Down in the garage, a new recruit named Volt was trying to recharge her suit from a wall socket. She’d plugged it in upside down. The suit began to hum a sad, electronic waltz.
Volt blushed.
shouted Nova, whose gravitational powers were useless if she couldn't anchor herself. She hopped on one foot through the common area, her fiery red ponytail whipping behind her. superheroine central
The skyscraper didn't have a name on it anymore. Not a visible one, anyway. To the citizens of Meridian City, it was simply known as Superheroine Central —a gleaming tower of glass and steel where the world’s most powerful women lived, trained, and waited for the call.
said Drift, a woman made of living mist, without looking up from her tablet. “You put it there after the sentient ice cream incident.” Down in the garage, a new recruit named
sighed Lynx, whose claws were currently retracted as she painted her nails—a surprisingly delicate operation for hands that could shred titanium. “Unplug it. Breathe. You’re not a toaster.”
Not the red one—that was for earthquakes, kaiju, or alien invasions. This was the purple alarm. The tricky one. The one that meant: someone’s messing with reality again. Volt blushed
That was Silver Lining. She was the oldest, the wisest, and the only one without a flashy power. She just had a gut feeling for trouble—and an unnerving habit of being right.