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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Paragon vs. Plastica  4/15  (M/F, F/F, superhero, bondage, D/s, mc, statue)
Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2002 01:10:08 -0400
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Paragon vs. Plastica

by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)


This work is copyrighted 2002-2003 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). This 
work may be be freely distributed over electronic media provided no fee is 
charged for its use. This work may be archived only with the author's 
permission.  Charging a fee for this story, or publishing without author 
credit or this notice violates my copyright.

The complete story may be read at my websites: 

http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade

OR

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/~cobaltjade




Chapter 4: Team Paragon Moves Out


Lori and Cinnabar walked grimly through the Sexateria doors as soon as the 
store opened. Cinnabar glanced casually round her, not as an eager shopper 
but as a seasoned crimefighter: checking faces, postures, and routes of 
escape, even though it was likely nothing would happen to them in a crowded 
store. The women of Team Paragon were very careful to keep their mundane 
identities a secret, but it was possible for the dogged to discover them, 
just as they had discovered Plastica's. Lori often wondered why it didn't 
cause more problems than it did. Often there seemed to be an unspoken code 
about superpowers meeting outside of costume. 

In fact they did attract a lot of attention, but only because they were two 
beautiful women. "Where did you see Shana?" Cinnabar whispered.

"Upstairs," Lori said. They took the escalator to the second floor. "There, 
at the dungeon entrance," she whispered.

Cinnabar gave a surprised grunt. Unflappable as she was, even she was capable 
of showing surprise at the hooded X-shaped mannequin in its bondage gear. 
Perhaps it was the nature of the clothes, but it didn't look as real as it 
had the day before. It looked more like a chamber of horrors prop from a 
cheap carnival, tawdry and tasteless. Lori went closer. Could she have been 
mistaken?

"We're being watched," Cinnabar said casually, as if mentioning the time of 
day. "Bend down with me, pretend you're interested in its boots."

Lori obeyed, regarding the floor near the base of the pole. "Who?" she said 
in a whisper.

"I don't know," Cinnabar said. "They could be plainclothes detectives, 
criminals, anyone." It was a sixth sense she had. She examined the pole and 
the smooth, flawless skin of the mannequin's upper thighs. "Hmm... looks like 
an ordinary mannequin to me. Think we can get that hood off for a closer 
look?"

"I have a distraction in mind," Lori said. "Do you mind getting a little wet?"

"Not at all. Think you can take out those watchers, too?"

"Just tell me where they are." 

Cinnabar gave a bend of her head behind her. "Twelve and three o'clock."

Lori stood, pretending to glance idly across the store, and saw them. They 
were trying very hard to blend in the with the shoppers, but the way they 
stood gave themselves away. A chill ran down her spine. Had they been sent to 
watch over the Shana mannequin to see if her friends turned up? Or were they 
just store security watching for shoplifters? She narrowed her eyes. She 
hadn't been with Team Paragon long, but knew a seasoned criminal when she saw 
one, and the plainly-dressed man and woman flipping through the racks were 
clearly store detectives. 

She directed her gaze to the air conditioning vent above their heads and 
concentrated using her special power. The cool of air suddenly lowered by 
fifty degrees, becoming ice-cold. The pair jumped as if goosed. A few nearby 
customers jumped too, all of them staring up at the vent. 

"They're distracted," Lori whispered. "Now brace yourself..." She turned her 
gaze back to the ceiling, concentrating on a water pipe above the dungeon 
entrance. She froze the pipe at its elbow, creating a plug of ice in its 
interior. As she expected, it burst a few seconds later. Cinnabar squealed 
dramatically at the sudden downpour and tumbled down on top of the mannequin, 
pretending she had slipped. As she fell she ripped off its hood. 

"Shana!" Lori gasped.

"It can't be..." Cinnabar muttered, still wanting to deny it. 

Both pretended ignorance as the store detectives ran up. "Are you hurt miss? 
Can you get up?"

Cinnabar gave a phony groan and pushed to her knees. Shana had fallen to the 
carpet, the shower of water batting her stand back and forth. Her unblinking 
eyes remained open in the deluge, her lips slightly open as if to drink it 
in. "I'm sorry..." Cinnabar blurted. It could have been meant for her 
teammate.  The detectives helped her to her feet. "The pipe burst and I fell, 
I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right miss," the male detective said. He called for Maintenance on 
his cell phone. "It's only an accident." 

Cinnabar shivered, putting on a good show of being dazed and confused. Lori 
was shaking as well. Not from the cold water so much -- after all, she was 
Arctica -- but from the confirmation of her teammate's fate. "Come this way," 
the detective said, beginning to lead them. "We'll get some towels for you, 
some dry clothes..."

"Great," Lori groaned, looking at the racks of bondage wear. "Will we have to 
go home wearing that?"

They were only doing their job, but Cinnabar was adamant about leaving 
immediately. They left after a hail of apologies from the store manager and 
several hundred dollars in gift certificates. Bribes, Lori guessed, to keep 
them from suing. Not that they would.

"You were right," Cinnabar said as they got in the car. "I apologize. It's 
either Shana, or a lifelike plastic cast of Shana. In which case, where is 
the real Shana?"

"We have to get her out of there," Lori insisted. 

"Right," Cinnabar said. She reached for her cell phone.

#

"What do you mean, the building's gone haywire?" Plastica tapped her 
red-lacquered fingernails against the gleaming white surface in her desk. The 
motion looked like cherries dancing in the snow.

"First the air conditioning malfunctioned, then a water pipe burst," the 
maintenance man said. "It happened over by the dungeon. There's a stain on 
the carpet and some of the clothes got soaked. One of the mannequins got 
knocked over."

"Shit," Plastica muttered, cupping her hand over the receiver. Every little 
disaster that happened in the store meant precious time was taken away from 
her more clandestine work as Vi Nyll. "All right, I'll send some people over. 
Don't worry about it, honey. I know you're working on it." She disconnected 
the call with her finger, eyes searching among the many buttons for the VM on 
duty for that floor.

Before she could make the call the phone rang again. "Hello, Plastica," the 
soft voice purred.

For a second Plastica felt the bottom drop out of her world. How could 
someone have found out her real identity? How? Polly Jean's all-white office 
turned into a snowstorm as her vision blurred. Then instinct took her over. 
"Who is this?" she snapped.

"Don't you know me, Plastica?" the voice said in its mellifluous tones. It 
was an exotic voice, cultured, with traces of an unidentifiable accent. A 
woman's voice. "This is Kylasha."

Plastica's hands gripped the edges of her desk. She had met Kylasha the 
Damned only once, but that was enough. The villainess was as far above her as 
Paula Jean Estes, VP, was above Sexateria's lowest stock clerk. And she was 
reputed to be a sorceress, besides. She cleared her throat with a soft cough. 
"Uh, hiya, Kylasha. So how are things in Greece?"

"Pleasant, as always." Kylasha had an alternate identity as a Countess and 
owned her own island, though her real ethnicity was in fact far more exotic. 
Plastica had heard rumors she was actually immortal, coming from a time and 
place far removed from the scale of recorded history... a civilization so 
ancient it was not even a memory to Babylon and Ur. "I've called to warn you, 
Plastica, and to ask you a favor."

Plastica felt the blood return to her face. Kylasha didn't mean to blackmail 
or destroy her. "I'm listening," she said, trying to keep the shakes out of 
her voice.

"I know what you did to Xenon."

"How -- " Plastica sputtered.

"Come on, my dear," Kylasha said lightly, as if at a gossip-filled dinner 
party. "News travels fast. Did you know she had friends? Was a member of Team 
Paragon?"

"N-n-noo..."

"Well she does. I'll forward you my files. There are five of them, and 
they'll be looking for her. Their leader is Scirocco, real name Cinnabar 
Steele." Plastica's hand tightened on the receiver as Kylasha's voice became 
colder. "I want her."

"What?" Plastica said.

"Call it a vendetta, if you will," Kylasha said smoothly. "I want her, 
Plastica, a plastic prize to display in my trophy room, to show the world 
Kylasha the Damned does not accept defeat from a mortal woman. I've heard 
about your special talents. Do that, and I may have other... jobs... for you 
in the future."

Plastica's priorities for the day had changed rapidly. "Yes," she said with 
conviction. "Yes, you'll have her, Countess. A plastic prize to grace your 
villa." She smiled wickedly as ideas began to form.

Kylasha gave a low, lazy laugh. "I should hope so. I'm counting on you, 
Plastica. The files will be on your computer at home, even as we speak. We'll 
talk later." The line clicked dead.

Plastica stared at the walls of her office, breathing hard. But she knew what 
she had to do. She punched in her VM's number. "Charlie? This is Paula. Oh, 
nothing to worry about, honey. You know that mannequin by the dungeon? The 
one in the leather gear? Well, take it off the floor and bring it to the 
loading dock. It's going back to the warehouse. Yeah, I know it's not 
damaged, only a little wet, but that's what's been decided. I'll send in 
another one to take its place. No, do it now. Don't worry about the rest of 
the dungeon, it's not important. Got it? Bye."

She made a few more calls to cover her absence for the rest of the day, then 
hurried to the dock.

#

"Oh yesss..." A warm exhalation of breath, a sigh. 

Gina shifted position, opening her eyes. Below her, on the bed, was her 
second most favorite thing in the world: the broad, tanned chest of Jayce, 
her cop boyfriend, with its well-defined chest and eminently kissable 
nipples. His head was turned to the side, his mouth stretched in a growl of 
passion. Currently inside her was her number one most favorite thing in the 
world, and she rode it up and down like a cowgirl on a one-trick pony. His 
thick fingers thumbed her nipples, sending surges of passion through her 
lower body.

"Oh, god..." she groaned.

"Fuck... baby... oh yeah..." His bedroom vocabulary wasn't the wittiest in 
the world. But neither was hers.

She pumped herself harder, enjoying the slippery feel of his cock as it 
pistoned in and out. Her skin began to tingle. "I'm... I'm..." she gasped. 
"Oh oh oh..."

Her beeper went off, distracting her. *Please, let it be a mistake,* she 
thought. *Let it be the dryer switching off or something. Please, not now, 
when I'm...*

Jayce groaned loudly as he came inside her, with the same sweaty, triumphant 
expression she'd seen on soccer players kicking home a goal. The big lug. She 
wanted to kiss the sweat off his forehead like she always did, but that would 
have to wait. She rolled off him to grab her beeper, checking the number. 
Cinnabar's.

"Can I use your phone?"

"The phone? Oh, yeah," he said, still panting. "What is it?"

"It's the studio," she lied. She quickly punched in the number for HQ as 
Jayce nuzzled her hip, kissing it. "Gina here," she said.

"Chrystar, where were you all day?" Cinnabar said sharply, using her Team 
name. "Report back to HQ immediately for an all-hands meeting. It's about 
Shana. She's in danger."

"All right." She hung up the phone, guiltily noting it was 11 PM. She gently 
pushed Jayce's head away. "Sorry, Jayce, but I've got to go."

"Can't you put them off?"

"I told you I was on call tonight." She began to dress, sliding on a pair of 
pink satin panties. Her body still smoldered with sexual tension. She 
couldn't get together with Jayce as often as she wanted because of their 
schedules, and when they did, emergencies on his part or hers often cut their 
dates short. 

"I've got Friday night free," Jayce said hopefully. He was still hard, The 
pale rectangle of skin over his hips contrasted nicely with the bronzy tone 
of the rest of his body, which in turn contrasted nicely with the hair on his 
head, which was surfer-boy gold. Her palomino cop.

"We'll see." She couldn't make promises; both her careers had a habit of 
interfering. It was every superheroine's dilemma. The only solution was to 
date another superhero, who understood the risks the lifestyle involved... 
like Cinnabar's relationship with Shuriken. But even that carried problems of 
its own: competition, jealousies over one's work partners, and the constant 
fear for your lover's safety. Gina knew it wouldn't work for her. Jayce 
didn't know she was Chrystar, and never would. But because he was a cop, they 
had more in common than he realized. "I'll give you a call, okay?" She kissed 
him softly on the mouth.

"Come back soon. I get lonely!"

She grinned at that; it was what he always said. But she couldn't let it slow 
her down. She grabbed her jacket and quickly ran down the drive to her car.

As she drove past palm trees and limousines she reflected on what Cinnabar 
had told her. She wasn't surprised. Shana's absence at the last meeting had 
been too unusual; she was the punctual type. In spite of her penchant for 
strange men... 

She slammed on the Civic's brakes, nearly hitting a Porsche in front of her. 
What was it Jayce had told her? LAPD had received reports of over a dozen 
young women, models and actresses, who'd gone missing the day before. "It was 
like they'd disappeared off the face of the earth," Jayce had said. "We 
didn't even find their cars." He went on to tell her several of the women had 
appointments at a new modeling agency on La Cienega. But when detectives had 
gone there the office was empty, though the owners of the deli across the 
street said people had been going in and out the day before. The name of the 
agency had been Plastic Fantastic. It had no business license, no phone 
numbers, no listings in the usual guides... though phony checks had been 
printed up, one of which had been given to the deli's owner.

She frowned. Could the two be connected somehow? Had Shana been on to 
something?

She parked her car and went up to Cinnabar's loft, then through the secret 
door that took her into HQ. The others were already there. "Sorry I'm late," 
she said. "I was... occupied."

"Sit down, Gina," Cinnabar said crisply. "I have some bad news. Shana is in 
trouble. She was investigating a connection between Plastica -- yes, Dr. 
Polly Mehr is alive and well, and back in LA -- and the Sexateria chain of 
adult novelty stores when she disappeared. When Lori and I went to Sexateria 
this morning -- " Gina noted Lori's blush -- "we saw a mannequin that looked 
remarkably like her. Knowing Plastica's talents, it could have even been her. 
Shana had a copy of the Sexateria stockholder's report in her apartment, with 
the picture of Paula Jean Estes -- the vice president of Merchandising -- 
circled in red ink. I feel the two are connected, or are working together 
somehow. It's vital that we get into that store tonight after it closes."

Gina cleared her throat. "I was, um, with Jayce tonight, and he had an 
unusual story to tell me." She told them about the disappearances.

"I see," Cinnabar said. "That's very interesting. Shana had also discovered 
Plastica bought the old Bondmachen mannequin factory out in Long Beach."

Silence wrapped the room as they all came to the same conclusion. Finally 
Allison spoke up. "Do you think Shana found Plastica out? And... got turned 
into plastic for it?" She swallowed hard. Gina still couldn't believe it 
herself. Plastica should have been dead after the explosion last year.

"I'm not sure," Cinnabar said carefully. "It could have been a replica, in 
which case the real Shana may be still alive somewhere. Team, that is why we 
have to move out tonight, while the store is closed. I think this case is 
far, far bigger than what it seems."

"I agree," Lori said, and the motion traveled round the table, each 
superheroine giving her assent.

Gina felt an electric thrill roll through her body, a sensation more intense 
than the most passionate orgasm. After six months of inactivity Team Paragon 
was on the move again, and this time they were up against something that 
would test their skills to the limit. She would rather it wasn't at Shana's 
expense, but that was what made her a good crimefighter: the challenge of the 
hunt, the scent of fresh game. 

Standing, they raised their right arms, joining them in circle above their 
heads. "Team Paragon -- Unite!"

The transformation was instantaneous, wrapping them in cocoons of sparkling 
light, making them over into their crimefighting identities: Allison to White 
Rose in her skin-tight unitard with the rose cutout over her chest, Nemiah 
the snow lion growling softly by her side; Noelani to Blue Cymbidium, darkly 
exotic in a short clinging dress formed of glittering flower petals; Lori to 
Arctica, her blue and silver costume gleaming with a thousand tiny crystals. 
Gina knew she looked no less spectacular. The transformation altered her 
molecular structure so she was now as hard and strong as crystal, and as 
transparent.

And finally Cinnabar, her long red hair a curly mane, her blue-gray bodysuit 
gleaming: Scirocco. "Desert storm! Wind of Vengeance!" she cried, and 
Sabreglass the sword appeared in her hand, all four feet of it, snapping with 
lightning and looking very, very sharp.

The team members lowered their hands, gloved, frosted, clear and gauntleted 
-- and stood. "Team Paragon, away!"

Lori flew out the window within her own miniature icestorm, followed by 
Allison on her winged lion. Cinnabar lifted her sword so it could carry her 
after them. That left Gina and Noelani, the only non-aerial members of the 
group, to follow on their sky-cycles, which were more than adequate enough to 
keep up with the rest. Gina gunned the engine as she zipped through the 
night, taking her place in formation with the others. Traffic crawled beneath 
them in ribbons of white and red, winding like snakes around the LA hills. 
The houses of the rich dotted their flanks. Gina wondered just how many 
people down there knew about the criminal activities that went on above.

They landed on the roof of the Sexateria Wilshire store with a soft thump, 
assembling behind a ventilation shed for cover. It was one a.m. Five pairs of 
eyes -- and various other senses -- probed the roof, but they were alone. If 
the store was a criminal hideout, it wasn't guarded by human beings.

"You all know what to do," Cinnabar said in a low voice. "Allison, get the 
door open. Then Gina will go in and find the security room to disable the 
cameras. If you see any security guards, let us know so Allison can erase 
their memories. I don't want anyone hurt. In the meantime, the rest of us 
will search the roof. Ready?"

Everyone nodded. Allison went over to the rooftop door and listened at it 
carefully. She placed her hands upon it, palms flat, and closed her eyes. 
Gina couldn't see it, but she was projecting a force field to open the lock. 
Her facial muscles turned taut with strain as she concentrated. Simple as it 
was, the delicate operation took a lot out of her because she couldn't see 
inside the lock she was forcing. But they couldn't just smash open the door, 
for that would give cause for suspicion come the morning. 

Once it was open Gina slipped inside, adjusting her molecular structure to 
full transparency so she was nearly invisible. She still cast a slight 
shadow, but in the dim afterhours lighting of the store it wouldn't be 
noticeable; nor would it be seen on a surveillance camera's small, fuzzy 
video screen. She pattered down the steps, keeping her tread light, and 
pushed open the door that led to the store. 

*Well, well, well. * She'd come in through the bondage department, and the 
bare-rumped leather-strapped mannequins -- posed for other scantily-clad 
mannequins to paddle and smack -- would have brought a blush to her face if 
she hadn't been made out of crystal. They creeped her out knowing what she 
did about Plastica. She tiptoed around them, and more than once she jumped, 
heart pounding, at a moan or whimper that wasn't really there.

She made it to the other side of the department. A blue-white glow told her 
where the camera room was. The door had one of those magnetic slipkey things 
-- damn! But there was a window, and someone inside: a single security guard, 
eating a Subway sandwich and reading a magazine. 

Gina was stymied. She couldn't get inside; therefore he would have to come 
out. She tapped lightly on the window, hiding beneath the ledge. As she hoped 
he went to the door, gun drawn, and heaved it open; she quickly struck him on 
the occipital ridge with the flat of her diamond-hard palm. He fell like a 
stone on the floor. Once inside the room she quickly disabled the cameras. 
"Gina here," she said into her communicator. "Allison, there's a man here 
you'll have to brainwash. Otherwise, everything's clear. It doesn't look like 
he has a partner."

"Roger," the telepath said. "We're coming down."

In a few minutes they were in the camera room. Cinnabar opened a panel in the 
console and loosened some of the wiring, making it seem that the surveillance 
outage had been an accident. Shana could have done a better job at it, but 
she wasn't here... as Xenon, that is. Gina shuddered when she remembered that 
her teammate could be any one of hundreds of mannequins in the store.

Allison knelt by the guard's side and touched her fingers to his head. 
"There. He'll remember nothing out of the ordinary happened." She looked 
sharply at Gina. "Did you have to hit him?"

"It was the only way to get in," Gina said, spreading her hands.

Cinnabar gave a look to the two that said *don't fight.* She'd heard that 
argument before. "Lori, search downstairs with Noelani; you know what to look 
for. Search the store, loading dock, offices, storage areas; everywhere. Take 
note of anything you think is unusual. Remember we're also looking for 
connections to Plastica, modeling agencies, mannequin manufacturers, or 
anything that indicates someone may have been held here against their will. 
Gina, you and I will search upstairs. We'll regroup on the roof in an hour." 

They split up, Allison going back to roof to keep watch. Gina and Cinnabar 
started casing the floor. They didn't have to look long. "Over there," C
innabar said with relief. "She's still by the dungeon."

Gina shook her head. It was bad enough being a mannequin, but to be a bondage 
mannequin... but then, Dr. Polly Mehr was capable of anything. They found a 
roll of brown paper and carefully packaged the mannequin for transport, then 
took her upstairs.

In another hour they regrouped on the roof. "We found her," Cinnabar said 
shortly, indicating the large, lumpy package strapped on the back of Gina's 
sky cycle. "Lori, Noelani, did you find anything interesting?"

"We searched the offices," Noelani said. "We found a few things on Paula 
Jean's desk and took some pictures. The real dirt is probably on the 
computer, though."

"Anything in the other offices?"

"Nothing out of the usual. Though what is usual in a place like this, I can't 
really say..." She gave a nervous laugh, a relief from tension.

They prepared to go after locking the rooftop door again. It was very 
unlikely anyone would notice the break-in; they'd think the mannequin's 
disappearance came about through store error rather than burglary. "Well, we 
got what we came for," Cinnabar said grimly. Gina climbed on her sky-cycle. 
"Let's head for home."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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