I can tell you that I know a dick when I see one.”

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