Crimson Flare: The Threat of Pitchblende
by marat

Chapter One

The early morning fog was dispersing from the parking lot outside the Athena Apartments building. A late model Pontiac turned into the empty space near the driveway. Moments later, Karen Perry pulled her petite form from within, her nurse’s uniform now lacking the crispness it had had when her shift had started at eleven o’clock last night. Even though she was exhausted after work, her 110-pound, 5’ 4” frame moved comfortably in the early morning light. She raised her face to the yellow sun that hung just above the horizon and breathed in the cool early spring air. Her short hair hung to just below her ears and looked like a dark brown helmet as she shook her head to drive away the weariness. She stretched, her arms reaching out to her sides, rotating her shoulders. It felt good knowing that she had the next two days off, if for no other reason than to give her a chance to finish the process of moving into her apartment, her first since graduating from college. It had been convenient, living with her parents for the first few months, allowing her to save some money and get her car, but, boy, the freedom that having your own place offered….

There was someone in her apartment! Her dark green eyes had easily found her balcony four floors above the street. One of the first things she had done was learn to recognise which was her place. She admired it. On the top floor, a corner apartment, it was a plum location. But she had made the mistake of leaving some boxes of her personal items on the balcony. Now, she saw, the sliding door to the interior was halfway open and some of the boxes were gone. Tired or not she would have to do something about this.

She ran to a door that was a side entrance to the building. Pulling it open, she entered the stairwell and raced up the first flight of stairs two at a time, her soft white shoes making almost no sound. She entered the first floor and found a maintenance closet next to the door. Pulling it open she stepped inside, already reaching into her tote bag.

Inside was Crimson Flare’s costume. It was a sleeveless crimson spandex leotard, covered with sequins. It fit tightly over her body from crotch to neck, cut high up on her hips. From her right shoulder and her left hip a gold cascade of a fireworks explosion flowed toward her abdomen, likewise covered with sequins of the same colour. She stepped into the leotard, and then easily pulled up the small zipper in the back. It clung to the contours of her body, the sequins glistening in every crevice. She liked the feel of the spandex, its smoothness and the drama of the material, against her flawless skin. She also liked the look of the sequins in any light. They made her feel like she was on stage, and they captured the attention of any foe. They also helped to obscure the zipper at the top of the back of the costume. Around her waist she pulled her black leather belt, to which was attached her ‘baton’, a device which generated a powerful electric charge, which could do anything from disable an opponent to blow open a safe. Her clear pantyhose would serve this time for the colourless tights she usually wore. She pulled her black leather boots over her glorious calves, their high polish reflecting the light from the bulb overhead, and zipped them. She protected her identity with a black vinyl mask, which she placed over the upper half of her face, covering that completely. It did not have to be secured behind her head, but remained in place thanks to the molded vinyl interior. Over the top of her head went a black vinyl cowl that completely covered the top of her head and, with it, her hair. The final touch was the crimson satin gloves that ran to her elbows. The entire costume change took no more than two minutes, and Karen, now Crimson Flare, stuffed her nurse’s dress into the tote bag and hid that amid some containers in the corner of the janitor’s closet.

Before rushing up the stairs to her apartment, Crimson Flare checked the hall. At this hour, it was possible that someone might be setting off for work. It wouldn’t do to have America’s Darling running out of a janitor’s closet in an all-women’s apartment house in Mitropoulos, right in the heart of Middle America. There was no one, and with that she raced to the stairwell and her phenomenal speed took her to the fourth floor in no time.

Her apartment was at the other end of the hall. The door was closed. She walked purposefully down the short hall, past the three other apartments on the floor. The carpeted floor absorbed the step of the two-inch heel of her leather boots. When she reached the door, she held her ear against the wood panel, listening for any sounds from within. There were none.

She tried the knob. The door was locked, not that that represented an obstacle to the superstrong heroine. Gripping the doorknob firmly, she turned it clockwise, crushing the lock in its own mechanism. The door swung open. Crimson Flare’s petite form centered itself within the doorframe, from where she could survey the apartment’s living and dining areas. There was no one to be seen.

Cautiously now, she entered the apartment. The mixture of boxes and furniture hid the corners and, in the early morning light, shadows obscured much. Listening intently, Crimson Flare moved to the centre of the living area.

‘Who’s there?’ she called, firmly.

Still silence.

She moved to her right, toward the balcony. As she moved away from the still-open door, suddenly, from a stack of boxes located in the hall leading to the bedroom, a dark figure rushed toward the exit. But the swift and strong heroine, ready for any sign of the raiders of her apartment, moved quickly and took down the fleeing figure.

Crimson Flare held the larger man down on his stomach on the floor; she held his wrist firmly in her gloved hand and pulled it upward at his back. He grimaced in pain.

‘Now. Who are you and what are you doing in this girl’s apartment?’ she demanded.

‘Just… looking for… something to sell,’ he responded, the pain he was feeling evident in his voice.

‘Well, I’ll just have to make sure that you don’t do this to anyone else.’ The masked heroine who was America’s Darling tried to contain the anger she felt. This was, after all, her apartment. She felt violated. How could someone think they could just slip in here and take her property? This criminal would learn the error of his ways.

Just as she was about to pull the thief to his feet and call the police, she was grabbed in a flying tackle by another intruder and wrestled to the floor. The man she was holding screamed in pain as his arm was pulled sharply upward. Fortunately for him, Crimson Flare released his wrist before any serious damage was done. For moments, while the heroine and her attacker struggled on the floor, he kneaded his upper arm and rotated the shoulder, trying to drive out the pain and restore movement. He rushed his recuperation in order to assist his friend, who had wrapped up the crimefighter’s small frame.

Crimson Flare’s petite body often led her opponents to believe that she would be easy pickings. Standing only 5’ 4” tall, weighing about 110 pounds, she looked like she might still be in high school. Indeed, her costume was based on a majorette uniform she had seen in an old edition of her high school yearbook and, coupled with her youthful appearance, she could easily be underestimated.

As was the case now.

The larger man who held her down now pushed her face into the carpeting. ‘Well, who do we have here? Is this the masked heroine we’ve been hearing so much about?
What do you think, Bill? Does she look like a heroine now?’ At first, he wrapped his left arm around her body, holding her down with his weight. At the same time, he used his right forearm to grind her head and beautiful face into the carpet. The heroine gritted her teeth as she struggled. Then he wrapped both arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He planted his feet on either side of her legs and slowly stood up. Bill, his arm having recovered its feeling, approached the struggling pair.

Crimson Flare pushed her arms upward and outward from her body, breaking the mocking man’s grip on her. She dropped easily to the floor, turned, and pushed her open palm hard to his chest. He flew backward, landing in a heap against the wall. Dazed, he gasped for breath.

Bill’s eyes widened in shock at the ease and speed of Crimson Flare’s escape. Again, he thought of fleeing, for the door to the apartment was still open. But before he could translate the thought into action, the powerful superheroine was on him, once again pulling his arm up in a hammerlock and pushing him to the wall. Before he could even grunt in pain, the crimson-clad beauty snapped a cuff over first one wrist, then, grabbing his other arm, the other.

*****

The police were called. There was some surprise that Crimson Flare should spend her time and effort capturing a couple of crooks bent on simple burglary. But the heroine explained that all citizens needed to feel safe in their own homes-or apartments, for that matter.

‘Speaking of which. Where is the person who lives here?’ the policeman asked.

‘It’s plain she isn’t here,’ Crimson Flare replied. ‘And I’m sure she will be willing to press charges against these… gentlemen.’

‘Do you know who lives here?’

‘No. I simply happened to see the thieves rifling through both the boxes and the apartment. It just didn’t look right.’

‘Well,’ the officer mused, ‘I just hope some judge doesn’t throw the case out. Doesn’t sound to me like there was probable cause for you to come after them.’

‘Even if the person who lives here makes a statement that she neither knew them nor invited them into her apartment?’

‘She’ll need to get down to the precinct within forty-eight hours if we’re going to hold them. If she doesn’t make it, we’ll have to let them go without a charge.’

The two were taken off by the police. Crimson Flare suddenly realised how tired she was. A trip to the police station would now intrude into getting her apartment in order. But right now, all she wanted was some sleep.

*****

Karen went to the precinct station that afternoon and swore out a complaint against the two men who had been captured in her apartment. The police assured her that there would be no further role for her, since the pair had previously been arrested and one of them, Bill, had once served two years for multiple burglaries.

Karen spent the next several days getting her apartment into living order. During the hours of darkness, however, she donned her glittering costume and, as the powerful crimefighter Crimson Flare, she fought the good fight against the criminal element of Mitropoulos.

The talented young woman who carried on this battle could not have told you the source of her great strength. She only knew that it had always been a part of her. When she was a child, she had been stronger and faster than anyone in her class at school. And the difference between her physical abilities and those of her classmates had only widened with time and age. America’s Darling now had the strength of twenty men and could easily match pace with an automobile. But what was the source of her strength? She did not know. She simply took it as a gift, since it had helped her and her friends from its earliest appearance.

By the time she was in high school, Karen had used her abilities to fend off bullies and to help herself and her friends get through some of the more trying moments of adolescence and the travails of puberty. But she had never been sorely tried until one evening, her friend, Stacy, had a much-anticipated date with Brian Hirsch. Brian was the star of the basketball team and Stacy was swept off her feet by the fact that she, a sophomore, was going out with a senior.

But Karen had heard a few things about Brian, things that she didn’t know how to tell Stacy. Stacy was not in a mood to believe anything about Brian anyway, and Karen didn’t want to risk their friendship over some rumours. But she was uneasy.

Anyway, the big night came. Brian picked up Stacy at her house, and, after making some charming small talk with her parents, the two went out to dinner and the movie. Stacy was walking about two feet off the ground. The dinner went smoothly and as the two left the restaurant neither noticed that they were being shadowed. The car that followed theirs remained well back, always allowing one or two other cars between them. Brian wasn’t looking for the car because he knew that it was there. Stacy only had eyes for Brian.

Thus it was that when Brian drove Stacy out of town on Old Habsburg Road, a little-used highway that ran to some rural areas out in the county, she hardly noticed. The two cars were about five miles past the city limits when Brian turned onto an unpaved driveway leading into an aging barn on some property his family owned.

‘Brian? Where are we? Where are we going?’ she asked, uncomfortable, but not yet worried. She had only just noticed the detour Brian had taken.

‘’Not to worry, sweetcheeks,’ he replied. ‘I just want to show you something that I came across on one of my travels the other day.’ With that, Stacy relaxed.

The two cars wound their way up the drive. ‘Are we being followed, Brian?’ Stacy asked.

‘Nah. That’s Rob and Dennis. They’re coming along for the fun.’

‘What’s going on, Brian?’ Stacy sounded genuinely frightened now. ‘You didn’t say anything about this before.’

‘It’s a surprise, Stacy. Don’t worry about a thing.’ He drove the car directly into the barn. The following car stopped outside and two young men, the Rob and Dennis whom Brian had mentioned, got out. They entered the barn, closing and locking the doors behind them.

The barn was dark. The setting sun penetrated the holes in the wall, but shadows covered most of the interior.

Brian pulled to a stop at the far end of the building and turned off the engine. As Stacy looked around more and more nervously, Rob and Dennis approached the door and pulled it open. Before she could scream, each had grabbed an arm and begun to pull her out, Brian pushing from the driver’s side.

Once she had been pulled from the car, Brian exited on the driver’s side and approached the frightened blonde now being held by the two athletic boys. She was breathing heavily, her arms held out from her body to the sides. Tears were already rolling down her cheeks.

Brian smiled. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You can make this easy or you can make it difficult. I can see that for Dennis it’s already hard.’ Rob guffawed. Dennis smiled. Neither loosened his grip on Stacy’s arms.

‘No. No. Brian, you can’t. Why are you doing this?’ Stacy sobbed.

‘It’s something we do. Hell, you’ve gotta do something.’ With that, he came right up to her and kissed her deeply, deeply, his tongue probing as far back in her mouth as it could extend. Stacy was so surprised that she didn’t have time to resist. ‘There. See? It’s not going to be bad.’

Stacy continued to cry as Brian began to remove his pants. With their free hands, the two adolescent accomplices tore off her blouse, leaving her naked from the waist up.

‘Aaaahhh, Stacy, Stacy, Stacy. Where’s your modesty? No bra?’ Brian teased mockingly.

Stacy reddened. And she lashed out at her tormentor, trying to break free from the two strong boys who held her, trying to reach Brian with her kicks, anything to wipe that grin off his face. But she couldn’t get free. She screamed, ‘NO!’

The two boys now took Stacy to her back on the ground, her legs still kicked wildly. Brian undid her belt and her pants, and then pulled them down her legs and off. Stacy continued to kick her legs, but lying on her back gave her no leverage to get any control or power into these thrusts.

The boys now seized Stacy’s blonde hair. The pain made her scream again. At that same instant, Brian tore off her satin panties, exposing Stacy’s sex to the boys.

With Stacy continuing to kick her legs wildly, Brian could not approach the treasure he so ardently sought. ‘Calm her down a little,’ he said to his friends. With that, the boy who held her right arm to the ground, Rob, drew back his fist and smashed her, hard, right in the jaw. Dazed, Stacy simply lay limp on the ground.

Now free to have his way, Brian quickly moved between her legs, scooping them up and laying the knees across his shoulders. He pushed his hips right up to hers, bending her thighs hard across her torso. She winced at the pain, but, as she swam near unconsciousness, she didn’t cry out.

Seeming to sense the end of the chase, his member swelled quickly, and he penetrated her. Rocking back and forth, he drew himself in and out of her vagina. He fondled her rounded, tan thighs and leaned his face forward to suck and lick the legs of his prize. He even bit them, leaving a trademark on her body. The speed of his rocking action grew faster and faster, his breathing became harsher and more rapid. Sweating now, his eyes widened to the size of saucers and, when he came, he let out a yell, which sounded like a victory cry.

‘The Queen of the sophomore class is mine,’ he told his friends. ‘The best-looking girl, the tightest twat in the tenth grade. She’s just a slut now.’

As Stacy moaned, he pulled himself from her and Rob and Dennis released her arms. Dennis moved around to a position behind Brian, apparently waiting his turn. He pulled his pants down. Brian stood and moved away.

It was now almost full dark. The interior of the barn was almost completely dark, except for a few faint red flashes, created by the setting sun, which cut jaggedly across the floor. The boys who were having their way with Stacy barely heard the cracking of the door as it was torn open. Once she had broken into the building, Karen raced across the floor to the rape scene. She had been concerned about revealing her powers and her identity to these attackers, so she had borrowed Susan Bailey’s majorette costume, the one which was the model for the costume worn by Crimson Flare, and her brother’s Batman cowl. Low socks and running shoes completed this earliest ensemble.

Karen grabbed Dennis by the back of his shirt and the scruff o his neck, Karen thought she got a bit of both, pulled him to his feet, a forced coitus interruptus. Stacy cried out at the violent action. She flung him across the room and he crashed into and through the crumbling wall of the shed. He wound up lying, unconscious, in a pool of dried mud, what was evidently a former pigsty.

Karen then turned and faced the other two rapists. To insure that she would not speak and give herself away by her voice, she also borrowed her brother’s football mouthpiece. But Brian and Rob were not so reluctant.

First, they conversed with one another. ‘Can you see who it is, Rob?’

‘Not in this darkness.’

‘All I can see is a majorette.’ He paused. ‘And a tiny one, at that. Let’s take her out. We can make this a real party.’

Rob was the first to taunt Karen. ‘What’sa matter, honey? Do you want some of what your friend’s going to get?’

‘Yeah,’ added Brian. ‘Every girl in school who is anyone has experienced this.’ He lifted his now-wilted wang and showed it to Karen.

Moving faster than she ever had before, and before Brian could even lower his member, Karen sprinted across the open space and brought her foot squarely up into his crotch. He squealed in pain and dropped to his knees, gasping. Then she turned on the single attacker remaining. Suddenly the joie de gang-bang, which had animated Rob’s attitude, disappeared. He found himself alone facing a single woman. And she scared him.

‘W-w-wait a minute. C-can’t we talk about this? What do you want? I didn’t do anything. They were the ones who raped her.’

Disgusted, Karen again used her great speed to close the distance to the whimpering boy. Her fist hit him squarely on his left cheekbone, dropping him like a stone.

Looking around the barn, Karen saw the results of her fury. As Brian looked up from his agony, he saw the sequins glinting in the last rays of the setting sun, entering through the door torn from its hinges. Then he saw this unspeaking avenger cross to Stacy, lift her shaking body with ease and race from the barn. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to the bare dirt floor, trying to ease the pain.

Karen took Stacy directly to the emergency room of the hospital, where her costume did attract some comment. When she told the duty nurse that this was a rape victim, however, the staff cared less about her and did their jobs expeditiously. Karen took advantage of their change of focus to leave surreptitiously. Although Karen later tried to talk to Stacy about the evening, Stacy was very closedmouth about it all. Because two of the boys were over eighteen, and Stacy was not yet sixteen, the police and prosecutors took a great interest in the case. But because Stacy was an unwilling witness and Karen could not testify without revealing too much about herself, the case against them was weak. At least until two other girls came forward. The two seniors who were already over eighteen, Brian and Rob, went to prison. Dennis got a lighter sentence but it was a long time before he walked free, as well.

Karen had felt very good about what she had done. Although her inability to testify had bothered her, the capture of Brian and his buddies had taught her something about the justice system. She had put away the notion of being a superheroine for a few years, as she finished high school and went to college. Every once in a while she had called upon her great powers to help out herself and her friends, but not until her senior year in college did she decide to make herself into Crimson Flare. Crimson Flare would use the powers of strength and speed on behalf of those who were victims of crime, and she would ensure that whenever she was involved in the capture of a criminal, there would be sufficient evidence for a conviction.

Now, for more than a year, all of Mitropoulos knew of the Crimson Flare. The superheroine was feared in some quarters, admired in others. The news media had dubbed her America’s Darling, because of her sense of justice and her strength and power in its pursuit, and also because of her grace and agility in battle, her masked beauty, and not least because of her absolutely fabulous hips and legs, which her uniform showed to such great advantage.

In that time the crime rate had been dropping precipitously, thanks largely to the effort of her Guardian Angel. No one knew where this mysterious enemy of injustice and gladiator against evil had come from was much debated, but no one knew anything for certain. Strength and speed, intelligence and beauty, all were hers. And why she had selected this relatively small locale for her efforts on behalf of the good people of the community was also a much-discussed topic.

What was certain was the Good that she had done against criminals great and small, who threatened the security and peace of this Middle American town. It had begun with the typical petty problems which confront any American city: robberies of liquor stores and purse snatching, muggings, threats to home and persons, even an occasional violent predator who attacked people at home and elsewhere. Life in Mitropoulos was good, and comfortable, and, most of all, safe. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that this was the result of the efforts of Crimson Flare.

But there were other effects of the success of Crimson Flare’s efforts against malefactors. Lately, the criminals who had dared to challenge her mastery had been less concerned with attacking the safety and security of Mitropoulos, and more concerned with what were obviously larger goals: power, enormous robberies, even political assassination. It was becoming clear that the target was not anything that Mitropoulos had to offer these malfeasants, but rather the goal was the elimination of the powerful superheroine. Checkmate, the Wanderer, Hanson, and others had all tested themselves in Mitropoulos and been found wanting. The strength, speed, and intelligence of the beautiful and powerful Guardian of Good had defeated them all. Checkmate had, again and again, vowed vengeance against her nemesis, and each time she had returned, she had been defeated, and each time more decisively. The Wanderer, a former superhero himself, had twice captured the avenger, but was no more successful in his plans than any other. The Dark One had kidnapped Mitropoulos’ wealthiest heiress, but had his plans foiled by the superheroine. Even Hanson, clearly connected to a larger crime syndicate, had found only defeat in Mitropoulos. All sought the demise of the beautiful superheroine, all wound up in prison for their trouble. But Crimson Flare’s difficulties had been increasing, as she became the target of these enemies of justice.

When Crimson Flare operated, she did so privately and secretly, often using the element of surprise to defeat criminals easily. But as the goals of the criminals changed, America’s Darling had to change her tactics. No longer able to simply swoop down upon her targets without warning (at least, not as frequently as she had earlier done), she now relied upon her intelligence and her strength to confront those who would undo her and Mitropoulos. But the underworld’s knowledge of her friends (particularly those at the Mitropoulos Record) and allies also made them targets for Crimson Flare’s enemies. Frequently they had found themselves in situations designed to entrap the superheroine. But each time the power of the beautiful young Woman of Wonder had prevailed, saving both her friends and the day.

Recently, a new terror had come to the city. His identity remained unknown, even to those he employed, who spoke only of receiving messages from him and payments for their services at anonymous drop points. Thus far, the police knew only that he called himself Pitchblende, and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the crimes he had committed: petty theft and large-scale thefts of jewelry and money from all sources, including banks, insurance companies, private homes, stores and shops, even the evidence room at police headquarters. The robberies themselves were hard to detect, and even more difficult to trace. They were clearly well planned and the perpetrators, the few times they were caught, had no information for their captors. The security that Crimson Flare had won for Mitropoulos at such a high price was now shaken.

End of Chapter One