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As Ameri-Man flew above the mayor's manor, he readied himself for a tongue-lashing. Goons in smashed-up power-armour lay tied up or knocked out all over the front lawn. The goons were the Dogs of War, a terrorist group with military hardware. In the middle of the green lawn of fallen villains was the seven-foot, alien Amazon herself, Fatima.
Even floating high-above, Ameri-Man could see Fatima scowling with her hands on her hips. Her golden skin was unblemished, but her traditional plate armour was scorched with laser fire.
Oh, shit, she'd spotted him.
She couldn't fly, but with her mighty legs, she leapt as high as Ameri-Man was hovering. She grappled him and let gravity hurl them down to Earth. Their impact dug a crater in the dirt.
"Where were you!?" She was pissed off -- her thick alien accent was breaking through.
Ameri-Man floated up as Fatima hauled herself, armour and all, out of the crater.
"Did you even need me?" Ameri-Man said.
He looked over the battlefield of fallen foes. He noticed there seemed to be less of them than when he first looked. And less still. And second by second, the incapacitated terrorists seemed to be popping out of existence. Ameri-Man squinted his powerful eyes and made out a green blur. It was Twitch, the team speedster.
"Twitch hauling them to jail," said Fatima. "He is of *some* use."
Ameri-Man clenched his teeth. Why couldn't the Dogs of War have a giant robot dog in reserve -- something that could rise up behind Fatima? Then he could crush its metal body down into a little ball before Fatima even noticed! That'd show her.
With his ultra-hearing, Ameri-Man picked up the tell-tale clunk and click of a sniper rifle being set up. On the balcony of the mayor's manor, a sniper took aim at Fatima. That high-tech sniper rifle... it could shoot a shot powerful enough to break through the extra-terrestrial metal of Fatima's armour.
Ameri-Man didn't have superspeed, but he soared at the shooter like a bird of prey. Within feet of him, Ameri-Man was ready to tackle him. But from Ameri-Man's left, a slender figure in skin-tight black rushed at the shooter. With a fist faster than a gunshot, the figure struck the sniper in ribs, sending him smashing against the balcony railings.
Ameri-Man couldn't stop his momentum. He crashed into the black-clad figure. They slid to a stop inside the mayor's office.
"Sorry, Whip," said Ameri-Man.
Ameri-Man was on top of Whip. If it weren't for her cybersuit, her lean, athlete's body would have been broken by his impact. The smooth black visor covered her whole face, but he could tell she wasn't pleased. Her mask had a resting bitch face he often said... not to Whip's face...
She didn't push or struggle under his weight. Her cool contempt for the men in the Altruists could be mistaken for patience. She saw no point in complaining. The boys would never get their act together.
Oh, please, Dogs of War, let loose your robot hound. Ameri-Man wanted one opportunity to prove himself.
Ameri-Man got off Whip. Whip leapt to her feet.
"Fatima and I fought alone." Her voice was featureless.
Ameri-Man sighed. He was a Pentagon-engineered super-soldier -- he shouldn't have to feel like a schoolboy who'd forgotten his homework.
"We only saw the attack on the news," he said.
"We sent an emergency signal," said Whip.
Before Ameri-Man could squeeze out an excuse, white light from the mayor's television caught his eyes. The TV had turned itself on. There was the trademark crackle, and the unmistakable bodiless, theatre-mask face on the screen.
It was Cogito, the AI manager of the Altruists' space station. Cogito could take control of any networked device. Cogito used this power for good... other than the one or two he'd tried to wipe out humanity.
"I can explain." Cogito's voice was somehow every newscaster at once. "The Altruist Messaging system's encryption was updated while I was performing extraordinary maintenance. I could not decrypt your emergency signal. I resolved the difficulty, but--"
"You were made to be smarter than men," said Whip, letting the insult conclude itself in Cogito's inductive subsystems.
Ameri-Man was about to say something, but there was a gust of air as the unconscious sniper vanished. Another burst of air as Twitch appeared, leaning on Ameri-Man's shoulder. He was panting with a sheen of sweat on his brow.
"I think that's all of them." Twitch's legs were wobbling. The boy had superspeed, but he looked like any weedy, college twink. "Oh, God... Sir... Could you carry me to the teleporter?"
Ameri-Man looked at Whip's soldier's posture, her flat, featureless visor. How could she pack so much contempt into so little movement.
"Hurry up!" Fatima was yelling from below the balcony. "It is shameful to stroll around a battlefield you didn't fight on!"
Ameri-Man had decided. He would use it -- *it*. He tried not using *it* too much. After all, the girls were his colleagues, and he was a feminist. But when the girls were being just a little too bitchy...
Ameri-Man turned away from Fatima's shouting. He looked past Whip at Cogito. Ameri-Man just had to nod and Cogito's theatre-mask smile grew shark teeth. Cogito mimed uproarious laughter, until Whip turned around. Suddenly, Cogito was all straight-mouthed neutrality.
This would be the fifth time this month they'd activated Protocol: A Superheroine's Place.
--
The Altruists exited the teleporter on their space-station. Cogito was already on the chamber's TV screen, congratulating them and showing them clips from the news reports of the aftermath.
"You got your breath back," Ameri-Man asked Twitch. Ameri-Man knew very well Twitch had his breath back. The bisexual speedster just liked being carried by Ameri-Man.
The skinny, fresh-faced nineteen-year-old boy snuggled closer to Ameri-Man's broad chest and said, "Sir, you can count on me."
Fatima and Whip didn't care what the boys were whispering about. They headed for the Women's changing rooms. Fatima got Whip's help undoing her armour. She laid her armour carefully on a table, to be ritually purified later.
Fatima's seven-foot-tall body was golden brown. She was ashamed of her hourglass figure. Earth's gravity did not let her train properly. She had grown back the pads and sacks of fat that only honourably discharged women should have.
"I do not understand Earthling squeamishness," said Fatima, turning on the hot water of the communal showers. "After battle, no warrior bathes until the end of the feast -- sweat and blood are trophies." She stood under the hot stream like a monk training under a waterfall.
Whip pulled off her helmet and peeled off her skin-tight cybersuit. She was a short, skinny black girl with a buzzcut, ultra-high-cheekbones and perpetually bored eyes.
"We must be sterilised before entering the station proper," said Whip. She had worked up a thick, white lather on her body.
"Those men -- boys," said Fatima. "I can't call them warriors."
"They have skills which are often non-fungible with our own," said Whip. "That occasionally makes them necessary."
"They are not--" Fatima began, but then the lights went out.
