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FROM SEALED POLICE FILES: REPORT OF WW DOWN (Warning: Contents are HIGHLY CLASSIFIED)

The following is a highly-classified, eyewitness report from Officer Jonathan Kerr of Gotham PD, describing an especially traumatic episode that he underwent while pursuing members of the Bertinelli crime family, as formerly led by Franco Bertinelli (now deceased). Officer Kerr has undergone extensive counseling since the events in question before returning as a member of the force in good standing. His experiences teach how our officers can better protect one of our most powerful assets — albeit one who’s more vulnerable than previously understood — and have been preserved for that sole purpose.

Please be advised that the ensuing, highly-classified contents cannot be reviewed or shared by or with anyone, other than authorized personnel who demonstrate need to know. Review or dissemination by anyone without authorization is a criminal offense that can and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. The events in question are extremely concerning and specifics would, if publicly disclosed or otherwise made available to known or potential perpetrators, compromise this asset’s continuing efforts to combat crime in partnership with us. That noted, discreet but extensive efforts have been made to investigate and corroborate the detailed report of Officer Kerr as to what exactly he and the asset experienced. Officer Kerr’s report, while astonishing, is supported by evidence recovered from the scene including costume fibers, blood samples, weaponry, and a medical examiner’s contemporaneous observations, just before the asset was rescued from the scene and whisked away to a safe location (still undisclosed). Although relevant members of the Bertinelli crime family could not be interrogated (because they all were gunned down while fleeing the scene and attempting to resist arrest), photos recovered from their remaining devices corroborate Officer Kerr’s firsthand report in key respects Those photos are appended to this report but should never see public light given that they are, if anything, even more compromising and more disturbing in what they depict. In light of the investigation and evidence, Officer Kerr’s unedited, unsparing account should be credited as true. Readers should be assured that the lessons we’ve learned from his report continue to inform training modules, protocols, and safeguards, all of which are now in place in order to better protect the asset in question against those who may mean her harm.

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OFFICER JONATHAN KERR’S STATEMENT: I was patrolling downtown when a report came in that the Museum of Antiquities had been robbed in broad daylight by a gang equipped with AK-47s that had forced its way in to steal one and only one of the items on display: Hera’s Necklace, an ornate, well preserved artifact dating back thousands of years and reportedly maintained by the Amazons. Although this item was especially ornate and valuable, it made no sense that it would be the sole target of thieves who’d ignore everything else on display, unless they were especially steeped in Ancient Greek history and mythology. I was on the look-out for a gang matching the description — professionals equipped with heavy artillery and driving in a black van without license plates — when I saw, of all people, Franco Bertinell, the known head of the infamous Bertinelli crime family, and Nico Camiso, Franco’s hulking mass of a bodyguard/enforcer, strolling down the street sipping coffees. They approached a black van that was parked in an alley, and I glimpsed one of their crew fixing a license plates so it would pass muster. After observing them entering the van, I followed from a discreet distance as they drove towards the Warehouse District. Along the way, I called into dispatch to run the license plates, which turned up nothing, and reported that I’d be investigating the vehicle and its occupants for suspicious activity. They ultimately parked in front of a large, well constructed building on Riverside that appeared to house a vast loft space.

The rest of the block was run-down and desolate, but the building itself stood strong and had several vehicles in the parking lot, with the black van at the back of the line. Unable to convince myself that the Bertinelli crew would have any particular interest in branching out into thefts of Greek artifacts, I still thought it was worth a quick look; I parked my cruiser a couple of blocks away and exited so I could investigate on foot. As I approached the black van, I saw nothing suspicious until I got right next to the passenger side and spotted an AK-47 leaning on the seat. Bingo! Just as I was getting ready to call in, however, I heard a click and felt someone’s Glock on the back of my head. A voice said, “Thanks for your concern, Officer, but you picked the wrong time to check on us. We’re expecting someone else and don’t want any distractions.” Another voice said, “Nothing happens here. Let’s take him inside to the Boss.” Strong hands grabbed my handgun, back-up piece, knife, body-cam, and devices, and I then was roughy pushed inside the front door, where I saw a who’s-who of the Bertinelli family standing around, looking anxious, armed to the teeth, bracing for action. They must’ve seen me approaching at least al block away — I could now see that the left side of the open loft space featured screens picking up camera feeds from every nook and cranny of the property. Opposite the front door was a fortified door at the very back, separated by a cavernous expanse in between. Precious little furniture adorned the vast space. The main items I could pick out were two large, round, sturdy, wooden tables that were about half-way back, towards the side of the space opposite the screens; odd rugs surrounded them, dotting the cold and vacant space. This was an ideal staging location for Bertinelli’s troops, and I saw lots of activity and artillery towards the back, including guys positioning themselves near large crates, bearing machine guns and some sort of canisters. Explosives were also part of the mix; I saw detonators and charges here and there. Something big was brewing.

Meanwhile, someone big was intent upon me. Franco Bertinelli himself eyed me with interest and amusement. Franco could be personable when he wanted to be — he was known to be colorful and downright garrulous on the few occasions when we could obtain warrants to bring him in — and he seemed to be in high spirits this particular day. But I also knew him to be deadly, cruel and perfectly happy to kill me whenever doing so suited him. At this moment, his eyes lit up and he smiled. “Officer: We didn’t expect you but we’ll be glad to host you for a little while. If you play your cards right, you may be able to see much more than you ever imagined, something no one gets to see.” I saw that he was holding a spectacular gold necklace of intricate design, adorned with gems, and engraved with what I took to be the face of the Goddess Hera, and I vaguely nodded towards it as what Franco presumably meant. He chuckled, “No, not this. This is just our means towards a much greater end. Our guest of honor will be after this and after us. We chose it precisely because it matters so much to her and her people.” He must’ve seen the perplexity on my face. The only person I could think of would be my salvation — the person I’d wish for as my best hope of rescue. Franco smiled wide. “Any guesses?” I answered him now: “My best guess would be my dream and your nightmare.” Now he laughed in a way that chilled my blood. “Most days you’d be right, bud. Most days, but not today. Today’s the day we turn the tables on a do-gooder who’s been causing us all sorts of troubles, too many troubles, for our operations. We warned her away but she keeps coming after us. Which brings us here,” and he gestured around the room. He saw me struggling to make sense of his rambling. “You WONDER how we’re gonna pull it off” he asked ,with emphasis on the “wonder.” “Because your remaining time with us is short, I’ll tell you: You see, our people know some people who were close to the late Benito Mussolini, may he rest in peace. And old Benito had some close friends in Germany. Just before their luck ran out, they’d developed a plan, a top-secret plan, to take down our costumed beauty. Too bad for them that they never got to use it. But it was a good plan, and we’ve converted their playbook as a hand-me-down” As I listened to him, I could tell he was 100% serious — and also insane. “So your plan was to use the necklace as bait to get Wonder Woman here,” I asked? I could scarcely hide my delight at learning my would-be killers had lined up my rescuer. “Yep, right down to tipping her off with this address,” said Franco. “This inauspicious location will be her Waterloo. She skated through WWII but we’ll be making up for lost time and showing her what Benito and Adolf never had the chance to pull off.” Knowing for certain that Franco had lost his mind, my concern shifted to trying to keep myself alive before Wonder Woman could arrive. More pitter-patter seemed like my best ticket, as Franco seemed eager to share. I asked Franco how much he wanted to bet on the outcome. He scoffed. “You want to bet against a mob boss who’s already told you he fixed the fight? Bud, my bets are far above your pay grade, so how ‘bout we just say that you’re betting your life and I’m betting mine, and we’ll settle up that way.” “You’re on, Franco, and I’ll know to find you here when it comes time to collect … so, anyone got the time?” The guys around us chuckled.

I saw Bruno casting an imposing figure nearby. Up close, he was every bit of 6’10; his sheer mass would intimidate many NFL linebackers, all of it consisting of chiseled muscle. I could now appreciate why guys who’d had scrapes with him came back saying they’d rather fight a gorilla. On this occasion, Bruno was occupied with a baseball bat, taking ferocious practice swings with remarkable precision, speed and power — as though he were on deck for the Yankees. “So is Bruno warming up for spring try-outs?” Franco didn’t miss a beat: “You should know better. He’s already made the team, and he’s batting lead-off for us. Wait’ll you see what he has waiting for your girl. He’ll take the smile right off your face, and the gleam off hers.. Y’see, Bruno’s my version of what the Fuhrer called his Ubermenschen. Not ringing a bell? Bruno will show you what I mean … in due time.” Bruno wasn’t in any mood to talk, but he took a few strides towards me, and I felt the whoosh from his ferocious swings. The prospect of facing off against Bruno and his bat was downright scary, I confess, but I couldn’t foresee it posing any problems for Wonder Woman. The only question in my mind remained whether I’d survive long enough to watch her do her thing. While I was pondering how many breaths I had left in front of this crowd, my silent prayers were answered.

I. THE ENTRANCE

A cry went out from one of the goons watching the screens: “Here she comes!” Even in black and white, she stood out as otherworldly, radiating celestial power combined with impossible beauty. Her glow jumped through the monitors. Her skimpy, form-fitting costume flattered and revealed a generous portion of her breathtaking body. As she approached stealthily towards the back of the building, her steps were graceful, athletic, swift and poised. She moved with incredible speed and tore open the fortified door at the back as though it were mere tape. Had it not been for the cameras, she would’ve been into the building and onto the Bertinellis before they knew what hit them. As it turned out, machine-gunners were standing up behind crates and opening fire as soon as Wonder Woman strode inside; all I could see coming back were brilliant flashes of her bracelets deflecting bullets, which ricocheted back into several gunmen, who fell over howling with pain. She flung two other goons into walls like they were paperweights, and they both slumped. And she hurled a crate with such impressive force and aim that it took out an entire cluster while they were attempting to reload.

Next came a second wave of Bertinelli men, these wearing gas masks and tossing cartridges straight at Wonder Woman. As the cartridges hit the ground, foul gas sprayed out in ghastly clouds that encircled and obscured her. Meanwhile, Franco gestured towards the guy who was still holding a Glock at my head and had him bring me next to Franco: we stood before the front door, staring down the open expanse, as the action unfolded at the far end. I did a double-take as I saw that Franco was wearing Hera’s Necklace around his neck — for the sake of absurdity, taunting, distraction? Bruno stood diagonally across the hallway, still holding his bat, ready to protect his boss. He didn’t seem content with his practice session, for I saw him injecting a syringe into his massive biceps, after which his face flushed red and his veins popped. Traces of the gas were making it tough for me to breathe and burning my eyes, even from a distance, and it crossed my mind that it, too, might be some vestige of WWII. As tough as it was for me to see through the gas clouds, I could just barely make out Wonder Woman as she gasped, coughed, and then stumbled, causing my heart to skip a beat. Before I knew it, though, she took a superhuman breath to draw in the gas and then quickly exhaled it through the back door, thus clearing the noxious fumes. Anger was now written across her brow as she made this wave of attackers feel her wrath. One she slung up into the ceiling; when he fell towards the floor, she caught him and tossed him like a frisbee into a henchmen who’d been drawing his gun but instead toppled. Two others charged her only to have her slam their heads together with a satisfying thud that took them wholly out of the fight. A last goon charged her from behind only for her to pull back her first with perfect timing and knock him senseless. Having cleared the threats, Wonder Woman focused her sights on Franco, me, and the gunman who was poised to blow my head off. She strode towards us with purpose but without hurry and placed her hands on her hips. She picked out Franco and said, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Franco Bertinelli himself. I knew you had the gut, Franco,” here she pointed at his paunch, “but I never thought you’d have the guts.” Franco frowned but I scarcely noticed. The sight of Wonder Woman was commanding my undivided attention.

No depiction I’d ever seen had remotely done her justice — not photos, not videos, not drawings. In person, her magnificence defied description. She was a vision: an idyllic portrait of feminine beauty, power, and poise. Her iconic costume popped with color — red, white, blue and gold accentuating her tanned, glistening skin — and it flaunted her stunning physique, which was toned, curved, sculpted, glorious. Despite having held off assaults and inhaled vile fumes, she still shined in ways that made my jaw drop. Franco, however, was relatively unfazed. He called out to ask if Wonder Woman wanted to see good Officer (and he peered at my name tag for the first time) Kerr fall in the line of duty, thumbing towards the gun at my head. But Franco hadn’t finished speaking before Wonder Woman had hurled her tiara at lightning speed straight into the gun and the hand that held it; the guy behind me yelped in pain as the gun clattered to the floor, where it lay with the tiara. Freed from immediate danger, I still remained agape and frozen. Wonder Woman was coming straight at Franco, fixated on recovering the Necklace, and closing the distance fast. Still, Bruno kept a distance, off to the side. Why wasn’t he closing to protect Franco? Wonder Woman had half covered the distance between her and Franco when I sensed the answer and saw that Franco was now holding a device with a button. For what? Wonder Woman seemed to be asking herself the same question right as Franco was pressing the button. I heard a faint click just as she soared into a gymnast’s springing somersault backwards, then everything gave way to a deafening “BOOM” that shook the entire building, accompanied by a blinding flash.

Next thing I knew I was picking myself off the floor, head spinning. The same goon who’d been guarding me had replaced his gun with a switchblade, which pressed into my throat as I stood to watch on shaky legs. Wonder Woman had fared better, but not by much. The explosives had discharged directly below where she’d been standing and she hadn’t sprung backwards quite in time to escape the immediate blast radius. As my head cleared, I saw that she was down with her costume in tatters; dust and debris were falling from the ceiling and powdering her perfect features and hair. As she lay there, she retched and coughed again — from getting gassed, covered with debris, or both. Even so, she was picking herself up from the floor, dusting herself off, and confidently rising back towards her full grandeur.

II. THE BODYGUARD

That’s when I saw Bruno entering the picture from behind her. He too was moving faster than should’ve been possible, with practiced, purposeful strides and surprising speed. And his bat was swinging down — with its vicious whoosh — just as Wonder Woman was standing up. She sensed it even before I saw it and she managed to raise her left arm in time for her bracelet partially to deflect what would’ve otherwise been a crushing blow. Regardless, the bat came down with jarring force; I heard a distinct crack and saw Wonder Woman’s head bounce sideways from the impact. No sooner had the bat made contact than Bruno started spinning the opposite way — again with speed, agility and practice — and bringing the bat whooshing towards Wonder Woman’s stomach. She didn’t see this one coming and it landed flush. She doubled over, expelling air and crumpling to her knees. Pain flashed across her face while concern flashed across mine. Bruno and his bat weren’t done. He took his time, gathered his stance, pulled the bat back and took the hardest swing I’d seen yet. Still stunned, Wonder Woman was wholly unprotected and a sitting duck when Bruno’s bat connected with the base of her skull. This time I’d felt no whoosh but a terrible thwack echoed loud and clear — aluminum connecting with bone, and connecting hard. To my horror, Wonder Woman toppled to the floor without making a sound. Meanwhile, Franco was looking on like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.

All this had rattled me, of course, but I still couldn’t believe that Wonder Woman might fall to these thugs. They were vicious, practiced, resourceful, but nothing more than that — and they weren’t in the same league as the goddess now before us. Sure enough, I could see that Wonder Woman was recovering herself, after all that she’d been through, and was again picking herself up off the floor, albeit more slowly this time, crawling up to her elbows and knees. Seeing that Bruno had dropped the bat, I wondered what was coming next. The answer came quickly. Bruno reached down and picked Wonder Woman up from behind, lifting her with frightening ease until his arms were fully outstretched and she dangled above his head. Holding her aloft, he walked towards the nearer of the two tables. Falcone was following and so were my babysitter and me. We caught up in time to get a clear view of Bruno throwing Wonder Woman straight into the table. The force was such that she went straight through; the table splintered under her, and she landed with a grunt, laying stunned and dazed.

The rest of the crew, those who could still stand, had all gathered, nursing various injuries, and were spectating from safe distances as Bruno matched up against Wonder Woman, Beast vs. Beauty. My money remained on her as though my life depended on it. But the combination of the gas, the explosion, the battering, and the trip through the table had clearly taken aa toll on her. She still looked magnificent, but she also looked groggy and sluggish, struggling to clear cobwebs and regain her composure. As she climbed back to her feet, Bruno took a pause; he calmly unbuttoned and removed his overshirt to strip down to a black t-shirt and reveal his thick rolls of muscles, which were coiled and popping with veins that carried whatever juice he’d injected. He again towered over Woman Woman as he stalked her from behind. It looked like a mismatch but I comforted myself knowing that his strength would pale next to hers once it came coursing back.

But Bruno wasn’t affording her much time to recover. Now he grabbed her in a reverse bearhug and wrenched her off the ground, with his thick arms curling around her slim torso and his hands locking in a vice-like grip. Bruno was putting every ounce of his awesome strength into that grip and trying to squeeze the air right out of her — sweat was pouring off him, his teeth were clenched, his face was a mask of concentration and strain. Wonder Woman’s eyes went wide as she summoned all of her remaining strength to resist his, fighting his grip and channeling her might to break free from it. Their clash grew increasingly desperate, but even as she gasped for air I could see that Wonder Woman was, at last, rallying. Her power was surpassing Bruno’s, notwithstanding all her bruises and travails, and his grip fell apart as she began to push his arms outwards and up, bit by bit. Unfortunately, Bruno had been consuming every ounce of her attention. Just as the tide was turning, one of the smallest guys — unnoticed to that point — dashed in front of Wonder Woman with the speed and dexterity of a running back, reached towards her waist, and, in a flash, pulled off her golden belt with one artful, fateful motion, then continued running with it towards Franco without breaking stride. He casually tossed the golden belt over to Franco, who caught it with glee and held it high.

The significance of that exchange was lost on me but no one else. Wonder Woman’s face betrayed complete surprise, followed by panic. Franco was grinning wider than ever. The rest of the gang looked like Christmas had arrived early. And Bruno resumed his labors with redoubled confidence. To my disbelief, he again had the better of Wonder Woman — only now they were one-on-one, matching strength against strength, eyes wide open to one another. Bruno’s crushing grip was returning while Wonder Woman’s resistance was dwindling. I saw that he’d regained the upper hand and that his hands had resumed their vice-like clasp around her exquisite form. As he tightened his hold, it became tougher and tougher for her to breathe. She was still trying to break his grasp but she was failing and she was fading fast. Just as his size dwarfed hers, so did his strength at this stage. Inexplicably, he was now overpowering, dominating, manhandling her. For reasons I couldn’t comprehend, the dynamic had shifted: all her struggles were now for naught and Bruno was mauling her at will. I wanted to intervene but the guy beside me now had another gun trained on me and shook his head, muttering “don’t even think about it,” with a wry grin. Things were going from bad to worse at the center of the room. Her costume, already shredded from the explosion, was further fraying where Bruno’s arms were constricting. Whatever remarkable fibers composed it weren’t designed to withstand Bruno’s ever-tightening vice., and strips of her tanned flesh increasingly showed through. Alas, the more her flesh flashed, the more her life force faded. Wonder Woman’s arms now hung feebly at her sides. She seemed to be giving up the fight, or else losing the ability to sustain it. Her legs were writhing in some sorry combination of pain, resistance, desperation. Her head began to loll forward as Bruno took to bouncing her in his arms, in what resembled an odd, one-sided dance. Worst of all, it was becoming all too clear how much Bruno was enjoying his dark, violent, yet intimate dance, along with the feel of his lithe dance partner as her enviable body pressed and rubbed against his. The bulge in his pants was unmistakable as he pulled Wonder Woman tightly into him and leaned her head onto his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered, then closed. Her legs ceased their futile squirming. Her head toppled forward. Wonder Woman hung limp in Bruno’s unyielding grasp, for all to see. She’d been reduced to gorgeous putty in his arms.

The battle was over and Bruno had won, leaving a goddess fallen. You could hear a pin drop. Even Franco was momentarily speechless. I wanted to look away but I stood transfixed alongside everyone else. Guys were taking out their devices and photographing the moment for all posterity. Bruno grasped that Wonder Woman was now his. Lest anyone fail to recognize as much, he flung her up into a shoulder press and lifted her fully aloft, once again outstretching his arms above his head. His buddies in the cheap sheets could now see for themselves that his lofty prey was flopped out cold — eyes shut, hair bedraggled, back arched, limbs askew, costume shredded, chest heaving for the oxygen she’d been denied, ample bosom pressing against her brassiere and threatening to spill over it. While doing a slow twirl to display her that way, Bruno yelled the only words I’d hear from him: a primal, “YEAH, BABY!” It dawned on me that this was the moment of triumph for Franco’s “Ubermenschen,” who’d managed to fulfill a warped vision at the expense of our national treasure.

Once he’d shown off his trophy, Bruno’s complexion changed. He shifted his posture from constricting to cradling, gently lowering Wonder Woman’s unconscious figure so she could lie snugly in the thickness of his arms, He ceased playing the role of brutal antagonist. Instead, he looked like a caring husband cradling his bride as he walked her over the threshold. With newfound tenderness, he carried the humbled Wonder Woman towards Franco. At the end of his stroll, he carefully deposited her onto a rug in front of the broken table and directly in front of Franco, then strode away to applause from the cheering crowd. Wonder Woman now lay flat on her stomach, atop the cheap, dirty, polyester rug, with her beautiful face turned toward the side and her arms curled alongside. She might have been napping peacefully were it not for her labored breathing.

The thugs crowded around for more photos and exchanged giddy high-fives with one another. As for me, my spirit sank as I took stock. This was no longer Franco Bertinelli’s crazed pipe-dream — at Franco’s feet was the cold, brutal reality of Wonder Woman lying utterly spent, broken, vanquished. We all were entranced as she lay there on her stomach, splayed out in abject defeat. I couldn’t help but notice that her failed struggles against Bruno had left her blue briefs and shining stars wedged suggestively between her sculpted glutes, leaving precious little to the imagination. To my shame, I felt a stirring in my loins — and I didn’t dare imagine what the rest of this crowd was thinking as they eyed her exposed, defenseless, alluring rear. For all my faith in our superheroine, I sensed that she wasn’t coming back from this. Their plan had worked like a charm, and they had accomplished the unthinkable. My sole solace was knowing that this nightmare couldn’t last long for me; the stunning upset of Wonder Woman had presumably sealed my death warrant.

The photo session ended as Franco strode into the frame and stood over Wonder Woman’s helpless, unmoving form.


SEALED FILE CONTINUES . . . .

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


III. THE CREW

Franco shot me a wink. “I know what you must be thinking, Officer. Sorry, all bets are final. But you shouldn’t be too glum. A man can die happy after gazing upon this sight, am I right?,” Franco asked, as that bastard shot me a sly wink. He looked down at Wonder Woman’s outstretched body and wolf-whistled as he took in every inch, eyes lingering over her mostly exposed rump. Then he casually planted his right foot atop her glutes to share in the triumph as he leered down. She was oblivious to the humiliation but it incensed me and I flashed Franco a look of umbrage.

Something broke Franco’s train of thought. “Hey, Tony, let’s not forget to frisk our guest now that she’s more pliant. We don’t want any more unexpected disturbances.” The guy Franco addressed walked towards Wonder Woman, who remained unconscious, and he lifted her up roughly into his arms. Tony then plunged his hand down behind her brassiere, rummaged clinically around her chest and unfastened something, before jerking out his grabby paws and emerging with what appeared to be a tracking device (how had they known about that, too?). There was nothing sexual about the exchange but neither was there any hesitation or restraint on Tony’s part. Wonder Woman might as well have been an oversized doll. I shuddered at what was ahead if this crew could have their way with her. Wonder Woman stirred slightly as Franco gave Tony instructions. “Drive straight to the museum and drop the tracker around there. When her friends look her up, they’ll think she’s still investigating.” That dashed my hopes for the Justice League to save the day, but would Tony be taking the black van, the one with the plates I’d run?

Franco’s attention turned back to Wonder Woman, and so did mine. Two of his men held her upright before him as she stirred groggily; her limbs dangled weakly and she looked in peril of toppling over. “Look, Angel, you fought the good fight but it didn’t go well for you. How’d we have your number, you might wonder? We have to thank some old friends from your WWII days for handing us the secrets to our success against the supposedly unbeatable Wonder Woman. So that’s the BAD news. The WORSE news is that Bruno was going easy on you. Not all my boys are such gentlemen. The GOOD news, however, is that we know how to treat a lady, if she acts like a lady. So whadya say, Princess? Will you come quietly back to our place, so we can all be nice to one another, get to know one another better?”

That flipped a switch for her. I was glad to see the lights turn back on, or at least flicker, in Wonder Woman’s eyes. Her voice was steely: “Never. Do your worst, if you must. I’m not at my best, I’ll admit, but I’m far from finished and I’ll never yield. But what happens here should stay between us. Let Officer Kerr go.” She tilted her head at me. Despite her desperate predicament, she was still thinking of me, trying to save me, as best she could. Franco was having none of it. “That’s not happening, toots. Your boyfriend and I have a score that we’ve gotta settle. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll let this lucky guy keep a front-row seat for what no mortal has ever seen. I gotta warn him, though, that the next Act may be tough to watch. Fellas, do you want to show our guest how you felt about her grand entrance?”

With that cue, the degenerates dregs gathered for a rematch. Wonder Woman scanned warily around her, without her belt or tiara, costume dusted and tattered, legs rubbery but coming back to her. A dozen lowlifes encircled her. The action paused for a few moments while the crew hesitated, unsure of her persisting strength. All of them were still nursing injuries and several of them were limping. No one wanted to make the first move and potentially pay a steep price. Then one of the larger guys sucker-punched her from the side, and his punch landed with a crack, staggering her. Even in her condition, she somehow managed to withstand the punch, roll with it, and spin to deliver a chop to his throat, which left him speechless, choking and sinking. Another guy lunged at her, and she nimbly sidestepped and tripped him. As he fell, another guy stepped forward and threw a wild punch that she confidently ducked, before expertly kicking that one in the groin, leaving him grimacing and doubled over. While she was still engaged with him, another guy slugged her and she fell backwards into the arms of another one, who proceeded to hold her as she struggled. The same attacker punched again, snapping her head back. I thought that would be the end but Wonder Woman had other ideas. As her head came forward, she head-butted the guy in front of her and sent him staggering. Then she brought her head back into the nose of the guy behind her, breaking it and leaving him gushing blood. But that was all she could manage. Those still standing set upon her all at once, raining blows from all sides and sending her staggering

These losers couldn’t believe they were getting the better of the much-vaunted Woman of Wonder — someone they’d believed to be untouchable by the likes of them — and they were making the most at their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The more they diminished her, the more viciously they attacked. True to Franco’s warning, the unfolding scene became stomach-churning. First they battered her with punches. Next they thew her from one to another like a rag-doll, as each took turns slapping her around and groping her, leaving her blanching and squirming. When her legs were giving out under her, two of them held her up while one scumbag took out a knife and started cutting away more shreds from her costume; she struggled in vain against them but Franco expressed his disapproval and called a halt to their dangerous game. “Easy, Wally, no scratching below the surface.” Wally put away his knife and they let her slump towards the ground. As she was going down, they kicked her and stomped her until she seemed to be slipping back towards unconsciousness; even then, they kept after her. Seeking to stop their depraved sport, I started forward but two guys held me tight and pulled me back, leaving me doomed to remain a reluctant spectator. Now she again lay weak and helpless at their feet as they congratulated themselves.

I hoped the drubbing was over and willed her to stay down. But she would not quit. What she hoped to accomplish, I couldn’t say. She was no longer any match for them physically, yet her Amazon spirit remained unbowed. They laughed and jeered as she struggled to rise, crawling forward and propping herself up on her elbows, her knees, her hands. Then Wally, clearly the worst of them all, picked up a leg from the broken table and lifted it above his head as he walked over to the crumpled Wonder Woman, still striving to stand. With a deranged cackle, he brought the wood crashing down hard upon her back and felled her once again. Despite her stoicism, this latest blow left Wonder Woman howling in undisguised anguish— a terrible sound that accompanied the terrible sight of her writhing in pain and rolling onto her injured back. They all stood idly by as that sicko again raised the table leg above his head and prepared to bring it crashing down, this time at her head. This would be a killing blow. She’d already been stripped of her powers, nearly suffocated, and badly beaten. And now she lay prone, defenseless, head flush against the floor. I had no thought of my own safety as I lunged forward to protect her body by diving and stretching myself across her as a human shield. This time no one stopped me. I shouted, “You’re killing her! Why?”

Franco took it all in and cracked a joke. “Our little piggy is greedy. He wants the girl all to himself.” They laughed. “Still, he’s right to ask ‘why.’ After all, I don’t want her dead. Not yet. You all better stay disciplined and stick to the plan. Y’hear me, Wally?” Franco turned to the guy holding the table leg and calmly shot him straight between the eyes, as though he were swatting a fly. “Everybody sticks to the plan and no one gets in front of me. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” Two guys dragged dead Wally away. As Wonder Woman lay beneath me, only semi-alert, she sensed warmth, protection, caring. Amidst a sea of assailants, she at least found one friend in me. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it with what strength she had remaining. Her voice was faint but I heard every syllable. “Thank you, Officer. Hera will protect me, so please don’t fret. Get yourself clear if you can.” No sooner had she finished than I was pulled away and she was left exposed upon the floor.


SEALED FILE CONTINUES

Very cool.

Loving it!

Can't wait to see more

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


IV. THE BOSS

Two men dragged Wonder Woman over towards the table that remained intact and left her leaning heavily on it as she again tried to stand. She now looked thoroughly diminished and only a pale shadow of the woman who’d torn off the door and taken the Bertinellis by storm. Although she still wore the same heroic uniform (what remained of it), it had now become a fight just for Wonder Woman to stand. She looked weak, unsteady, downtrodden. I pined to return to her aid and resume my protective embrace but the goons held me under tight guard and Franco had her in the throes.

It was Franco’s turn to tower over her. He was no Bruno — more pudge than muscle — but he was big, around 6’3, and he could still handle himself. He clutched Hera’s Necklace in one hand and Wonder Woman’s golden belt in the other, holding both items in front of her and taunting her. “You still want to do this the hard way, beautiful? ’Cause it’s such a shameful waste.” She stared at him with silent defiance, her eyes blazing with fury. Her dignity remained intact but she was now much the worse for wear and marred by every phase of her ordeal. With her power sapped and her invulnerability draining away, I spotted a faint trickle of blood staining the side of her mouth. Franco continued to taunt her. “If you want your title back, you’ll have to fight me for it, fair and square.” He mockingly wrapped her belt around his oversized waist , as best it would fit, and slipped the necklace back around his neck. This made for a ridiculous sight but it afforded a very real, precious chance. The all-important belt was suddenly within her reach. With just one more flash of brilliance, Wonder Woman could restore order and save us both. She summoned all her remaining focus and reserves as she faced Franco. He stuck his belly out to mock her with the belt, and she denounced him as a “cretin.” When he leaned towards her to flaunt the necklace, she spat in his face. He wiped away the spittle with a handkerchief and remarked, “The pussycat can hiss, but does it still have claws? C’mon, let’s see you come and try to get ‘m.” He waived her towards him.

She stepped towards him but faltered, then grimaced, before leaning again on the table in an attempt to steady herself. I could tell that she was concussed and that the last blow to her back had left her grievously injured, limiting her mobility and making every step a painful challenge. She gathered herself once more and took a tentative step towards Franco, who threw a lazy left jab that nonetheless caught her and sent her stumbling backwards . She tried another step and he feinted with another jab, then hit her with a right cross that rocked her. She went down to one knee, came up and summoned everything she had left to throw a punch that Franco blocked to the side, before countering with a gut bunch that left her wincing and doubled over. Wonder Woman gasped for air while Franco waited, smiling and motioning again for her to come at him once more. I wanted this to stop. I told Franco it wasn’t a real fight and that he had nothing to be proud of given her condition. He gestured to the guy next to me, who cold-cocked me with his gun and sent me reeling.

When I could focus again, Wonder Woman had managed to straighten up but she was in no shape to continue fighting. Nevertheless, she tried to venture forward one more time and threw a feeble punch with one hand while lunging clumsily for her belt, which Franco had taken off his waist to hold outstretched as enticement. Franco simply swatted away her punch and dropped the belt before throwing a hard counter. It was.a better punch than Franco seemed capable of and a far better punch than Wonder Woman could take at this point. She sank to her knees, teetering before him. Franco cruelly backhanded her and it landed with a hard crack, leaving her dizzied and senseless before him; her belt was right in front of her and I yelled for her to grab it but she was too far gone to process anything. Franco remarked, “Soooooo close, yet so far away,” as he took his time picking up the belt from in front of Wonder Woman, who still showed not the slightest awareness. He coiled the belt around his right hand and clenched it into his fist, like brass knuckles. I implored him to stop, saying he had nothing more to accomplish or prove. He ignored me as he turned towards his minions and made a big show of winding up for one more punch. I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t help but watch. He threw his final punch from high to low and it landed flush on her left cheek, below her eye, opening up a gash. That was it for her. She crashed to the floor like a stone, silent and lifeless.

“Girl can dish it out but she can’t take a punch,” said Franco. I was trying to rush at him but three guys were restraining me. Franco asked for a ten-count but it was irrelevant. Wonder Woman now lay in a pitiable heap, with her legs folded awkwardly underneath her. It would take quite a while for her to return from oblivion, if ever she could. I tried not to doubt whether she’d awaken, or to ponder what would await her when she did. Someone asked aloud what was on all our minds: “She still alive, Boss?” A guy reached down and confirmed she still had a pulse. Franco threw up his hands and clasped them together as he did a victor’s jig. He’d proved his point to his men. He’d now lay claim to having bested the fabled Wonder Woman with his own bare hands. He was the champ and she was his prize. As a coup de grace, Franco bent down and spat on his fallen foe, who now lacked the ability and even the consciousness to wipe away the spittle.


SEALED FILE CONTINUES .....

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


V. THE TABLE

Franco gestured for two of the guys to hoist Wonder Woman up, and they carried her off the floor and unceremoniously dropped her atop the one intact table, where they laid her out spread eagle fin front of the assembly. One of them cracked, “We already wiped the floor with Ms. High and Mighty. Now she can wipe the table.” They whirled away and left her splayed out there. It was a heart-stopping sight to behold. She didn’t stir; I was relieved to see that she was still breathing, but her breathing had become even more labored, worrisomely labored. Someone asked if they should tie her up. Franco responded, “What for? It’d be like tying up a crippled kitten.” Sadly, he was right. The woman lying before him had been transformed from an awe-inspiring superheroine into a helpless victim. Since she’d arrived on the scene, these scumbags had reduced the Amazing Amazon to a tragic state paralleling that of countless victims whom I’d scraped off Gotham’s pavement. I wanted for her what I wanted for them: a prompt emergency response so she could obtain the necessary care, starting with a warm blanket and comforting voice. But no help was coming to this crime scene, and Wonder Woman was in no condition to help her own cause.

I wanted to shift my gaze but there was no looking away from the table or what was outstretched upon it. Wonder Woman’s beauty remained transcendent, but her features had been coated with an ugly paste of sweat, dust, spittle and blood, which still trickled from one side of her mouth and poured steadily from the gash in her cheek opposite. Her raven-black hair was disheveled, matted together with dust, debris, sweat; without her tiara, her hair spilled in unruly bunches over her brow and into her eyes. Her tattered costume now served the opposite of its intended purpose. As skimpy and suggestive as it might be on her best days, it helped her shine as a beacon of beauty, virtue, power and patriotic pride — a celebration of the female form and an inspiration to all who saw it. As she now lay on display there, however, it told the tale of her total defeat. Even worse, it invited and rewarded gawking. Her ample breasts were more exposed than ever; her brassiere now hung lower than designed and only just barely her nipples. Beyond that. much of her costume had been shredded and torn away, exposing chunks of her taught midriff and slender waist. And her already high-cut briefs had become badly wedged, as noted, while portions of them, too, had been torn away, coming closer and closer to laying bare what these villains most craved. All told, the remnants of her costume left her on the verge of indecency.

Wonder Woman’s compromised condition only added to the effect. Her chest rose and fell dramatically as her body struggled for air, exuding weakness and fragility. And her breasts came tantalizingly close to being laid bare with each labored breath she took. Onlookers were mesmerized as they watched her heavy breathing cajole her perfect breasts for their continuing edification. Her lower body was similarly compromised. With her legs spread out, only a small, sheer strip of fabric stretched over the jewel of her womanhood, and her outer lips etched an immodest camel-toe for all to ogle. Worst of all, Wonder Woman’s unconsciousness left her utterly at the mercy of her adversaries, who had neither mercy nor conscience as they leered hungrily at her.

My only comfort was that all of the guys knew better than to get out in front of their boss. Franco invited them to take pictures before he re-entered the frame. “This supermodel is obliging enough to pose for you, so I’ll let you take pictures. But I don’t want any sign of me in them. Blowback’s gonna be bad enough without you boneheads leading folks ro me, got it?” So Wonder Woman lay alone, out cold, draping the table, while eyes and lenses feasted upon the spectacle. The depraved photo session seemed interminable; Wonder Woman remained oblivious throughout to her further humiliation. Franco at last called a halt to it and re-entered the frame. “If only we could go to press with this, just imagine the headline: “Amazing Amazon Laid Low by Common Criminals.” But we don’t need the Associated Press to keep score here. We’re winning this thing by knockout.”

Franco seemed eager to resume his torments and he strode towards Wonder Woman’s booted feet. He turned to his minions. “They say we should never meet our heroes for fear of disappointment. In this instance, I have mixed reactions. On the one hand, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” He leaned down over her, raised her head just off the table, then let it slump back to its wooden pillow with an audible thud, confirming she had nothing left for him. “On the other hand, I DO see what all the fuss is about.” Now he leered lustily at her and gestured down at the remarkable, barely-clad physique that so preoccupied them all. Hearty laughter filled the air. Franco proceeded to expand upon his point. He stooped again over Wonder Woman’s head and gently pulled her matted, luscious hair away from her eyes and her brow. He softly dabbed his fingers into the blood that stained her face, then pulled his fingers to his mouth and sucked, expressing delight at the taste of her blood. I tensed and my captors gripped me more tightly. They held me back as Franco slowly walked his fingers down her chin and over her throat, all as she remained comatose.

Now he came to her sensational breasts, barely contained by her tattered costume. Franco copped indulgent, protracted feels, rubbing and tracing the perfect shape of each breast until he sensed her nipples hardening involuntarily, ever so subtly, at which point he grinned, tapped her brassiere with glee, and muttered something into her ear. She stirred slightly at this, shaking her head fractionally back and forth, and I heard the faintest groan. Now his fingers were exploring every gap in her costume, feeling her exposed flesh where it should not have been exposed, down through her stomach, her waist, her pelvis and public bone. Franco’s eyes closed like he was savoring fine wine. Now his hands marched further down her briefs while my dread increased. With impunity, he placed his hand squarely on her crotch, which he methodically rubbed and probed. I saw Wonder Woman quiver and heard her moan, in little more than a whisper, “Noooooo, please, no. Not this. You transgreeeeesssss”

Franco scoffed, but he withdrew his hand and seemed pleased to see her regaining consciousness. “Hey, Princess, if you got it, flaunt it, right? That’s gotta be your motto, and I can’t disagree” His hands now went to her perfect legs, and he traced every inch of her lithe muscles, giving some combination of a massage and a probing, anatomical assessment. As he rolled her over to grope her shapely ass, she could offer only the barest resistance, which Franco easily blew past. He cupped his hand there and let it linger on each glute. She couldn’t do anything about it, beyond moaning one last whispery “noooooo…….” He responded with an irreverent slap on her tight posterior, and it echoed throughout the space. Once he’d soaked in her every curve, he let her settle so that she again lay flat on her back, eyes shut, looking debased and dejected.

I realized that Franco had turned this table into a stage for a dastardly performance, making Wonder Woman both his victim and his star. As it unfolded, he was establishing complete dominion over his conquest and marking territory in front of his men. Assuming that was his twisted mission, Franco had already more than accomplished it. I hoped he’d be content to end his antics there, but somehow doubted we’d be so fortunate. Sure enough, he pressed on. Having finished sampling her peerless physique, he uttered “Ooh-LA-LA” and gestured approvingly to his crew, confirming this was a Grade-A specimen. He turned back towards Wonder Woman. “it didn’t do you much good today but I give you credit for staying in fantastic shape. That said, I think your costume could use some improvements, my dear. Hey, boys, where’s her little crown? She’s been missing that.” One came forward with the discarded tiara and heedlessly slid it on her head; it rested askew there, mocking its owner and what it was meant to signify.

Wonder Woman’s eyes were fluttering and she was now semi-conscious, responsive in fits and starts. As Franco continued using her as his plaything, she was aghast yet unable to resist. Franco pointed down at her red boots. “I’m not a fan of these. Legs like yours shouldn’t stay hidden.” Without awaiting any response, he unzipped the one on her left foot and slowly slid it down, making quite a show of the removal. All Wonder Woman could do was wince in shame and disgust. Then Franco did the same with her right boot. This time she feebly kicked at him, to no avail. De-booted and barefoot, her legs were no less glorious, but she’d been stripped of any semblance of dignity. I braced for things to get worse. I saw her glance at me, with a mixture of mortification and hope that I might provide some solace. But no relief was within sight for either of us, and I tipped my head downwards to avert her gaze.

Franco had another trick up his sleeve. He had one of the guys pass him a white gift box, wrapped in red and blue ribbons. He held it in front of our fallen heroine while his monologue resumed: “You wanted to do this the hard way, and I respect that. But we’re a peaceable lot — we want to be making love, not war. So let’s finally put all this unpleasantness behind us and get to the fun part. Here’s what’s gonna happen next, beautiful, whether you like it or not: We’re gonna take you back to our place; get to know you better (EVERY BIT of you better); get you out of that beat-up costume, clean you up, and slip you into something much more comfortable. We’ve brought you this peace offering in order to turn the page.” Wonder Woman watched with trepidation as he unwrapped and opened the box. What he pulled out from it was a scandalous piece of lingerie, fit for a low-rent prostitute. It appeared to be a twisted parody of her iconic costume. The bra was red mesh that would decorate her magnificent breasts without really covering them. The panties were skimpy in the extreme — sheer blue, with a single white star at the crotch and floss-like blue string forming the thong. My mind drifted away for just a moment, imaging how Wonder Woman would wear that flimsy garment better than it ever deserved to be worn.

But my fleeting thought quickly gave way to outrage and indignation. Were Franco and his gang so certain of their victory that they’d lined this up for the occasion? I silently vowed to spoil their plans; she must never suffer the plight Franco had scripted for her. I’d give my life to spare her from it. I just needed to find some opening, any opening. For her part, Wonder Woman now despaired as never before. She turned away from Franco and his sickening present. As she shut her eyes, a tear ran down her beautiful but bloodied face.


SEALED FILE CONTINUES . . . .

Can you do something like this with Batgirl?

Great writing! I love it.

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


VI. THE RESPONDERS

It was at that moment that I saw the distinctive flash of sirens coming through the front windows. My first thought was that it must be a wishful mirage. But then I looked at the screens and saw the cameras picking up a fleet of patrol cars as well as one of our SWAT teams assembled around the building. While all eyes inside had been glued to the table display, police responders had gathered outside, undetected. Franco’s errand boy must’ve attracted the cavalry and led them right to the front door searching for me. Hope came soaring back for the first time in a long time, and I shot a sly thumbs up to Wonder Woman in the hope that she might see, but her eyes were now shut and it looked as though nothing could penetrate her dense fog of sorrow and despair. I wasn’t one to sound the alert but one of the goons behind me followed my eyes to the screens and grasped that they had big problems. He immediately called out to Franco and the room, “Holy shit, fellas, the heat’s outside!”

That broke their trance. Franco, too, turned straight to the security screens, realized that no one had been monitoring them, and went into a frenzy: “Rocco, Joey, you have one fucking job and you can’t even do it. You took off work to watch me perform with Sleeping Beauty?! You boneheads let our whole plan go to shit!” Bruno had returned from basking on the sidelines; he now stood right next to Franco, readying to protect him. Wonder Woman, meanwhile, received a momentary respite as attention shifted elsewhere. She was still in terrible shape but she was intact and trying her best to prop herself up on the table and see what was unfolding. The gang was picking up weaponry and scrambling for a possible stand-off, but that hadn’t been their plan and they were ill-prepared. Their first priority was stationing gunmen at the back, where they were missing a door.

Franco thought aloud in deducing the next move. “Boys: We don’t need to shoot our way out of this. We have something better than artillery. We have hostages. The Boys in Blue don’t want anything bad to happen to this guy,” as he pointed at me, “and they most definitely won’t let anything happen to this one,” as he focused on Wonder Woman. He then grabbed her by the hair and pulled her roughly off the table, while motioning to the guys behind me to bring me over, which they proceeded to do while keeping me at gunpoint. Seeing that Franco was at a disadvantage for once, I pounced. “Give it up. This wasn’t the plan. You know hostage stand-offs never go well. Your better play is to get out of here as fast as you can.” Franco wheeled to face me and said, “You, cowboy, are a proven loser and a dead man walking, and your advice would lead me straight to the grave with you, with bullets in my back. Plans are one thing, but improvisation is what’s gotten me this far. Now if you want to save your would-be savior, you’ll get her to the door this instant so your guys can see her before they barge in. Because if they come through that door, we’re shooting to kill — first her, then you, in that order, capisce?” I knew that wasn’t a bluff, and that time was short. But I also doubted whether Wonder Woman could even stand.

Seeing my concern for her, Franco roughly seized hold of Wonder Woman, as he strode behind her, wrapping his left arm under her chin and around her neck as he would any hostage, while his right arm leveled his semi-automatic straight to her temple. She was far, far past deflecting bullets. Following the table session, she had given up the fight and slumped submissively in Franco’s grasp. All she could do was wince when Franco cocked his gun at her head; we both got the message loud and clear before Franco released her and let her slink to the floor.

I went to her to help her up, only for Wonder Woman to recoil reflexively from my touch. In my most reassuring voice, I said: “Relax, this is Officer Jonathan Kerr, and I’m here to help you.” She turned cautiously towards me, processed who I was, extended her hand. I eased her back up to her feet and encouraged her to take a step with me, which was no easy task for her at this point.

Now a megaphone barked from outside. “This is Gotham Police and we need everyone inside to come out with your hands up, or else we’re coming in.” Franco told me to hustle if I wanted to be any help to Wonder Woman. I put my arms around her shoulder and she put hers around mine, but still she struggled to move with me. I pulled her along with all my strength, until I realized that her bare feet were merely dragging across the floor. At that point, I scooped her up in my arms and she put arm around my neck. Guns were pointing at the back of our heads but I tuned them out, concentrating solely on her and saying silent thanks that she was still breathing. I marveled at how light she felt; she weighed no more than a female Olympian would. Finally, we reached the front door. Franco and Bruno were directly behind us, and the former reminded me that I’d live just long enough to watch Wonder Woman die, not a moment longer, if anything went awry.

I yelled my name and badge number through the door, and demanded to talk. Two of my fellow officers crept to the door, cautiously, with a riot shield and guns drawn. Behind them were more troopers than I could count, with artillery lined up. I gathered that more were stationed at the back of the place, standing off against the Bertinelli goons. I told them that they couldn’t come in without suffering unacceptable casualties. They asked how many hostages there were. I told them two and gestured for them to come right up to the door. I heard multiple guns cocking behind me and felt cold metal press into the back of my head as I pulled Wonder Woman to the opening of the door, so the officers could see her for themselves. As soon as they saw her singular face, complete with her signature tiara and earrings, they both did double-takes. I could see the surprise, confusion, and dismay in their faces as they took in hers and what was written across it — the blood, the depletion, the dejection, the disorientation. I detected their disbelief and confided: “Trust me, it’s all too real. They’ve got her. And she needs our help to get out alive.” They absorbed it all, then quickly retreated.


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HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


VII. THE LASSO

Someone behind us slammed the door shut and Bruno wheeled me around to frisk me, eyeing me with heavy suspicion. Franco grabbed me by my collar, “Nice job, Romeo. Now you and your girlfriend get to stay alive another moment or two. But I’m not forgetting about our bet, and your debt will be paid before we’re done here.” With that, he managed a grin, but Franco well knew he was in deep trouble. What was his plan now? The police force couldn’t give him a free pass, with or without us as hostages, and Franco was smart enough to know that. He was looking past me now, back over to Wonder Woman, who stood partially upright, left to her own devices, and was slumped against the near wall. As before, Franco didn’t leave us guessing as to his designs. “Boys, we can’t shoot our way out of this with cops crawling the block like insects. We need a distraction. And we luckily have one helluva distraction.. Everybody get ready to scram.” He nodded over to Bruno, who already knew his boss’s mind. In a nasty instance of deja vu, Bruno again grabbed Wonder Woman, who could offer little resistance when Bruno coldly hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack, with her torso and head bent behind his back. This time Bruno was all business as he carried Wonder Woman back towards the dreaded table, except that his hand rested all too comfortably on her ass. Just before reaching the table, he put her down on and let her regain her feet as best she could.

Franco had followed them and marched straight up to where she stood, on wobbly legs, while she shot him a look of sheer hatred. “This whole thing should’ve gone differently,” he told her. “The easier way would’ve been better for both of us.” She answered venomously: “No, Franco, you’re on a road to hell that’s paved with ill intentions, and I’ll never set foot on it with you. Amazons never surrender, and certainly not to scum lik…” Franco viciously snatched her slender neck with both hands and began constricting her windpipe, strangling her. Anticipating my move, two guys blocked my path — no smiles or wisecracks now, just grim faces. One of them leveled a semi-automatic at me while the other peered over my shoulder to see what the cops were doing outside. Meanwhile, an enraged Franco was tightening his deadly squeeze. As she struggled desperately but futilely against him, her brassiere slipped still lower, to the point that her beautiful areolas now showed. Wonder Woman quickly lost all defenses and could only claw at his fingers, to no avail. I heard the awful sound of her choking and wheezing for air as her face paled and her arms dropped to her side, leaving her utterly helpless in his clutches.

My vow rang hollow in my mind; to my horror, nothing whatsoever was preventing Franco from finishing her off, there and then. As suddenly as he had started, however, Franco released her . She sank to her knees before him, gasping for air with her chest heaving and magnificent breasts popping out to the point of total exposure. Franco said, “Tempting, my dear, but now’s not the time.” He dragged her back to her feet and contemptuously shoved her over to Bruno, who held Wonder Woman upright with one hand and held something that flashed gold in the other. Once again, Franco nodded to him.

Bruno was holding her lasso — her golden lasso, which had been unhinged from her belt and forgotten in the shuffle. Before I knew it, Bruno was unspooling golden rope and tossing it to goons who were up on the table and running it around a heavy beam overhead. He held my handcuffs and used them to cuff Wonder Woman’s hands together behind her back. A ghastly realization hit me just as the goons prepared to tie off the lasso’s other end at the leg of a heavy furnace in the corner of the room. I shouted, “No!” but it didn’t change anything. Wonder Woman was still coughing and struggling to regain her breath when Bruno rudely yanked her up onto the table and positioned the lasso’s noose around her neck That giant looked rueful yet resolute. Wonder Woman was cuffed, spent, and powerless to fight him. The other goons were pulling the lasso tight against the base, until Wonder Woman rose to her bare tiptoes atop the table, getting pulled upwards by the taught rope. What remained of her brassiere had fallen to her waist, leaving her topless. I couldn’t help but take in the glorious sight of her fulsome, shapely, natural breasts, now bared for all to see.

But the remainder of the scene was dismal. Wonder Woman was nothing more than a gorgeous, defenseless lamb being offered up for sacrifice; as she registered what was happening; her face showed fear. She was atop the table for one final, fateful display, teetering on the precipice — looking small, alone, and exposed, with nothing left to cover her breasts and only fragments of her tattered costume shielding anything from piercing eyes. Some of those bastards took the opportunity to snatch one more set of photos. Franco addressed them all: “This lady’s about to get hoisted by her own petard. On the count of 3, we’re gonna open the front door, show ‘em the sights, and make ‘em choose between saving her or catching us. You boys run for your lives, blast anyone who crosses your path, and meet back at the ranch.” Wonder Woman’s eyes found mine and I saw but couldn’t hear a simple, plaintive “Please” cross her lips.

Time stopped. I saw the all-important belt where Franco and Bruno had left it lying on the floor; I saw the gunman in front of me turning his head to watch the makeshift hanging; I saw his partner staring over my shoulder towards the police. I heard Franco utter o cruel, parting wisecrack: “You must be tired of that table, sweetheart. So we’re gonna set you free from it while Mr. Piggy squeals for all his friends to save you.” Then I saw Bruno shove the table forward with all his might. The table travelled an impossible distance and left Wonder Woman dangling in space, legs floundering, body jerking, eyes frantic and wide, neck twisting for naught against golden rope that wouldn’t loosen. As Franco started to dash, he yelled final instructions at Bruno: “Keep her up in the air while we get clear.” The door had been flung open so that eagle-eyed onlookers outside could see her predicament, but they were too far away; she was already past her limits; they’d never reach her in time; she’d called to me as her only hope.

It was now or never. I snatched the gun from the asshole in front of me and shot the partner through his forehead, point blank, then swung the gun into the first guy’s temple before he could square up; I bolted past without watching him fall, knowing my initial shot would’ve sent everyone and everything into frenzied motion. And I ran straight for the belt, snatching it up, shoving it into my pocket, and running towards the table. Now gunshots were coming from all directions and sheer bedlam was unfolding around me. I felt my left arm catch fire just below the shoulder, then go numb. Now I was at the table, pushing it back into position with all I had in me. Wonder Woman was above me, still writhing, but less and less …. Her tan skin had had become ghastly pale and her face had lost all color apart from persisting trickles of blood; her eyes had closed; she merely dangled with her breasts bare and limbs slack.

All I could do was keep pushing the table. I lacked Bruno’s strength but was prepared to sacrifice everything, including my life, to get that cursed table back under her. Only when I saw Bruno charging me did I change gears: I emptied my remaining clip into the monster, establishing that he was big but not bulletproof. Then I resumed pushing. As soon as the table was safely under her, I leaped atop it, left arm burning, and grabbed and clutched her protectively so that the lasso finally slackened and ceased choking her. Wonder Woman was limp and non-responsive in my arms as gunshots continued to erupt and the building began swarming with friendly figures in blue. One responder managed to untie the rope from its base and we pulled it through. Her lasso no longer menaced her, and I finally lifted the deadly noose from around her neck while holding her unconscious form in my arms . I found my key and used it to unlock the handcuffs, then pulled her brassiere back up over her breasts to restore some semblance of dignity for her, come what may. But I felt neither breath nor a pulse coming from her, so I frantically waived over the nearest EMTs.

Wonder Woman had never given up, and we couldn’t abandon her at her most desperate hour. She had to come back from this. She just had to, somehow. She couldn’t meet such an ignominious end — not here, not like this, not at the hands of these thugs. Yet no one had ever seen her in such dire straits, and fulfilling my vow required reeling her back from uncharted territory.


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HIGHLY CLASSIFIED


VIII. THE RESCUE

Responders gathered around us quickly and intently, with looks of concern on every face, and I had plenty of help lifting Wonder Woman down from the table and onto a stretcher, then down to the floor to enable CPR. Someone tried to attend to my arm and I brushed him aside. A paramedic was performing chest compressions on Wonder Woman while I did mouth-to-mouth, focusing on the life-or-death implications and banishing my out-of-place daydreams. But it was futile. Our champion remained dead to the world. Now came a doctor bearing paddles and shouting the warning “”3-2-1-CLEAR.” Her body jerked, but yielded no pulse. Then it occurred to me: I reached into my pocket with my good arm and unfurled the belt, which I feverishly tied it where it belonged, around Wonder Woman’s waist. Those around me nearly interceded but I was too fast and too insistent on getting it successfully clasped around her. I bent my head down to her ear and spoke softly: “We’re here for you. They’re gone. You’re safe. Come back to us, Wonder Woman. We believe in you.” Seconds passed like an eternity. Someone called out that she now had a pulse! I felt a faint breath, saw her eyes flutter open, and I wrapped my good hand around hers, then felt her offer the slightest squeeze back. Cheers erupted around us.

The SWAT Commander and Captain came by to ask for any leads on Franco, who had escaped with a small break-away pack amidst the commotion but was being actively pursued. Did I know where they were going? I spoke my mind bluntly: “When you catch those SOBs, know that they did this to her. I’m telling you [REDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTEDREDACTED].” They looked at Wonder Woman on the stretcher — rebounding but still bloodied, battered, checkered with strangulation marks around her angelic neck, her iconic costume torn to shreds— and solemnly nodded their understanding. They told me that most of the crew had been gunned down at the scene, and that none of the remainder should be expected to survive, given their hardened dispositions and the imperative to protect the public. That gave me the assurance I’d desired.

All my attention then returned to Wonder Woman, who at last had a warm blanket wrapped around her, covering up the inadequacy of her tarnished, tattered costume. She was sitting upright, which was a welcome sight, while refusing to accept medical care, which was not. The doctor attending to her ticked through his concerns about her multiple concussion, vertebrae, ribs, traumas, contusions, lacerations, respiratory distress, more. She wouldn’t hear any of it, however. All she’d accept as treatment was a cold compress followed by a bandage for the gash on her left cheek, which had remained open and bloody. She thanked the doctor and various responders around her for their kindness and concern, while assuring them that she would be fine and on her way shortly. While I was watching, medical providers were treating my wound and telling me that a bullet had passed clean through without doing further harm; they cleansed the entry and exit points, and wrapped up my left arm, which merely throbbed now. By the time they’d finished with me, I could see that Wonder Woman looked more and more herself: color had returned to her face; her tiara was straightened; and her boots had been returned and restored to their rightful place, molded around her lower legs and feet.

Once she’d composed herself, Wonder Woman beckoned me to come close, then spoke to me in hushed confidence. “I owe you my life, Officer Kerr, and am in your debt. But if your wound doesn’t prevent you from driving, I might impose upon you for a ride.” I’d do anything for her, and this was no imposition. Yet I feared she was being rash and urged her to reconsider her refusal of on-the-scene care. “For your own good, please let our guys patch you up. I saw you smashed and left for dead today, so please drop the brave face and accept the medical care that you need and deserve.” She didn’t mince words with her reply. “Today will haunt me more than you can know….” Her voice trembled and trailed off, then recovered. “But you must understand that my continued successes — and my very life — depend upon maintaining my ‘brave face,’ as you call it. If word spreads throughout the criminal underworld that I’ve succumbed to these vermin, and how, there’ll be no end to these fiendish attempts. Every lowlife will think they can topple me. So today’s events CANNOT become lore.” Her words tore through me, and she continued. “I of course trust in your discretion. And I overheard enough of your earlier conversation to grasp that Franco and his crew will not be spreading lurid tales; I’d ask that today’s events get buried with them. As for your colleagues — all devoted public servants whose efforts leave me grateful — they’ll hopefully write off what little they’ve observed here as a random, passing fluke. But I’d be elevating this particular episode in everyone’s mind, and likely attracting media coverage, by getting hospitalized over it. And that, Officer Kerr, would be the worst thing for me; it might one day send me to the morgue.”

Everything she’d said rang true, and my face flushed red with embarrassment at my naïveté. Still, she brought her forehead to mine and leaned forward. “Jonathan Kerr, Hera herself could not save me today, but YOU did. Won’t you please extend your protection one step further and permit me to mend with my own people, in my own way? I’d manage the journey myself, except that, as you note, it’s been a rather rough day for me and I’m not sure how far I’ll get under my own power.” All I could manage then was a silent nod of affirmation. She whispered precise directions in my ear so that I’d know where to transport her.

Convinced that we should be on our way without delay, I asked for a cruiser to be lined up in front and offered my hand to Wonder Woman. She took it eagerly and, upon hazarding her first step forward, faltered visibly. She stopped for a moment and asked me if she could help me given my bad arm and blood loss. I grasped her meaning and proceeded to make a public show of leaning into her; in doing so, however, I took care to support her weight and to guide her steps. As we made our way together and exited, she exuded the transcendent glow I’d first seen. She managed to waive and smile magnetically at all her many admirers and well-wishers whom we passed along the way. Although the blanket draped over her telegraphed that something was off, it did valuable work by maintaining her modesty as well as her warmth. And passing observers could take the small bandage on her left cheek as a trifling byproduct of her having stamped out the Bertinellis.

Despite all of Wonder Woman’s efforts to project good health and cheer, her facade wasn’t built to last; I felt more and more of her weight and spotted more and more grimaces as we made it past the front entrance. I’d never know how just much it took for her to be braving that walk after all that she’d endured, but I sensed Herculean efforts behind her every step. She couldn’t hide from me or from herself what Franco had done to her. As she distanced herself from prying eyes with a pasted-on smile and gritted teeth, I saw a pale, fragile ghost of the transcendent superheroine who’d first burst onto the scene. Thankfully, her otherworldly powers had brought her back from certain death; it was miracle enough that they had spared her from a casket or the ICU. But her belt could not undo her ordeal and resulting injuries. Franco’s predations had exacted a terrible price— robbing her of her powers and her dignity, and leaving her broken from the inside-out. That she could nonetheless still put one foot in front of another was testament to her indomitable spirit, not any genuine return to her fighting form. I knew that, and she knew that, and we approached the walk as one more battle she needed to fight and win before finding her way to safety and succor.

By the time we approached our cruiser, her legs were wobbling and she looked liable to collapse in plain view of everyone. I gave her hand a tight squeeze and told her we had only a few more steps left. She nodded appreciatively, gathered herself once more, and maintained stride as best she could. We covered the remaining span with increased strain and urgency, until we at last reached the passenger door, where I took care to ease her onto the seat, abandoning any pretense that she was supporting me. Her eyes were nearly closing as I got behind the wheel and turned on the siren. As I turned on the engine, her head fell softly to my shoulder. As we pulled away and out of sight, she slipped comfortably to my lap and surrendered to sleep. At last we were safely away, driving to a destination that I’ll never disclose to anyone, not even here.

Just as she’d told me, she was meant to heal with her people, in her way. Later, in my arms, she’d speak of needing renewal and even rebirth before rising anew to recapture her former glory. And she is forever assured that the harrowing details of the perils she survived shall remain a dark secret — never to be shared except with those who’ll help guard against any recurrence. That’s where this report ends and dreams begin.

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Excellent finish!

Good story

Excellent description throughout. Precise and highly involving! Wonderful job.