Artifact 11

Naomi heard the slam of a metal door being closed, followed by bolts slamming into place. Now she was alone, she took stock of her situation. She was bound to a sturdy metal chair that seemed to be bolted firmly to the floor. Her wrists and ankles were restrained with heavy-duty plastic zip ties. In the years since she'd last been tied up, thugs had apparently moved on from using good old-fashioned rope. Thankfully the bag over her head was heavy canvas rather than plastic – her kidnappers were bright enough to avoid suffocating an abductee.

She counted out the seconds as they passed, confident in the accuracy of her internal clock.

Forty minutes later, she heard the door being unbolted and opened, followed by footsteps as someone entered. These were lighter than the ones belonging to the thugs who'd brought her here: sneakers rather than heavy boots. She hoped that meant she was about to meet the boss because her joints were getting stiff from being in one position for too long.

She blinked in the sudden light as the bag was pulled off. She looked around and confirmed that her cell was as solid and dull as she'd expected.

The man standing in front of her, wearing designer jeans, a black t-shirt, and a pair of ludicrous gold sneakers, possessed one of the most punchable faces she'd ever seen, and she'd punched more than her fair share over the years. Agewise, he was somewhere in the male no-man's land of early-30's to mid-40's, with an unruly mop of red hair and a well-groomed beard.

"Who do we have here," he said, in an insufferably smug tone that made her want to punch him even more. "Naomi Rodriquez, the woman behind the silver mask: Lady Sentinel in the flesh."

"I'm retired," she said. "And you're not supposed to know who I am."

He made a high-pitched noise that took her a moment to recognize as his attempt at a laugh.

"Oh, I have a great many resources at my disposal, including sources at the highest levels of the government."

Naomi shrugged. "Okay, so you know who I am. Who are you?"

The question had the desired effect. His face and hands betrayed his anger, from his twitching left eye to his clenched fists. Naomi knew exactly who he was and that his ego was notoriously fragile.

"Elias Barron," he snarled. "You should recognize the name."

"Are you the llama guy?" she asked.

Barron's face turned bright red. The second (or third, depending on the stock market) richest man in the world clearly didn't like being reminded of the first time he'd gone viral.

"The internet blew that out of proportion!" he said.

"You shot a llama with an assault rifle and posed with it like a trophy," she said. "Were sloths out of season? Were capybaras too hard of a target?"

"I don't have to take this from a washed-up nobody," he snapped. "Need I remind you that you are at my mercy?"

Naomi tilted her head. "Why is that, exactly? Leaving aside the question of why you have a secret dungeon, why am I tied up in it? Like I said before: I'm retired."

"Oh yes, Lady Sentinel, the world's greatest heroine, who saved the world one last time and walked off into the sunset. What happened? Did you get tired of the constant adoration of billions?"

"I wanted to settle down," said Naomi. "I wanted kids and a shot at a normal life while I still could. The world seemed saved enough for me to have that chance."

"Typical selfish female crap," said Barron. "Turning your back on your responsibilities to become a MILF."

"I wish I could take that as a compliment," said Naomi. "I know I look good for my age and having had two kids, but the idea that you want to fuck me makes me want to puke. So is that why you kidnapped me? You want a shot with a superheroine and you figured… what? Zip ties and rohypnol?"

Barron laughed. "Nothing so mundane. You're here so I can show the world you are a false idol, and then I'm going to kill you as a demonstration."

"A demonstration of what, exactly?"

"A demonstration of my power," said Barron. "Abducting you was only one part of my intricate plan. At the same time, a second team stole a certain item from a facility in New Mexico."

The door opened and a thug in a black suit entered, carrying a red leather case. He handed it to Elias Barron, then turned and left Naomi's cell.

"Artifact 11," said Barron.

He opened the case to reveal a gold sash resting on a bed of red velvet.

"Just part of your costume, or so it would seem, but really an alien artifact found on the moon by Neil Armstrong. Its existence was beyond top secret while it was poked and prodded with every scientific tool known to mankind. Until one day a young researcher wrapped it around her waist. Artifact 11 gave you the powers of a goddess and you gave them up. For what? Kids? That's so fucking sad. I have ten kids and I didn't give up a damn thing."

"How many of those kids still talk to you?"

Barron wrapped the gold sash around the waistband of his jeans.

"Now I have the power," he said. "And I won't waste it. The world doesn't need to be saved, it needs to be brought to heel. Your execution, once I broadcast it to the world, will be the beginning of a brave new era. An era where certain people know their place."

Naomi looked him up and down. "It doesn't really suit you. Do you feel any different?"

Barron frowned. "I don't feel anything."

Naomi twisted and snapped the zip ties around her wrists and ankles as if they were made of tissue paper.

"Despite your reputation, you're really not too bright, are you?"

"What are you talking about?"

She stood before him with her hands on her hips.

"Did you really believe the 'found on the moon' story?" she asked.

"I don't understand. This is Artifact 11. One of the most tightly-held secrets in the world!"

"I'll use small words for your benefit," she said. "That was one of several cover stories leaked to government officials suspected of sharing top secret information with foreign powers or unscrupulous – oops, too many syllables – I mean dodgy, rich guys. Now we know who your source is. The spies call it a 'tracer bullet'."

Barron reached behind him and pulled an automatic pistol from a back holster. He aimed the gun at Naomi's face.

"You fucking lying bitch!" he snarled as he pulled the trigger.

Naomi easily caught the slug between her thumb and forefinger when it was barely out of the barrel. She showed it to Barron before squashing it flat.

"I may be a little older than I was in my prime," she said, "but I've still got it. My powers are part of me. You were never going to get away with this."

She grabbed the gun from his shaking hand and twisted it into useless junk.

"Fine," he said. "You win this round, but my lawyers will bury any charges you or the so-called government try to bring. I won't see a day inside prison."

"That's true," said Naomi. "You're not leaving here alive."

"Lady Sentinel doesn't kill," said Barron. "Everyone knows that."

A deafening crash almost threw Barron to the ground as two figures burst through the concrete ceiling – not to mention the four sub-basement levels above it. The dust cleared to reveal two gorgeous young women in their early 20s wearing skintight red and gold costumes that revealed far more than Naomi's outfit ever had.

"It's true that I don't kill," said Naomi, "but you made my daughters mad. They're good girls, but they're not as easygoing as I am. Like I said: my powers are part of me, and I passed them on to my kids."

The first daughter flicked her dark brown bangs away from her clear blue eyes. "Hi mom," she said. "Is this guy annoying you?"

The other young woman had strawberry blonde hair in a short pixie cut and brown eyes so dark they were almost black. "Dad wants to know what you want on your pizza," she said. "We're supposed to swing by New Haven on our way home because apparently dad likes burnt pizza."

"Ooh," said Naomi. "What am I in the mood for? My heart says sausage, but my head says pepperoni."

"Excuse me!" screamed Elias Barron. "I'm a little more important than fucking pizza toppings! Who the fuck do you bimbos think you are? You just wrecked my underground base!"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "I almost forgot about him." She grabbed him by the throat and casually lifted him until his feet were dangling six inches from the concrete floor. "This is for that llama," she said, as her hand slowly closed around his neck.

The blonde's eyes began to glow with a livid red light. Twin beams of coruscating energy erupted from her eyes. She slowly swept the beams across Barron's torso. "And this is for making mom late for dinner!"

When they were done, Naomi surveyed the steaming remains of Elias Barron. "I am so glad I don't have to clean this mess up. Did either of you bring a phone? I need to call Fort Meade."

Her girls gestured at their skimpy costumes, which barely had enough fabric to contain their generous assets, let alone a smartphone.

"Then we'll have to make another stop," said Naomi. "Your dad is going to be hungry by the time we get home. Not to worry, I'll make it up to him…"