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The Super Secret Origin of She Male
by Auggie Doggie The door to the Offenders' Control Room whooshed open, the cheap cologne telling She-Male who it was even before that basso voice asked, "She-Male? What are you doing here?" She-Male turned slowly in the big chair at Main Control and gazed at Captain Kiwi with half-closed eyes. "Just wanted to keep your seat warm, Roger." A little wriggle got a creak from the chair's solid steel foundation, Roger's eyes moving down, then ricocheting back up so fast, She-Male almost laughed; after all this time, Roger still came unhinged at hir anatomy. "That's very good of you, She-Male," Captain Kiwi began, the stink of nervous sweat tangible behind his cologne, "but I'm here now, so why don't you, uhh...run along and do...whatever it is you do when you're off duty." This time She-Male did laugh, waved at the screens on the Control Room wall, various parts of Supermegatopia glowing there. "This _is_ what I do when I'm off duty mostly. You'd know that if you didn't weasel out of your turn at the monitors every week." Captain Kiwi's jaw tightened. "I don't weasel out--" He stopped, blinked several times, then said in a quieter voice, "You mean you spend your off-duty hours here?" She-Male shrugged. "What else am I gonna do?" "But that's not healthy!" A stern look came over his face. "If you don't rest, you might not be at your fighting peak when your city needs you!" "You don't say?" She-Male bunched up a fist and flexed, muscles bulging huge under hir green fur. "Looks like a pretty good peak to me." Captain Kiwi folded his arms across his chest. "She-Male, as leader of the Offenders, I'm ordering you to take the night off. Get out of the mansion, go down into the city, and relax." His glare softened. "It'll do you good, Shem." S/he bunched up the other fist. "Don't call me that." "Well?" Captain Kiwi spread his hands. "You never have told me your real name, you know." She-Male glared at him. "Fine." S/he pushed hirself out of the chair and stomped across the Control Room, for once glad the floor shook under hir feet. S/he gave one look back, saw Captain Kiwi eyeing the seat of the Main Console chair warily, the outline of She-Male's butt still plainly visible. "It's not gonna bite you, Roger." He snapped his eyes over. "I...I prefer to stand." "Uh-huh." Of all the liars She-Male had known, Roger was the most pathetic. "You don't care about me taking any R&R. You just want me to leave 'cause I creep you out." "I...I didn't...I don't...," he stammered, but She-Male had already turned and stomped from the room. The floppy hat was She-Male's favorite, the way it made hir look like some femme fatale from an old movie, but the overcoat had never been anything but shabby, not even stylish in a grungy way. Still, it was the biggest s/he'd ever found, tight as it was around hir chest and shoulders. Not that s/he really needed a hat and coat on this fine Supermegatopian summer evening, but the disguise saved a lot of hassle. And the mood s/he was in, hassle would not have been a healthy thing for anyone wanting to engage hir in it. Bad enough this was hir anniversary, the night s/he'd transformed however many years ago. Damn Roger anyway... Down Central Ave. She-Male wandered, past SMT University and into that part of town where everything was either a darkened office building or a brightly lit bar. The last time s/he'd taken a night off, s/he'd come through here, too. Hir "date" with Horn Dog and Slut Puppy. S/he clenched hir fists in the overcoat pockets, heard cloth tear, swore under hir breath. Even those two wouldn't touch hir till s/he'd gotten them drunk! Drunk sounded good tonight, except...not in any of these places. A hole-in-the wall where s/he couldn't see the color of the swill they were serving, where s/he could keep sucking it down till this damn invulnerable body of hirs started feeling it. _That's_ what s/he wanted. Past bar after bar s/he trudged, a head taller than the couples that washed around hir like river water around a rock. God. Now s/he was getting poetic. S/he'd come to 6th Street by then, and hir eyes lit up to see a Liquor Barn there on the corner. Yeah. A dozen bottles of vodka, sneak back to hir room at the Mansion, and s/he wouldn't have to worry about snapping some guy's head off 'cause he looked at hir funny. The door pinged as s/he stepped in, and grabbing fifteen bottles of vodka--just enough to get hir a little buzzed--She-Male took them up to the register, stopped when s/he saw the clerk. Damn. He was cute, a tall slender squirrel, smooth-muscled, just the sort s/he liked to fantasize about.... "Whoa." The clerk stacked the bottles in a bag. "Heavy duty party, dude." He raised his eyes to hirs, blinked several times, his brow wrinkling. "I mean, uhh... ma'am?" She-Male gritted hir teeth at the tingle in hir groin; s/he did _not_ need to see another pair of gorgeous eyes going wide in horror as they realized who they were talking to. One hand keeping hir overcoat pulled in front of the growing bulge in hir uniform, s/he slapped some money onto the counter, grabbed the bag, and got back onto the street. No way was s/he walking past all those damn bars again, so s/he headed up 6th Street toward the back alleys, figured s/he could make hir way back uptown as s/he sucked down the first four or five bottles. In fact... S/he pulled the top bottle from the bag, was twisting the top off when-- "Please!" From the mouth of the alley ahead, a low voice pinched tight with fear. "That's all the money I have!" "Fifteen bucks?" A sharp voice, hard and soiled. "What kinda jerk walks around with only fifteen bucks?" "A poor jerk?" Another voice, a sneer in it. Several snickering laughs--five of them, She-Male was sure--and the sharp voice said, "Yeah, well, maybe we can sell his blood or something..." Four steps brought She-Male to the alley, five punks with knives standing around a short guy in a tweed suit. S/he set the bag down carefully, drew hirself up to hir full height, and cleared hir throat. The punks all snapped their heads over, the biggest one pointing his knife and saying in that first hard voice, "Something you want, buddy?" "As a matter of fact..." She-Male slowly took off hir hat, tossed hir head so they could see the green of hir hair. "I was looking for something to take my mind off my troubles." Just as deliberately s/he took off the overcoat, dropped it, bunched hir fists and took a stance that s/he knew would let them see all hir various bulges: muscles, breasts...and otherwise. "And I think you'll do quite nicely." S/he took it easy, but, hell, two of the punks didn't even put up a fight, just fell to the ground after s/he'd bashed them back into the wall. One turned and ran--obviously the brains of the organization--but the two biggest ones actually tried to stab hir, a feeling She-Male always enjoyed, the little tickle knives gave hir when they snapped trying to penetrate hir skin. The second biggest one s/he grabbed with one fist by the front of his greasy denim jacket, hauled him off his feet, and held him suspended, brushed his nose with hir snout. "What do you think?" s/he asked, making hir voice extra throaty. "A guy like you and a, well, not a gal like me, but still..." S/he gave him a little growl and licked hir lips. Sure enough, the guy's eyes went wide, rolled back into his head, and he went limp in hir grip. She-Male dropped him to the blacktop and stepped toward the biggest of the punks. "How 'bout you?" s/he asked him. "Get away from me, freak!" the punk shouted. "Y'know?" She-Male shook hir head, took another step. "That was just exactly the wrong thing to say...." He flew pretty nicely for such a big guy, though s/he'd meant for him to go sailing clear across 6th Street and slam into the side of the laundromat. But no, the jerk had to flail around, kick as he arched out the mouth of the alleyway, his boots slamming right into the bag as he passed over it. "No!" She-Male started forward, but it was too late, the punk's momentum giving his kick an extra oomph and tumbling the bag across the sidewalk to the sound of glass shattering. She-Male didn't even look up at the thump of the punk hitting the wall across the street. All s/he could do was stare at the bag upended into the gutter, the liquor splashing and gurgling away down the storm drain. Damn. Next time, plastic bottles. "Wow." A quiet voice beside her. "I mean, thank you." Tearing hir eyes from the carnage, She-Male turned to see the guy in tweed, a cat s/he saw now, looking up at hir. Right. The victim. "You OK?" s/he asked--not that s/he really cared at this point, but still... "I'm fine, yes, thanks." He smiled, his blue eyes big behind tortoise-shell glasses. "I've never met a superhero before." He held out a hand. "It's an honor." She-Male blinked at him. "What, you new in town?" The guy laughed. "No. Just don't get much excitement behind the reference desk at the public library." That made She-Male blink some more. "Supermegatopia has a public library?" He gestured down the alley. "I work at the Canal Street branch. I don't understand; I've walked home this way every night for a year without any trouble at all." He shook his head, looked out the mouth of the alley. "Looks like you lost your groceries." "Groceries. Yeah." She-Male sighed. Now s/he'd have to face that cutie back at the Liquor Barn again. "Look, I, uhh..." The guy in tweed turned back to hir. "I've never been saved by a superhero before, so I don't know the drill. But if that was your dinner you had there, can I, well, can I treat you? To make up for it?" It took She-Male a couple more blinks. Was this guy...was he asking hir out? "Uhh, you know who I am, don't you?" The guy's eyes didn't move from hirs. "Well, judging by your size and your green fur, I'd say you're She-Male." He shrugged. "But like I said, all I know about superheroes is what I've read." Another few blinks. "But, uhh, I thought these guys said you only had fifteen dollars." He looked around, picked up a wallet lying on the ground. "I got plastic." He smiled up at hir. And She-Male was surprised to find hirself smiling back. Ah, what the hell? "You know anyplace quiet?" "Hey, I'm a librarian." He tucked the wallet into his jacket. "I don't know anything _but_ quiet." He held out his hand again. "I'm Lester Bowie, by the way." It turned out to be a storefront grill just off Pershing Square, small and dim and pleasantly run-down, the red and white checkered tablecloths only slightly stained, the chairs white plastic and rickety; She-Male lowered hirself carefully, was more than a little surprised when it didn't collapse. The place was empty except for four old raccoons playing cards at a back table. One of them stood up, came over, nodded to Lester and asked, "The usual?" "Yeah, Gino, sure." Lester grinned at She-Male. "The spaghetti special's to die for." "Great." She-Male took off hir hat. "I'll have three of 'em, and three bottles of chianti." S/he nodded to Lester. "You want anything to drink?" Lester turned to the old raccoon. "Just milk for me, Gino." The raccoon shrugged, waddled to a swinging door in the rear wall, and Lester looked back at She-Male. "I suppose you burn a lot of calories in your line of work." "Oh, yeah." She-Male took a deep breath, the air all garlic and tomato sauce and freshly-baked bread. "Not that tonight was much. I mean, sure, punks are fun, but they're nothing I break a sweat over." "I can believe it. It must be fascinating, being a superhero." He had a look of sincere interest in his big blue eyes, a look She-Male didn't see very often. It unnerved hir a little, but s/he was saved from having to think up a reply by the old raccoon coming back, a basket of breadsticks in one hand, a bottle of chianti in the other. He set them down, produced a large wine glass from his apron, and filled it. She-Male took the glass, downed it in one swallow. "Mmmm." S/he nodded to the waiter. "Very good." S/he quickly poured another glass, drained it, poured a third. "Really hits the spot." The waiter nodded. "I'll bring the next bottle." He turned away, and She-Male saw Lester grinning at hir--a nice grin, a friendly one, something else She-Male didn't see very often. Whether it was the wine, the wonderful aromas, the easy ambiance of the place, or Lester's plain features--not cute, thank God--and open face, She-Male didn't know, but s/he had to force hirself to scowl as s/he took a breadstick. "Don't get all starry-eyed on me, Les. Superheroing's just a job." Lester shrugged. "Not a job everyone's qualified for." She-Male gave a snort. "All you need is a talent for beating people up, a willingness to save the city every week or so, and a lack of fashion sense. I mean, look at Weasel Boy." S/he downed the wine, its first warm touch spreading out from hir middle. It _was_ good stuff... "Oh, come on." Sincerity was like a scent around him. "You've got more than that. You've got superpowers." "Superpowers..." She-Male poured hirself another glass, tipping the bottle up to catch the last drops, glancing from the glass to Lester's eyes. Did he really want to know? Did s/he really want to tell him? The old raccoon came back then, the second bottle in his hand. She-Male gave him the empty, swigged back the glass, waited while he opened the new bottle, filled hir glass again, and headed back for the kitchen. "All right," s/he said then, taking a sip from the glass. "Imagine this, Lester. "A girl named Sheila McBroom, a boy named Malcolm Tevis, both equines growing up right here in Supermegatopia. They meet in grade school, start dating in high school, live together all four years at SMT University, graduate, and line up some pretty good job prospects. A week after graduation, as all their friends knew he was going to, Malcolm buys the ring Sheila's been waiting for. "They drive out to Moonlight Point, wander hand in hand a little ways down the beach, kiss a few times in the moonlight. Then Malcolm takes the ring out, pops the question, Sheila rushes into his arms...and that's when the truck dumps the radioactive sludge on them." "What?" Lester's blue eyes went wide. She-Male took another sip of wine. "Probably SMT Labs, though all the files I've looked through, the clerks I've threatened..." S/he shook hir head. "No records anywhere. But the stuff fused the two of them together, pumped the resulting half-and-half body full of muscles, made the skin near impenetrable, and turned the fur a deep green." Another swallow of wine, and She-Male gave Lester hir half-lidded stare. "But you know the worst part? It fused their minds, too, made Malcolm realize that Sheila had a whole string of boyfriends that she had every intention of keeping after she'd snared Malcolm. And Sheila saw how Malcolm had spent the last seven months working out how he could support his three mistresses while still marrying Sheila." Plates clattered, and Lester started back from the table, the old raccoon staggering up, four plates of spaghetti in his arms. He set them down, said, "I'll get your milk and your other bottle," and headed back for the kitchen. She-Male took a big whiff of the spaghetti, grabbed a fork, had dug through half hir first plate when s/he noticed that Lester hadn't started. "You OK, Les?" He blinked those oh, so serious eyes. "You...you mean they were...they were both..." His voice trailed off. "Cheating on each other big time. Oh, yeah." She-Male dabbed hir snout with hir napkin, took another slug of wine. "Makes me glad I didn't end up with psychic powers, y'know? Don't think I'd care much for mind-reading..." S/he turned back to the spaghetti, had worked hir way through most of the second plate before he cleared his throat. A good sign, actually: most of the ones that made it as far as the story ran out right afterwards. "Well," he said, sipping his milk, his own plate almost half-empty, "I can't say I know how you feel. But, well, it seems to me you've been given an opportunity to start over like nobody's ever had before." That made hir stop. "What do you mean?" He shrugged. "I mean you're somebody new now, completely different in every way. You don't have to be those people anymore. Not if you don't want to be." S/he blinked at him. "But their memories, everything they did, all the lies they told each other--" "Were theirs, not yours." He shook a breadstick at hir. "They're dead. You're alive. You've got plenty of mistakes you can make on your own without letting what those jerks did weigh you down." He smiled. "Now, did you save room for some tira misu?" She-Male pulled hir door closed, adjusted hir trousers, was down the stairs and into the front hall when that damn cologne hit hir from behind. "She-Male, I was wondering if--" "Sorry, Roger." S/he grabbed hir new coat from its peg. "I can't fill in for you on the monitors tonight." Hell Kitty, curled up on the coats she'd pulled down from their pegs, yawned and blinked up at She-Male. "Lady man pretty tonight," she said, then rolled over onto her back, one front paw stretched into the air. "Hmmph!" Captain Kiwi snorted as She-Male crouched down and scratched Hell Kitty behind the ear. "This is the third night this week you've gone out." She-Male stood, looked hir half-lidded gaze down hir snout at him. "Have I missed anything important?" "Well, no, but--" "Then shut up, Roger." S/he gave him a smile, though. "Besides, you're the one said I should get out more." "Yes." His mouth went sideways. "But this has just been, well, so sudden." "I know." Again, s/he couldn't help smiling. "Isn't it great?" S/he started for the door, thought of something, turned back to see Captain Kiwi heading for the Control Room, his shoulders slumped. "Oh, and Roger?" S/he moved over to him, held out a hand. "As soon as I figure out what my name is, you'll be the first to know." Captain Kiwi blinked, then a little smile tugged at his whiskers. He reached out gingerly, took hir hand just long enough for half a shake, then pulled back like he was expecting to get shocked. But She-Male didn't much care. S/he stepped to the front door and pushed it open. Lester was meeting hir at Gino's again. Hell, if things kept going this well, s/he might even tell him hir _real_ origin story....
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