Fuchsia Fox: "The Strike of the Sidewinder"
Posted: Mon Feb 02, 2015 10:48 am
[Parts of this may seem familiar (mainly chapter 2), because to be perfectly honest, I got the idea from Supbond's "Wonder Woman versus The Mercenary". That was a good story, but it left me wondering "What happens next?" I tried to make my Sidewinder character different enough, but if I didn't manage it, I sincerely apologize. This is another "retro" story, taking place when the Fox was still establishing her reputation.]
Fuchsia Fox: "The Strike of the Sidewinder"
Chapter 1 -- Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.
When the flight attendant announced that the seat belt signs were lit and the plane would shortly be landing in Washington D.C., Jennifer Traylor let out an audible sigh of relief. The pretty 22-year-old brunette had been leaning against her window, resting her eyes and pretending to sleep.
"What did I tell ya?" said her seat mate to her left. He was a lean, athletic man of about thirty-five or so, with a blond crew cut, wearing a light gray shirt unbuttoned enough to show off a gold chain hanging down his chest, and over it a darker gray sport coat and slacks. And he never seemed to stop talking. "Almost there. Won't be long now. Need help with that, sexy?"
"I've got it, thanks," Jennifer said with a weary smile as she fastened her seat belt, knowing that after a more than three hour flight she couldn't possibly be all that attractive. She had dressed for comfort -- wedge heels, faded blue jeans, a white teeshirt and one of her boyfriend's shirts with the cuffs rolled up -- but after the trip from Augusta, Georgia, where she had spent Thanksgiving with her father and her step-sister Ashley, she was starting to feel a bit frazzled.
Jennifer felt nervous about traveling by air these days anyway. There was no way she was going to leave her Fuchsia Fox costume or her bracelets of Ishtar in her luggage. She only felt safe wearing the costume under her clothes, but with airport security getting more intrusive all the time, she worried that they would somehow detect the Zumerian technology that her accouterments were made of. She could imagine so vividly being caught by TSA officers and forced to strip, revealing her secret identity! How embarrassing would that be?
Her anxiety had not been helped a bit by "Leisure-suit Larry" in the seat beside her, hitting on her and smoking... that is, "vaping" his electronic cigarettes. "I've been working out of South America these days," he said, lighting up another one. "But I try to take connecting flights to come in by Reagan instead of Dulles when I can. Less crowded, less hassle all around." He paused to blow white mist through his teeth. "Just flying in for a quick job, then I'm out again. Hey, maybe we can get together while I'm in town, huh? Dinner and dancing? What do ya say, sexy?"
Jennifer was on the verge of telling him that her boyfriend was an Army Ranger, but in the end just decided to ignore the overture.
The plane landed and taxied in, and then there was the usual hustle and bustle about disembarking. "Take it easy, sexy," said Jennifer's seat mate, giving her a wink as he vanished into the jostling crowd. She took her sweet time getting her carry-on bag down from the overhead compartment, so that she was almost the last one off the plane.
Martin Fletcher was there to meet Jennifer at the arrival gate, looking scrumptious in jeans and a pin stripe shirt. He slipped one arm around her waist and kissed her -- nothing too ostentatious here in a public place, but warm enough and deep enough to get her heart thumping and her juices flowing, a reminder of how much he had missed her and a promise of more once they were alone.
"So how was your trip?" Fletcher asked, with one hand underneath her over-sized shirt and touching her denim-clad booty.
"Mmmmm... the usual..." Jennifer said huskily, feeling a warm surge of arousal. "There was this guy in the seat next to me... you'll never believe..."
By a startling coincidence, the man with the blond crew cut was coming up the escalator from baggage claim, only he was now wearing the uniform of an airport security officer -- white shirt, black trousers, weapons belt and everything!
"That's odd," Jennifer said quietly as he took up a position where he could watch everyone coming and going. "That's the same guy, in the TSA uniform."
"He came in on the plane with you?" Fletcher asked suspiciously. "Are you sure?"
Jennifer bit her lip, certain there was no mistake. His nervous energy looked all too familiar as he rocked forward and back on the balls of his feet, scanning the crowd as if waiting for someone. Her instincts immediately told her that something wasn't right. And all she wanted right now was to go home to her apartment and relax.
She sighed. "Martin, something tells me I need to find a place to change."
***
Special Agent Zachary Hardcastle got off the flight from New York along with the white-haired older man in a blue-gray suit he was escorting. He took a quick glance at his wrist-watch. A few minutes behind schedule, but nothing major.
"Are you Hardcastle?" said a TSA officer with a blond crew cut. "The Director needs to speak with you urgently. This way."
"Why couldn't he call my cell phone?" the agent replied impatiently. "We're on our way to the White House now. What's it about?"
"Search me, man," the officer said with a shrug. "All I know is they have a video conference set up in the V.I.P. lounge. You coming or not?"
"All right," Hardcastle sighed, turning to the man he was escorting. "I'm sure it's nothing to be alarmed about, colonel."
The other man frowned. "Let us hope so," he said in an Eastern European accent. "If the Cartel have found out I am here..."
The officer led them into an empty waiting room, about twenty feet by twenty, with one section of clear window looking out over the taxiway and interior walls made of frosted glass and fiberboard. About a dozen upholstered chair units were scattered about. The officer followed them inside and quietly locked the door behind him.
Hardcastle looked around the room. There was a flat plasma screen mounted on the wall, but it was not even turned on. "What the hell--?" the agent said, just as the officer pulled a Taser and zapped him. Hardcastle dropped to the floor almost before he knew what hit him.
"Now, Colonel Jasnowski," said the officer as he holstered his Taser on his left side. "We're all alone." His TSA uniform rippled and vanished like a hologram. Underneath the illusion, he was wearing a sandy brown full body suit made of some sort of metallic mesh, with a black zig-zag pattern up and down his chest, pads on the shoulders and a close-fitting hood half-covering his head. Half a dozen flat, square objects were arranged along his belt.
"Who are you?" the white-haired man said nervously, backing away against the wall.
"You don't need to know my name, pops," the blond man said with a grin. "You can just call me Sidewinder!"
"I warn you," Jasnowski said, "the American State Department--"
"You can save your warnings, too," Sidewinder sneered. "The Cartel ain't impressed." As he raised his right arm, it became apparent that molded to the back of each glove was a flat box with a slim beam emitter, and a cable running from it along his arm and down his torso to connect with the power packs on his belt. He took aim and pointed the emitter straight at Jasnowski's forehead, where a tiny red bead of light appeared.
"In about ten seconds, you're gonna be dead as a doornail. Any last words?"
***
Chapter 2 --
CRASH!!!! Suddenly the glass wall behind him shattered. Sidewinder flinched involuntarily just as he fired, causing the laser beam in his glove to miss his target and carve a smoking path across the plyboard ceiling.
"What the hell?" the would-be assassin cursed.
Jasnowski dove for safety behind a chair unit, from where he looked up cautiously as a slender female figure darted swiftly through the opening she had made and took up a protective position between him and his attacker.
She was an extremely beautiful woman, with short brunette hair dancing around her face. Her sleek young body was dressed in a clingy, two-piece costume of vivid purplish pink spandex... briefs and a halter top dominated by a triangular fox-head chest emblem stretched across her nubile bust. Her gorgeous bare legs ended in matching ankle boots, while her arms were clad in elbow length gloves. From his position behind her, Jasnowski had a pleasant view of the rounded curves of her pert little tail.
"Put down your weapons and surrender," the girl commanded sternly, putting her hands on her trim, shapely hips.
Sidewinder grinned as he drank in the sight of her. "Where did you come from, sexy? Nobody briefed me about you."
"I'm the Fuchsia Fox," the heroine scowled, her brown eyes warily scanning his metallic mesh suit and the unknown devices on its belt. "Put down your weapons."
"Can't do it, buttercup," the villain said, shifting his outstretched arm so that the little red laser bead appeared squarely in the center of her beautiful chest. "Seriously. They're built into the outfit." He gently shook his head. "I got business with Jasnowski here. Man talk. Be a good chick and go powder your nose or something before you get hurt."
"Not going to happen," the stunning superheroine retorted, standing her ground and tossing her short brunette tresses haughtily.
"I don't wanna shoot a skirt," the villain smirked as he lowered the aim of his laser, the red bead tracking down the Fox's heavenly torso, her belly, and along her shapely hip to rest on her smooth, bare thigh. "But I'll just wing ya to get ya out of my way, and maybe we can have some fun after..."
From the emitter on the back of his glove, a searing red laser beam shot out, glanced off the heroine's flawless body, and struck the frosted wall, simultaneously melting and shattering the glass.
"You're from out of town, aren't you, sport?" the Fox said smugly. "I've got a force shield." The gallant girl quickly sprang forward and punched him in jaw, or tried to. Her fist actually passed straight through him. His image rippled like an illusion and vanished.
"It ain't as good as a force shield," Sidewinder said calmly, now standing a yard or two away, "but it'll do. The suit's imaging processors displace light waves randomly anywhere from 20 to 60 degrees. I don't wanna bore you to death, but the upshot is I'm not really standing where it looks like I'm standing."
"Do tell?" the Fox said. Whereupon the sexy supergirl spun around and leaped nimbly into the air, lashing out with both lovely legs in opposite directions. One high heel connected with the assassin's chest, slamming him to the floor.
"Yeah, that felt like about a 30 degree displacement," she said, landing catlike on her feet. "You ready to call it a day?"
"Real cute, superbabe," Sidewinder said, grimacing as he made a quick adjustment to his equipment. "How does that funky force shield stand up to Rapid Fire?"
Bracing his right wrist with his left hand, he fired a burst of laser pulses, ten per second, each one carrying the same energy as the initial beam. The Fox held firm, her pretty eyes narrowed in concentration as she repulsed the attack. The strain was unbelievable, the energy pulses hammering at her force shield, glancing off and ricocheting around the room. Jasnowski put his head down and hugged the floor as laser fire sprayed in all directions, riddling the walls and the furniture.
Amazed that the girl was still standing, Sidewinder increased the rate of fire to twenty per second. The spunky superheroine strained with the mental effort required to keep up her force shield. One pulse got through, grazing her right hip on the side of her briefs. "AHHH!" As the Fox cried out, a second struck her left shoulder, searing her flesh and snipping through the strap that held up her halter top. Recoiling from the pain, she tumbled backwards over a chair unit and hit the floor.
Her assailant ceased fire and got to his feet. "Let that be a lesson to ya, buttercup," he sneered. "Nobody beats the Sidewinder."
"Hold it! Hands up!" Two TSA officers with sidearms appeared at the opening that the Fox had made by her dramatic entrance. In fact, much of the room's walls had been chewed to pieces by ricochets, so that there was a nearly 360 degree view through offices on one side and the airport terminal on the other. More security guards were moving in through a crowd of gathering sightseers.
"Oh crap," Sidewinder cursed disgustedly, checking his armament. "Taking down the skirt drained my power cells. Where ya at, Jasnowski?"
The white haired man stuck his head up from behind his precarious refuge.
"I'm not done with you," the assassin said, as he reached around to his back and unslung a flat object that looked very much like a skateboard without wheels. "You're a dead man. I'll catch you later."
"Are you deaf?" the TSA officer in the doorway called. "I said HANDS UP!"
"Go frisk yourself," Sidewinder sneered, leaping onto his hoverboard and taking off through the window that overlooked the runway. The TSA officers both opened fire, but because of the displacement effect still active in his suit, the bullets passed right through his image.
"N-no..." the Fox groaned, picking herself up off the floor. "Come back here!" Clutching her torn halter top in front of her, the spunky girl tried to give chase, but the stabbing pain in her side stopped her from getting very far.
"Hold it, lady! Put your hands behind your head!" Four more TSA officers with Tasers had arrived, along with two men in dark suits armed with handguns, who she took to be Air Marshals.
Jennifer grimaced. She could probably overpower them and escape. With her force shield, Tasers and ordinary sidearms were no threat. But that was not the way superheroines were supposed to act. She wasn't some kind of out-of-control vigilante. How could the authorities ever trust her if she did things like that?
"Okay," the Fox said meekly. "Take it easy. I surrender."
"I said hands behind your head!" the man repeated, keeping the scantily-clad superheroine covered with his Taser.
Everything seemed to freeze for a moment as the Fox stood there surrounded by security agents, her arms wrapped across her chest holding her halter top up to her sweet young bosom. A crowd of bystanders had also gathered, straining to see what was going on. It dawned on the men that if she complied with the order and raised her hands, her top would fall open and they would all get a free look at her two ripe, delicious coconuts, unrestrained and unprotected. You could almost feel their pulses speed up and their hormone levels rise in anticipation as they waited to see what she would do.
"Not a chance, boys," the Fox said at last, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Fuchsia Fox: "The Strike of the Sidewinder"
Chapter 1 -- Ronald Reagan National Airport, Washington, D.C.
When the flight attendant announced that the seat belt signs were lit and the plane would shortly be landing in Washington D.C., Jennifer Traylor let out an audible sigh of relief. The pretty 22-year-old brunette had been leaning against her window, resting her eyes and pretending to sleep.
"What did I tell ya?" said her seat mate to her left. He was a lean, athletic man of about thirty-five or so, with a blond crew cut, wearing a light gray shirt unbuttoned enough to show off a gold chain hanging down his chest, and over it a darker gray sport coat and slacks. And he never seemed to stop talking. "Almost there. Won't be long now. Need help with that, sexy?"
"I've got it, thanks," Jennifer said with a weary smile as she fastened her seat belt, knowing that after a more than three hour flight she couldn't possibly be all that attractive. She had dressed for comfort -- wedge heels, faded blue jeans, a white teeshirt and one of her boyfriend's shirts with the cuffs rolled up -- but after the trip from Augusta, Georgia, where she had spent Thanksgiving with her father and her step-sister Ashley, she was starting to feel a bit frazzled.
Jennifer felt nervous about traveling by air these days anyway. There was no way she was going to leave her Fuchsia Fox costume or her bracelets of Ishtar in her luggage. She only felt safe wearing the costume under her clothes, but with airport security getting more intrusive all the time, she worried that they would somehow detect the Zumerian technology that her accouterments were made of. She could imagine so vividly being caught by TSA officers and forced to strip, revealing her secret identity! How embarrassing would that be?
Her anxiety had not been helped a bit by "Leisure-suit Larry" in the seat beside her, hitting on her and smoking... that is, "vaping" his electronic cigarettes. "I've been working out of South America these days," he said, lighting up another one. "But I try to take connecting flights to come in by Reagan instead of Dulles when I can. Less crowded, less hassle all around." He paused to blow white mist through his teeth. "Just flying in for a quick job, then I'm out again. Hey, maybe we can get together while I'm in town, huh? Dinner and dancing? What do ya say, sexy?"
Jennifer was on the verge of telling him that her boyfriend was an Army Ranger, but in the end just decided to ignore the overture.
The plane landed and taxied in, and then there was the usual hustle and bustle about disembarking. "Take it easy, sexy," said Jennifer's seat mate, giving her a wink as he vanished into the jostling crowd. She took her sweet time getting her carry-on bag down from the overhead compartment, so that she was almost the last one off the plane.
Martin Fletcher was there to meet Jennifer at the arrival gate, looking scrumptious in jeans and a pin stripe shirt. He slipped one arm around her waist and kissed her -- nothing too ostentatious here in a public place, but warm enough and deep enough to get her heart thumping and her juices flowing, a reminder of how much he had missed her and a promise of more once they were alone.
"So how was your trip?" Fletcher asked, with one hand underneath her over-sized shirt and touching her denim-clad booty.
"Mmmmm... the usual..." Jennifer said huskily, feeling a warm surge of arousal. "There was this guy in the seat next to me... you'll never believe..."
By a startling coincidence, the man with the blond crew cut was coming up the escalator from baggage claim, only he was now wearing the uniform of an airport security officer -- white shirt, black trousers, weapons belt and everything!
"That's odd," Jennifer said quietly as he took up a position where he could watch everyone coming and going. "That's the same guy, in the TSA uniform."
"He came in on the plane with you?" Fletcher asked suspiciously. "Are you sure?"
Jennifer bit her lip, certain there was no mistake. His nervous energy looked all too familiar as he rocked forward and back on the balls of his feet, scanning the crowd as if waiting for someone. Her instincts immediately told her that something wasn't right. And all she wanted right now was to go home to her apartment and relax.
She sighed. "Martin, something tells me I need to find a place to change."
***
Special Agent Zachary Hardcastle got off the flight from New York along with the white-haired older man in a blue-gray suit he was escorting. He took a quick glance at his wrist-watch. A few minutes behind schedule, but nothing major.
"Are you Hardcastle?" said a TSA officer with a blond crew cut. "The Director needs to speak with you urgently. This way."
"Why couldn't he call my cell phone?" the agent replied impatiently. "We're on our way to the White House now. What's it about?"
"Search me, man," the officer said with a shrug. "All I know is they have a video conference set up in the V.I.P. lounge. You coming or not?"
"All right," Hardcastle sighed, turning to the man he was escorting. "I'm sure it's nothing to be alarmed about, colonel."
The other man frowned. "Let us hope so," he said in an Eastern European accent. "If the Cartel have found out I am here..."
The officer led them into an empty waiting room, about twenty feet by twenty, with one section of clear window looking out over the taxiway and interior walls made of frosted glass and fiberboard. About a dozen upholstered chair units were scattered about. The officer followed them inside and quietly locked the door behind him.
Hardcastle looked around the room. There was a flat plasma screen mounted on the wall, but it was not even turned on. "What the hell--?" the agent said, just as the officer pulled a Taser and zapped him. Hardcastle dropped to the floor almost before he knew what hit him.
"Now, Colonel Jasnowski," said the officer as he holstered his Taser on his left side. "We're all alone." His TSA uniform rippled and vanished like a hologram. Underneath the illusion, he was wearing a sandy brown full body suit made of some sort of metallic mesh, with a black zig-zag pattern up and down his chest, pads on the shoulders and a close-fitting hood half-covering his head. Half a dozen flat, square objects were arranged along his belt.
"Who are you?" the white-haired man said nervously, backing away against the wall.
"You don't need to know my name, pops," the blond man said with a grin. "You can just call me Sidewinder!"
"I warn you," Jasnowski said, "the American State Department--"
"You can save your warnings, too," Sidewinder sneered. "The Cartel ain't impressed." As he raised his right arm, it became apparent that molded to the back of each glove was a flat box with a slim beam emitter, and a cable running from it along his arm and down his torso to connect with the power packs on his belt. He took aim and pointed the emitter straight at Jasnowski's forehead, where a tiny red bead of light appeared.
"In about ten seconds, you're gonna be dead as a doornail. Any last words?"
***
Chapter 2 --
CRASH!!!! Suddenly the glass wall behind him shattered. Sidewinder flinched involuntarily just as he fired, causing the laser beam in his glove to miss his target and carve a smoking path across the plyboard ceiling.
"What the hell?" the would-be assassin cursed.
Jasnowski dove for safety behind a chair unit, from where he looked up cautiously as a slender female figure darted swiftly through the opening she had made and took up a protective position between him and his attacker.
She was an extremely beautiful woman, with short brunette hair dancing around her face. Her sleek young body was dressed in a clingy, two-piece costume of vivid purplish pink spandex... briefs and a halter top dominated by a triangular fox-head chest emblem stretched across her nubile bust. Her gorgeous bare legs ended in matching ankle boots, while her arms were clad in elbow length gloves. From his position behind her, Jasnowski had a pleasant view of the rounded curves of her pert little tail.
"Put down your weapons and surrender," the girl commanded sternly, putting her hands on her trim, shapely hips.
Sidewinder grinned as he drank in the sight of her. "Where did you come from, sexy? Nobody briefed me about you."
"I'm the Fuchsia Fox," the heroine scowled, her brown eyes warily scanning his metallic mesh suit and the unknown devices on its belt. "Put down your weapons."
"Can't do it, buttercup," the villain said, shifting his outstretched arm so that the little red laser bead appeared squarely in the center of her beautiful chest. "Seriously. They're built into the outfit." He gently shook his head. "I got business with Jasnowski here. Man talk. Be a good chick and go powder your nose or something before you get hurt."
"Not going to happen," the stunning superheroine retorted, standing her ground and tossing her short brunette tresses haughtily.
"I don't wanna shoot a skirt," the villain smirked as he lowered the aim of his laser, the red bead tracking down the Fox's heavenly torso, her belly, and along her shapely hip to rest on her smooth, bare thigh. "But I'll just wing ya to get ya out of my way, and maybe we can have some fun after..."
From the emitter on the back of his glove, a searing red laser beam shot out, glanced off the heroine's flawless body, and struck the frosted wall, simultaneously melting and shattering the glass.
"You're from out of town, aren't you, sport?" the Fox said smugly. "I've got a force shield." The gallant girl quickly sprang forward and punched him in jaw, or tried to. Her fist actually passed straight through him. His image rippled like an illusion and vanished.
"It ain't as good as a force shield," Sidewinder said calmly, now standing a yard or two away, "but it'll do. The suit's imaging processors displace light waves randomly anywhere from 20 to 60 degrees. I don't wanna bore you to death, but the upshot is I'm not really standing where it looks like I'm standing."
"Do tell?" the Fox said. Whereupon the sexy supergirl spun around and leaped nimbly into the air, lashing out with both lovely legs in opposite directions. One high heel connected with the assassin's chest, slamming him to the floor.
"Yeah, that felt like about a 30 degree displacement," she said, landing catlike on her feet. "You ready to call it a day?"
"Real cute, superbabe," Sidewinder said, grimacing as he made a quick adjustment to his equipment. "How does that funky force shield stand up to Rapid Fire?"
Bracing his right wrist with his left hand, he fired a burst of laser pulses, ten per second, each one carrying the same energy as the initial beam. The Fox held firm, her pretty eyes narrowed in concentration as she repulsed the attack. The strain was unbelievable, the energy pulses hammering at her force shield, glancing off and ricocheting around the room. Jasnowski put his head down and hugged the floor as laser fire sprayed in all directions, riddling the walls and the furniture.
Amazed that the girl was still standing, Sidewinder increased the rate of fire to twenty per second. The spunky superheroine strained with the mental effort required to keep up her force shield. One pulse got through, grazing her right hip on the side of her briefs. "AHHH!" As the Fox cried out, a second struck her left shoulder, searing her flesh and snipping through the strap that held up her halter top. Recoiling from the pain, she tumbled backwards over a chair unit and hit the floor.
Her assailant ceased fire and got to his feet. "Let that be a lesson to ya, buttercup," he sneered. "Nobody beats the Sidewinder."
"Hold it! Hands up!" Two TSA officers with sidearms appeared at the opening that the Fox had made by her dramatic entrance. In fact, much of the room's walls had been chewed to pieces by ricochets, so that there was a nearly 360 degree view through offices on one side and the airport terminal on the other. More security guards were moving in through a crowd of gathering sightseers.
"Oh crap," Sidewinder cursed disgustedly, checking his armament. "Taking down the skirt drained my power cells. Where ya at, Jasnowski?"
The white haired man stuck his head up from behind his precarious refuge.
"I'm not done with you," the assassin said, as he reached around to his back and unslung a flat object that looked very much like a skateboard without wheels. "You're a dead man. I'll catch you later."
"Are you deaf?" the TSA officer in the doorway called. "I said HANDS UP!"
"Go frisk yourself," Sidewinder sneered, leaping onto his hoverboard and taking off through the window that overlooked the runway. The TSA officers both opened fire, but because of the displacement effect still active in his suit, the bullets passed right through his image.
"N-no..." the Fox groaned, picking herself up off the floor. "Come back here!" Clutching her torn halter top in front of her, the spunky girl tried to give chase, but the stabbing pain in her side stopped her from getting very far.
"Hold it, lady! Put your hands behind your head!" Four more TSA officers with Tasers had arrived, along with two men in dark suits armed with handguns, who she took to be Air Marshals.
Jennifer grimaced. She could probably overpower them and escape. With her force shield, Tasers and ordinary sidearms were no threat. But that was not the way superheroines were supposed to act. She wasn't some kind of out-of-control vigilante. How could the authorities ever trust her if she did things like that?
"Okay," the Fox said meekly. "Take it easy. I surrender."
"I said hands behind your head!" the man repeated, keeping the scantily-clad superheroine covered with his Taser.
Everything seemed to freeze for a moment as the Fox stood there surrounded by security agents, her arms wrapped across her chest holding her halter top up to her sweet young bosom. A crowd of bystanders had also gathered, straining to see what was going on. It dawned on the men that if she complied with the order and raised her hands, her top would fall open and they would all get a free look at her two ripe, delicious coconuts, unrestrained and unprotected. You could almost feel their pulses speed up and their hormone levels rise in anticipation as they waited to see what she would do.
"Not a chance, boys," the Fox said at last, her cheeks flushing slightly.