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The answer I came to was: anticipation. For years I've seen super heroines wearing tight costumes mash powerful foes. The rips in their uniforms stopping just before the good parts. Sometimes they are bound, wiggling to break free. Other times they might even die. Yet, the anticipation holds and my mind races to explore how I hoped it would end.
Watching a new super heroine have her ass handed to her and suffer a sexually humiliating defeat is fun, but nothing like seeing an icon fall. What's the difference? Character development over time and delivery when the time is right. Like fruit waiting to be eaten, the best time is when it's ripe.
I'm writing a series set in the DC universe I hope to share on the forum. Just as discussed, it will not be in a hurry to explore the peril aspect, because my theory is that buildup will heighten the pleasure of watching it unfold. Those that just want to read about the peril can skip ahead as they see fit. The stories will release in episodes that may follow one character, or jump around between a few as a greater story arc builds. It's my goal to not only provide exciting peril, but to create a subversive story that readers enjoy reading along the way.
I'm writing this as much for myself as people interested in the concept, so I want to include fans of the series as much as possible. I'll have periodic polls about new characters, who will be defeated next, and peril elements.
Thus far my story contains the following characters:
[*]Batman
[*]Superman
[*]Wonder Woman
[*]The Flash
[*]Cyborg
[*]Batgirl
[*]Killer Croc
[*]Marco Stafano - of my own design
Character's I might introduce are:
[*]Starfire
[*]The Joker
[*]Mr. Freeze
[*]Doomsday
[*]Brainiac
[*]Supergirl
If you're interested in this project I'd love to read about your suggestions below! What characters would you want to see and what versions (pictures welcomed)? What peril elements? How long are you willing to wait for the first heroine to meet her demise? Any and all suggestions welcomed!
Here is a short clip of the story, to show my abilities as a writer. It's rough, unedited, and contains no peril, but if you enjoy the style I look forward to writing for you.
Spoiler
Gotham Docks
Saturday December 7th, 12:08am
“I’m surrounded by knuckleheads! Yous guys trying to blow us to bits?”
Marco Stefano yelled at the two teens fumbling a crate. The stupid bastards were his nephews in law, born from the chunky cunt of his wife’s least attractive sister—the only one he hadn’t boned. Marco looked at the twins, their buck teeth visible in dumbfounded expressions. He refrained from punching their freckled faces in and took a deep breath. Being a family man was hard.
“Look. I told your mother I’d let you help the family business, but I ain’t losing limb over it. Kapeesh?”
The red-headed teens nodded their vacant skulls in unison.
“Now get that crate on the truck. I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
“Yes uncle Marco,” the twins said in creepy synchronized voices.
A high profile merchandise run and all Marco could spare were scraps. Two nineteen-year-olds. Two professionals. If it wasn’t for Dominic, Marco’s enforcer, he would have called it off. He built his family on less, but in those days the only jerks in costumes were ones at birthday parties. Marco muttered profanity in Italian, then reached into his coat pocket for a cigar.
Gotham was an iceberg in December. But even the cold didn’t tame the overwhelming odor of fish guts, piss, and alcohol that was the docks. Marco lit his cigar and welcomed it to his lips. The smoke overpowered the stench and calmed his nerves. Dominic walked up to Marco’s right.
“We ought to send those boys to Frankie’s,” Dominic said, and Marco choked with laughter.
“Dominic, you trying to kill me? Those shit’s would fuck up a postage stamp.”
“You saying Frankie’s job is harder than stamping mail?”
They both laughed.
Dominic always took the edge off stressful situations. Though a killer, Dominic’s calm demeanor a sheepskin draped over a predator, Marco had earned his loyalty. What Marco needed, Dominic executed.
Despite the Batman’s absence in Gotham, his little whore girlfriend seemed to be everywhere. He figured she had big boots to fill and something to prove. At least Batman had the decency not to laugh when he knocked skulls together. Batgirl, on the other hand, paraded around in her purple costume like a kung fu cheerleader.
“Don’t do that, boss. It’s bad luck.”
“Do what, Dominic?”
“Have your Batgirl fantasies out here.”
Sometimes he swore Dominic could read his mind.
“I want this shit to go smooth. These boom booms go missing and they’ll feed us to that freak in the sewers.”
“True that, boss. You think he’s real?”
“Who? The alligator man? Probably. Gotham is full of freaks.”
“Crocodile, boss.”
“Whatever. A freak all the same.”
The twins moved the last crate onto the truck and his professionals gave the signal. Marco let out a breath. He would’ve sent a dozen men if Batgirl hadn’t spread him thin. Sweat slicked the palms of his hands. Months of planning and circulating false information lead to this moment. The explosives within the crates weren’t ordinary. A pipe bomb would erase a man. These babies would melt steel. Marco guessed a maniac wanted to make a building disappear. Not his business, not his problem. He just had to deliver them.
“Well that’s it then,” Marco said, then stomped out his cigar.
“Let me ride this shipment, boss.”
“No, Dominic. If something goes wrong,” Marco paused, a shiver rolled over him like an omen. Winding up in jail after botching a high profile delivery only ended one way. The guards cutting you down from the ceiling. He’d take his chances on the street.
Dominic didn’t argue, walked over to the delivery guys and gave the order. The twins came to Marco and complained about blisters, so he sent them to wait in the limo.
He looked down at the half smoked cigar and a strand of burning annoyance ran up his neck. Marco became edgy in recent years. The glory days in Gotham were long gone. Criminals needed to be smart these days. If he had the manpower, Marco would’ve set fire to an orphanage to give the winged vigilante something better to do. It was too late for second guessing. The bombs were off the boat and in the open.
His nerves danced again, so he reached for another cigar. With it between his lips, Marco patted himself down looking for a lighter.
“Need a light?” A woman said. The cigar fell from his lips.
Before Marco could reach for his gun, a purple gloved fist connected with his cheek and sent him to the ground. Gun fire followed.
On his hands and knees, Marco crawled for cover. A nail ripped though the knee of his thousand-dollar suit—the first casualty of the evening. Bullets pinged off metal containers, Marco’s limo, and splintered wood from the dock. With his gun in hand, he looked over the concrete block he ducked behind.
Batgirl flipped around dodging bullets as if they were paint-balls. The bitch was bold, he would give her that. Batman retreated to the shadows and stalked his prey, but Batgirl liked to play with hers. Dominic was hiding behind the shipping truck’s rear while the curiers stood in the open squeezing their pistols dry. They tried to reload, but Batgirl was on them before the empties his the ground. A twirling kick disabled the first man with a sickening crack, the second took a right hook to the jaw.
As if planned, Marco and Dominic stepped out from opposite sides of Batgirl and fired, careful not to hit the truck. Bullets ripped through her cape leaving black holes in the bright yellow fabric. She rolled for cover in the darkness that surrounded; a trick her boyfriend taught her no doubt. In a rage, Marco emptied his clip firing into the shadows.
“You bitch!” he yelled, then turned to Dominic, “Get that truck out of here!”
Dominic didn’t hesitate and ran to the driver door. Something whooshed from the shadows and knocked the remaining curier out cold. It was one of those bat boomerang things, Marco was certain. He reached for a fresh clip, loaded it, then ran for his limo. As he reached for the door handle Batgirl landed on the roof with a bang. The twins yelled from within and Marco raised his gun. She kicked the firearm from his hand with ease then delivered a second kick to his chest. Marco stumbled back and fell on his ass.
The truck’s engine roared to life and the heavy transmission dropped into gear with a clunk. Good old Dominic to the rescue. Batgirl stood, spun, and hurled something at the truck. The metal object bit into the rear door. A rapid high pitched whine came from the device and Marco’s eyes went wide.
“There are bombs in there!” He yelled, and Batgirl turned to him with a grave expression. She didn’t know.
Batgirl reached for her belt, the explosive she planted went off, and the whole truck became a ball of light. The force of the blast knocked Batgirl from the limo and Marco into the water. The ice cold ocean stole his breath as he fought to keep his muscles from going stiff.
“Dominic!” Marco yelled, water entering his mouth and causing him to choke. In the firelight he spotted a ladder and used what strength he had left to swim for it. His numb hands gripped the bars, and he crawled up.
On the dock Marco collapsed on all fours. The light from the fire cast dancing shadows all around. It wasn’t cold any more. He looked up hoping his friend had somehow survived, but instead saw Batgirl’s silhouette. Her back was turned to him as she stood looking at the flame.
“Drugs. My informant told me you were moving drugs,” She said, no playfulness in her tone.
“How’s it feel to be a murderer, Batgirl?” Marco said, his voice quivering along with his body, “maybe the cops should arrest you this time.”
Batgirl lifted an arm and fired her grappling hook, then vanished into the night.
A door opened on the limo and the twins emerged. For once they said nothing.
