Thread: A Superheroine Defiled (w/The Loving One)

While in an undeniable way it had its own - visual appeal - there were certain practical benefits to the Crow's outfit. The thigh-high boots she wore had blades in the toes that were coated in a powerful muscle relaxant for when she felt the need to bring a thug in alive and the leather of the boots themselves was backed with a bullet-proof weave on the inside. The matte-black one-piece that she wore was skin-tight and actually had an internal tourniquet system inside the sleeves and main body - just in case she found something or somebody that could actually wound her badly enough to need one, and was backed with the exact same bullet-proof material as the boots. Even the gloves she wore to avoid leaving fingerprints everywhere had that. And the mask, which was her real claim to fame as far as image went, was a heavy-duty metal with the bottom segment looking almost like the beak of a crow when looked at from head-on. But doubled as a rebreather for underwater or in a poisonous environment. And while she normally left them uncovered by the reflective glass panels, pale green eyes surrounded by kohl could be hidden away if necessary or preferred. Just about the only thing she didn't have on her normally was any sort of fancy gadgetry or devices. She wore a belt with pouches, of course, but more often than not it held a communicator used to talk with the other more morally-inclined heroines she worked alongside and anything she might need to carry away such as small pieces of evidence from a scene. And to top it all off, raven-black hair was tied back into a French braid that went nearly to the middle of her back, decorated with bows as black and glossy as the one piece and boots she wore. Some claimed that particular style-choice was begging to hinder her - but so far the last person who'd tried to pull her around by her hair was still breathing and eating through tubes. When she'd touched down outside the old subway station on the outskirts of what had once been an urban expansion project, it was those boots that met the old gate marking the area off from trespassers. Cameras could have tracked her stalking across the lot and down and old and cracking sidewalk. Her eyes were always taking in her surroundings and she'd spied what was an otherwise well-concealed radar antenna long before she'd touched down. This Apex likely knew she was coming and she had no desire to waste time hiding from the black lenses she could see glinting in the foliage and nearby old building projects, following her movements. This Apex fellow had shown he wasn't scared of violence and if he was really as tough as he had obviously been trying to sell himself for the past year, he'd be relishing the chance to meet face-to-face as much as she was. And the traps and obstacles she soon started to come across were indicators that if this wasn't his hidey-hole, then it had to be something damn important. The first blast door she came across was wrenched open - forced wide just in time to dive to the side as motion-tracking turrets had locked onto the intruder. But a mistake in the design of that particular trap was that both turrets were firing at about the same rate - and needed to reload at about the same time. The electrified floor got a growling anger as she'd stomped across it, panel by panel, until she'd gotten to the control box at the other end of the room, and summarily smashed it to get the floors to stop. The room filled with gas got a laugh as her mask had kicked on to filter it away and the stinging in her eyes quickly faded with the mask's protective covers. The electrified blast doors caught her off guard to the point that she'd nearly slammed her hand between them the first time they shocked her but some creative remodeling of the walls found some important-looking wiring - and after losing lights, local AC, and possibly cameras she'd finally found the wiring to the doors to get them open without electroshock therapy. Tiring work, yes, but more tiring in the sense of irritation and rising annoyance than some crippling way that would prevent her from fighting. As the final blast door was repeatedly kicked until it decided it was in the best interests of structural integrity to open, the Crow came storming inside with a righteous sort of anger that wanted to pummel whoever had brought a sheen of sweat to mocha skin. Apex! She bellowed, speakers within the mask amplifying the voice for effect, Where are you, you son of a bitch?!