Glamour Arrives

Little is known about the mutant named Glamour.

Bound in a straight jacket, the gorgeous redhead struggled as her Longbow escort carried her into Zigurrsky Prison. Silent throughout the procedure, she twitched occasionally as the power inhibitor collar around her neck sent periodic pulses of pain straight into her nervous system.

"Just like being home with dear old Mom and Dad," she thought, gritting her teeth.

During a routine Portal Corp excursion to Praetorian Earth, the hero sent into that twisted dimension appeared to have come back looking the worse for wear. Telling a tale of difficult battles and near death experiences, Charisma was rushed to the hospital.

The doctors were baffled by her apparent weakness. It bore resemblance to the mutation some heroes were known to go through after extended fights in the Terra Volta reactor, but Charisma's powers seemed to have changed far more drastically than the doctors were used to seeing. In fact, she seemed to have lost her ability to heal at remarkable rates and instead to have become nigh invulnerable. In and out of consciousness, Charisma seemed delusional, ranting about things the public knew Sarah McKain's parents would never have done to their treasured daughter.

Glamour sat on her bed, legs stretched out before her, arms crossed under her breasts, glaring out of the bars of her prison. Except for occasionally tapping the fingers of her right hand, motionless.

"So this is Primal Earth. What a dump," she thought. "Charisma had it so easy. Stupid [censored]. No daily beatings, no stupid drills, no Tyrant, no 'experiments'. I could have been a hero, too, if I had the chance."

She smiled evilly.

"But what fun would that have been?"

The doctors had finally stabilized their patient, when a detachment of Longbow showed up, supporting a weak Charisma between them. Everyone did doubletakes between the patient and the woman hanging between the Longbowmen. As they watched, the cuts on the woman in the doorway healed, her broken bones mended, and she was able to stand unaided.

She walked over to the patient and stared. Tears formed in her eyes as she accepted the power inhibitor from Longbow.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," whispered Charisma as she locked the power inhibitor around Glamour's neck.

Charisma watched, crying silently as Longbow strapped Glamour into the straight jacket and carried her off to her new home in the Ziggurat.

Glamour sat with her back to the bars, cross-legged, arms crossed, head down. Charisma leaned against the bars, staring at her counterpart.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Sarah," said Charisma. "Please let me help you."

"Piss off, flunky," growled Glamour, "you have no idea what *my* life has been like. Your parents loved you - mine feared me. You were probably welcomed home from school with hugs. I was welcomed with a sack over the head and baseball bats, until I stopped them from hurting me further. Permanently stopped them.

"You probably had friends and boyfriends. The people in my world fell into two categories: enemies I could beat up, and enemies who could beat me up. My 'boyfriends' didn't ask, if you get the point.

"Look at the way our mutations differ - you heal fast, Little Ms. Empathy; I mutated to try and protect myself from harm... and I'm better at inflicting it than you will ever be. Nothing quite so satisfying as the crunch of bones.

"You're a hero here. I'm a thug. It's all I've ever known, it's all I'll ever be. It's what kept me alive."

"You can be more. This is a new world, you should take the chance to become a new person here. I can help you, if you'll let me," pleaded Charisma.

"Leave me alone, Sarah. And stay out of my way."

Charisma sighed and turned away, walking slowly out of the prison block.

Glamour sat on her bed again, motionless, staring with hatred at the bars holding her in. Ignoring the explosions that rocked the building, she just continued tapping her fingers along her arms. When her cell door swooshed open she exhibited no surprise. Simply, stood and stretched, and casually sauntered out of her prison, ready to inflict her special brand of brutality on Primal Earth.

... Incoming SecureCom transmission...

Crey Operative: 3X94B2Y

Assignment: Undercover, Ziggursky Psychological Rehabilitation Ward

Report: Underneath her brusque exterior, Designate: Glamour is a frightened child, lashing out at others to inflict pain and embracing pain inflicted on her in an attempt to hide her own feelings of inadequacy. She is jealous of Designate: Charisma and the life this hero has lived. Glamour could easily be persuaded to pursue a vendetta against Charisma.

A.R.A.C.H.N.O.S. has unfortunately broken out numerous inmates, including Glamour, before we could implement our extraction plan. Recommend stepping up attempts to detain Charisma for study. Once Charisma is in custody, we may be able to persuade Glamour to assist us voluntarily. Vivisection and study of the differences of their mutations on the same base genetic code would be of invaluable use to BioGenetics in our attempts to produce an invulnerable, regenerative operative. Their DNA may well be the key to isolating the ability to channel negative energy.

Glamour is still young to this world and her powers are undeveloped. Keeping an eye on her activity should not be hard, and if she will not come willingly once Charisma is in custody, Glamour should not be difficult to detain.

- end of transmission -

Glamour Gets A Job

After the Breakout, Glamour had spent some time serving her ARACHNOS rescuers. Punishing betrayers, eliminating Snake infestations, brutalizing some poisoned homeless, and other nefarious deeds. Eventually she earned a chance to make her own way in the Rogue Isles. Like any enterprising young super powered woman in the Rogue Isles, she started by robbing a bank. After all, style has expenses.

In the meantime, it's a good day to be a bad guy...

Glamour grinned as she felt the exhaustion rushing over her. Being able to boost her speed for short periods of time was such a fun ability. No one expected it, and when the rush took hold it's like the rest of the world slowed to a crawl and Glamour danced through it like a hummingbird. When it wears off though, it's a bitch. Usually.

This time, she just stood there huffing slightly, admiring her art work. Splatter art, you know. Blood and brains, some uncluttered walls, and a good reason was all she needed to paint. Scratch that. She didn't need a good reason. She didn't need a reason at all.

Today she had a reason.

As the body of the leader of this cell of the Legacy Chain slowly slid down the wall, Glamour opened the faintly glowing case in front of her and lifted out the Loa Bone.

She could feel the cold wind of the underworld sweep over and through her as she gazed intently at the dark patina of this ancient talisman. She smiled darkly as the chills ran up her spine. Slowly, dramatically, she reached out with her hand.

As Glamour reached out, her hand phased into the underworld. It's difficult to describe how she does what she does. It's like flexing a muscle you rarely use by just itself, but it wasn't a muscle. It was almost like exhaling, but it did not originate from within her lungs. All the darkness within, all the coldness, the anger, the fear, the hatred... it all simply unfurled from within and covered her hand with an aura of blackness so black that it almost glowed, if a black hole could be said to glow. When her hands glowed like that, they existed in both our world and the underworld.

With a sudden clutching motion, she pulled her hand back into this world. The cold wind that was dancing around her seemed to rush towards her, and with the howling of a tortured soul, disappeared into her chest. With the sudden rush of life energy, Glamour could feel her few injuries healing, leaving her unscathed.

She stuck the Loa Bone through her belt and left the office.

She left behind a profound silence.

A silence broken even more profoundly by the soft *plink* of blood dripping into a pool.

"Ah, you have done well, Glamour. I knew my faith in you would be justified," chortled Mr. Bocor, as he caressed the Loa Bone covetously. "Of course, had my faith in you not be justified, your faith in my powers would most definitely have been."

"Crazy Voodoo Priests," thought Glamour, pretending to be suitibly impressed and grateful that the Skull-Faced freak hadn't turned her into some sort of mindless zombie slave. God knows what he'd use a slave like her for. Now THAT thought almost made her shudder.

"There is a company that you should look into, Glamour. Seeing as you have now located and retreived both my book and the Loa Bone, I think you may be an excellent fit for their organization. The company is called Cabal Enterprises, and they specialize in the location and retreival of items. I have worked with many of their members, and could reccomend you to them. Seek out Cymraes or Twilight's Pain if you are interested..."

The overly dramatic cadence and fluctuations of his voice carried on as Glamour tuned him out, already thinking about how to approach the base of some Council Archon who had challenged her. Something Bocor said snapped her back to reality and she mentally kicked herself for drifting off.

"...have some excellent resources at their disposal, including ties to Paragon City," the priest continued.

"Wait, back up. They're part of what?" demanded Glamour intently. The skull mask hid his smile, but Mr. Bocor's eyes took on a humorous glint at the intensity on Glamour's face.

"They're a part of the Conglomerate."

"I'll look them up, thanks!" said Glamour, turning to run off. She stopped when Mr. Bocor gripped her arm with an iron grip that was as cold as death.

"One last thing, Child," he said, holding the Loa Bone up before her face. "I don't know how you have done it, but the Loa Bone is attuned to you now. I had intended to do this for you as a reward regardless, so I will not question it too extensively now, but I warn you to watch your step with other people's artifacts in the future." He touched the end of the bone to Glamour's forehead, then dropped it into her hands. He nodded once and released her.

Glamour stared at him for a moment, then rushed off to find an anomaly in the Rogue Isles: a working phone booth.

"Man, I look fantastic in this uniform," Glamour said over the Corporate radio channel, stepping out of the dressing room where she had just slipped into the predominantly red outfit with the Cabal Enterprises logo on the chest. No one really replied, but being the new grunt in the company she didn't really expect much. Most of the others were on assignment and too busy to listen to the new employee.

Her interview with Twilight's Pain had been relatively short and painless, and Glamour found to her surprise that she was rather liking this company so far.

And she did, after all, look stunning in this uniform.

But nothing could distract her from that which originally caught her attention about this company.

Cabal Enterprises was part of the Conglomerate.

So was Mayhem, Incorporated.

And there was an employee of Mayhem, Inc. that Glamour was VERY much looking forward to meeting up with again...

Nightmares come to those who give them

Glamour tossed and turned, wrapping the sheets tightly about her. Her sweat streaked face contorted in pain. She occasionally cried out or whimpered; soft, small animal sounds of fear and pain. Fortunately none of the hero or villain groups she has antagonized can see the violent, heartless brute trapped in this tormented sleep.

Two children stand on the outskirts of a junkyard, huddling behind the crushed and rusted skeletons of ancient cars stacked 10 high. They peered around the edges and through the gaps of the cars, looking towards the center of the junkyard as though staring at something fascinating.

A hundred feet above and slightly behind them, Glamour stands in a slightly smoky, translucent press box enclosure, staring down at the children. Glamour pounds her hands on the glass making up her prison and appears to be screaming, but nothing can be heard from the outside.

Zooming in on the children, a young girl and boy. The girl is perhaps 12 years old, with flaming red hair and that skinny, coltish appears of one who has just gone through a growth spurt but hasn't learned how to use their new body, and wasn't used to the curves she was beginning to develop. She is very skinny, almost emaciated. Her arms are covered in bruises, her elbows and knees scraped and raw. The boy is perhaps 14, having grown into his changing body a bit more, moving a bit more controlled, lightly muscled as though he plays some sort of sport.

The girl leans out around the wall of twisted metal that they hide behind, craning her head out to gaze at the center of the junkyard.

"Get back, Sarah!" the boy whispered fiercely, pulling her back by the collar. The girl shrugged his grip off and glared over her shoulder at him.

"I want to see what they're doing, Matthew!" she hissed back at the boy.

"Me too, but I don't want to get killed doing it, so stay hidden!" the boy shot back.

Tommy Sanchez was mean spirited bully, who led a gang of misfits at school. He was several years older than either Sarah or Matthew. Tommy's father was a scientist for the government, who had been experimenting with his own children to imbue them with super powers. He had succeeded with Tommy when Tommy was still a toddler, and had kept Tommy in an inhibitor collar for most of his life.

Tommy had recently had his inhibitor collar taken off as a birthday present, and was out to prove his power. He had already used it to put the scorch marks on Matthew's forearms earlier this morning. Tommy had been making lewd comments about Sarah during lunch after she had gone to get a drink, and Matthew had defended her. Tommy and Matthew had been shoving each other back and forth, when Tommy grabbed Matthew's arms and a sudden flash of heat charred through Matthew's shirt and raised blisters on his forearms.

Sarah came back just as Tommy was walking away, staring at his hands in wonder. Sarah rushed over to Matthew, who was curled on the ground, trying to keep anything from touching his arms.

"Guess I can handle you now, Hot Stuff," Tommy leered at Sarah as she ran past him. Sarah usually paid no attention to his comments, but this time there was something... darker in his voice.

She found out what that darkness was hinting at later that afternoon. During the last class of the day, Sarah had gone to the bathroom, and while she was washing her hands Tommy came storming into the bathroom. Before Sarah could say or do anything, Tommy grabbed her head with both hands and mashed his mouth to hers, forcing is tongue into her mouth. Sarah squealed and tried to knee him in the groin, but he jumped back to avoid it. He raised his right hand and it burst into flame.

"Don't scream, Hot Stuff. It'll hurt more," Tommy snarled. He slowly stalked toward Sarah, holding his burning hand in front of him. Sarah shrank back from the flame.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Tommy whirled around. The girl that walked into the bathroom cocked her head at Tommy's burning hand, and with a flick of her wrist, sent a gust of wind and rain at the boy, hurling him into the wall and extinguishing his hand. The young witch, Windcaller, looked at Sarah and cocked her head the other way. Sarah liked Windcaller as much as she could, considering that the girl never spoke. Sarah bobbed her head, mumbled a thanks, and ran from the bathroom as Tommy picked himself up and started cursing at Windcaller.

After school, Matthew overheard some of Tommy’s friends talking about how much fun it would be to watch Tommy "do it" in the junkyard. Sharing this information with Sarah, the two decided to head to the junkyard and watch.

After all, Tommy may be a jerk, but turning into flame and burning stuff was pretty cool.

In the misty room floating above the junkyard, Glamour’s makeup is being streaked by tears as she stares down towards the center of the junkyard. She turns her back so that she wouldn’t have to watch.

Again.

In the center of the junkyard, a gout of flame suddenly shot into the sky. Sarah would have thought it was much cooler, if the sudden burst of heat and light hadn’t been accompanied by an animal squealing in pain and fear. Before she knew what she was doing, Sarah leapt around the car she was hiding behind and began to make her way deeper into the junkyard.

Matthew grabbed for her and missed. Groaning, he picked his way after her.

As they approached the whooping group of older boys in the clearing at the center, another blast of flame flashed into the sky, with another scream of pain. The younger couple rounded the corner just in time to see a dog, covered in flame running around in circles, throwing itself on the ground and thrashing about to escape the fire.

As if a bucket was emptied, a sudden downpour of water put the dog out. With winds whipping the garbage into a whirling mess, Windcaller floated down out of the sky next to the whimpering dog. She knelt to it and pressed her hands to it’s side, and the dog was suddenly healed. It beat a hasty retreat.

The gang was muttering darkly as they fanned out in semi circle around Windcaller. The witch stood there, her blue trench coat billowing out behind her as Tommy stalked up to her. She pointed at Tommy, then at where the dog had been lying, then shook her head firmly. She then drew her finger across her throat and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Tommy reached his arms out to his sides. Flames burst out of his chest and rushed along his body, turning him into a living pillar of flame. Windcaller sent a concentrated burst of air at him, but it only made his flames burn brighter.

Sarah and Matthew stood; slack-jawed and stunned as the two superpowered teens fought each other with elemental powers. Even Tommy’s gang seemed in awe as the battle raged back and forth.

Sadly, it wasn’t a long battle. Tommy’s best friend smashed Windcaller in the back of the head with a rusty tire iron.

Sarah nearly cried out, but Matthew covered her mouth with his hand and pulled her back behind a stack of old tires.

Sarah covered her head with her hands, sobbing silently, trying to block out the sounds of ripping cloth and zippers going down.

She huddled into a fetal ball when she heard Windcaller speak for the first time.

"No! Please!" Windcaller cried. She had a beautiful, melodic voice, even tinged with fear and pain.

There was a moist thud, like a watermelon being hit with a baseball bat. Then there was only the joking of the boys and a rhythmic thumping sound.

In her prison in the sky, Glamour was forced to watch the scene in the center of the junkyard, for nothing could she do to turn away from it. She sat on the ground, legs drawn up, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

"Sarah, let’s go!" Matthew urged, tugging at Sarah’s arm. "C’mon! Before they see us!"

Sarah slowly straightened from her ball and began to stagger after Matthew. They turned to run out of the junkyard. Before they got 10 steps away, a wall of flame flared up in front of them. They turned to face Tommy. His face wore his usual leer when he raked Sarah with his eyes. When he turned to Matthew, Tommy’s face hardened.

"I’m sorry to see you’re still with this looser, Hot Stuff," Tommy said, glaring at Matthew.

Tommy pointed at Matthew and a bolt of fire shot from his fingers and seared a hole completely through Matthew’s chest.

It happened so fast. In a blink of an eye, it was over. Still wrapped in a soundless barrier, Glamour screamed… and screamed… and screamed.

Sarah stumbled when Tommy thrust her into the center of his ring of thugs by her hair. Windcaller’s lay tumbled to the side of the box the gang used as a table. Sarah couldn’t tell if Windcaller was still breathing or not. Not that Windcaller could help her at this point anyway.

"Who wants Dessert?" Tommy asked, ripping Sarah’s shirt off. Like a primitive beast that acts only on instinct, the gang made an approving grunt and the circle tightened around Sarah.

The shock of Matthew’s death was wearing off. As she was pinched and prodded and shoved back and forth across the circle, Sarah began to feel it welling up inside of her.

Fury.

Incandescent, volatile, incomparable, raging… hatred.

Fury.

She felt it burst out of her, felt a part of her go cold and numb inside, even as the heat of her anger boiled on the outside of her skin.

As one of the boys slapped her across the mouth, she rolled back. She felt the blow, felt her teeth rip into her cheek… and the wound immediately closed almost entirely. It felt no worse than if she had bitten her cheek while eating.

As the next slap came towards her, Sarah moved. Time slowed down.

As though the gang was moving in water and she in air, she flowed around the punch, delivering one herself to the pit of the boy’s stomach.

She didn’t notice the cold, black aura surrounding her fists as the first few boys went down, but they did. The ones on the outside of the circle broke away and ran for it. Sarah continued to hit anyone that came into range, barely feeling the blows that continued to rain down upon her. It felt so good to finally let go, to finally release all the pent up anger, all the frustration, all the fear and disappointment. Each time her fist broke someone’s nose, each time she twisted an arm until the shoulder popped out of socket, it felt good. Good to channel all of that into her fury, good to channel that fury into the cold center within her chest, use it to pull that coldness out, spread it into her hands, and with all the power of her fury, all the coldness from within… it felt good to SMASH.

Sarah came back to herself when she found that the only person left standing was Tommy, and he was backing away from her in fear. Bare from the waist up, splattered with blood, she stalked towards him.

"Please, oh god, please don’t hurt me, Hot Stuff… I mean Sarah! I’m sorry, please" he said.

He was babbling incoherently to Sarah. She wasn’t hearing English. She was hearing the pounding, rushing flow of blood through her temples. She was feeling her heart race in excitement and freedom. Her mind was a chaotic whirl of thoughts and feelings. She realized that she may not be making much sense, but she grabbed Tommy by the collar, lifted him up, and said the first thing that came to mind:

"Don’t burn poor animals!" she snarled into his face.

And then she punched her fist right through Tommy’s chest.

So fast… blink of an eye…and it was over…

Windcaller lived for a short while in intensive care. She woke from a coma long enough to record a voice message to Sarah. It said, in a breathy, pain filled, melodious voice "Thank you. Remember that you can be more than they are".

Sarah received commendation for her performance in the junkyard. The circumstances were irrelevant – Tyrant’s authorities liked to see action such as hers. She was transferred to a "school" designed to help develop her powers. School was misleading. Think testing facility coupled with boot camp mixed with prison. It was not a happy place.

Matthew’s family blamed Sarah for his death, and Matthew’s younger brother made it his life’s goal to see that Sarah spent her life in misery and pain.

Sarah’s parents were displeased at the attention their daughter had garnered, and upped her punishments accordingly.

…

All the while, the Fury continued to build.

Glamour awakened, sitting bolt upright in bed, screaming. She threw the sweat soaked sheets off and staggered to her foot locker. Tearing it open, she found a small memory cube, which she held to her ear and listened to a breathy, melodic voice.