A Star Is Born

The threat had been made.

To the heroes and villains of Los Angeles, the super lifestyle was much like that of the lifestyle of the rich and famous; go big or go home, one in a million, it’s hard in the hills, and a hundred other overused symbolisms. That’s why, for the most part, both villains and heroes who called themselves home tended to be … flashy, at best. They had powers that would fit right at home on the big screen, with personalities that you just know they practiced in the mirror every night. Battles between these types of villains tended to be long, drawn out affairs; not particularly due to the opposing talents of the participants, but rather because the fighters spend the vast majority of the engagement spouting witty rhetorical back and forth, like it was some sort of game.

Jessica fucking despised showboating heroes.

For villains, it was natural to showboat; they wouldn’t have chosen that particular path in life if they weren’t a little unhinged and with a tendency for the dramatic. But for a hero, dramatically revealing your powers and giving your opponent ample opportunity to “demonstrate theirs”, or “get to their strongest level” was plain stupidity. Heroes fight villains, plain and simple; one doesn’t give the villain time to plan, or get up, or charge a technique! That’s how innocents get killed. Too many times some cocky young cadet thought he was hot shit and got their unit killed, or let vital infrastructure be destroyed, or put civilians at risk. Those guys weren’t heroes; they were pretenders, masquerading as something bigger than they could comprehend.

And that was why Jessica couldn’t comprehend why the fuck, by whatever spider god or goddess her leader worshipped, they were going after this guy!

Even for a hero based in the City of Angels, he was a showboat. His first big fight - some villain with six arms and the ability to manifest math, of all things, called himself Doctor Vetruvian, which got a chuckle out of Kuruzaki, of all people - was recorded and plastered all over the web, and she had dissected it,bit by infuriating bit. There were so many mistakes! So many instances of things done wrong, things that needed to be improved in him personally, before he should be a hero, let alone work in an organization like Blackguard! He should be Sectioned 8 immediately, dispatch Blackguard Divergent to keep an eye or, hell, eliminate him if possible! He didn’t deserve the right.

But here she was, along with the rest of Alpha 1 squadron, in a cheaply sheetwood box, looking out over the Hollywood sign. They were making no means to hide themselves - Lightyear was supposed to come to them, of course - but it still made her nervous, being so out in the open. Plus it didn’t help being in such a confined place with Bastion. Great warrior he may be, and say what you want about The Scholarium’s ability to make things smell fresh, he stunk to high heaven and she was about to be sick.

Suddenly standing, the little plastic chair she was sitting on collapsing and clattering to the floor, she made for the door without a word. They were crammed like sardines in there, and besides, she needed a smoke anyway. The hot, southern Californian sun her skin like white-hot knives, but she basked in the feeling. It reminded her of the first place she really felt at home. Pulling the thin, white stick from a pack that had three remaining, she held her thumb to the end, balancing the filter in between her tongue; a flame suddenly appeared over her thumb, lighting the cigarette. With a deep sigh, Jessica breathed in the toxin, letting the exhalation disappear into the azure sky.

It came easier now, using these mechanical limbs. Perhaps it was practice, or talent, or maybe the biotic implants installed on her, but she could maneuver them like nothing was wrong. She leaned against the fence surrounding the massive sign; though smaller than they appeared on television, they were towered over the horizon, casting their shadows over the surrounding hillscape. Metal clanged against metal as she breathed, again, the chemicals, leaning against the fence as she did so, blatantly ignoring the “No loitering!” signs plastered all over it. The skintight tanktop and cargo shorts she wore let the sun reflect off her metallic limbs.

Other than that, however, she seemed relatively normal; black hair cropped short, tan skin, and blue eyes that gleamed a little too brightly to be entirely organic. As she sat, one arm crossed underneath her breast to support the arm holding the cigarette, the shack door opened again, this time letting their resident assassin out. A tall, lanky looking Japanese man, he nonetheless had the air of someone who would kill his own mother for a few cents. Though he seemed pale, the sharpness of his figure and the pallor of his skin cast by the light lent towards him either being superhuman or incredibly sickly. And one was far more likely than the other.

”Think he’ll come?”

Jessica scoffed. Of course he’d come. The video was perfect. Dark, shrouded figures, a threat to one of the biggest landmarks in the world, a brag that you’d have to “faster than sound” to stop them; they even had a fake bomb, currently duct taped all terrorist-like to the big “H” of the sign. Though by every intention a working bomb, it lacked any sort of detonator, and the stable explosive inside couldn’t be released any other way. Probably overkill, but this was one, if not thel, fastest man in the world; it doesn’t pay to be careless. And though Jessica had her reservations, it wasn’t her job to question.

”He’ll come.” She took another drag on the cigarette, watching as the smoke curled around Kuruzaka, who was unfazed by the sudden second hand inhalation; its not like it would affect him anyway. ”Guys like that always come.”