December 10, 2024
Maddy Gillespie stared up, incredulously, at the massive screen-printed banner that hung from the peak of the minimalist modern mansion’s vaulted three-storey atrium. It depicted a neon yellow cartoon lemur wearing mirror-shades with an aquamarine track jacket, smoking a massive joint, tongue lolling out. Against the off-white walls and low-slung Scandinavian furniture, it felt incredibly out of place. “This is supposed to be worth twenty-three million dollars?”
Aster Millanes — fellow member of the Moonlighters, and the field ops team’s pre-eminent techie — called out from the next room in reply. “No, that’s the hilarious part, remember; the banner itself is basically just a reproduction of the art the NFT links to, same as any other digital image. And it was never really worth anything either, except to the suckers he conned into thinking otherwise.” Xer voice seemed to echo from what appeared to be an equally gigantic space filled with Boomer-era pop culture memorabilia, but was, strictly speaking, the home office of the juvenile thirtysomething crypto mogul the Korps agents were burglarizing.
“And they accuse us of brainwashing,” the sheep-bear supervillain snorted. “So… you’re hacking into this prick’s digital ‘wallet’ to do something to that, even though the market for these things crashed a long time ago?”
“Exactly,” the marbled salamander cackled, unseen.
Pleased that at least her friend seemed to know what xe was doing, and was pleased about it, Maddy raised a thick eyebrow. “Okay. Is it worth doing anything to the banner? I really want to, it’s so fucking ugly,” she called back.
Aster leaned back in an expensive-looking desk chair, and craned xer neck past the threshold of the doorframe to distantly make eye contact with xer comrade and fellow field agent. “Follow your bliss,” xe smirked, before returning to work on the electronic portion of the burglary proper.
When they’d arrived, the salamander had first disabled the security systems. The sheep-bear’s superpower then made quick work out of the steel bars on the disgustingly huge house’s windows, crushing them into sculptural lawn decor with a mental flex and a flick of their wrist. They liked to mime out the motions of telekinetic force, and were getting stronger all the time. It was therefore comparatively trivial to gleefully rip the banner in shreds down its length. Then, after a moment of wanting to do more, they also, carefully, mentally yanked one of the ceiling anchors out of a beam with a spin.
It left the ruined monument to techbro hubris dangling lazily on its remaining chain, in what seemed like a reasonably pathetic-looking fashion. Maddy nodded to themself in satisfaction. Whenever this jerk returned from… Davos? Dubai? Some playground for unfathomably wealthy oligarchs and money-men, anyway, secretly hanging out with the world’s most vile bigots behind closed doors… they hoped he’d be mad.
The other supervillainous team members were spread out across the house, vandalizing and looting as the opportunity arose. Miray “Breakneck” Osman and Julia “Breakpoint” Walker kept hustling back and forth from a bedroom vault with armfuls of gold bars (for the muscular oryx’s part) and various negotiable securities (for her lithe mongoose wife’s). Medic and telepath Hank “Fascination” Lutz had found the wine cellar, and the secretary bird carried a wicker basket laden with valuable vintages, as if he were casually bringing his selections to the checkout of an upscale grocer. Over comms, he squawked excitedly about his prize find, a half-dozen bottles of 2010 Pétrus.
For her part, as the Moonlighters’ utility skirmisher, Maddy’s role was to guard Aster — and the two exits closest to the long private driveway, the only land-based means of egress from the sprawling hillside estate — while xe did the real damage to the despicable Andries van der Straaten’s (perceived) net worth. It still allowed her ample latitude to wreck the similarly tasteless living room/pool area, the walls of which were, ludicrously, lined with exquisitely-framed copies of further randomly-generated cartoon lemurs. For good measure, the sheep-bear mentally snapped in half a luxurious bar area, bottles of liquor tinkling riotously as they crashed to the polished marble floor, and hurled a couch into the massive hot tub sunken into one corner. When she returned to peek through to the office, Aster was wiggling joyfully in xer chair.
“And… bingo, I’m done,” the salamander laughed to xerself, while scampering around the room to liberate a few choice collectibles from glass display cases. “Where’s everyone at?”
The others answered through the voice comms of their Rose-Coloured Glasses, the Korps’s signature multifunctional, AI-driven pink visors.
“Jules and I got everything good from upstairs, I’m pretty sure,” Breakneck said smugly.
“Same for the basement,” chimed in Fascination.
Mission lead Janet “Biscotti” Schreiber, who’d camped out in the mansion’s massive garage to ogle the various sports cars and peek under their hoods, was next. “Copy that, I’ve picked out a few rides it’ll hurt this rich fuck to lose. Everyone regroup on me in five?”
With murmured assent, and a brief meeting in the broad hangar-like structure several moments later, the team finalized their extraction plans. Breakpoint and Breakneck decided to drive off in one of the CEO’s vehicles; Biscotti would take the other. The maned wolf cackled wildly as she’d stowed her harpoon gun in the back, deftly hopped her lanky legs into the driver’s seat without opening the door, and hotwired the vintage Ferrari in a matter of seconds before peeling out into the gusty Texas evening, just barely making it under the rolling door as it opened. With a screech, the lights had disappeared past the mansion’s wide-open front gate before the oryx and mongoose could even decide which of them would drive the late-model Lamborghini.
Snickering as the wives proceeded to break open the steering column to disable the security systems of their own ride, with somewhat less ease and panache than Biscotti, the remaining three members of the team — Maddy, Aster and Hank — piled back into the mission vehicle. It was a tricked-out cargo van presently wearing the livery of a pest control service/Korps front, parked in the driveway next to a bizarrely abstract water feature. Aster threw xer broad frame behind the wheel, and the amphibian hummed brightly as xe made a zippy three-point turn and followed the boosted luxury cars. The secretary bird and sheep-bear in the back buckled in on bench seats, eagerly anticipating the return to RIV, the Korps base secretly hidden beneath Austin’s downtown parkland waterfront. First, however, they had to make their way out of labyrinthine roads through the mansion-littered suburban hills west of the city.
A moment into the journey, Hank’s eyes scanned rapidly behind his visor, before suddenly fixing his gaze on the teammate opposite him in the van. “Huh,” he murmured. “Maddy? Remind me which part of the PHL you were with? Prairie League, right?”
“What? No, Ontario’s Heroes. I was on one of their Toronto-area teams; that’s how I ended up at KDS for a while, when I first joined the Korps.”
“But I thought you were from Alberta?”
Maddy sighed and flexed hoof-nailed fingers in frustration. “…I am; I was enrolled with the Prairie League Cadets as a kid, if that’s what you meant? They’ve got this fucked-up superpowered scouts or JROTC kind of thing, there. When my powers started manifesting, the League barged in and insisted I needed their training, because everyone was so fuckin’ rock-hard for the idea of me upholding Dad’s ‘legacy’. Mom couldn’t have afforded a private trainer, and Granddad didn’t trust the local board of education’s super ed program anyway, even if my school had had a program. It was… rough. Really rough.”
The avian nodded, sadly. “You’ve mentioned some of this before, yeah. I’m so sorry.”
They looked away from him, down to the pile of loot between their respective combat boots. “When I came out, OH basically scouted me for the sake of ‘diversity’, and I was happy to get away from Dad’s family. You know that once, for my birthday, they got my dirtbag internet troll cousin to like… photoshop me — all grown up and super manly, of course — into one of Dad’s old publicity shots, wearing a copy of his costume? Like we were a family Hero duo, or something.” They shuddered; the sheep-bear hesitated to even mention to their teammates the much creepier, much more manipulative (but much less competently-executed) video that Jake had later kludged together at Uncle Gary’s direction, when they’d refused to respond to the gift.
The secretary bird nodded. “Gross. I thought there was something about the Prairie League; sorry I mixed up how that happened, and yeah, more or less that same deal happens in some states. I know a guy who was an official Sidekick at fourteen, and it sounded like that was a big government-run program to put kids with powers in, like, a pipeline. Anyway… did you see the news out of Alberta?” Hank winced.
Maddy inhaled sharply. “Fuck, what happened…”
ROSE chimed in directly to the sheep-bear’s brain, via their RCGs. [You might want to wait until getting back to base for this, dear.]
“ROSE. Show me.”
The kindly-voiced AI made a faint huff of exasperation in Maddy’s head, or at least, gave the impression of it. [If you insist…]
It was a late-breaking article from the Calgary Herald’s website, a developing front page story in that early morning’s paper, still rolling off the presses that very moment. “PRAIRIE LEAGUE CADET TRAGEDY,” the headline read. A subheading indicated further that three teens were dead, and several other participants in an annual winter survival training trip — minors and their adult chaperones both — had critical hypothermia and other injuries, and were fighting for their lives in the University of Alberta Hospital. Scanning through the remainder of the sparse article text, the sheep-bear did a double-take when she realized precisely where the incident had occurred.
“Holy shit, three cadets dead? At Primrose Lake? That’s where I did the winter training trip!”
“Oh. Oh! I’m sorry,” Fascination cringed. “You mean, like, not everyone does?”
“No, no. Well, yes? All Cadet squads do a winter trip. It’s a whole thing, to get the ‘Snowflake’ merit badge, and there’s like… I don’t know, maybe thirty or forty of them in all, across Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba? They don’t all go to the same place, though,” Maddy rumbled thoughtfully. “The League has some facilities of their own — old logging or mining camps, mostly — and gets temporary access to others. My group was Squad 15, Calgary North, ‘Immolamus Multa Propter Magnitudinem’. They always went to the decommissioned military base at Primrose Lake, even though it was right on the Saskatchewan border, nowhere fucking near Calgary; getting there took an all-day bus trip. I never knew why? Calgary South were our rivals, and did their winter survival training at Heart Mountain, about an hour out of town.”
Aster’s gaze turned briefly over xer shoulder to call back into the van’s rear compartment. “I’m sorry, Maddy. Those poor kids. What do you think happened?”
“Fuck, it’s hard to tell?” The sheep-bear had begun visually paging through other sources of reporting in the heads-up display of her visor. Most seemed to be summaries of the first story, or else an even shorter version through the Canadian Press newswire. “Treatment for severe hypothermia could mean exposure to weather, or it could mean falling into the lake, if the ice wasn’t thick enough yet? There’s so much that it could have been, but it looks like the PL is locking down any details so far. Hmm…” When Maddy reached the summary of a late-night government press conference the previous evening, her eyes boggled again, this time with utter rage.
“…The premier said what?!”
An hour and a half later, Maddy’s wet black nostrils flared as she stormed into the RIV gym… or, rather, the cruisiest of the various full-service facilities in RIV’s rec sector.
The news of the training accident at Primrose Lake had soured their vibe of post-mission satisfaction, and left them deeply troubled. They’d escaped the depredations of the Canadian Hero-industrial complex upon defecting. Others — impressionable teens just like they’d been, not that long before — hadn’t been so lucky. Maddy wondered if what they were beginning to feel was survivor’s guilt.
At Hank’s worried insistence, the sheep-bear had agreed that it would do her no harm to delay her furious curiosity in that respect until after the post-mission chores had been wrapped up. That included Biscotti’s always-brief debriefing (as much as Maddy enjoyed their usual leader Swashplate’s elder-queer charm, it was also true that his compulsively motor-mouthed elucidations could take a while), and depositing the spoils of their burglary in the Quartermaster’s vaults (to be appraised and considered for use, preservation, fencing, or repatriation, as the case might be, by the specialists who worked there). It took somewhat less convincing by Aster, Hank and Biscotti to grab dinner, too, before the sheep-bear returned to her research.
They appreciated their friends trying to distract them from fixating on the immediacy of the tragedy, but felt somehow compelled to push ahead. The sheep-bear also grimly deferred ROSE’s gentle entreaties to leave it be at least until the next day, through gigantic forkfuls of perfectly-sauced clam linguine.
She’d finally watched the press conference itself, once satiated. Maddy despised the premier, a reactionary, America-fellating, conspiracy-theorizing ring-billed gull who’d gutted public health, and fixated on picking dangerously unconstitutional political fights with the federal government to rally her low-information voter base. The woman was somehow even more unlikeable than her predecessor, a pompously smug, glass-closeted weasel who’s resigned in disgrace. (He had also been a Conservative, of course, this being Alberta, and outside one of the brief dynastic interregnums where a sufficient plurality of the province’s electorate deigned to consider less selfish politics.)
No, the premier’s statements in response to the breaking news had consisted of some vaguely-phrased prayers, alongside hinting (with jeering squawks) that despite having no information whatsoever to publicly release about the cause of the tragedy, blame could perhaps be placed on the shoulders of the federal Liberals. As arrogant, flailing, and uselessly centrist as the party were, Maddy grumbled, that seemed purely vile. At least the other Prairie premiers had had the sense to offer condolences and call for an inquiry, or even a third-party investigation.
They couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the cadets. How had they died? Had those teens imagined, as the sheep-bear had, many years prior, that the adult Heroes supervising the trip were responsible and reliable? That they had the best interests of the cadets — only just learning how to use their superpowers! — in mind, and would keep them safe? Had those poor kids blacked out in the snow or the ice-cold depths of Primrose Lake and never woken up, still believing in the system that had so negligently failed them?
Maddy huffed, and tried to push the worst-case scenarios from her mind, before she was consumed by what-ifs. ROSE was right; she could investigate further tomorrow, after a good day’s sleep. For the moment she just needed to work the anger out, one way or another.
The sheep-bear quickly changed into their gym gear in the locker room. This time of early morning it was limited in action, with only a few scattered couples and trios fucking. They grinned with a low growl, and gave their bulging member a leisurely readjustment through synthetic grey-and-black hot pants as they indulged in a good long leer, making their way to the equipment floor.
Maddy worked herself sore for the next hour on various weight machines, muscles burning as her mind continued playing out scenarios of the cadets’ last hours. By the time she mounted the treadmill for a run, she was grinding her fierce teeth in rage. How could it have even happened? She sourly seethed, scowling, with her cool-down stretches, until shaking her horned brow. No, the sheep-bear grimaced. You need to get this out of your head, before you get even more worked up.
[Agreed,] ROSE chimed in silently through their visor. [Why don’t you have a good sweat in the sauna? You always enjoy that.]
She nodded, and lumbered back through the changing room area, indifferently stripping and tossing her clothes and boots towards the middle bench in her chosen locker’s row. Maddy grabbed a fresh towel from a nearby shelf as she passed, and flicked a heavy wrist. The pine door to the sauna telekinetically flew open as the sheep-bear strode through, and she threw the towel around her neck.
Sitting down in the dim, hot room improved Maddy’s mood instantly, and they finally began to let the tension ebb from tight ursine muscles. Drifting pleasantly as they reclined against the high bench’s back, they were reminded of one of their other reasons for working out — they loved their scent. Raising one beefy shoulder, the sheep-bear nosed their muzzle into the damp, musky pit, snuffling against the lush, thickly feminine-smelling fur, and inhaled deeply.
Inspired by the deliciously dykey cigar habit she’d picked up from Mama Mabes’ indulgent suite of vices, Maddy had eventually taken the Empire Enhancements plunge for — among one or two other sensual tweaks — slightly manipulating her natural musk. Under the care of the O-Units dancing scalpel and sutures across their broad form to install some biochemically altered lab-grown glandular augmentations, their scent had gained notes of rich antique leather and humid spice. Another huff and they were again at full mast. Mind hazy with fury and need, they reached down their other hand to roughly, urgently grasp at their member.
A huff, a stroke, a huff, a stroke; the sheep-bear spread their legs wide and switched off hands, snorting her other armpit while grinding hoof-nailed fingers against the underside of her fat sack. Maddy had truly meant to relax longer, and see who might be around for a post-burn hookup, but she needed release too badly. It had to be immediately, it had to be now. Using her telekinesis to yank around the glans as her hand played against the lower shaft — an old trick for the sheep-bear — left her with the realization that orgasm would be imminent.
The sheep-bear roared as they exploded, thick white globs of semen streaking over their brown-furred knuckles. Kissing and nuzzling into their pit for another moment before moving, Maddy faced outwards and brought their dripping hand away from their wet, musky crotch and up to their mouth. Extending a long, powerful tongue, they licked it clean and swallowed repeatedly, smirking. They tasted hot.
Finally, finally, relaxation set in. She dozed off for a moment before taking a deep breath, rising, and hopping down from the tiered benches. It was time for a shower, and surely someone might be around in there for some more stress relief, too.