Special Number 3

The two women looked at each for a very, very long time before daring to say anything. Opening up that particular package was meant to be a source of happiness in the Driscoll household but, instead, it brought about bewilderment and even a hint of sadness.

"Hmmm, sis... this doesn't look like a Batgirl outfit to me!" Clare finally blurted as she bit her upper lip.

Rose held the glossy attire up high and nodded her head.

"You're right, it certainly doesn't... they must have made a mistake back at the store. It's pretty, though."

"Pretty" was definitely an understatement as deep inside, she was sure to never have seen something so thought-provoking in her life. However, it was not what she had ordered which meant, much to her sorrow, that there was only one possible course of action:

"I'm going to have to return it right away, and hope they have my real costume lying there somewhere, otherwise Josh is in for a world of disappointment."

Josh Reynolds was her boyfriend. He had been the first guy she had ever kissed, but also the third... and the sixth. Ever since the beginning, their relationship had been a troublesome one, with lots of break-ups and following reconciliations. It seemed they couldn't be close to each other for long, but, when they were apart, it was even worse, to the point of almost being unbearable. Perhaps, it wasn't the healthiest of interactions between two people, yet they somehow managed to make it work because, in the end, their mutual interests outweighed their various differences of heart.

One such interest was the convoluted world of comics, of superheroes and supervillains, filled with contradictory stories, alternate universes, and other impossible scenarios. It filled their imaginations with fantastic and hopeful visions, for a world of humans beyond humans meant there were lots of possibilities worth exploring, instead of succumbing to conformity and resignation whenever things went south.

However, there was also the kinky factor involved as all the tight clothes and revealing cleavages that populate these exotic universes are an open invitation to sex and lust, giving rise to many fetishes. Rose definitely had her share of those and Josh wasn't any different. The Batgirl outfit she had fallen in love with was sure to have other uses besides being cute Cosplay material at the Wondrous Dreams Convention.

"I think you should try it on before you do that," her sister said, with a little hint of jealousy.

"Tempting, but no... It's someone else's fantasy," and having said this, Rose returned the suit to its cardboard box, closed it the best way she could and dashed towards the door, saying: "I'll be back as soon as I can."

* * *

Fantasy Realms was the name of the store. It wasn't the most original one, and the place hadn't opened up with a bang either but, ever since day one, the outfits on display had managed to captivate her imagination, awakening both the inner child and the lascivious woman at the same time.

It had taken her two months to find the guts to go inside and get herself a custom-made costume, though. One might argue that giving up to a capricious whim was quite an easy feat to accomplish, but not in her case. Rose liked to ponder things, to check and re-check arguments until she was sure she was doing the right thing. She was also against buying things by means of plastic, much to the despair of every major credit provider in the city and, as such, only when she managed to amass enough money from the bar tips, did she indulge herself.

With all these things in consideration, it's not difficult to understand why it was so hard for her to open the front door and get inside once again, this time to complain.

She noticed two things the moment she stepped in the threshold of that fantasy sanctum: the first was that the air was laden with some kind of incense mixed with something else she couldn't identify, which gave the place a more ethereal atmosphere than usual; the second was that the owner stood smiling behind the wooden counter, and he too looked a little different than the last time they had seen one another. As strange as it sounded, he looked way shorter and his face was also slightly emaciated but, then again, it could all just be a trick of the light...

"Good morning, Miss. How may I serve you, today?" the man asked, slowly twirling his thin mustache.

"Good morning. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I ordered a custom-made Batgirl outfit a couple of weeks ago and asked for it to be delivered in my place," she placed the package on the counter and slowly began to open it. "Well, today this came in the mail but, as you can see, it seems there was some confusion. This is not what I ordered!"

The man looked at her, quizzically.

"Actually, I do remember you very well, Miss - unfortunately, we don't get a lot of customers! - and it seems to me that the confusion is actually on you," he said as he glanced at the outfit. "That's exactly what you asked for."

"No, I already told you... My order was for a Batgirl outfit and..."

He interrupted her, mellifluously.

"Miss...," a pause to awaken a memory within. "Driscoll? That's your name, isn't it? What I do remember is the following: you did come in here looking for a Batgirl outfit, but then you had a change of heart after going through our catalog. That suit, our Special Number 3, was what you ended up choosing in the end, and you even asked for it in shades of dark green. I measured you in the room at the back after that and then proceeded to have your order taken care of. Surely this rings a bell!" he concluded with an adamant conviction.

"No... I...," she muttered, baffled. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That's certainly strange," the man said as his hands began searching for something under the counter. Eventually, they found it: it was a small book with a handmade crocodile paper binding, where he kept a record of all his orders. Hurriedly, he flipped through its pages and then opened it on an entry with the date May 7th on it. "Ah... Perhaps this will jog your memory, then! Isn't this your signature, Miss?"

Rose looked at the all too familiar handwriting and got even more confused. Indeed it was, and the item referred next to it had the initials S.N.3, with the word "green" scribbled in the left corner of the page.

"I honestly don't get it," Rose mumbled even though the truth was right there before her eyes.

"I think you should try the outfit on to clear any doubts," the man said with an uncanny glint in his eyes. "You can do it over there if you wish," he concluded, pointing to the well-lit dressing room on his right.

"No, I... I just want to return this and..."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Had it truly been a mistake, I would take haven full responsibility for it, but it's obvious you're the one who's equivocated. That costume was diligently handmade and all the hours of hard work and sweat poured into its design can't simply be thrown away just like that. Just put it on, Miss Driscoll, for I can't think of any reason that would have you continue thinking about returning it, once you do."

The glint returned, becoming more of a sparkle. Rose's heart skipped a beat and she suddenly ran out of the store, feeling terribly unnerved. She failed to notice, however, that she was still holding the package firmly as she did so, and that realization only came to her, half an hour later, when she was already back in her house.

* * *

Clare had already left for work when she returned. With no one else around, that meant that she had to deal with the bizarre sequence of events on her own, a thought that was far from agreeable. Trying to rationalize it all also proved to be a rather fruitless effort.

The main problem was that she really had no recollection of all the things the store owner had said and shown her, and such a memory lapse was perfectly incongruent, to say the least. She also had a looming sensation about the man himself, a feeling entirely different from the one she had experienced in their first encounter. Out of the blue, her mind suddenly started thinking about old sci-fi movies featuring humanoid replicas or Pod People. The laugh she got out of such nonsense helped clear the air a bit.

In the center of it all, of course, was the costume itself. Special Number 3, as it had been named, was undoubtedly unlike anything she had ever seen, and it was quite hard to describe the sexiness it exuded.

Rose wasn't sure if it was made of latex or not, but it felt slick and tight. Emerald green was its primary color, but the asymmetrical, malleable metal plates around the breasts, shoulders, and kneecaps were of a darker and glossier tone that she was really fond of. In terms of accessories, it came with opera gloves, a hood, a very small facial mask and a pair of patent boots that were simply to die for.

Overall, it gave off the vibe of something both futuristic and supernatural, the kind of ensemble a sexually dominant Techno-Fairy would use to ensnare the unwary humans that crossed her path, and the thing she liked the most were the various naughty zippers scattered everywhere, as they made her imagination run faster than anything else.

When she eventually gave in to the temptation to try it on and faced the mirror, she immediately felt a rush of erotic energy coursing through her veins and was amazed at how the clingy fabric modeled her entire body into an overwhelming spectacle of curves. The extra pounds she had always wanted to lose over the years simply vanished before her eyes, leaving only a walking wet dream in its place.

"Oh, wow..." she muttered, irrevocably aroused by her own transformation, as she proceeded to touch every inch of the costume from head to toe to make sure that the tactile ecstasy was truly real and not just a figment of her estranged thoughts. Each impression was electrically charged with whirling rapture, as she became one with this new identity. "If only Josh could see me now..."

"That's going to have to wait a bit," cooed an alluring voice that lived within the green delights and now within her soul. "There's something you've got to see, first." and her right hand moved on its own making the nearest TV screen come to life with a single twitch of a finger.

The special news report was a very intriguing surprise. Apparently, a group of armed individuals - their exact number had not yet been determined - had invaded the facilities of the First National Bank's headquarters less than an hour ago and were now barricaded inside with more than twenty hostages at their mercy. It was all very Hollywoodesque for such a small town and yet, it oozed a primeval appeal.

"They don't want to admit it," continued the uncanny manifestation with a supernatural conviction "but the police forces on the scene are a bit baffled as to the right approach to this whole situation. They're inexperienced and I'm afraid prolonged hesitations will result in a dreadful outcome."

"Such as...?"

"You already know the answer to that question: hostages, desperation, and loaded guns are never a good combination, my dear."

"But... what can I do? I like to fantasize being a hero sometimes, but I'm certainly not one..."

A wave of fiery delight emanated from the lower regions of the costume empowering her at the same it made her gasp for air. If Rose hadn't reached for the bed stand, she would have fallen flat on the floor.

"That may have been true before today, but now that we're together you can pretty much be whatever you want..."

It was only at this point that Rose regrouped some of her own thoughts and managed to ask out loud:

"Who are you, exactly? How is it that you're in my head?"

The answer she got was one enigma wrapped in another, and another, like a Russian doll that keeps on revealing smaller copies of itself every time you open one.

"I'm all the dreams of every dreamer, that special spark that turns unfeasible into reality... I'm the potential every soul carries deep within and also the embodiment of Lust. By trying me on, you invited me to dance with you, Rose... Shall we embrace the fire and teach those goons a lesson before it's too late?"

"I... I don't know..." she garbled.

"I guess you need an extra incentive, then."

The sentence wasn't even finished and Rose was already feeling the effects of an orgasmic explosion too powerful to ignore. The suit became even tighter, rubbing itself against her oversensitive skin. The conflagration of both weakness and strength was a forbidden pleasure, but one she didn't want to end. In-between the heavy breathing and the uncontrollable sequence of moans that escaped from her lips, her head jerked forward as her knees buckled.

However, she didn't kneel. Instead, she started to feel that the energy unleashed was being dispersed in short bursts to better prepare the path ahead of her. She stood up, positively aglow, and, for a brief fraction of a second, she even defied the laws of gravity hovering over the bed. When the boots fell on the carpet once again, there was a deeper reality hiding underneath the sexy attire.

A new hero was born.

* * *

The O'Malley brothers - Conor, Ryan, and Kieran - had done many silly things in little over than two decades of existence, but none of those had foreshadowed the stupidest decision ever, the one that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

It had begun as a random comment about how the best way to solve their money problems was to go the bank and simply take what they needed. After all, if the economy was in shambles and they were out of work, it was pretty much the bankers' fault, with their risky investments and little or no care for the actual welfare of their clients as well as the rest of the populace.

Conor was the first to verbalize its frustration but, as it usually happens amongst brothers, once he did so, the two younger siblings followed suit and, soon, their imagination shifted from the possibilities of trying to find a job to the thrill of a well-planned heist that would set them for life as long as they didn't get caught.

Though things were meticulously planned, the truth is their intelligence levels combined weren't exactly a guarantee for success and, what they thought of a fool-proof plan, had actually more holes than the sinking Titanic. However, one was all it took.

Kieran should have never been given a gun. His twitchy fingers couldn't handle it properly no matter how much he tried to stay focused on the task at hand. The shot fired the moment they had walked through the front door was a direct result of his nervous persona and, once the panic was triggered, everything went downhill pretty fast.

Ryan had wanted to turn tail and flee but Conor didn't want to give up on the money he thought he was entitled to. As the two brothers practically head-butted each other, Kieran's gun went off a second time, hitting the teller that had just pressed the silent alarm button in the chest. Thus, a foolish dream became a terrible nightmare.

Now, locked on the inside of the bank's facilities, with a possibly mortally wounded man bleeding on the floor and everyone else sitting on the floor trying to control public manifestations of fear, the O'Malley brothers were involved in something far too big for them and, if there was any possible exit out of such a mess without major repercussions, no one could see it.

"We're completely surrounded," said Kieran as he peeked outside from behind a curtain. "I've never seen so many police officers in one place, before!"

"And who's to blame for that, Mr. Butterfingers?" Ryan asked as he slapped his brother on the right cheek, whilst maintaining both eyes on the hostages. "If you hadn't decided to use that weapon of yours, we would already be long gone, on our way to the nearest border!"

"It was an accident, okay? I already said I'm sorry, Ryan! How many times do I have to say it before you leave me alone?"

The response came in the form of another slap.

"Sorry, my ass! Because of you, now we're all going to rotten in prison, assuming we don't get killed first!"

"ENOUGH, you two!" intervened Conor exhibiting all of his angry faces at once. Such display of ferocity usually did the trick to resolve most arguments and, once again, he was successful.

"We don't need this kind of crap, right now!" he continued, relaxing his facial muscles ever so slightly. "The best way to deal with this unfortunate situation is to assess things with a clear mind. Everything has become more complicated, that's for sure, but we have to adjust to the difficulties together."

"Do you have a plan?" Kieran asked.

"Not yet, but I'm thinking of one, which is why I need you two to stop whining and let me concentrate, okay?"

"Fine," Ryan conceded. "But concentrate fast, because all the noises outside suggest that things are about to get even uglier."

Suddenly, a phone rang. It was the one connected to the bank's main telephonic line. At first, the three men ignored it but the tones kept on escalating, becoming more and more annoying by the second.

"Shall we answer it?" Kieran finally asked.

"Not unless you feel like talking to the police yourself, little brother," responded Conor as he moved to the source of the aggravating noise. "We've all seen the movies. They're going to try to negotiate, make us talk whilst assessing our numbers and our ability to resist pressure." Removing a pocket knife from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he cut the line. "It's best to keep them in the dark for the time being. They can't make a real move without sufficient information because of them." and pointed at the hostages with a dry smile. "They're our leverage and the more we hold onto it, the more our chances increase!"

"If you say so..." Ryan sighed. It was pretty obvious he wasn't entirely convinced but, since he had no alternative solutions at hand, it was easier to agree with the mastermind instead of trying to replace him.

Leaving Kieran's side, he headed to the water cooler and poured himself two glasses, which he then drank very fast, without even pausing to breathe. Without the proper amount of fluids circulating in his system, the stress of it all would destroy him in a heartbeat. As he looked at the reflections on the water inside the plastic container, he saw a green blur between blinks and, immediately, his subconscious mind realized that someone else was inside the building with them.

* * *

Rose was already aware that her new outfit was like a bag full of magic tricks, yet each new revelation was fresh, exciting, and even more empowering than the last. When she left her home to rush to the bank, she ignored the door and leaped graciously from the bedroom window into the roof of the house ahead, beating the Olympic record of women's triple jump in a single thrusting motion. As she landed, the shiny boots kept her balance on the limits of perfection and she laughed with joy.

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Good? This is freaking amazing!!" she replied as she surveyed the distance she had just crossed and looked for the fastest way to reach her destination.

Allow me to help you with that... Her body moved to the east and she saw a series of floating beacons of light marking the route with pinpoint precision. "I suggest running instead of jumping. The speed you'll achieve once you gain enough momentum will allow you to cross all gaps ahead of you, whilst ensuring no one actually sees you doing that..."

"Don't tell me I'm as fast as The Flash, now!"

"Even faster, my dear! Together, there's nothing you and I can't do! Shall we go on, then?"

"Oh... Absolutely!"

Rose started to run, the clinginess of the outfit heightening her every step instead of restraining them. Such freedom was exhilarating, everything she had ever fantasized and more, because this particular fantasy felt more real than the world around her, as if she had awakened from a cryogenic slumber of millennia to finally tap into the roots of what made the fabric of certainty, only to realize that no mathematical equations could ever hope to explain why all laws of the known universe were now utter and completely shattered. It was a new paradigm, a new dimension of thought and being, a new meaning that expanded and contracted alongside her heartbeats.